Nancy said she was feeling fine, then launched into the story of the stagecoach mystery and the various setbacks she had had.
“Well, you certainly have been busy,” Mr. Drew remarked, as she finished. “And the mystery sounds like a most intriguing one. Now what is it exactly you want me to help you with?”
“Tell me first, am I on the right track in the way I’ve gone about this?” the young sleuth asked.
“I’d say you are,” the lawyer replied. “And I think your surmises so far have probably been correct. So go on with your digging operations. But if I were you, before I did any more of it, I’d try to find out who the former owners or tenants of the Zucker property were. Perhaps they can give you some clue as to where the stagecoach might have been buried.”
“Dad,” said Nancy, feeling a new surge of enthusiasm, “I knew you’d tell me exactly the right thing to do. I’ll ask the Zuckers, and if they don’t know, I’ll go to the courthouse and look at the records.”
“I wish I could come up there and help you,” said Mr. Drew, “but I’m deep in problems of my own here on a case. I must own up, though, I’m getting lonesome. Don’t let that case of yours take too long to solve!”
“Dad, I miss you very much too,” said Nancy. “I’ll speed things up and get home as fast as I can.”
When Nancy met Bess and George for dinner, both cousins remarked that Nancy seemed very refreshed and gay. Chuckling, she told them why. “Tomorrow morning we’ll go to see the Zuckers. I have a strange feeling that I’ve sort of turned the corner in this mystery.”
“Thank goodness,” said Bess. “Nancy, I was beginning to worry about you.”
Fortunately, the Zuckers had a complete list of the former owners of the farm, starting with the man from whom Abner Langstreet had rented it.
“But only two of these people are alive now,” Morton said. “One is elderly Mr. Hanson who lives in a government home for war veterans outside Francisville. The other is Mrs. Stryker, who is much younger. She’s the widow of the man who owned this place just before we bought it. He was killed on that hill”—she pointed—“when a tractor overturned on him.”
“How dreadful!” Bess murmured.
Nancy said the girls would go immediately to interview these people and then perhaps come back to do some digging. Morton Zucker told them he had done a little more work up near the knoll the evening before but had found nothing.
“See you later,” Nancy called, as she started the car’s motor.
She drove directly to the veterans’ home. Mr. Hanson, old and feeble, was delighted to learn he had callers. Once he started to talk, there was no stopping him. It soon became evident that while he could recall vividly events which had happened a long time ago, he was very hazy about the days when he had lived on the farm.
“I’m not learning anything about the stagecoach,” Nancy thought.
Finally she gave up, arose, and said the girls must leave. Mr. Hanson tried his best to keep them from going as he said he had much more to tell. But they felt sure he had never unearthed anything on the farm property.
“We’ve enjoyed talking with you very much,” said Nancy politely.
The girls left and went directly to Mrs. Stryker’s home in Francisville. Nancy apologized for the intrusion and the necessity of having to talk about the woman’s late husband. A tear rolled down Mrs. Stryker’s face, but she said it was all right, then asked how she could help the girls.
To Nancy’s questions the woman replied that she felt sure nothing large was buried on any part of the property, except perhaps on the wooded knoll, the only unplowed area on the farm.
“My dear husband was an excellent farmer,” she said. “He plowed deep and kept every inch of the soil under fine cultivation. If he had ever come across anything worth mentioning, I know he would have told me.”
“Then I’m probably entirely wrong in my guess that something of value may be on the property,” said Nancy.
She thanked Mrs. Stryker for giving them the information she had and was about to leave when the woman said, “You’re the second person within twenty-four hours to come inquiring about the Zucker property.”
Nancy stopped short in amazement. “Really?” she said. “Would you mind telling me who the other person was?”
“It was a man,” Mrs. Stryker answered. “He said his name was Frank Templer.”
Nancy and her friends were startled. Quickly Nancy asked for a description of Frank Templer. The minute she and Bess and George heard it they knew the person was Ross Monteith!
“Did Mr.—er—Templer say where he was staying?” Nancy inquired eagerly.
“Well not exactly,” said Mrs. Stryker, “but I gathered it was somewhere in this area. Do you know Mr. Templer?”
“I think so,” said Nancy, “only I know him by another name. That’s why I’m so interested to find out about him.”
“Something else he said may help you,” Mrs. Stryker went on. “Mr. Templer said that he was a member of the family which originally owned the Zucker place. He was trying to find something valuable which had been buried years ago.”
“Did he mention the name of the family?” Nancy queried.
“Yes, he did,” the woman replied. “He said it was Langstreet.”
“I see,” said Nancy. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Stryker. Please forgive me for having bothered you, but it may turn out that you will have helped several people.”
“I’m always glad to help anyone,” said Mrs. Stryker.
The girls went out to the convertible. As soon as they were seated in it, George asked Nancy what she thought of this latest bit of information.
“It’s terrific!” the young sleuth said. “Apparently Mr. Templer doesn’t know that Abner Langstreet never owned the Zucker farm, but only rented it!”
“That’s right,” said George. “So Ross isn’t a descendant. He’s only pretending to be so he can claim any fortune found on the place.”
“Sounds like him,” Bess remarked, and added, “Where are you going now, Nancy?”
“To Mrs. Strook’s and ask her about the Langstreet family tree.”
The elderly woman was amazed at Nancy’s information. “I never heard of anyone in our family named Monteith or Templer either.”
Nancy suggested that it was possible Mr. Abner Langstreet had married after disappearing from Francisville.
“Then why didn’t any relatives show up at the time of his death?” the elderly woman argued.
“That’s exactly what I’m wondering,” Nancy said.
CHAPTER XVI
A Harrowing Appointment
ON THE way back to Camp Merriweather, Bess acknowledged her fear that the Monteiths, if balked too far, might try to harm the girls.
“You’re right,” said George. “The sooner we find that two-faced couple the better!”
Bess looked at her cousin. “And just how are we going to do that with no clues?”
George did not reply, but Nancy said, “What seems important to me is to have courthouse, church, and cemetery records searched to find out if Abner Langstreet did marry and have any children. When we get back to the lodge, I think I’ll call Dad and ask him to do this for me.”
Nancy’s father thought this was a good idea and said he would arrange for someone in the neighborhood of Francisville to make the search. “I’ll call you back, Nancy,” he promised.
Within fifteen minutes he phoned that a young lawyer in Francisville by the name of Art Warner would take the case.
“I’ve asked him to let you know what he learns, Nancy,” Mr. Drew told her.
“Dad,” she said, “if it’s true that Ross Monteith is a direct descendant of Abner Langstreet, would the old stagecoach belong to him?”
“Perhaps,” her father replied. “It would depend upon what was put into the deed of sale of the property where the old vehicle is found. Art Warner will get all these facts for you.”
“All right, Dad, and thanks so much.”
Nancy joined her friends. Upon hearing the results of the conversation with Mr. Drew, Bess remarked, “I guess we can’t do much until we hear from this Art Warner. It will give us a good chance to have some fun.”
She said there was to be a water ballet in a few nights. Tryouts were being held now.
“Let’s go and see how we rate,” she suggested.
Nancy was torn between a desire to concede to Bess’s wish and to save all her time for solving the mystery. She realized that both Bess and George had given up a lot of fun at the lodge in order to help her. She must do her part by acceding to their wishes.
“All right,” she said, smiling. “Let’s put on our bathing suits and try out right now.”
The three girls changed, then went downstairs. A large crowd had gathered at the pool to watch. One after another of the girl campers was asked to try out her skill swimming to a waltz tune, then to a lively number.
When it came time for Nancy, Bess, and George to try out, Bess asked the social director, who was running the affair, if they might swim together.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
The girls dived into the deep end of the pool and gracefully “waltzed” across the water. At one point they were asked to turn on their backs and swim in time to the music. When they finally reached the far edge of the pool, the music suddenly changed to a fast number. Impishly George said to her friends:
“Let’s put on a comedy act.”
“Okay,” Nancy and Bess agreed. “You lead us, George.”
They dived beneath one another, as if barely missing a crash, reared up out of the water, made comical faces, and disappeared beneath the surface all in perfect rhythm to the music. The crowd along the shore clapped and shouted.
“Pretty neat,” called out a red-haired boy.
When the names of the finalists were read, there was no question but that the three girls from River Heights were among those chosen for the water ballet.
“Will you please come see the director about costumes?” the swimming instructor requested. He had been the final judge.
As Nancy and her chums stood talking with the social director, a bellhop came to tell Nancy she was wanted on the telephone. She hurried off, wondering who might be calling—her father, Ned Nickerson, Hannah Gruen—
Nancy found herself completely thunderstruck when the voice at the other end of the line said, “Nancy, this is Audrey Monteith. How are you?”
The young sleuth said she was fine. With frigid politeness she asked, “How are you and Ross? And why did you leave Merriweather in such a hurry?”
“Oh, we feel much better,” Audrey replied. “We couldn’t stand the camp another minute. Such food! We felt positively ill most of the time.”
“Where are you staying now?” Nancy inquired.
“Oh, at a very fashionable, exclusive resort,” Audrey answered, but did not give the name of the place. Quickly she went on, “Nancy, you’re just the person to help Ross and me. We’ve stumbled onto a little mystery we’d like you to solve.”
“I’m very busy,” Nancy said. “There wouldn’t be time for me to—”
“Why, I’m surprised,” said Audrey. “I didn’t think you ever turned down a chance to solve a mystery. And this is a pretty keen one.”
“What is it?” Nancy asked.
Audrey Monteith said it concerned a deserted farmhouse located only half a mile out of Francisville. “It’s on Tulip Road which runs off Main Street. It wouldn’t take you long, I’m sure. Please come meet us day after tomorrow. Later, Ross and I will take you to lunch in town.”
Nancy hesitated. Her first hunch was that this was some kind of a trap and she did not propose to be caught in it.
But she argued with herself, “If I don’t go, I may be cheating myself and the police out of picking up a clue about the Monteiths’ recent actions. This deserted farmhouse they’re talking about might have something to do with the old stagecoach!”
“All right, I’ll meet you Monday morning,” Nancy promised.
“Let’s make it eleven thirty,” Audrey said.
Nancy agreed, then asked, “Where can I get in touch with you, if I find it necessary to change the date?”
Audrey did not answer the question directly. She said, “If you don’t show up by twelve o’clock I’ll call you at the lodge.” She hung up.
Later on, when Nancy was alone with Bess and George, she told them about the phone call. The cousins were worried and advised caution. Bess added, “Surely you’re not going alone?”
Nancy laughed. “Not unless you two walk out on me,” she said.
George made a face at Nancy. “You know perfectly well we’d never do that.”
Nancy said she would notify the police of the appointment. While talking with the chief, she learned that the department had not been able to find the suspicious couple.
“I’ll have a man or two hidden near that farmhouse to watch proceedings,” the chief said. “Then later they can follow the Monteiths.”
Late Monday morning the girls set off. The deserted farmhouse proved to be easy to find. Nancy turned into the lane and parked near the dilapidated weather-beaten building. As the girls stepped out of the convertible, she said:
“Just in case the Monteiths are planning to trick us, let’s watch all directions at once. We can sit down here on the walk with our backs to one another.”
“Suits me,” George agreed. “Say, I wonder where the police are. They’re certainly well hidden.”
In five minutes it was eleven thirty, but the Monteiths had not arrived. After ten minutes had gone by, George spoke up, “I’m afraid there is some trick to this.”
“Yes,” said Bess, “I’m beginning to think the Monteiths just wanted to be sure of knowing where you were, Nancy. They’re working some scheme miles from here—maybe at the Zucker farm.”
Nancy frowned. At ten minutes to twelve she felt inclined to agree with her friends. “I’ll wait until twelve and then we’ll leave,” she said disgustedly.
The words were hardly out of her mouth when the earth began to shake. “Another explosion!” George cried.
As the girls jumped to their feet, the dilapidated farmhouse suddenly began to fall apart! They fled in terror. Just in time they got beyond the crashing structure.
“Your car, Nancy!” George exclaimed.
The convertible was struck by pieces of flying wood and broken glass. A few bricks from the chimney had landed in the rear seat. But there was no major damage.
“Thank goodness we’re all right,” said Nancy.
After the girls collected their wits, they went over and began to clean out the car. Bess found a polishing cloth and set to work shining up the scratched and nicked spots.
“I wonder what happened to the police,” George said. “Seems to me they’d come out of hiding now.”
Bess clapped a hand to her cheek. “Oh, you don’t suppose they were inside the building!” she cried in horror.
“No,” said Nancy. “They were to hide nearby. It’s my guess that since they can see we’re all right, they won’t bother to let us know where they are. I think they’ll stay here a long time in case the Monteiths show up. It’s possible Ross and Audrey won’t come until after we girls have left.”
The three friends began to discuss the explosion. It had been very similar to the previous one and there was no doubt in their minds but that the same people had perpetrated both of them.
“Do you think the Monteiths knew it was going to happen?” Bess asked. “And they’re mean enough to have sent us here, hoping we’d be injured?”
“I certainly wouldn’t put it past them,” George answered.
Even Nancy felt that this guess on Bess’s part might well be true. Then she tried to shake off the thought. “Perhaps the Monteiths didn’t keep the date because they were tipped off about the police. We’ll wait a little longer.”
But though the girls waited until twelve thirty, Ross and Audrey did not drive up. Even then Nancy said that she might hear from them again by telephone. George, however, was skeptical that this would ever happen.
The girls left and headed for the center of town. “I want to talk to Art Warner and see what he may have learned about Abner Langstreet,” said Nancy.
Bess and George waited in the car, while Nancy went to see the young lawyer. To her astonishment, Judd Hillary sat in the reception room.
He glanced at Nancy malevolently. “You came to see Mr. Warner? Well, you can’t do it, Nancy Drew! I got a previous appointment. And it’ll take several hours!”
CHAPTER XVII
Burglars!
AT A desk in the corner of Art Warner’s reception room sat an attractive, middle-aged woman. Hearing Judd Hillary’s outburst, she looked up quickly and frowned at the man. She smiled at Nancy and gave her a look as if to notify the girl she had come to a sudden decision.
“Miss Drew,” she said, “Mr. Warner will see you at once.”
Judd Hillary fell back in his chair as if he had been struck. A dark, angry flush spread over his face as the secretary opened the door to the lawyer’s private office and ushered Nancy in. As the door dosed behind the young sleuth, she could hear loud complaints from Hillary.
“Hello,” said a young man who had arisen from his desk to greet her. He was tall, wore horn-rimmed glasses, and had an infectious smile.
“I’m Nancy Drew,” his caller whispered. “You probably heard what happened outside. Your secretary was a dear to let me come in.”
Art Warner gave Nancy a big wink, then said in a low voice, “I told Miss Blake you might drop in sometime. She played her part well.” The young lawyer laughed. “Apparently you and Mr. Hillary are acquainted but are not the best of friends.”
“Far from it,” Nancy replied.
Art Warner pulled a chair close to his own, so that the conversation to follow would not be heard in the outside room.
“My dad probably told you something about the mystery,” the young sleuth began, “but I doubt that he told you of certain suspicions of mine regarding Judd Hillary. Since he’s a client of yours, perhaps I shouldn’t say any more.”
Art Warner smiled. “He hasn’t become a client yet, so feel free to tell me anything you wish to. The more I know, the better position I’ll be in to help you.”
“All right,” said Nancy. “I’ll start at the beginning.”
She told about the Monteiths’ strange actions, of their presence at the cave-in, and of the date they had made and failed to keep just before the second explosion. Nancy went on to reveal the story about the hijackers of the stagecoach and her feeling that Judd Hillary was the man in the woods who had whistled to warn them.
Art Warner frowned. “I had no idea this was such a complicated mystery,” he remarked.
The lawyer stared out the window a full minute before speaking again. “I’m glad you’ve told me all this,” he said finally. “I’m eager to learn whether or not what Judd Hillary is waiting to say will have anything to do with your ‘mystery.”
Nancy nodded and now asked Art Warner if he had had a chance yet to find out if Abner Langstreet had ever married.
“I was telephoning all morning about the case,” the lawyer answered. “Of course I haven’t covered every possibility. But it looks as if Langstreet remained a bachelor. At least this much is certain: If he ever married, he went some distance away from Francisville to have the ceremony performed. And if he did have a wife who died before he did, she’s not buried in any cemetery in this locale.”
The lawyer added that he had investigated church registers and town-hall records where a few vital statistics were kept at that time. “None of them reveal his having married anyone, and from what Mrs. Strook was told by her family, it’s pretty certain he never did.”
“If this is true,” said Nancy, “then it makes Ross Monteith, or Frank Templer, an impostor.”
“It sure does,” Art Warner agreed.
Nancy next queried him on what he knew about the explosion. Mr. Warner said it was thought to have taken place under the Francisville end of one of the housing developments.
“That’s not far from where we girls were,” Nancy told him. “It seems almost certain that the Monteiths got me there on purpose.”
Art Warner asked Nancy if she thought there was any connection between Judd Hillary and the Monteiths.
“There might be,” she said. “The three of them have acted strangely toward me, and shown a lot of curiosity about what I’ve been doing. I could almost believe the Monteiths told Hillary I was looking for the old stagecoach.”
“I’ll try adroitly to find out what I can for you,” the young lawyer promised.
Nancy knew that he was eager to have the interview with Judd Hillary, so she arose and said good-by.
“I’ll keep you informed,” Mr. Warner promised.
When Nancy reached the reception room, she gave Miss Blake a big smile. The young sleuth merely nodded to Judd Hillary, then went downstairs and joined Bess and George.
When she told them about her unpleasant experience in the outer office, Bess asked, “What do you suppose Judd Hillary came there for?”
Nancy shrugged. “I can’t guess, but unless it’s something very confidential, I think Art Warner will let me know about it.”
The girls returned to the lodge for a late lunch. No telephone message had been received from the Monteiths and Nancy was sure now that she had been tricked into going to the dilapidated farmhouse for one of two reasons: either to be deliberately harmed, or else to be kept from doing any sleuthing on the stagecoach mystery at that particular time.
“Does this mean,” Nancy asked herself, “that the Monteiths are afraid I’m getting too near the truth and might have trailed the dynamiters?”
Just as the girls finished eating, Nancy received a phone call from Art Warner. He said that Judd Hillary’s reason for coming to him was that he wanted to sell a certain piece of property. It did not have a clear title and he was asking the law yer to make a new search.
“You didn’t learn anything about a possible connection of his with the mystery?” Nancy asked eagerly.
“I’m afraid not,” Art Warner replied. “As a matter of fact, Judd Hillary seemed very ill at ease and anxious to get away as quickly as possible. If he’s guilty of anything underhanded, I believe he thinks you might have told me of your suspicions.”
Nancy was disappointed, but she made no comment. She thanked Mr. Warner for calling her and asked him to let her know any further developments.
As Nancy rejoined her friends, they told her a practice period was scheduled for the water ballet in one hour. “We’re to be at the pool for a work-out,” said Bess.
When the three girls arrived there, the swimming instructor and the social director asked them if they would perform their comedy act for the final show the same way they had done it in the tryouts. Nancy and her friends agreed, but said they felt they should vary it a little, since a good many people had seen it before.
There were few onlookers at the pool now and the girls decided it would be an ideal time to practice. Bess asked what kind of costumes they should wear for the event.
George grinned. “We act like three clowns, so I think clown-type bathing suits would be appropriate.”
Bess demurred. “I don’t mind the suit,” she said, “but what about our hair and faces? I don’t want to wear a frizzy wig and one of those great big red noses like clowns do.”
George’s grin widened as she said teasingly, “Of course you wouldn’t, especially in front of a certain boy named Dave.”
Bess noticed that George was looking past her toward the lodge. The next moment she waved. Bess turned quickly to see Ned Nickerson, Burt Eddleton, and Dave Evans! The three boys, all with deep suntans and crew cuts, hurried over.
“Hi, everybody!” said the boys and girls almost simultaneously.
Ned grinned. “I guess we’re just in time to see three beautiful mermaids. Go ahead and do your stuff.”
“Mermaids?” Nancy answered with a twinkle in her eyes. “We’re just a trio of clowns.”
“What do you mean?” Dave demanded, mystified.
Nancy refused to explain and none of the boys could learn the answer from either Bess or George. “You’ll know in a few days,” George said.
Nancy told them about the water ballet and that the girls must practice for it. “But by the time you fellows unpack and get into your bathing trunks, we’ll be ready to take a swim with you.”
“Neat,” said Burt, and the three boys hurried off.
After the promised swim was over, the six young people sat down at a large table beside the pool. As they sipped lemonade and munched pretzels and nuts which the camp always served at this hour, Nancy brought the boys up to date on the mystery.
Ned whistled in amazement. “It’s sure a dilly. Sounds as if it has about six parts to it.”
Burt laughed. “Maybe each of us should take one part. We’ll do it in shifts. One hour on, and two hours off—in couples, of course.”
“That’s a great idea,” Nancy conceded. “But I think that before starting, you boys should become acquainted with the people and places involved in the mystery. We still have time this afternoon to go to the deserted village at Bridgeford. Then we could stop at Mrs. Strook’s. What say?”
“Good enough,” Ned agreed. “Let’s get dressed and go right away.” A short time later they all set off.
The boys were intrigued by the restoration of the old-time village. John O’Brien was there and Nancy introduced her friends to the trucker. They discussed the old stagecoach and the hijacking, then the young people left.
When they reached Mrs. Strook’s home a little while later, Nancy rang the front doorbell. There was no answer.
“Mrs. Strook must be out,” the young sleuth commented, “but it’s strange that she would leave her front door open. I want you boys to see this quaint house. I’m sure Mrs. Strook wouldn’t mind. Let’s go in and look around.”
She led the way into the living room and then gasped. The place had been ransacked! The desk drawers were open, with papers scattered over the floor. Sofa cushions had been thrown helterskelter, and books tossed from wall shelves.
“Oh, how dreadful!” Bess cried out.
Nancy’s next thought was for Mrs. Strook’s safety. Had the burglars harmed her? The young sleuth began running through the various rooms of the first floor to see if the woman were there.
“Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly.
Nancy had just entered a first-floor bedroom. On the bed lay the elderly Mrs. Strook, bound and gagged!
CHAPTER XVIII
Whirring Cameras
Nancy’s friends crowded into Mrs. Strook’s bedroom. “Oh!” Bess exclaimed. “Has she been hurt?”
“I think not,” Nancy replied.
Before she untied the knots with which Mrs. Strook had been firmly bound and gagged, she said to Ned and the other boys, “Aren’t these nautical knots?”
“They sure are,” Ned answered emphatically. “Some sailor or ex-sailor tied Mrs. Strook up with clove hitches.”
He helped Nancy release the elderly woman from her bonds. Gently Nancy advised Mrs. Strook not to sit up. “Just take it easy and tell us what you can,” she said.
“I’ll get you some hot tea,” Bess offered, and hurried to the kitchen.
Nancy introduced Ned, Burt, and Dave. The stricken woman nodded to them but seemed too shocked to reply. But after she had sipped the tea which Bess brought, Mrs. Strook insisted upon getting up and sitting in a chair. Then she began her story.
“It was awful—just awful,” she said. “Two men came to the door and the moment I opened it, they rushed in. One of them said ‘We’re not goin’ to fool around. We want a quick answer. What was Langstreet’s secret?’ ”
“How in the world did they find that out?” George interposed.
“I have no idea,” the elderly woman answered. “When I told them I didn’t know, they said they’d find out themselves. That’s when they tied me up and gagged me so I couldn’t yell. They searched this house thoroughly, I’m sure, from the racket I heard. Oh, I hate to think of going outside this room and looking!”
“Please don’t do it,” said Nancy. “We’d offer to clean things up for you, but the police never want anything disturbed. I must call them. But first, tell me what the men looked like.”
Mrs. Strook said she did not know. Both wore masks and hats pulled down so far over their foreheads that she could not tell the color of their hair.
“By any chance, did one have a scar on his wrist?” Nancy asked.
“I don’t know that, either. Both men wore long gloves.”
“But we do have one possible clue,” Nancy said. “The nautical knots. I think I can give the police a good tip as to who the thugs might have been.”
Mrs. Strook became very pale again, and Nancy insisted upon her lying on the bed. The boys left the room and went to look around for any other clues to the intruders.
“Perhaps you should go to the hospital, Mrs. Strook,” Bess spoke up. “At least until the mess here is straightened out.”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t feel bad enough to go to the hospital,” she insisted. “A little rest will fix me up, I’m sure. Anyway, I want to be here to answer any questions the police may have.”
Nancy had felt Bess’s suggestion a good one but could not go against the woman’s wishes. Now she said, “Perhaps you have some friend or neighbor who will be able to stay with you for a few days?”