Diego nodded. “Pico would show up. His pride would not let him run away. But we haven’t got the bail anyway — either the five hundred dollars cash that the judge demanded or the property to pledge for the rest.”

“What about your ranch?” asked Pete.

“That’s mortgaged to Don Emiliano, so we can’t promise it to the court. We are trying to borrow bail money from friends. But for now, Pico has to stay in jail!”

“I think,” Jupiter said grimly, “someone may have counted on that. I don’t think that this is an accident. That hat was stolen somehow and placed near the campfire.”

“But how do we prove it, Jupiter?” Diego wailed again.

“We don’t even know when Pico last had his hat,” Bob added.

“But we do know, fellows,” announced Jupiter, “that Pico had his hat around three o’clock last Thursday, the day of the brush fire. Don’t you remember? He was wearing it when we met him outside school!”

“Of course, of course,” cried Bob, striking his forehead.

“And that means that Pico couldn’t have left the hat by the campfire! Before three o’clock, he had the hat. After three o’clock, he was with us, and then fighting the fire. If the sheriff is sure Pico didn’t have his hat at the fire, then it was lost — or stolen — some time between our leaving school that day and our arriving at the site of the brush fire!”

“Jupe?” Bob said slowly. “What if Pico lost his hat while we were on the way to the fire? He was riding in the back of the truck. What if the wind blew his hat off and carried it to the campfire?”

“Pico’s hat could not blow off,” Diego stated. “It has a draw-cord under the chin. Pico always pulls it tight for a ride.”

“And there was hardly any wind that day,” added Pete. “That’s what kept the brush fire from getting out of control.”

“Anyway,” Jupiter said, “that brush fire was certainly started before we arrived at the ranch. So if the hat blew off in the truck, it wouldn’t matter. It would mean that the hat got near the campfire after the brush fire started.”

“Except,” Bob went on in dismay, “we can’t really prove it, can we? I mean, we know Pico had the hat at three p.m., but it’s only our word against that of Cody and Skinny!”

“Well, our word is certainly worth something,” said Jupe huffily. “But you’re right. We don’t have any real proof. So we’ll have to find it! We have to discover exactly what did happen to the hat.”

“How do we do that, Jupe?” Pete asked.

“The first move, I think, is to talk to Pico and see if he can remember exactly when he last had his hat,” Jupiter decided. “But we must also continue our search for the Cortes Sword. I am convinced that Skinny and Cody know we’re looking for the sword, or for something valuable that will help the Alvaros keep their land, and that Pico’s arrest is an attempt to stop us!”

“So it’s back to the Historical Society to look for any other references to Don Sebastian,” Bob said.

Pete groaned. “That could take another hundred years!”

“It won’t be fast work, Second,” Jupiter conceded, “but not quite that bad. We have just two days to concentrate on — 15th and 16th September, 1846. Don Sebastian was a prisoner until he escaped on 15th September, and no one ever saw him again. And it was the very next day, 16th September, that those three soldiers were found to be missing. No one saw them again, either.”

“No one we know about, you mean,” Bob said. He leaned forward in his chair. “First, I’ve been thinking about Condor Castle. We’ve been assuming that it’s a clue to the hiding place of the sword. But maybe it’s just what it ought to be up at the top of a letter — Don Sebastian’s address!”

Jupiter shook his head. “Don Sebastian’s address was the Cabrillo house — or his hacienda.”

“Not necessarily,” Bob said. “Fellows, I remember reading about a man in the same kind of trouble as Don Sebastian. He was a Scotsman named Cluny MacPherson. When the English invaded the Scottish Highlands in 1745 and beat the Scots at the battle of Culloden, they tried to kill or imprison all the Highland chiefs. Most of the chiefs who escaped fled the country — but not Cluny, the chief of Clan MacPherson. Even though he knew the English were after him, he refused to leave.”

“What did he do, Bob?” Diego wondered.

“He lived in a cave right on his own land for almost eleven years!” Bob replied. “His whole clan helped to hide him. They gave him food and water and clothes, and the English never knew where he was until things were safe and he came out on his own!”

“You mean,” Pete exclaimed, “you think Condor Castle was a clue to where Don Sebastian himself was going to hide?”

Bob nodded. “You remember how Pico wondered why no one saw Don Sebastian again if he wasn’t shot and lost in the ocean? And where he went if he did escape? Well, I think he planned to hide right on his own ranch somewhere near Condor 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!”

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.