Free The Mystery of the Headless Horse by William Arden Page B

Castle!”
    “And his friends would have had to feed him and help him!” Jupiter exclaimed. “You could be right, Records! I overlooked that possibility. If it’s true, it gives us something else to look for in old journals and diaries and letters — some mention of hiding food or clothing, of helping someone! But we’ll have to extend the period of our search then — say, through the rest of September 1846 for a start.”
    “Oh, swell,” Pete moaned, “more work! Just what we need.”
    “We need every clue we can find,” Jupiter said. “But most of the records will be in Spanish, so Diego and I will have to do the research.”
    “What will Pete and I do, Jupe?” Bob asked.
    “You and Pete will go to the jail and try to make Pico remember what happened to his hat!”

11
A Visit to Jail
    The Rocky Beach jail was on the top floor of Police Headquarters. It was reached by a special corridor and elevator on the first floor. The corridor, which opened to the left of the main entrance to the building, was blocked by a barred gate. A policeman sat at a desk in front of the bars. Bob and Pete stood at the desk nervously, and asked to visit Pico Alvaro.
    “Sorry, boys,” the policeman at the desk said, “visiting hours are just after lunch — unless you’re his lawyers!”
    The policeman grinned at them.
    “Well,” Bob said, trying to look dignified, “he is our client.”
    “We’re sort of something like his lawyers,” Pete added.
    “All right, boys, I’m too busy to play — ”
    “We’re private detectives, sir,” Bob said quickly. “Junior detectives, I mean, but Pico really is our client. We have to talk to him about the case. It’s really important. We — ”
    The policeman scowled. “Okay, that’s it! Out, you two!”
    Bob and Pete gulped and started to turn away. A voice spoke behind them:
    “Show him your cards, boys.”
    Chief Reynolds of the Rocky Beach Police stood behind Bob and Pete, smiling at them. Bob showed the policeman at the desk their two cards. The man read them slowly.
    “What do you want here, boys?” Chief Reynolds asked.
    They told him, and he nodded seriously.
    “Well,” the chief said, “I think we might stretch a point in this case. Pico Alvaro isn’t exactly a dangerous criminal, Sergeant, and investigators do have a right to see their client.”
    “Yes, sir,” the police sergeant at the desk said. “I didn’t know they were friends of yours.”
    “Not friends, Sergeant, civilian helpers. You’d be surprised how many times the boys have really helped us.”
    The chief smiled at Bob and Pete again, and walked away. The policeman at the desk pressed a buzzer. Behind the barred gate, another policeman came out of an office into the corridor and unlocked the gate from inside. The boys hurried through, jumping nervously as the gate clanged shut behind them.
    “Wow,” Pete said, “I’m sure glad we’re just visitors!”
    The boys went down the corridor to an elevator, rode up, and got out on the top floor. They emerged into a long, brightly lighted corridor lined with desks and open counters. The first counter to the left was where prisoners emptied their pockets and left all their personal possessions. The next counter was where they were fingerprinted, and at the third counter they were given jail clothes, which they changed into in a locker room at the far end of the corridor on the left. Across from the locker room was a barred door marked Visiting Room. Then, along the rest of the right-hand side of the corridor, were desks. Policemen sat at some of them interrogating prisoners about to be jailed.
    “Over here, boys,” a policeman called from the first desk. “Andrews and Crenshaw? Private detectives?”
    They nodded, swallowing. The officer typed their names and addresses on printed forms, then entered the name of the prisoner they were visiting and the nature of their business.
    “Okay, stand over against that wall.”
    Bob and Pete stood