The Haunted Bridge Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - Invitation to Mystery

  CHAPTER II - Unlucky Fall

  CHAPTER III - Nancy’s Assignment

  CHAPTER IV - A Weird Sight

  CHAPTER V - Exciting Discovery

  CHAPTER VI - The Caddy’s Clue

  CHAPTER VII - Ravine Riddle

  CHAPTER VIII - The Gardener’s Scare

  CHAPTER IX - Nancy Is Accused

  CHAPTER X - Telltale Photograph

  CHAPTER XI - Telephone Disguise

  CHAPTER XII - Stranded!

  CHAPTER XIII - Unexpected Plunge

  CHAPTER XIV - Surprise Visitor

  CHAPTER XV - Gathering Evidence

  CHAPTER XVI - The Hidden Note

  CHAPTER XVII - Big Mistake

  CHAPTER XVIII - Exonerated

  CHAPTER XIX - A Match of Wits

  CHAPTER XX - A Day to Remember

  THE HAUNTED BRIDGE

  Mr. Drew is on the trail of an international ring of jewel thieves and asks Nancy to assist him: The trail leads to a summer resort area. Before Nancy has a chance to start work on her father’s case, a golf caddy tells her a frightening tale. In the dense woods nearby is an old wooden footbridge guarded by a ghost! Intrigued by the caddy’s story, Nancy decides to investigate.

  Several riddles confront the young detective as she attempts to solve the mystery of the haunted bridge and track down a woman suspected of being a key member of the gang of jewel thieves.

  How Nancy finds the answers to the two mysteries and at the same time, despite her injured hand, wins a trophy in a golf tournament will thrill all Nancy Drew fans.

  Ned placed the paper in the hand of the marble figure

  PRINTED ON RECYCLED PAPER

  Acknowledgement is made to Mildred Wirt Benson, who under the pen name

  Carolyn Keene, wrote the original NANCY DREW books

  Copyright ® 1972, 1965, 1987 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset Group,

  New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster,

  Inc. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07716-0

  2006 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  Invitation to Mystery

  “SORRY, miss, but I wouldn’t go near that bridge for a million dollars,” said the young, freckle-faced caddy.

  “Why, Chris?” Nancy Drew asked him.

  She had just driven her golf ball over two hundred yards into a patch of woods bordering the sixteenth hole. A rustic footbridge stood at the far side of it.

  “Because the place is haunted, that’s why.”

  Nancy, a slender attractive girl of eighteen with reddish-blond hair, was intrigued. She requested more details. Before Chris could answer, the other girls who were in Nancy’s threesome walked toward her with their caddies.

  “What’s up?” asked George Fayne, a trim-looking brunette with short hair and a boyish name.

  “The bridge in there has a ghost guarding it,” Chris replied. “Isn’t that right, fellows?”

  The other caddies nodded and cast wary glances among the trees.

  The third girl, blond, pretty Bess Marvin, gasped. “A—a real ghost?”

  “That’s right, miss,” Chris told her. “You’d better not hang around here.”

  Nancy smiled. “What will the ghost do to me?”

  “Who knows?” Chris retorted, and started to move off. “He sure wouldn’t let you take your ball, and he might strike you. Come on! Take a penalty stroke.”

  “I guess we’d better,” Bess agreed. “There’s a foursome right behind us. Shall I signal them to play through?”

  “No, we may as well go on,” Nancy decided.

  Her caddy was obviously relieved. “You couldn’t have played from behind all those trees, anyway,” he said.

  “It’s a shame,” George commented. “You had such a great score up to now, Nancy. I hate to see you lose a stroke.”

  Nancy’s curiosity about the haunted bridge distracted her attention from the game, and she scored a disappointing double bogey for the hole.

  “Oh, you should have had a par,” George murmured sympathetically.

  Nancy smiled. “I’ve learned never to count my score until the last hole is played.”

  Nancy smiled. “What will the ghost do to me?”

  “You’ll certainly qualify for the tournament,” Bess insisted. “That is, if you don’t let your mind wander off on the mystery.”

  The three girls were spending a few weeks at the Deer Mountain Hotel as guests of Nancy’s father, Carson Drew. He had come there on legal business. The summer resort with its many sports activities was a contrast to the comparative quiet of River Heights, their hometown, and the girls were enjoying every minute of the vacation.

  Before their arrival, Mr. Drew had hinted that he might ask Nancy to aid him with a puzzling case he was handling. As yet, he had not explained what the work involved. During the lawyer’s lengthy absences from the hotel the girls had been swimming and playing tennis and golf.

  George and Bess thoroughly enjoyed golf. Both played well, but it was Nancy’s scores which had attracted the attention of the club’s golf pro. He had urged her to enter the qualifying round of an important championship tournament for amateur golfers to be held shortly.

  Nancy felt she could offer little competition to the excellent women players at the hotel. But Bess and George had persuaded her to try out and finally she had consented.

  “You’ll bring home the trophy, Nancy!” George declared as the girls finished playing the seventeenth hole.

  When they approached the eighteenth tee they noticed that another player was there ahead of them. He was a tall, thin man in his late twenties, immaculately dressed in white slacks. Bushy black hair and a beard partially covered his angular, hard face.

  “Oh, he’s Martin Bartescue,” Nancy said in an undertone. “Let’s slow up.”

  The warning was too late. Bartescue had seen the girls. He waved and waited for them to approach.

  “We would have to run info him!” Bess commented in disgust.

  Martin Bartescue had met the girls the previous evening and immediately he had tried to make a golfing date with Nancy. Although she had heard the man was a very good player, she had taken an instant dislike to him, and politely declined the invitation.

  Obviously he liked to brag, and she doubted the truth of his many stories of being friends with famous people. Now, as the girls seated themselves on a bench directly behind the driving area, he did not tee off. Instead, Bartescue smiled and walked over to them.

  “May I have the honor of playing in with you young ladies?” he asked engagingly.

  “We may as well all walk together,” Nancy replied politely but with no warmth in her voice.

  She drove a long, straight ball, while Bess and George played somewhat shorter ones down the fairway. Bartescue’s drive outdistanced Nancy’s. As the group moved along, he walked beside her.

  “You play a fine game, Nancy,” he said. “I was just thinking that you might like to enter the mixed foursome tournament with me next week. Together we should win first place.”

  “I may not be here that long,” Nancy replied.

  Bartescue looked disappointed. “I’ve played golf courses all over the world,” he boasted. “Once I played the Prince of Wales.”

  “And did you defeat him?” Nancy asked, trying to hide a
smile.

  “Well, yes, I did,” Bartescue admitted. “But only by a couple of strokes. Oh, I’ve often played with royalty.”

  By this time Nancy had reached her ball. When she was about to hit it, Bartescue stepped closer. His movement distracted her as she took her backswing. As a result, she dubbed the shot.

  “Too bad, too bad,” he muttered sympathetically. “You pulled in your elbow just as you struck the ball. Here, let me show you.”

  He took the club from the girl’s hand, and to the annoyance of the trio insisted upon giving a demonstration of what he considered to be Nancy’s fault. Without commenting on his criticism, Nancy walked to her ball and, in her usual good form, hit a beautiful shot down the middle of the fairway.

  “That’s fine.” Bartescue nodded. “You’ll make a par five on this hole, the way the pros do.”

  Determined to play her best, Nancy approached the eighteenth green. Her ball was only five feet from the cup. Intensely annoyed because Bartescue was still offering advice, she stepped up to putt. The ball rolled in a straight line toward the cup and came to a stop at the very edge of it.

  “Oh, Nancy! What a shame!” Bess wailed.

  Immediately Bartescue jumped up and down on the ground. The vibration caused the ball to drop into the cup.

  “There, Nancy! You made a par five.”

  “That wasn’t fair, Mr. Bartescue,” she said severely. “I’ll add an extra putt which gives me a six.”

  “But why? You didn’t strike the ball.”

  The girls smiled coldly. Murmuring a few polite phrases, they left the man staring blankly after them and walked to the hotel.

  “Of all the conceited people!” Bess exclaimed when they were beyond Bartescue’s range of hearing. “I’ll bet he never came within a mile of royalty, to say nothing of defeating the Prince of Wales by a couple of strokes!”

  “And he made you miss your shot, Nancy,” George stated irritably.

  “You’ll surely qualify, anyway,” Bess said as she studied the scorecards. “George has an eighty-five. My score is a disgraceful ninety, but, Nancy, you have a brilliant seventy-five!”

  “I wonder what became of my caddy,” Nancy said. “I forgot to pay Chris. Also I wanted to question him about the haunted bridge.”

  “I suppose you’ll want to inspect it,” Bess said. “Well, if there’s anything spooky about it, count me out when you investigate it.”

  “Do you think there’s something to what Chris said?” George put in.

  Nancy shrugged and replied, “I’m going to talk to him and find out more about the mystery of the haunted bridge!”

  Before the girls had a chance to search for Chris, Bartescue approached them in the hotel lobby.

  “Oh, I wonder if you’d like to attend—”

  “Not just now,” Nancy said quickly. “I must find my caddy.”

  “I’ll go with you—” the man began, but Nancy pretended not to hear him and excused herself.

  She retraced her steps to the eighteenth green. Though several caddies were lingering nearby, hers was not among them. She questioned another boy about him.

  “Chris is just starting out with a twosome,” he said. “You might catch him at the first tee.”

  Nancy thanked the boy and hastened to the starting point, which was hidden from her view by a wing of the Deer Mountain Hotel. Two men had just teed off. As she approached them she observed Chris starting down the fairway behind the players.

  “Oh, Chris, just a minute,” Nancy hailed him. “I forgot to pay you,” she added with a smile, taking some money from her pocket. “I want to ask you about that haunted bridge.”

  “I can’t stop to talk now,” the boy replied.

  “I understand. But will you meet me near the caddy house after you’ve finished work?” Nancy requested. “About five o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there,” Chris promised.

  He hurried off, and Nancy slowly made her way back to the hotel lobby where she found Bess and George talking to Martin Bartescue. He was telling them about the many prominent persons with whom he was acquainted.

  “I believe I’ll turn my scorecard in to the tournament chairman now,” Nancy remarked to the girls. “If one of you will attest it—”

  “Here, allow me,” interrupted Bartescue. Before Nancy could prevent him, he had taken the scorecard.

  As he signed his name, Nancy noted a rather curious thing. It seemed to her that he formed each letter with painful precision. Why? Was he trying to disguise his handwriting?

  CHAPTER II

  Unlucky Fall

  NANCY took her scorecard from Martin Bartescue and walked on with Bess and George. Knowing the card had to be signed by someone accompanying her throughout the game, she asked George to attest the score. Then Nancy gave the card to the tournament chairman who was in his office busily chalking up the results of the day’s matches.

  “A fine score, Miss Drew,” he praised her.

  “Do you think she will qualify for the tournament?” Bess asked the man eagerly.

  “She certainly will unless better scores come in tomorrow,” he replied with a smile. “However, the competition is very keen this year. Some of the best women golfers in the state are entering the tournament.”

  “I’ll feel very fortunate if I so much as qualify,” Nancy replied. “I understand there’s to be a tournament for men, too.”

  “Yes, I have entered it,” said a voice behind the girls. They glanced around to find Bartescue standing there. “So far my score is the lowest turned in,” he added.

  “That’s great,” Nancy murmured indifferently, hurrying away with her friends.

  As the girls took the elevator to their rooms on the fourth floor, Bess and George teased Nancy about her new admirer.

  “You’re stuck with him,” George prophesied.

  “I dislike his type and you both know it,” Nancy replied. “But one thing about him did capture my interest.”

  Bess giggled. “What was that? His ultramodern clothes?”

  “Oh, Bess, of course not,” Nancy said. “I was interested in the way he signed my scorecard. Did you notice how unnaturally he wrote his signature, as if he were trying to disguise his usual style of writing?”

  “Why, no,” George admitted in surprise. “You seem to observe everything, Nancy.”

  “I guess that’s why she has solved so many baffling mysteries.” Bess sighed. “Nancy knows how to make use of her eyes and we don’t.”

  “Dad trained me to be observant,” Nancy said.

  As the girls started down the hall toward their rooms, she thought proudly of her father, Carson Drew, whose fame as a criminal lawyer was nationwide. Through helping him, Nancy herself had achieved distinction. She was now a well-known amateur detective with a long list of successful mystery cases to her credit, the most recent one The Whispering Statue.

  Nancy’s father was very proud of her too. Mrs. Drew had died when Nancy was only three years old. Since then their home had been managed by lovable Hannah Gruen, an excellent housekeeper.

  Thinking of the woman who had cared for her like a mother, Nancy smiled. “Can you imagine what Hannah would say if she knew I was starting another mystery?”

  “She’d say, ‘Now, Nancy, promise you’ll be carefull”’ Bess replied with a grin.

  Laughing, the three entered the cousins’ big, comfortably furnished bedroom.

  “Speaking of the mystery,” said George, “did you learn anything about the haunted bridge?”

  “Not yet,” Nancy answered, glancing at her wrist watch. “But I’m to meet Chris at five.”

  Nancy found him waiting for her at the caddy house. He made no comment as she led him to a bench at the rear of the hotel.

  “Please tell me everything you know about that bridge,” she urged him. “Why do you say it’s haunted?”

  “Because it is,” the boy insisted. “All the caddies will tell you the same. Sometimes you can see the ghost walking ov
er it.”

  “At night?”

  “Daytime, too. It waves its arms slowly back and forth. And sometimes the ghost screams as if it’s in pain.”

  “Have you actually seen and heard this yourself ?”

  “Sure. That’s why I know better than to go into that woods.”

  “You mean you’ve never been up close to the ghost?” Nancy inquired, smiling.

  The boy frowned and said, “You couldn’t hire any of the guys to go near the place.”

  “Chris, are the bridge and surrounding property owned by the hotel?” Nancy asked.

  Before Chris could reply, the caddy master appeared to inform the boy he was wanted immediately in the caddy house.

  “I’ll have to go now,” Chris told Nancy.

  “Thank you for telling me about the ghost,” she said. “And by the way, if I qualify, would you like to caddy for me in the tournament?”

  “Sure. But I won’t promise to look for any balls in the woods.”

  Nancy leisurely walked back to the hotel. As she went through the lobby a sudden thought occurred to her. After giving a brief explanation, she asked the desk clerk if she might look at the registration cards of recent guests.

  “Certainly, Miss Drew. Glad to be of help at any time.”

  Nancy flicked through the file until she came to the name Martin Bartescue and studied the man’s handwriting.

  “It’s not a bit like his signature on my scorecard,” she reflected.

  Nancy was so absorbed in looking at it that she failed to observe the man himself. He had come up directly behind her. Pausing, he regarded her intently for a moment, then dodged into a telephone booth. Nancy, unaware of his presence, went upstairs.

  Bess and George were dressing for dinner. They were not too occupied, though, to bombard Nancy with questions concerning the haunted bridge.

  “I didn’t learn much more except that the ghost walks across the bridge, not only at night, but also in the daytime.”

  Bess gave a nervous giggle. “I’ll never let my ball go into that woods, even if I have to take ten iron shots on the fairway.”