“Good!” answered a man’s authoritative voice. “This is George Grant speaking.”

“George Grant?” Jupiter frowned. The name was unfamiliar to him.

“That’s right. Chief Reynolds told you I’d be getting in touch with you, didn’t he?”

“Why, no,” Jupiter said, puzzled. “He didn’t mention you, Mr. Grant.”

“He must have forgotten,” the man said. “It was he who gave me your telephone number. I’m a special agent for the Bankers’ Protective Association. I’ve been keeping an eye on you since I read in the paper about your buying that trunk of The Great Gulliver’s. And —”

“Yes?” Jupiter asked, a bit uneasily, as the man paused.

“Do you boys know that three of the worst thugs in California are watching you day and night?”

“W — watching us?” Jupiter’s voice quavered slightly. Pete and Bob gulped.

“They certainly are. Watching you and following you. Their names are Three-Finger Munger, Baby-Faced Benson, and Leo the Knife. They were in prison with Spike Neely, and they’re hoping that you’ll lead them to the money he hid before he was caught.”

“We — we haven’t seen anyone watching us, Mr. Grant.”

“Of course not. These men are professionals. They’ve rented a house down from the road from the salvage yard and are watching it through field glasses. If you go anywhere, they follow you.”

“We’d better tell the police,” Jupiter said, alarmed. Bob and Pete, listening to the little loudspeaker, nodded hard.

“I’ve already told Chief Reynolds,” Mr. Grant said. “He offered to chase them away, but said he couldn’t arrest them because watching you isn’t illegal. They haven’t actually done anything — yet.”

“Chief Reynolds was afraid some criminal might think we knew where the missing money is,” Jupiter said, none too happily. “I guess that’s why they’re watching us. To see if we go get it.”

“I hope you don’t try,” Mr. Grant said. “No telling what Three-Fingers and the others might attempt. If you actually have any clue, take my advice and turn it over to the police.”

“But we haven’t,” Jupiter said. “That is, we didn’t have.”

“But you do now?” Mr. Grant asked.

“Well — yes,” Jupiter admitted. “We just found a clue that seems significant.”

“Good work!” the man said heartily. “Take it right down to Chief Reynolds. I’ll meet you there and we’ll all have a confab… Uh — oh, that won’t work: I just remembered that the Chief is out of town today.”

“That’s right,” Jupiter agreed. “We tried to telephone him. Lieutenant Carter is taking his place. The Lieutenant wouldn’t even listen to us.”

“And if you did go to him now, he’d probably take all the credit and keep you from getting the reward,” Mr. Grant said thoughtfully.

“Reward?” Jupiter asked. Bob and Pete looked excitedly at each other.

“The Bankers’ Protective Association has offered a ten per cent reward to anyone who can locate the missing money. That’s five thousand dollars that you’d be entitled to. That is, if your clue is a good one.”

“Five thousand dollars!” Pete whispered to Jupe. “That idea I like! Ask him how we can win it.”

“I have an idea,” Grant continued. “If you lay your information before the Bankers’ Protective Association directly and we pass it on to the police, you’re in line for the reward. It’s on record that you supplied the clue. I could come to see you and — No, that’s not a good idea.

“If those thugs saw me, they’d probably recognize me, and they might make some desperate move. Suppose you come to see me, secretly. I’m in town now.”

“I can’t leave the salvage yard,” Jupiter answered, scowling. “I’m supposed to be in charge here. My aunt and uncle won’t be back for an hour or two.”

“Hmm — I see.” Mr. Grant was silent for a moment. “Do you think you can slip away later this evening, after you close? All three of you meet me somewhere? You’d have to get away without Three-Finger and the others seeing you go.”

“I believe I could do that, sir,” Jupiter agreed. “Of course, Bob and Pete have to leave soon to go home for dinner. Do you think they’ll be followed?”

“I doubt it. You’re the one the crooks are interested in. You’re sure you can slip away without being seen?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure I can,” said Jupiter, thinking of Red Gate Rover, the boys’ secret exit in the back fence of the yard. “It’ll be late, though, because today is Saturday and the yard is open until seven o’clock.”

“Excellent. Will eight o’clock be all right then?”

“Yes, Mr. Grant, I think so.”

“Then suppose we meet in the park — Oceanview Park. I’ll be sitting on a bench inside the east entrance, reading a newspaper. I’ll have on a brown sports jacket and a brown snap-brim hat. You three get there separately, making sure you’re not being followed. That clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said.

“And don’t breathe a word to anyone before we meet. It’s important that nothing leaks out until I have your statement. Bring your clues with you. Check?”

“All clear, Mr. Grant,” Jupiter agreed.

“Then I’ll see you at eight. Good-bye until then.”

As Jupiter hung up, Pete let out a suppressed exclamation.

“Wow! A five-thousand-dollar reward. What’s the matter, Jupe, why don’t you look happy?”

“We haven’t found the money yet,” Jupiter said.

“We’re bound to find it. Or anyway, the police are… after Mr. Grant gives them our information. Maybe they’ll let us come along when they hunt for it.”

“Not if that Lieutenant Carter has anything to say about it,” said Bob.

“I wish Chief Reynolds wasn’t away today,” Jupiter said. “I’d like to have him in on this. But if he knows Mr. Grant —”

A voice calling interrupted him.

“Jupe customers need some change!”

“That’s Konrad,” Jupiter said. “I’d better get back on the job. I’m supposed to be in charge. Bob and Pete, can you repack the trunk and put Socrates away?”

“Golly!” Bob looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get to the library before it closes, Jupe. I left my jacket there when I quit work. Then I’d better get on home.”

“It’s okay. I’ll pack the trunk,” Pete said. “Then I’d better get home, too. We’ll all meet at the park at eight o'clock. Right?”

“Right,” Jupiter said.

They all left Headquarters and separated. Pete approached the trunk and Socrates without enthusiasm.

“Well!” he challenged the skull. “What have you got to say now that we’ve found the clue?” Socrates grinned at him and remained silent.

Bursting with some new information. Bob pedalled furiously through the back streets of Rocky Beach, heading in a roundabout way for the meeting place in the park. He was a little late. He had taken time after dinner to look through a pile of old newspapers in the garage. He had found the special item he wanted, and now he was trying to make up for lost time. But when he got to the east entrance to the park, he saw that Pete and Jupiter were ahead of him. They were seated on a bench with a young, well-dressed man, talking earnestly. They looked up as Bob approached, his bicycle brakes squealing.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bob said, puffing. “I had to hunt for something.”

“You have to be Bob Andrews,” the man said pleasantly. “I’m George Grant.” They shook hands, and the young man extended a wallet, open to show an engraved card behind a plastic window. “Here’s my identification, Bob. Just to be formal.”

The card said that George Grant was an accredited investigator for the Bankers’ Protective Association. Bob nodded and Mr. Grant put it away.

“Jupe —” Bob started to say, but Jupiter spoke first.

“We’ve just been telling Mr. Grant what we learned from the letter, about the money being hidden under the wallpaper in Mrs. Miller’s old house.”