Arthur The Three Investigators and the Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot

American English
1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-3-440-14788-7
Verlag: Kosmos
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Deutsch, 144 Seiten

Reihe: Die drei ???

Every true "The Three Investigators"-Fan dreams about following the adventures of Jupiter, Pete and Bob in the original American edition.
"The Three Investigators and the Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot", finally available for your reading device!

Jupiter, Pete and Bob discover that a mysterious Englishman has died, leaving seven parrots. All of them can talk – one even stutters – and all have been trained to utter cryptic messages. A sinister man is so desperate to get hold of the parrots that he is threatening everyone who stands in his way.
What was the Englishman trying to say through his birds? Why does the sinister man want them? The Three Investigators are determined to find out – before somebody gets hurt!

Autoren/Hrsg.

Arthur, Robert

Leseproben

A Cry for Help

“Help!” The voice that called out was strangely shrill and muffled. “Help! Help!”

Each time a cry from within the moldering old house pierced the silence, a new chill crawled down Pete Crenshaw’s spine. Then the cries for help ended in a strange, dying gurgle and that was even worse.

The tall, brown-haired boy knelt behind the thick trunk of a barrel palm and peered up the winding gravel path at the house. He and his partner, Jupiter Jones, had been approaching it when the first cry had sent them diving into the shrubbery for cover.

Across the path, Jupiter, stocky and sturdily built, crouched behind a bush, also peering toward the house. They waited for further sounds. But now the old, Spanish-style house, set back in the neglected garden that had grown up like a small tropical jungle, was silent.

“Jupe!” Pete whispered. “Was that a man or a woman?”

Jupiter shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered back. “Maybe it was neither.”

“Neither?” Pete gulped. It certainly hadn’t been a child, and if it was neither a man nor a woman, that left only possibilities he didn’t care to think about.

The two boys waited. The heat of a summer day in Hollywood was heavy and oppressive.

All around them were palm trees, bushes, and flowers gone wild. Once this had been a lovely garden but years of neglect had turned it into a wilderness. The house beyond it was in disrepair, too.

It was the home of Malcolm Fentriss, a retired Shakespearian actor and a good friend of Albert Hitfield, the famous director of suspense and mystery movies and television programs. In their capacity as investigators, the two boys had come to offer to aid Mr. Fentriss in finding a missing parrot. Mr. Hitfield had mentioned to them that the actor had lost his parrot and was very anxious to get it back.

Then had come the unexpected cry for help. Now they were crouched in the shrubbery, awaiting developments.

“Whiskers, Jupe!” Pete said in a low voice. “We started out to look for a missing parrot. Now before we even get to the house, someone is screaming for help! I hope this isn’t going to be another case like the last one.”

“On the contrary,” his stocky partner whispered back, “it is starting very promisingly. But all seems quiet now. We’d better approach the house and find out what is happening.”

“That isn’t a house I want to approach,” Pete told him. “It looks like a house full of locked rooms that shouldn’t be opened.”

“A very good description,” Jupiter replied. “Remember to tell it to Bob when we get back to Headquarters.”

Bob Andrews was the third member of the firm. He kept the records of their cases and did necessary research.

Jupiter started to slip toward the house, moving between bushes and flowers without stirring a ripple of movement in the vegetation. On the other side of the path, Pete kept abreast of him. They had come within a hundred feet of the house when something grabbed his ankle and he was flung to the ground. As he tried to pull free, the unseen hand gripped more tightly and jerked him back. Flat on his face, he couldn’t see who or what had grabbed him.

“Jupe!” he gasped. “Something’s got me!”

For all his stocky build, Jupiter moved swiftly. He darted across the path and was at Pete’s side almost before the other boy finished speaking.

“What is it?” Pete croaked, rolling his eyes sideways at his partner. “Something’s dragging me away. Is it a boa constrictor? This garden could hide anything.”

Jupiter’s round, determined features looked unusually grave.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Pete,” he said, “but you have been trapped by an unusually vicious specimen of vitis vinifera.”

“Do something!” Pete gasped. “Don’t let vitis whatever it is get me!”

“I have my knife,” Jupiter said. “I’ll do my best.”

He whipped out his prized Swiss knife that had eight blades. Then he grasped Pete’s leg. Pete could feel him slashing fiercely. The grip on his ankle relaxed. Pete immediately rolled away and sprang to his feet.

Behind him, his partner, with a broad grin, was putting away his knife. A heavy loop of vine that had been cut in the middle was bobbing up and down close to the ground.

“You put your foot into a twisted grapevine,” Jupiter said. “The harder you pulled to get away, the harder the vine pulled you back. It was a very evenly matched test. Neither of you was using any intelligence. The vine doesn’t have any, and you allowed panic to cloud your mental processes.”

Jupiter usually talked like that. By now Pete was used to it.

“Okay, okay,” Pete said sheepishly. “I panicked. I was thinking about that call for help, I guess.”

“Panic is more dangerous than danger itself,” Jupiter said. “Fear robs the individual of the ability to make proper decisions. It destroys – destroys – Ulp!”

Looking at Jupiter, Pete had the impression that his partner was displaying all the symptoms of the fear he had just been talking about. He had suddenly turned pale. His eyes bulged. His jaw dropped. He seemed to be looking at something just behind Pete’s back.

“You’re a good actor, Jupe,” Pete said. “That’s the best imitation of fright I’ve ever seen. But now what do you say we – we –”

He turned and he saw what Jupiter was looking at. And the words stuck in his throat.

Jupiter was not acting. The very fat man who stood facing them with a large, old-fashioned pistol in his hand would have startled anybody.

The fat man wore glasses that magnified his eyes into great round orbs like the eyes of some huge fish in an aquarium. The sunlight glinted on the glasses and made the eyes behind them seem to throw out flashes of fire.

“All right, boys!” the fat man said. He gave the pistol a wave. “Into the house with you. Then we’ll find out what mischief you are up to. Now, march!”

With dragging footsteps and dry mouths, Pete and Jupiter trudged ahead of him up the gravel path to the somber, decaying old house.

“Don’t try to run, boys!” the fat man warned. “Or you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

“Don’t run, Pete,” Jupiter whispered. “That would be the worst thing possible. We want to convince Mr. Fentriss we are here on legitimate business.”

“I’m not going to run,” Pete whispered back. “My legs are so wobbly, I feel as if I were just learning to walk.”

Their feet scrunched on the gravel. Behind them the fat man’s greater weight made the gravel crunch with a sound that gave Pete a very crawly feeling. He was almost glad when they stepped on the tiled patio of the house and paused before the huge front door.

“Now open the door, boys,” the fat man said. “Step inside. Remember that I have an itchy trigger finger. Turn to your right. Enter the room there, and take seats against the far wall.”

Jupiter turned the knob. The door swung open, revealing a dark hall. Pete braced himself and they both stepped in, turned right, and entered a large room cluttered with books and newspapers and old furniture. Against the opposite wall were several very large leather chairs. They marched across the room and sat down.

The fat man stood looking at them with satisfaction. He blew into the barrel of his pistol, as if removing a speck of dust that might get in the way of a bullet.

“Now,” he said, “you had better explain what mischief you had in mind, slipping so sneakily up to my house through my garden.”

“We were just coming to call on you, Mr. Fentriss,” Jupiter said. “You see –”

But the fat man did not let him finish. He put his finger alongside his nose and looked slyly at them.

“Just coming to call?” he asked. “Slipping from tree to tree, like Indians? Or thieves? Or cutthroats?”

“We heard somebody yell for help,” Pete blurted out. “When that happened we ducked behind the trees to see what was happening.”

“Ah.” The fat man pursed his lips. “You heard that, did you? Someone calling for help?”

“You see, Mr. Fentriss,” Jupiter explained, “Mr. Albert Hitfield sent us here. He said you had lost your parrot and the police wouldn’t help you find it. We’re investigators, and we were coming to assist you in the recovery of your missing pet.”

He reached into his pocket and produced one of their business cards, on which was printed:

“I’m Jupiter Jones,” Jupiter said. “This is my partner, Pete Crenshaw.”

“Oh.” The fat man took the card and studied it. “Investigators, eh? And what are the question marks for? Do you doubt your ability?”

Pete had been waiting for that question. Practically everybody asked about those question marks. Jupiter had dreamed them up in a burst of inspiration. They were terrific for getting people interested.

“The question mark, otherwise known as the interrogation mark,” Jupiter said, “stands for things unknown, questions unanswered, riddles unravelled. Our business is answering the questions, unravelling the riddles, investigating any mysteries that may come our way. Hence, the question mark is the symbol of The Three Investigators.”

“I see, I see,” Mr. Fentriss replied, slipping the card into his pocket. “And you were coming to investigate the mystery of my missing parrot. Ah.”

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