"Arthur, Robert - The Three Investigators 002 - The Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Arthur Robert)

“Then,” Pete said, “your parrot isn’t missing? But Mr.
Hitchcock said you were all broken up about it.”
“Oh, it was missing, it was missing.” Mr. Fentriss said.
“And indeed, I was inconsolable. But it came back. Just
this morning it flew back in the window I kept open for it.
Dear Billy, what a worry he gave me.”
“Billy?” Jupiter asked. “Is that the parrot’s name?”
“That’s right. Billy Shakespeare, short for William
Shakespeare.”
“But what about the call for help?” Pete asked. “It
came from this house, and—well——”
“You were suspicious. Naturally,” Mr. Fentriss
boomed. “But that was Billy. The naughty rascal is some-
thing of an actor himself. I taught him to pretend he was
in jail—behind the bars in his cage, you know—and he
amuses himself by calling for help.”
“Could we see Billy?” Jupiter asked. “He must be a
very talented bird.”
“I’m sorry.” Mr. Fentriss’s face clouded. “Billy was
making such a nuisance of himself that just as you arrived
I put the cloth over his cage. That quietens him, you know.
If I were to take it off now, he would start up again.”
“Well, in that case I guess there’s nothing to investi-
gate,” Jupiter said, sounding disappointed. “We’ll be go-
ing, Mr. Fentriss. Anyway, I’m glad your parrot came
back.”
“Thank you, my boy,” the stout man said. “And I shall
keep your card. Any time I do have a mystery that needs
investigation, I shall notify The Three Investigators.”
He showed the two boys to the door. Pete and Jupiter
started down the winding path that went through the
tangled garden.
“I must confess to being disappointed.” Jupiter said.
“The case began most promisingly. A lonely house—a cry
for help—a sinister fat man . . . I had high hopes.”
13
“The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of
the Second Investigator,” Pete said. “Personally, I’m satis-
fied just to hunt for a missing parrot. I don’t need any
calls for help or sinister fat men. Let’s work up gradually
to all that.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Jupiter said, but he didn’t
sound as if he really meant it.
In silence they continued on to the street. It was a
winding street in a rather old and run-down section of
Hollywood, where big old houses, far apart were slowly
going to seed because the owners could not afford to take
care of them.
At the kerb was a Rolls-Royce with gold-plated fittings.
As a prize for winning a contest, Jupiter was allowed the