“Golly, do you suppose The Fiery Eye is in Augustus?” Pete asked Jupe excitedly as they rode.

“I consider there is an excellent chance,” Jupe answered.

“As soon as we get back to the yard, we have to break him open,” Pete said.

“We must wait for Records to return,” Jupiter told him. “He’d be disappointed if we smashed Augustus without him.”

At the salvage yard, Bob was sitting in the office with Mathilda Jones, waiting for the boys to return. On Saturdays the yard stayed open until fairly late, to allow people to come and browse around. Usually a fair number of people were engaged in inspecting the many curious items The Jones Salvage Yard had to offer. This evening, however, only a couple of men were strolling around, looking at old tools and machinery.

A black sedan drove up, and a man got out and came to the door. Bob gulped at the sight of him.

He was a man of average height, with black hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a large black moustache.

Black Moustache! Here!

“Good evening,” Black Moustache said to Mathilda Jones in a hoarse voice, “I’m interested in these handsome and artistic busts you display here.” He turned to look at the five busts that still sat in a row outside the office. “Mmmm — very famous people. Do you have any others?”

“That’s all there are,” Mathilda Jones told him. “And I can’t sell them to you for garden ornaments. I’ve just learned they dissolve if they get too wet. In fact, two are being returned and I suppose the others will be eventually.”

She sounded upset. It always upset Mathilda Jones to give back money. She was big-hearted and generous, but she was also a business woman and liked to make a profit out of the odd things Titus Jones bought.

“Indeed?” Black Moustache sounded interested. “Two are being returned and others may be. I am a collector, and I will buy these five from you for the price you have set — five dollars each. But you must promise to save for me any others that come back, for I want them all.”

“You do?” Mathilda Jones brightened up at the words. “But some of them may be damaged when people try to wash them.”

“That doesn’t matter. If you will promise to save every single one for me, I’ll buy these now as well as the two that you say are being returned.”

“It’s a deal,” Mathilda Jones said. “Buy these and you’ll get any that are returned. The two that are coming back should be here any minute. My nephew went to pick them up.”

“Excellent!” Black Moustache brought out some bills. “Here is thirty-five dollars for these five and the two coming. Now, I will load these fine artistic busts into my car.”

Bob was quivering with excitement, trying to think of some way to interrupt, and knowing he couldn’t. Mrs. Jones had just finished a business deal and she prided herself that she never went back on her word. Jupiter was bringing back two busts, and maybe one of them was Augustus.

And Black Moustache could claim it because he had already paid for it!

“Bob, what in the world is the matter with you?” Mrs. Jones asked, eyeing him sharply. “You have the twitches to-night. Anything wrong?”

“I think — ” Bob spoke with an effort — “I think our new friend Gus wanted one of those busts, Mrs. Jones. They came from his great-uncle’s house and, well — ”

“I’m sorry, you should have spoken sooner. They all belong to that gentleman now, and here comes the truck.”

Black Moustache had just finished stowing the last of the five busts in his car as the truck rattled up and stopped.

Jupe and Pete jumped off the back of the truck and hurried round to the cab. Hans handed down the two plaster busts. Pete took Francis Bacon and Jupe took Augustus of Poland, clasping it tenderly to his chest.

Neither of them noticed Black Moustache until the man hurried over to them.

“Boys, those belong to me!” he snapped. He reached for the bust of Augustus in Jupe’s arms and grabbed it firmly. “That’s mine,” he growled. “And I mean to have it. Now let go!”

BLACK MOUSTACHE tugged. Jupiter pulled, unwilling to let go of Augustus. Black Moustache shouted at him angrily, “Let go, I tell you! This bust is mine. I bought it and paid for it!”

“Let him have it, Jupiter!” Mrs. Jones called sternly.

“But Aunt Mathilda!” Jupiter protested, clinging tightly to the plaster bust. “I promised our friend Gus this one.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s too late,” Mrs. Jones said. “I’ve sold it to this gentleman.”

“But it’s vitally important to Gus!” Jupiter gasped. “It’s practically a matter of life and death.”

“Pooh, life and death because of an old plaster statue?” Mrs. Mathilda Jones snorted. “You boys have over-active imaginations. Now give the bust to that gentleman, Jupiter. The Jones Salvage Yard never goes back on a deal.”

“Give it to me!” Black Moustache snarled. He gave an extra-hard jerk just as Jupiter, obeying his aunt, let go. The man staggered backwards, tripped over a rock, and fell to the ground. The bust rolled out of his arms and cracked into a dozen pieces.

The boys stared at the pieces with mouths open.

Mrs. Jones was too far away to see, but Jupiter and Gus and Pete and Bob saw it plainly. A red stone the size of a pigeon’s egg, shimmering in the centre of the broken plaster head!

For a moment no one moved. Then Black Moustache scrambled to his feet, picked up the red stone and jammed it into his pocket.

He turned to Mrs. Jones. “Entirely my fault,” he said. “I accept full responsibility. Now if you will excuse me, I must go. I won’t want any more busts.”

He leaped into his car and drove swiftly out of the salvage yard while the boys watched him go in despair.

“He’s got it,” Pete groaned. “He’s got The Fiery Eye!” Then he remembered their earlier conversation. “But I thought we decided there wasn’t any man with a black moustache. Mr. Dwiggins made him up.”

“Obviously we were wrong in some way,” Jupe said. His body slumped, his face drooped; he looked very depressed.

“Black Moustache was at the library earlier today,” Bob put in. “He was looking up The Fiery Eye.”

“This is an upsetting turn of events,” Jupiter said slowly. “We no sooner find The Fiery Eye than we lose it again. I’m sorry, Gus.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” the English boy said stoutly. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“I was so sure Black Moustache didn’t exist — ” Jupiter began. He was interrupted by his aunt.

“Well, Jupiter, I’m glad he took the blame,” she said, nodding towards the lumps of plaster that had been Augustus of Poland. “It was his fault, actually, because he dropped it, but people aren’t always reasonable. However, no harm done. Just clean up those pieces and put them in the trash barrel.”

“Yes, Aunt Mathilda,” Jupiter said.

Mrs. Jones looked at the clock over the door of her office. “Time to close up,” she said. “Unless you boys want to stay here a while longer.”

“We have something to talk about,” Jupiter told her. “We’d like to stay a little longer.”

“Then we’ll leave the gate open,” Mrs. Jones said. “No use missing a possible customer. You wait on anyone who comes.”

Jupiter agreed, and Mrs. Jones left the yard for the small two-storey house just outside the wall where she and Titus and Jupiter lived.

The four boys were left alone in The Jones Salvage Yard. They picked up the broken pieces of Augustus and carried them over to an old table. Jupiter examined them.

“See?” he said, pointing to an egg-shaped cavity in the broken pieces. “Here’s where The Fiery Eye was.”

“And now Black Moustache has it!” Bob groaned. “We’ll never get it back again.”