The Mystery of the Nervous Lion - West Nick (список книг txt) 📗

“I see,” the man said. He looked around again, disappointed.

“My Uncle Titus, the owner, is out now,” Jupe said. “He might be hauling back some more iron bars. If you care to leave your name and address, he could get in touch with you.”

“That’s a thought,” the man said. His eyes kept darting about the junk piled in the yard. “But so far as you know, there’s not a single bar available now, big or small. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Jupe said. “I’m sorry. Maybe if you told me what you wanted them for, I might be able to find something else here you could use as a substitute.”

The man shook his head. “I’m not interested in any substitutes.” He suddenly pointed, his voice loud and triumphant. “What’s that over there? What are you trying to do, kid — hold out on me?”

Jupe looked in the direction in which the man was pointing. “Those are animal cages,” he said.

“I know they are,” the man said nastily. “But they have bars, don’t they?”

Jupe shrugged. “Some do and some don’t. We have to repair those cages, replace the missing bars, rebuild and repaint the tops and bottoms, you see, and — ”

“Never mind all that,” the man said impatiently. “I’m just interested in buying the iron bars. As many as I can get. How much?”

He took a thick wallet out and started to leaf through a number of notes.

Jupiter blinked. “You want the bars? Not the cages?”

“That’s right, genius. How much?”

Jupe frowned. He remembered his uncle’s plans to fix up the cages for the circus. Jupiter never questioned what his uncle wanted, nor his reasons.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Those bars aren’t for sale. We need them to complete the cages so they can be sold to the circus.”

The man grinned. “Okay,” he said. “That’s fine. That’s just what I want — circus cages. I’ll take them as is, and fix them up myself. How much?”

Again he riffled the thick pile of notes impatiently.

“Do you work for a circus?” Jupe asked.

“What’s the difference?” the man snapped. “I want circus cages, and you got them. How much kid? C’mon. I’m in a hurry.”

Jupe looked speculatively at the cages. There were four of them, all in extremely poor condition.

“That would be one thousand dollars,” he said sleepily.

The man’s fingers tightened on his wallet. “A thousand dollars for that junk? Are you kidding? Take a look at them — they’re falling apart!”

Jupe heard Bob and Pete clear their throats nervously behind him. He looked again at the cages, then very deliberately at the man. “That would be one thousand dollars apiece,” he said distinctly. “Four thousand dollars for all four.”

The hatchet-faced man stared at Jupiter and slowly replaced his wallet in his pocket. “Maybe you shouldn’t be left alone to run a business, kid. I can get new cages for that kind of money.”

Jupe shrugged. Having been a child actor when he was very young, he appreciated the scene he was playing now. “Perhaps you can, sir. I’ve no idea what the current market price is for new circus cages. If you should care to drop back when my uncle is here, perhaps he might give you a more satisfactory price.”

The visitor shook his head impatiently. “I don’t have time for that, kid.” He brought a note out of his pocket and offered it. “Here’s twenty dollars for the lot. Take it or leave it. My guess is your uncle bought the whole lot for five dollars. That’s all junk, kid.” He waved the twenty-dollar note under Jupe’s nose. “Well, what do you say? Twenty dollars?”

Jupiter sucked in his breath, hesitating. He knew the man was right. The bars as well as the cages were practically worthless. But he had learned to trust his instincts.

“Sorry,” he said, turning away. “No deal.”

He saw the man’s hand dart to his pocket. For a long moment, Jupe held his breath, wondering if he had made a mistake.

9

More Trouble

The hatchet-faced man’s voice was cold and threatening. “All right, kid — have it your way. I’ll be back!”

The man quickly got into his car, started his engine, and roared out of the salvage yard.

Jupe slumped, blowing out his cheeks in a long, relieved sigh.

“Good grief!” Bob exclaimed. “What was that all about?”

“A thousand dollars for each of those crummy cages?” Pete asked sarcastically. “I bet that man was right — that your uncle didn’t pay more than five dollars for the lot — including the loose bars and pipes that we stacked.”

Jupe nodded, feeling deflated. “I know,” he said. “Uncle Titus hardly ever pays more than five dollars for anything.”

“Then why did you ask so much?” Bob demanded. “That was a tough-looking customer. He wasn’t happy when he left.”

“I know.” Jupe started to explain. “I–I had a hunch something was wrong, that’s all. I’m not sure why. I felt he wanted those bars too much. So I just stepped up the price to find out how much they really were worth to him.”

“Well, you found out,” Pete said. “Twenty dollars. And when your uncle finds out you turned down that much money, I’ll bet he blows his top.”

Jupe looked up and sighed. “We’ll find out soon enough. Here comes Uncle Titus now!”

The large pickup truck rolled into the yard with Hans behind the wheel. As Titus Jones got down from the cab, Jupe noticed that the truck was empty.

“What happened, Uncle Titus?”

His uncle tugged at his long walrus moustache. “Seems as if there’s been a run on iron bars lately. Guess I got to the place too late. Every last one of them was gone.”

Jupe cleared his throat. “Aunt Mathilda already sold that batch you bought yesterday. And we just had another customer looking for some, too.”

“That so?” his uncle asked. He dug out his pipe and lit it. “Well, no mind. We’ll get some more in some day.”

Jupe moved his feet uneasily. “This customer wanted to buy those last few bars, the ones for the cages. He was willing to buy them with or without the cages.”

His uncle looked at him. “Buy the bars without the cages? How much did he offer?”

“Twenty dollars,” Jupe replied, swallowing hard.

“Twenty dollars?” Titus thought about it. “What did you tell him?”

“I said it wasn’t enough. That we didn’t want to sell the bars alone. That we were planning to fix up the cages to sell to the circus.”

Titus Jones rocked back and forth, blowing smoke. “How much did you ask him for the cages?”

Jupe took another deep breath. “A thousand dollars,” he said, waiting for the explosion. The only response was more smoke as Titus Jones puffed silently away. “A thousand dollars apiece,” Jupe added slowly. “Four thousand for the lot.”

His uncle removed the pipe from his mouth. As Jupe waited for the expected tongue-lashing, a car swung into the yard. It came to a quick, jarring stop near them. A man stepped out.

“That’s him,” Jupe said.

The hatchet-faced man walked up. “You the owner of this junkyard?” he demanded.

“I am,” Mr. Jones said.

“My name’s Olsen.” The visitor jabbed his finger in Jupe’s direction. “Fine help you leave when you’re away. I tried to buy some of your old junk bars and this kid tried to scalp me.”

“That so?” Mr. Jones asked in a matter-of-fact voice. “Sorry to hear about it, mister.”

The man grinned. “I thought you would be.” He took out his wallet and extracted a twenty-dollar note. “I offered him twenty dollars for those bars over on that pile and he turned me down flat.”

Titus Jones inclined his head towards the pile the man indicated. “Ain’t no bars there, mister. Just some old animal cages.”

“I know,” Mr. Olsen said impatiently. “But I don’t need the cages. Just the bars.” He extended the money to Titus Jones. “Here you are — twenty dollars. Is it a deal?”

Titus Jones relit his pipe and puffed hard to get it going properly. Jupe waited. The man stirred restlessly.