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Bob shook his head. “No, Miss Be
“Goodness!” Miss Be
Bob didn’t think it was a coincidence.
“I don’t suppose you remember who was reading this book, do you?” he asked.
“I don’t believe I do. So many people in today, they’re just a blur in my mind.”
Bob’s mind raced. Who would be the most likely person? He tried a shot in the dark.
“Could it have been a man with large horn-rimmed glasses and a black moustache?” he asked. “A man about medium height?”
“Why — ” Miss Be
“I heard about him from someone,” Bob said. “If there isn’t anything else you need me to do — ”
Miss Be
He settled down to look through the book. It was full of interesting information about the discovery and history of the world’s most famous jewels. Finally, after letting himself be sidetracked into reading the curious history of the Hope diamond, which had apparently brought bad luck to many people, he found what he was looking for. One chapter was titled The Fiery Eye. He turned to it.
The Fiery Eye was a ruby as big as a pigeon’s egg, of an intense crimson colour. No one knew where or when it had been discovered, but it had been known in China, India and Tibet for many centuries. It had belonged to rajahs, emperors, queens, princes and wealthy merchants. It had been stolen many times, and some of its owners had been murdered for it. Other owners had been defeated in battle, had lost their fortunes, or otherwise suffered calamity. At least fifteen men were known to have died because of it.
The Fiery Eye was shaped rather like an eye, and was very valuable. It was not as valuable as some other famous gems, however, because it was flawed — there was a hollow inside it which made it imperfect.
The chapter ended with these words:
There are gems which seem to be followed by ill fortune. Owner after owner suffers death or illness or other serious loss. Violence hovers about them and no owner is safe. The Hope diamond, which was believed to bring misfortune to its owners until it was given to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., is one such. The Fiery Eye is another. Few of its owners failed to suffer misfortune, until at last it was given as a token of repentance by a maharajah of India to the Temple of Justice, in the remote mountain village of Pleshiwar, India.
In the Temple of Justice, sacred to a small but fanatical band of warlike mountain tribesmen, The Fiery Eye was mounted in the forehead of the temple deity. Local superstition held that it could detect sin. If someone accused of a crime was brought before it, and The Fiery Eye blazed with light, this was considered proof of guilt. If The Fiery Eye remained dim, this was proof of i
The stone vanished mysteriously from the temple many years ago. Its present whereabouts is unknown, though the followers of the Temple of Justice made vigorous efforts to find it. It is rumoured to have been sold by a temple official who had been guilty of misconduct and feared the gem would expose his guilt. Many suppose the ill-fated gem to lie in some unmarked grave with the bones of the man who bought or stole it. Others believe it will yet reappear. One old legend says that when The Fiery Eye has dwelt unseen and untouched for fifty years, it will be purified and no longer bring ill fortune, providing it is bought, found or given, not seized or stolen.
Few collectors, however, would care to risk the supposed curse on the stone even now, though the fifty years is almost up.
“Wow!” Bob breathed to himself. The Fiery Eye certainly seemed a ruby to stay away from. Even though the fifty years might be up now — the book he was reading had been printed several years earlier — he didn’t think he’d want to risk having anything to do with the gem.
Thoughtfully he put the book away. Then he got down an encyclopedia to look up Pleshiwar, India. He found a brief paragraph. It just said that inhabitants of Pleshiwar and the surrounding mountains were generally tall and warlike, extremely ferocious in battle, and never gave up seeking vengeance on anyone who injured them.
This made Bob gulp again. He wrote down the main facts about Pleshiwar, as well as about the ruby, and sat thinking. Should he phone Jupe now and tell him? He decided not to. It was nearly di
Bob said good-bye to Miss Be
“Hi, son,” he said. “Why so thoughtful? You look as if you were trying to solve some very large problem, Are you boys looking for another lost parrot or something like that?”
“No, Dad,” Bob said. “Right now we’re looking for a missing bust of Augustus of Poland. Do you know who he was?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. But speaking of Augustus reminds me, this is August. Do you know how the month of August got its name?”
Bob didn’t. His father told him, and Bob jumped as if jabbed with a pin. He made a bee-line for the telephone and dialled The Jones Salvage Yard. Mathilda Jones answered and Bob asked for Jupiter.
“I’m sorry, Bob,” Mrs. Jones told him. “Jupiter and the others left half an hour ago in the light truck with Hans. They had to go to Malibu.”
“I’ll be right over and wait for him!” Bob blurted out. “Thank you.”
He hung up, but before he could get out of the door, his mother’s voice brought him back.
“Robert! Di
Reluctantly Bob sat down. This was something Jupe had to know! But he supposed it could wait another hour.
At that moment, Jupiter, Pete and Gus were riding through the Malibu Beach section in search of Mrs. Peterson’s home. They finally stopped in front of a large, attractive stucco dwelling with a spreading well-kept garden.
Jupiter led the way up a path and across a tiled patio to the door. He pressed the bell and after a moment the door opened.
“I’m Jupiter Jones from The Jones Salvage Yard,” Jupe said to the pleasant-faced woman in a summer dress who opened the door. “I’ve come to take back the plaster busts we sold you.”
“Oh yes. They’re over here.”
The woman led the way round a corner, and there were the two busts, one looking much the worse for wear. As Mrs. Peterson had said, Augustus of Poland had lost one ear and his nose, and the rest of him looked rather crumbly. The other, Francis Bacon, had not been washed and looked dusty but intact.
“I’m sorry to have to return them,” the woman said, “but they were sold for garden ornaments, and my husband says our sprinklers would wash them away in no time.”
“That’s perfectly all right, ma’am,” Jupiter said, concealing his delight at getting Augustus back. “Here is your money — we’ll take the busts away now.”
He handed Mrs. Peterson the ten dollars that his aunt had given him, then picked up Augustus and, grunting a little, carried the bust out to the truck. Pete followed with Francis Bacon. They laid the busts carefully on the front seat between Gus and Hans, and climbed on the back of the truck. Then they started back for Rocky Beach.