The Mystery in Dracula's Castle (3 page)

"Bill, I know you were just leaving, but this won't take a minute," Sheriff Wyndham called out to the jeweler as he hurried up to the shop door. "I want to show you something."

"Sure. Come on in the shop," Bill Wasdahl replied.

As the sheriff stepped into the little shop he glanced around at the small display cases. "I see you've put in a new line of watches, Bill. Real nice."

Bill Wasdahl nodded. "Thanks. What was it you wanted to show me?" He glanced at his wristwatch. "I'm in kind of a hurry."

Sheriff Wyndham fumbled through his pockets. "Here it is — a photo." He handed it to the jeweler. "Have you seen this? It's a necklace — seven rubies set in gold."

The jeweler looked at the picture. "No. Should I have?"

The sheriff shook his head. "Beats me why they send me this stuff. This town would be the last place I'd expect to find a stolen necklace. Especially one worth a hundred thousand dollars."

Bill Wasdahl whistled and took another look at the photograph. "That's a lot of money." He handed back the picture.

"No, you keep it. You'd be the most likely person around here to see this Daumier necklace. Jewel thieves don't trust us sheriffs." The sheriff laughed and slapped Bill Wasdahl's shoulder. "Well, so long, Bill. See you tomorrow." He turned toward the front door. "
Now
what!" he exclaimed.

Out on the street Watson had his muzzle pressed against the plate glass window, and Leonard Booth was trying his best to tug him away.

The late afternoon sunlight glinted on the display in the jeweler's window, and Watson was enchanted by the sight. He had zoomed past Dracula Booth and rushed to the shining window, while Leonard rushed after him.

Now Alfie, almost bouncing up and down in anger, shouted after him: "Leonard! You're not supposed to leave until I say 'cut' or 'take five' or something!"

Leonard tugged at Watson. "I couldn't help it, Alfie. Come help me. What do you think is wrong with him?"

"You've got a thief on your hands, all right," Alfie replied as he walked up to the window. "I sure don't know what he sees in this junk." And then his gaze lighted upon a gold ring with a black center.

"Hey, Leonard. Look at that! Dracula's ring!"

Leonard stared at the display. "I don't see anything special."

"Dracula always has a ring," Alfie said excitedly. "And that one's perfect."

Just then Bill Wasdahl and the sheriff came to the door. "Get that mutt away from my store," the jeweler said.

"He wasn't doing anything," Leonard said, rubbing Watson's ear.

The jeweler stepped out into the street, took out a handkerchief, and began polishing Watson's nose prints off the window. "He's ruining my property," he said.

"He is not!" Leonard said angrily. "He was just
looking
."

"Well, he can look some other place," Bill Wasdahl said.

Alfie frowned. "We're here to do business," he said coldly, and patted Watson's other ear.

"Oh?"

"How much is that ring there? The gold one with the black-eyed center."

"Thirty dollars," the jeweler said curtly.

Alfie whistled. "
Thirty
! Would you rent it?"

"No."

"How about lending it to me? I'm making a Dracula movie, and I'd give you a screen credit," Alfie said.

"No."

It was not a conversation that interested Watson. He quietly slipped away from Alfie and Leonard, and trotted into the shop. Immediately he spotted the same wristwatch display that Sheriff Wyndham had noticed. He jumped up, seized a silver watchband, and trotted out of the shop — taking a shortcut between the jeweler's legs.

"Watson!" Leonard cried. "Stop! Watson,
please
stop!"

Bill Wasdahl shouted out, "Stop him. Thief! Stop!"

It was no use. Watson was off, and running straight for the art exhibit spread out in the town square. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Leonard, cape flying, streaking after him. Behind Leonard came Alfie. And pounding after Alfie came the sheriff and the jeweler.

"Make a circle! Box him in!" Sheriff Wyndham shouted.

Watson knew there was no time to lose. He dived into the thick of things. Easels toppled and scattered left and right. Artists leaped to snatch paintings back to safety. Shrieks of dismay pierced the usual quiet of the town square. Watson had never seen so many pairs of legs in all his life — and they were all crowding closer and closer.

There was only one thing to do — and Watson did it. He circled and dodged, then at top speed, dived toward Bill Wasdahl's trousered legs.
Wham
! The jeweler staggered, lurched, and tumbled to the grass.

Luckily for Watson, Leonard's cape billowed over the jeweler's face. In the tangle that followed, Watson zoomed off across the street, and through the open door of Mr. Petrocini's fish market. Just as he was leaping over a tank of live lobsters, Leonard came panting through the doorway.

Watson took a hasty look around. The situation was bad. Mr. Petrocini and a customer were blocking the way ahead and Leonard was closing in from behind. Watson could see no way to go but up. And up he went — square into a big bin of icy, slippery fish.

"My fish!" screamed Mr. Petrocini. "My fish!" He rushed to the rescue, grabbing up a broom on the way. Watson eyed the batting straws in alarm, but he hung onto the silver watchband with all his might. Then in one giddy jump, he sailed into the air and landed in the weighing pan of the old-fashioned scales that hung down from the ceiling. And there he swung, all fifteen pounds of him, sizing up the situation. The situation wasn't improving. Mr. Petrocini came charging after him, and brought the broom smashing down on the edge of the scale. Once again, Watson gathered his shaggy self for a soaring jump. This time he sailed over everybody, shot out onto the sidewalk, and across the street — and leaped through the open door of a parked Volkswagen.

The chase was over! A hand closed down on him and a firm voice said, "Come here, dog!"

Watson knew a businesslike command when he heard one. He felt himself being lifted. There was no escape! Meekly, he allowed his silver treasure to be removed by the man who held him.

Leonard, followed by Bill Wasdahl, came running up to the car.

"Watson!" Leonard cried.

The big man looked at Leonard and dropped Watson into his outstretched arms. He looked toward Bill Wasdahl and held out the watchband. "Is this your property?"

"It certainly is! Thanks," the jeweler said. He examined the watchband. "No teethmarks — if you can believe it! The way that mutt was hanging on to it, I thought it would be all chewed up. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it," the big man answered. He stepped into his car and drove off.

The jeweler turned to Leonard. "I want you to keep that dog away from my store. Understand? If I see him sneaking around my place just
once
, I'll…I'll…"

With Watson still in his arms, Leonard backed away — and right into Alfie.

"Come on, Leonard," Alfie said, giving Bill Wasdahl a chilly stare and giving Watson a pat on the head. "Let's go home."

As the boys began to walk away, Sheriff Wyndham came puffing up.

"Now, Bill — don't get all flustered," the sheriff said. "After this those boys just might keep Trouble out of trouble."

"They'd better!" the jeweler answered darkly.

Noah Baxter, whose Volkswagen Watson had tried to hide in, sped along the narrow, sand-bordered road to the ocean. He slowed the car as he neared a steep driveway that led to an old lighthouse perched on high rocks jutting out into the sea. At the edge of the drive was a neatly painted sign: KEITH RAYNOR — ARTIST. Noah swung the Volkswagen up the lane and honked the car's horn twice.

From the glass-enclosed lantern gallery at the top of the lighthouse, Keith Raynor heard the signal. He put down his sketch pad and hurried down the iron staircase.

When he stepped outside, Keith wasted no words in greeting Noah Baxter. "Where've you been?" he asked. "I expected you days ago. Did you get it?"

Noah grinned. "Did I ever fail you? Here." He handed over a brown-wrapped parcel.

Keith Raynor tore off the wrapping and held up a framed oil painting. "What's the idea? I didn't order this."

"I think you did," Noah answered. He gave Keith a pocketknife. "Use this," he said.

Keith hesitated, then began cutting the canvas away from the frame. He caught his breath. "
Beautiful
!"

There between the painted canvas and the backing of the frame was the thing Keith Raynor had been waiting for — seven pigeons-blood rubies set into a golden necklace. The Daumier jewels!

Noah Baxter took a bulky canvas bag from the Volkswagen, then reached back for a long pine box. "Chisels, mallets, jimmy-bar, explosives," he said. "I'm going to know exactly what I'm doing on the next job. I've spotted a wall safe exactly like the one I'll have to blow on the San Francisco heist. I'll bring it back here tomorrow. Come on, help me carry this."

The two men carried Noah's supplies into a low building that had been used for storing oil when the lighthouse was still in operation. Now it served as Keith's living quarters. Keith put the canvas bag on the work table, then faced his companion. "What's the point in blowing an empty safe, Noah?"

"I thought I'd just told you," Noah answered as he opened the bag.

Keith shook his head. "Why did you get more dynamite? You already have a box of it upstairs. You've got enough supplies here to blow three safes. It's dangerous."

"Don't you worry about me," Noah said sharply. "Just you get those rubies into a new setting so we can sell them. And remember — nothing fancy. Don't get to thinking you're a real artist."

Keith glared back and turned away.

"Oh, one more thing, Keith," Noah called after him. "When I get back I'll need help. Those wall safes are heavy."

Saying no more, he slammed out the door. In seconds, he was swirling the little car down the drive and onto the roadway.

The next morning, Alfie was faced with a problem. His mother, who had heard about Watson's adventure the day before, declared the town off limits as a place for filming the Dracula story. That left only the beach to explore.

"First I get Watson and now I get a beach!" Alfie said disgustedly. "Perhaps I should show Dracula going surfing?"

"He'd have to do it at night," Leonard reminded him.

Alfie's eyes gleamed. "With a shark escort!" he exclaimed. "That'd be great, Leonard."

Leonard set down his juice glass. "And you could have a horde of rats waiting for him on the beach. They could be holding up a cape — only it would really be a big beach towel. They could be holding it up in their teeth."

Alfie eyed Leonard sharply. "You're silly — did you know that?"

"Well, it was only an idea," Leonard replied serenely.

"If that's your idea of an idea…" Alfie began. Then he pushed back his chair. "Come on, Leonard. We've got to get started. Yesterday was a big nothing."

An hour later they were on the beach. Alfie, his camera poised for a good shot, paced along with Leonard. Watson followed, stopping now and then to examine interesting bubbles in the sand as the surf rolled back.

"Leonard!" Alfie, as usual, was holding his hands in front of his eyes, using them as a viewfinder.

Leonard looked up.

"Leonard! Look! That's it — Dracula's Castle!"

Leonard followed Alfie's line of vision. "That old lighthouse?" he asked in surprise.

"It's perfect," Alfie said excitedly. "Why didn't I think of it before! Come on, Leonard."

"How do we get up there?" Leonard asked, eyeing the high rocks above them.

"There must be a way somewhere. Let's look."

Alfie was right. Farther up the beach they found some steps that led up along the rocks to the lighthouse; it didn't take the boys and Watson long to reach the top.

"This place has probably been deserted for years," Alfie exclaimed. "It'll be just great!"

Leonard bent over a set of tire tracks cut into the sand. He took out his magnifying glass. "Tracks," he announced. "Fresh tracks. Look."