“Golly, to have it right in our hands and lose it again,” Pete mourned. “That bust is jinxed!”

“I hope it isn’t the bad luck that follows The Fiery Eye,” Gus suggested soberly.

“If it is, it ought to hit the Black Moustaches, not us,” Jupiter said. “What I’m wondering about is the one they called Hugo. He sounded healthy, yet if Three-Dots used that sword blade on him, he shouldn’t be. Healthy, I mean.”

“It’s a puzzle,” Pete agreed. “But what bothers me is how we’re ever going to get our hands on Octavian again. Gus, I’m afraid your inheritance is gone.”

Glumly they rode along through increasing traffic. It took quite a long time to get back to The Jones Salvage Yard. The sun was setting and they had remembered they hadn’t eaten lunch and were ravenously hungry by the time they rode through the yard’s main gate.

No one was in sight except Bob, Hans and Konrad. The two big yard helpers were busy in a far corner stacking lumber. The small truck was parked beside the office, waiting to be put away. Bob was listlessly painting some iron garden furniture from which he had rubbed the rust.

“Bob looks really discouraged,” Pete said as they approached. “He feels pretty bad about losing Octavian.”

“We all feel badly,” Jupiter told him. “Let’s try to cheer things up a bit. Let me do the talking to Bob.”

As they approached, Bob looked up and tried to smile.

“Hi,” he said. “I’ve been wondering where you were.”

“We’ve been out to Gus’s great-uncle’s house,” Jupiter told him as they put their bikes into a rack. “But we didn’t find The Fiery Eye. Any developments at this end?”

“Well — ” Bob began and hesitated, hating to tell them what had happened.

“Don’t tell me,” Jupiter said. “Let me try to deduce. Look me in the eye, Bob. That’s it. Don’t blink. Let me try to see in your eyes what it is you don’t want to talk about.”

Pete and Gus watched with amusement as Jupiter stared solemnly into Bob’s eyes, then put his fingers to his forehead as if thinking deeply.

“It’s coming to me,” he said. “I’m getting the picture. There was a phone call — yes, a phone call from one of our ghosts. Octavian had been located. You went to get him — you and Hans in the smaller truck. You went to — let me see — yes, you went to Hollywood. Am I correct so far?”

“That’s what happened!” Bob exclaimed, his eyes popping. He had known Jupiter to make some amazing deductions in the past, but this beat anything he had ever done before. “Then — ”

“No, don’t interrupt,” Jupe said. “I’m getting more pictures. You went into a house. Hans went with you. He carried a bust — to trade, I believe, if necessary. Then Hans came out again, carrying two busts. You had recovered the bust of Octavian. Hans carried Octavian to the truck and put him in a box and wrapped it up well. He went back to get you. You both emerged, got in the truck and drove off. When you got back here, you found that the box which held Octavian had mysteriously vanished, evaporated into thin air. Am I correct?”

“That’s just how it happened!” Bob stared at him open-mouthed. “The box just disappeared. It couldn’t have fallen off or anything — the tail-gate of the truck was up. I don’t know — ”

At that moment Hans approached, carrying a bust under his arm. “This statue from the truck, Bob,” he said “what you want I do with it? Got to put the truck away for the night.”

“Just put it on the bench,” Bob replied. “It’s Francis Bacon. I took it along to give the lady in case she wanted to trade for Octavian. But she took money instead.”

Hans set the bust on the bench and walked away. It was facing backwards and Pete, who knew Mrs. Jones liked things neat, walked over to turn it round.

“Jupe,” Bob asked, “how did you know? About our getting Octavian back and — ”

He was interrupted by Pete’s shout. “Come here!” he said. “Come here and tell me if I’m seeing right.”

They followed his pointing finger, and read the word inscribed in the base of the bust. Octavian.

“Octavian!” Gus exclaimed. “The Black Moustache gang didn’t get him after all!”

“Hans packed the wrong bust!” Bob burst out. “That’s what happened. He had two under his arms and when he got out to the truck, he put one down and packed the other — the wrong one. I didn’t bother to look at this one because I was so depressed at losing Octavian — and I had him all along!”

Automatically they all looked behind them, as if Three-Dots or the Black Moustache gang might be coming in the gate at that moment. But all was quiet.

Even Jupiter was slightly flabbergasted by the new development, but he recovered quickly.

“Come on!” he said. “We’ll take Octavian back to the workshop and open him up. Then we’ll hide The Fiery Eye where no one can find it. We’re taking no more chances!”

Pete, as the strongest of the four, carried the bust back to the workshop section and set it on the ground. Jupiter found a chisel and hammer.

“Look,” he said, feeling the top of the bust. “Someone has bored a hole in here, put something in, and refilled it with plaster. The mark is faint, but clear. I’m sure we have The Fiery Eye at last.”

“Less talk and more action!” Pete burst out. “Just give it a whack and let’s see.”

Jupiter set the edge of the chisel against the top of the bust and hit it with the hammer. On the second blow the bust split in two, and a small round wooden box which had been embedded inside fell to the ground. Pete pounced on it and handed it to Jupiter.

“Open it, Jupe!” he urged. “Let’s see this ruby that’s been hidden for fifty years...Well, what are you waiting for? Afraid of the bad luck curse?”

“No,” the First Investigator said slowly. “But the box doesn’t feel heavy enough. However — ”

He twisted the top off the round box. They all peered in. There was no flaming red stone inside. Just a curled-up slip of paper. Very slowly Jupiter took it out and spread it open. On it were just seven words. They said:

Delve deeper. Time is of the essence.

BOB HAD a hard time getting to sleep that night. The events of the day had been just too exciting and puzzling. And to end up finding only a piece of paper inside Octavian! It was just too much.

Jupiter had stared at the paper, obviously disappointed. He had been sure they had hold of The Fiery Eye at last, and Jupe hated to be wrong. Then he read it aloud: “Delve deeper. Time is of the essence.”

“But that’s what the original message said!” Pete burst out.

“Apparently we haven’t dug — delve means dig — deep enough into the riddle,” Jupiter said. “Mr. August used these busts just to fool anybody who learned about the message and started looking for the ruby. Gus, he expected you to understand somehow.”

“But I don’t,” Gus answered, wrinkling his brow. “I’m totally baffled. Great-Uncle Horatio probably expected my father to be with me, helping me solve the message. But Father couldn’t come. We didn’t have enough money for two, and he had to tend to his business.”

“Let’s read it again,” Jupiter suggested, and Gus got the paper from his pocket. Jupe spread it out and they all read it.

To August August, my great-nephew:

August is your name and August is your fame and in August is your fortune. Let not the mountain of difficulty in your way stop you; the shadow of your birth marks both a beginning and an ending.

Delve deeply; the meaning of my words is for you alone. I dare not speak more plainly lest others find what is meant for you. It is mine. I paid for it and I own it, yet I have not dared its malevolence.

But fifty years have passed and in half a century it should have purified itself. Yet still it must not be seized or stolen; it must bebought, given or found.