“Looks nice and peaceful,” Bob said, regarding the beach below them and the sparkling waters.

“Neat rollers,” muttered Pete, watching the surf.

“Not much, but pretty good three-footers. I guess later at night, when the tide and breakers start coming in, would be the best time for the dragon. He’d have a lot more cover.”

Jupiter agreed. “You’re right, Pete. If there is a dragon.” He craned his head to look below. “Mr. Hitchcock said there were caves below. But they can’t be seen from this angle. Later, after our interview with Mr. Allen, we’ll go down there and look them over.”

Bob looked at the deserted beach far below them. “How do we get down?” he asked.

Pete pointed to some rickety-looking, white, weather-beaten boards. “Steps going down, Bob. Beats scaling up and down the cliff wall.”

Jupiter pointed along the, ridge. “There are some other staircases, too. But I don’t see many of them. Well, I believe we have the lie of the land. Now let’s hear what Mr. Allen will tell us.”

He led the way back to a gate in the hedge, swung it open, and they all stepped through. Beyond a winding path, they could see a house of faded yellow brick, surrounded by palm trees, bushes and wild flowers. The garden had an air of neglect as did the old house itself, perched almost on the edge of the wind-swept cliff.

Jupiter raised the door knocker and let it fall.

The door opened, and a small plump man stood there. He had large mournful brown eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a fringe of white hair above his tanned and wrinkled face.

“Come in, boys,” he said, extending his hand. “I imagine you’re the boys my good friend Alfred Hitchcock said might help me. Investigators, are you?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said. He whipped out one of The Three Investigators’ business cards. “We’ve solved several cases so far.”

The old man looked at the card in his gnarled fingers. It said:

“The question marks,” Jupiter explained, “are our symbol, our trademark. They stand for questions unanswered, riddles unsolved, mysteries unexplained. We attempt to solve them.”

The old man nodded, as if satisfied, and put the card in his pocket. “Come into my study, and we’ll talk,” he said.

He led them to a large sunny room. The boys gasped as they looked about them. From ceiling to floor, the walls were hung with pictures almost fighting for space. Apart from the many paintings, there were neatly framed autographed photographs of famous film stars and other celebrities.

The large desk was covered with papers and small wooden carvings. The bookcases were crowded, too, with strange artifacts, Pre-Columbian figurines, and small, grotesque African figures. Some of them looked cruel and frightening.

The old man indicated three chairs for them and took the large carved chair behind the desk. “Please sit down, boys, and I’ll tell you why I called my old friend Alfred Hitchcock. Perhaps he has already told you that I am a film director?”

“Yes,” said Jupiter. “He mentioned that, sir.”

The old man smiled. “Was would be a better word for it. I haven’t done anything for many years. I was a film director years before Alfred became one. And quite famous in my own right, too. While Alfred has made the Hitchcock thriller his own speciality, I had mine, too. Almost in the same vein, but slightly different. Alfred concerns himself with logical mysteries of the real world, but mine went beyond it?’

“What do you mean, sir?” Jupiter asked.

“It will explain why I couldn’t go to the police or other authorities with my problem. You see, my pictures were bizarre, of the world beyond, of nightmares and fright. They concerned themselves with monsters, werewolves, creatures of strange and hideous natures and violent emotions.

“In short, my speciality, boys, was the horror film!” Jupiter nodded. “Yes, I remember your name now, sir. I’ve seen it at film festivals in museums.”

“Good,” said the old man. “So when I tell you about what I saw coming out of the water the night my dog disappeared, you will know why I hesitated to speak about it. With my reputation and my inability to find work for many years, it would be only natural for stupid people to think I was merely trying to attract attention, gain publicity.

“My work is finished. They saw to that — the powers that be. I have enough money to live quietly. And no worries, no fears — except — ”

“Except the dragon now living in the cave below you, sir?” Jupiter suggested.

Mr. Allen grimaced. “Yes.” He looked carefully at the boys. “I told Alfred I saw it coming out of the sea. But I omitted one fact. You see, I heard it, too!” The room became suddenly quiet.

“You heard the dragon,” Jupiter said calmly. “Exactly what did you hear? And where were you at that moment?”

Mr. Allen drew out a large coloured handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I was standing on the cliff outside my house looking down at the ocean when I saw it,” the old man said. “Perhaps it was an illusion.”

“Perhaps,” Jupiter said. “Now tell us exactly what you heard. This might be an important lead in the mystery.”

“Well, confound it,” Mr. Allen said. “As far as I know, there aren’t any dragons around, and there haven’t been for several million years. Of course, I’ve done pictures about them, using mechanical monsters. In those cases, we used some kind of muffled roar of an engine combined with shrill whistles, blended together to create the effect we were trying to achieve — that of frightening the audience.

“But what I heard last night wasn’t anything like that at all. It was rather a high-pitched rasping sound — almost as if it were breathing with difficulty — or coughing.”

“What about the cave under your house?” Jupiter asked. “Is it large enough to contain a dragon, or any creature large enough to be mistaken for one?”

“Yes,” the old man said. “There are a series of caves running under this ridge. Extending north and south as well as inland. In the old days, they were used by rum-runners, and before them by smugglers and pirates. There was a landslide some years ago as the cliffs eroded, covering much of what was known then as Haggity’s Point. But many of the caves are still under here.”

“Hmmmm,” Jupiter muttered. “But this is the first time you’ve ever seen or heard a dragon, and yet you’ve been living here for years. Is that correct?”

The old man nodded and smiled. “Once is enough. And I might not even have seen this one if I hadn’t been out looking for my dog, Red Rover.”

The boys exchanged glances, smiling. One of their secret entrances into Headquarters was called Red Gate Rover.

“I guess it’s time we discussed your missing dog and the circumstances, sir. Bob, take notes,” Jupiter said.

Bob, in charge of Records and Research, took out his pad and pencil.

Mr. Allen started, then smiled at this example of the business-like proficiency of The Three Investigators.

“I’ve been abroad for the past two months,” he said. “Even though I am no longer actively working in films, I am still very much interested in them, and their development. As a rule I tour Europe every year, going to most of the major film festivals in different foreign cities. This year was no different. I went to the festivals in Rome, Venice, Paris, London and Budapest, and also visited old friends.

“As usual, when abroad, I boarded my dog at a local kennel. I returned a week ago, got Red Rover out — he’s an Irish setter, by the way — beautiful animal. Friendly, too.

“Red Rover likes to run. As I can’t keep up with him, I let him loose at night. Two nights ago he didn’t return. Although I’ve had him three years, I thought he’d picked up new habits and returned to the kennel. I called and he wasn’t there. I waited for him to come back and he didn’t.