“Maybe he collects stuffed animals,” Bob suggested. “My Dad says collectors will do anything to get what they want.”

“He collects stuffed cats?” Peter scoffed. “From a carnival? That’s crazy, Records. How much could it be worth?”

“Well,” Jupiter considered, “it does sound foolish, but collectors are strange people sometimes. There are rich men who buy stolen paintings even though they have to hide them. It’s what they call an obsession, and collectors with obsessions commit desperate acts. But I don’t think our thief is really a collector. More likely he’s one of those people who can’t bear to lose at anything. Or perhaps he became violent because he felt he’d won and had been cheated.”

“I guess even we might get mad if we’d been cheated,” Pete agreed, “but we wouldn’t get violent about it.”

They reached the shooting gallery, and the blond boy behind the counter greeted them eagerly.

“You got my cat back! Did they catch that old man?”

“He got away,” Pete said, “but he dropped the cat”

Pete handed the crooked cat to the boy.

“I hope the police catch him,” the boy said angrily. “He only knocked down three of the five ducks! A real bad loser. Gosh, you fellows really chased him.” The boy grinned. “I’m Andy Carson. I work this booth. Are you fellows with it?”

Bob blinked. “Are we what, Andy?”

“He means,” the always ready Jupiter explained, “are we carnival people, from some other carnival. No, Andy, we live in Rocky Beach. I’m Jupiter Jones, and they’re Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw.”

“Glad to meet you, fellows,” Andy said, and added proudly, “I’m with it. A full operator, not just a punk or a roughneck.”

“Huh?” Pete said.

“A ‘punk’,” Jupiter interpreted for the others, “is an apprentice member of the carnival, and a ‘roughneck’ is a annual workman. Andy means he’s just like a proper adult performer in the carnival That’s pretty unusual isn’t it, Andy?”

“Well,” Andy said, a little sheepishly, “my Dad owns the show. But he says I could work any carnival now anyway. Say, would you fellows like to try winning a prize?”

“I’d like to win that crooked cat!” Pete exclaimed.

“We could make it our mascot,” Bob said.

“A symbol of our work,” Jupiter agreed. “Go on, Pete, try.”

Andy Carson grinned. “You have to hit five targets in five shots to win the crooked cat. It’s a first prize. It’s not easy, but it can be done. I’ve given out four cats so far.”

“I’ll win the fifth,” Pete declared, and reached for one of the rifles chained to the gallery counter.

Suddenly, Andy jumped at Pete, his hand out. “Wait,” he cried.

“What is it, Andy?” Peter asked, alert.

Andy grinned and put a straw hat on his head “Not so fast, young man. Your eagerness to test your skill is admirable, yes it is, but first it is necessary to cross my palm with silver, coin of the realm, legal currency to pay — amount of twenty-five cents, the fourth part of a dollar. A mere trifle for five big shots. Step up, my boy, everybody wins. Show your steady hand and keen eye. Give the man room, please. Five little hits wins the big prize the one-and-only amazing crooked cat!”

The boys laughed, and Pete dug into his pocket for a quarter.

“Gosh,” Bob said, “do you always talk like that, Andy?”

Andy beamed. “My Dad says I’ve got carnival in my blood. He says I’m a natural spieler.”

“You sure are,” Bob said. “Can you teach us?”

“Ah, my boy,” Andy intoned, his face solemn, “it is first necessary to study long years with the Great Lama of Nepal. At the appropriate moment, after that, some small instruction could be made available for a modest fee. Only a selected few, of course, can be permitted the honour”

Grinning, the boys listened as Andy spieled on in a fantastic performance of flowery words. Andy, too, grinned as he talked, pleased with his verbal ability.

“But now,” he concluded with a flourish, “stand aside, give the young Nimrod room to show his skill. Fire at will, Pete!”

Pete nodded and picked up one of the rifles. After a moment of studying the targets, he took quick aim at the clanking procession of mechanical ducks and shot down three in a row. Andy clapped his hands.

“Good, Pete! Careful now, only two more!”

Pete fired again, hitting a fourth duck.

“One more! Steady,” Andy warned. “Easy now. Careful!”

Andy winked at Bob and Jupiter. They understood Andy’s warnings and encouragements were actually carnival tricks to make Pete more nervous with each shot, increasing his chances of a miss. But Pete didn’t fluster. He was in action. He aimed once more, fired, and knocked down the fifth duck. “I won!” he cried.

“Bravo, Pete,” Andy said, and handed the dazzling crooked cat to the Second Investigator. “You’re a good shot. That’s my last crooked cat. I’ll have to use a different first prize until I get more. I think I have some moon globes.”

Jupiter’s eyes gleamed. “A moon globe? They only just came out, Andy. Could we win one of those, too?”

“Try your luck, my boy,” Andy said, assuming his barker’s voice again. “A steady hand and keen eye! Five shots.”

While Pete and Bob laughed, Jupiter picked up a rifle and paid Andy a quarter. He took good aim and hit two ducks. But he missed the next three. “Let me try, Jupe,” Bob said.

The smallest of the three boys paid Andy a quarter and aimed at a swinging gong. He fared no better than Jupiter, hitting the gong only twice. After that, Pete tried again, hoping to win the moon globe for Jupiter, but this time even he failed.

“A mere mischance,” Andy said. “Next time a successful result is assured. One more twenty-five cent piece!”

Pete shook his head. “I’d better quit while I’m even, I guess. At least I won the cat.”

They all laughed at that, and other customers began to step up to the booth. The carnival had become more crowded. Andy went into his full spiel while the boys watched. Then Andy realized that he was telling the people they could win a moon globe and he didn’t have any on display.

“Jupiter, you get behind the counter and watch the booth while I go and get some globes. Pete and Bob can help me carry some,” Andy said.

“Sure, Andy,” Bob agreed. “Go on, Jupe.”

Jupiter needed no urging. He went behind the booth counter at once and began trying to spiel like Andy. The growing crowd seemed to enjoy the chunky boy’s performance, and Jupiter beamed with pleasure.

Andy led Bob and Pete behind the booth where a baggage trailer stood in the dimmer light out of the main carnival area.

“I park it close where I can watch it from the booth,” Andy explained. “People are always trying to steal from carnivals.”

He unlocked the lid of the trailer and began to take out small globes that were perfect models of the moon. He removed six globes, relocked the trailer, and turned to hand two globes to Bob.

“Bob, you — ” Andy began, and then stopped. His eyes widened as he looked past Pete towards the next booth. His voice came low. “Fellows, don’t move. Stand still.”

Bob frowned. “No more carnival tricks, Andy, we — ”

“No,” Andy whispered, his voice tense and scared, yet steady. “Turn round slowly, fellows. Don’t run, and don’t make any sudden moves. It’s Rajah!”

The boys stared at Andy, and Pete gulped. Slowly, they turned round. There was a dim, grassy space behind the next booth, out of sight from the main alley. In that space, not twenty feet from the boys, crouched a large, black-maned lion!