The story also gave their names and said their Headquarters was in The Jones Salvage Yard in Rocky Beach.

“Well, that’s publicity, all right,” Pete said. “It makes us sound kind of foolish, though, thinking there’s something valuable in the trunk.”

“That was because the auctioneer talked about the Russian crown jewels,” Jupiter said. “We’ll have to cut this out and add it to our scrapbook.”

“Later,” Mrs. Jones said firmly. “It’s dinner-time now. Put the trunk away and wash your hands. Bob, Pete, are you going to eat with us tonight?”

Bob and Pete ate at Jupiter’s home about as often as they did at their own. But this time they thought they’d better get on home, so they pedalled off on their bicycles. Jupiter pushed the old trunk out of the way round the corner of the office and went in to dinner. Mr. Jones came along behind and locked the big iron front gates of the salvage yard — fancy, ornamental gates bought from an estate that had burned down.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, until just as Jupiter was going up to bed there came a soft knocking on the door. It was Hans and Konrad, who lived in a small house at the back.

“Just want to tell you, Mr. Jones,” Hans said softly. “We see a light in the salvage yard, we look through the fence, somebody is fooling around in there. Maybe we all better see, huh?”

“Mercy and goodness and sweetness and light! Burglars!” Mrs. Jones gasped.

“We’ll take a look, Mathilda, my dear,” said Mr. Jones. “With Hans and Konrad, we can handle any burglar. We’ll slip up on the intruders and catch them by surprise.”

He and the two husky yard helpers began to move cautiously towards the front gates of the salvage yard. Jupiter tagged along behind. No one had suggested he come, but on the other hand, no one had said he couldn’t.

Now, through the cracks in the board fence surrounding the yard, they could see flickers of light from a flashlight inside. They tiptoed forward. Then — disaster! Hans tripped over something, fell heavily to the ground, and let out a surprised “Oof!”

Whoever was inside the yard heard him. Immediately they heard the sound of running feet. Two dark figures ran out through the front gate, leaped into a car parked across the street, and roared away.

Mr. Jones, Konrad, and Jupiter ran up swiftly. The front gate stood open, the lock obviously picked. The thieves were gone. But Jupiter, with a sudden suspicion, ran to where he had left the old trunk he had bought.

The mystery trunk was gone!

Bob Andrews rode his bicycle through the front gate of The Jones Salvage Yard. It was a bright, sunny morning in late summer and the day promised to be warm. Pete and Jupiter were already busy in the yard Pete was taking apart a rusty power mower, and Jupiter was putting a coat of white enamel on some iron garden chairs from which he had sanded the rust.

They looked up, dejected, as Bob parked his bike and walked over.

“Hello, Bob,” Jupiter said. “Take a brush and get busy. We have a lot of these chairs to paint.”

“Did you get the trunk open?” Bob burst out of “What was inside it?”

“The trunk?” Pete laughed hollowly. “What trunk are you talking about, Bob?”

“You know what trunk,” Bob said, puzzled. “The trunk Jupe bought yesterday at the auction. My mum thought the picture of the three of us was pretty good. She’s curious about the trunk, too.”

“Everyone seems to be curious about that trunk,” Jupiter said, dabbing on more paint. “Too curious. We should have sold it and made a profit while we were at it.”

“What are you talking about?” Bob demanded.

“He means there isn’t any trunk,” Pete said. “Not any more. It was stolen last night.”

“Stolen!” Bob stared at him. “Who stole it?”

“We don’t know,” Jupiter said and then told Bob about the disturbance of the night before. “Two men ran off and got away,” Jupiter finished. “And the trunk was gone. Obviously they stole it.”

“Golly, I wonder why they wanted it!” Bob exclaimed. “What do you suppose was in it?”

“Maybe they were just curious, too,” Pete suggested. “They read the story in the paper and they came to have a look.”

“I don’t think so.” Jupiter shook his head. “No one would steal a dollar trunk just out of curiosity. Too much risk. They must have had a good idea something valuable was in it. I’m beginning to think that trunk would have been worth investigating. Too bad we don’t have it any more.”

The boys’ talk was interrupted by the arrival of an expensive blue car. A tall, thin man with strangely slanting eyebrows got out and came towards them.

“Ah, good morning,” he said. He looked at Jupiter. “Jupiter Jones, I believe.”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter said. “Can I help you? My aunt and uncle are away for a little while, but if there’s anything in the salvage yard you’re interested in, I can sell it to you.”

“I am interested in only one thing,” the tall man said. “Yesterday, according to information in the local press, you bought an old trunk. At an auction. For the large sum of one dollar. Are the facts as I state them correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupiter answered, staring at him. Both his appearance and manner of speaking were certainly a little odd. “That’s true.”

“Very good,” the tall man said. “To waste no more time in conversation, I wish to buy the trunk from you. I hope, I do hope, you haven’t sold it yet?”

“Well, no sir,” Jupe admitted. “We haven’t sold it. But —”

“Then all is well,” the stranger said. He waved his hand, and a number of green bills appeared between his fingers, spread out like a fan.

“Look,” he said. “One hundred dollars. Ten ten-dollar bills. I offer to you for the trunk.” As Jupiter hesitated, he went on, “Surely that is enough? You cannot expect me to pay more for one old-fashioned trunk containing nothing but odds and ends, can you?”

“No, sir,” Jupiter began again. “But —”

“There is no need to keep saying but!” the man snapped. “I am offering you a fair price. I want the trunk for sentimental reasons. The story in the newspaper said it had once belonged to The Great Gulliver. Is that correct?”

“Well,” Jupe answered as Bob and Pete watched with puzzled interest, “that name was on it. But —”

“But again!” The tall man scowled. “ ‘But me no buts!’ Shakespeare said that and I say it. The fact is, The Great Gulliver was once a friend of mine. I have not seen him for some years. I fear, alas, that he is no more. Departed. Gone. To put it bluntly, dead. I should like to own his trunk for old times’ sake. Here is my card.”

He snapped his fingers. The money in his hand changed to a small white card. He extended it to Jupiter, who took it. The card said Maximilian the Mystic. A line below that said he lived at the Sorcerer’s Club, at an address in Hollywood.

“You’re a magician!” Jupiter exclaimed. Maximilian the Mystic gave a slight bow.

“Once well known,” he answered. “Performances before all the crowned heads of Europe. Now in retirement, devoting myself to writing a history of magic. An occasional small exhibition of my skills for friends. But back to business.”

He snapped his fingers and again the money was in his hands.

“Let us complete our transaction,” he said. “I have the money. I wish the trunk. You are in business to buy and sell. It is as simple as that. You sell, I buy. Why do you hesitate?”

“Because I can’t sell you the trunk!” Jupiter burst out. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Can’t?” The slanting eyebrows of the magician drew close together. His scowl was black. “Of course you can. Do not make me angry, boy. I still have mystic powers. Suppose —” he thrust his head towards Jupiter and his dark eyes gleamed — “suppose I snapped my fingers and made you vanish? Pouf! Like that. Into thin air. Never to return. Then you might be sorry you had made me angry.”