The Clue in the Crumbling Wall Page 2

  The story deeply interested Nancy. She could hardly wait to begin the search for the missing dancer. She was also eager to visit Heath Castle! She mentioned this to Mrs. Fenimore.

  The woman smiled. “I’ll lend you a key to the front door that Walter left with me to give to Julie. Joan dear, bring my jewel case here.”

  The little girl hurried off to get it. In a few moments she returned with the box. Her mother took the key from inside and handed it to Nancy. “I wish you luck,” Mrs. Fenimore said.

  Before Nancy and Lieutenant Masters left the house, they helped Joan prepare supper for herself and her mother. Wishing to spare Mrs. Fenimore any further worry, they refrained from discussing the child’s thieving instincts in depth.

  As they drove away, Nancy remarked, “It’s possible Juliana met with foul play.”

  “Yes,” said Lieutenant Masters. “If that’s true, you may find yourself up against a dangerous adversary.”

  When the two young women walked into headquarters a little later, the desk sergeant said, “You’re in luck, Miss Drew!” He held up her stolen purse. “A patrolman found it in a trash can. Nothing but the money and the pearl was taken.”

  Nancy was thrilled. “I’m especially glad to have my driver’s license and car registration back,” she said, “and the credit cards. Please thank the patrolman for me.”

  The following day Nancy related Mrs. Fenimore’s story to her closest friends, Bess Marvin and George Fayne, who had dropped in. The two girls were cousins and helped Nancy when she was working on a mystery. Bess was blond and slightly plump. She was less inclined toward adventure than her spunky cousin, an attractive brunette, who liked athletics and was proud of having a boy’s name.

  Bess said soberly, “It’s a shame about Joan and Teddy. I’ll help you all I can with them.”

  George was eager to pursue work on the mystery. “What are we waiting for?” she asked. “Why not go now and explore the castle?”

  Cautiously Bess asked, “Will it be safe?”

  “It won’t be easy,” Nancy warned her friends. “I was told the undergrowth is like a jungle. Maybe the best way to get there is by motorboat up the Muskoka River.”

  Twenty minutes later the three girls rented a small motorboat at Campbell’s Landing. The craft was old and the engine clattered and threw oil, but it was the only boat available.

  “Lucky we all know how to swim,” Bess said with some misgiving as they pulled away from the dock. “I have a feeling this old tub leaks and may sink before we go very far.”

  “We’ll be all right if George keeps busy with the bailer!” Nancy laughed, heading the craft upstream.

  The river was wide near town, but the upper reaches were narrow and twisted and turned at such sharp angles that fast travel was out of the question. At the wheel, Nancy kept an alert watch for shoals. Water was slowly seeping in at the bow.

  “It’s really pretty out here, but so wild,” Bess commented, her gaze wandering along the solid line of trees fringing the shores.

  “Better forget the scenery for a while,” Nancy advised, “and give George a hand with the bailing. If you don’t, our shoes will be soaked.”

  The water was coming in faster now. Both Bess and George worked vigorously, dipping the water and throwing it over the side.

  “Listen!” Nancy said presently. “What’s that?”

  Bess and George stopped bailing to look around. They had heard no unusual sound.

  “Another boat!” Nancy exclaimed as the noise of an engine grew louder. “But where is it?”

  Just then a small blue-and-white craft shot into view from Harper’s Inlet, one of the river’s many small hidden bays.

  “Look outl” Bess cried in alarm.

  The pilot in the oncoming boat seemed to be unaware of the girls in their little craft. At high speed he raced straight toward it. Desperately Nancy spun the wheel. There was not enough space to clear.

  With a splintering crash the two boats collided!

  CHAPTER III

  A Runaway Boat

  THE speeding boat which had struck the girls’ craft now veered sharply away and raced downstream.

  Meanwhile, the impact had caused Bess to lose her balance. She hit her head on the side of the boat and toppled into the water.

  Instantly Nancy turned off the motor. If Bess were unconscious, there was no time to lose!

  George had already dived over the side. When she located her cousin, she grasped the inert form with her left arm and struck out with the other for the boat. Nancy leaned over and helped pull the unconscious Bess aboard.

  “Is she—?” Nancy began.

  At that moment Bess opened her eyes and coughed several times. Nancy patted her on the back.

  “I’m—all—right,” Bess said weakly. “Our boat—” She tried to point.

  For the first time the others realized that water was filling the craft at an alarming rate through a small hole in its side.

  “Quick, George! Bail!” Nancy cried.

  George picked up the bucket she had been using before and started to work. Nancy crumpled up a newspaper lying on the bottom of the boat and stuffed the hole with it. In a tackle box she found a small burlap sack, which she rolled up and added to the paper. In a moment the inflow of rushing water was reduced to a trickle.

  “Good!” George panted and sat down. “Now we can chase that other boat!”

  It was not in sight, however, and Nancy decided it would be useless to try pursuing the faster craft. She turned her attention to Bess.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “All right. But I’d like to go home.”

  “We will,” said Nancy. “I’m afraid this boat can’t stand much more.”

  “I wish we hadn’t lost the fellow who ruined it,” said George. “If I ever see him—”

  “Would you recognize him?” Nancy asked.

  George said she would not, and Bess had not gotten a good look at him either.

  “I saw him,” Nancy said slowly. “I’m sure I’d recognize his face. And he was thin and wore a light-blue cap.”

  The girls dreaded returning to Campbell’s Landing with their damaged craft. But when the owner saw the damaged craft, he was not angry.

  “It won’t cost more than twenty-five dollars to repair it,” he assured them. “My boat rental insurance will take care of it.”

  After saying good-by, Nancy drove her friends home. As Bess got out of the car, she said, “I’m sorry our trip to Heath Castle was ruined.”

  Nancy smiled. “We’ll go another time.”

  The following day’s investigation unearthed no clue to the identity of the boatman. Though Nancy described him and his blue-and-white craft to several persons, not one of them was able to identify it. Finally she thought of Salty the clam digger.

  “I’ll drive down to his place on the river and talk with him,” she told Hannah Gruen. “He might also know something about the Heath estate.”

  Nancy invited Bess to go along and proceeded toward the river. Salty’s home was very quaint. Once it had been a small, attractive yacht. Now it was a beached wreck, weathered by sun and rain. Its only claim to any former glory was the flag which flew proudly from the afterdeck.

  “Anyone here?” Nancy called.

  “Come in, come in!” the former sailor invited. He was sitting with his feet up on a built-in table and eating beans out of a can.

  When he saw the girls, he stood. up. “Ye honor me, comin’ here,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “But I’m goin’ to have to disappoint ye. I’ve nary a clam today.”

  “Oh, we didn’t come to buy clams,” Nancy replied, glancing curiously at the furnishings of the yacht. The room was small and cluttered, but very clean. Salty’s bunk was neatly made. On a shelf above it was an amazing array of sea shells.

  “I collect ’em,” the sailor explained, following Nancy’s gaze. “Some o’ those shells came from the Orient, an’ some from right here in the Musk
oka.”

  He walked over to the shelf and pointed to a curious specimen. “That’s called the washboard clam. It’s one o’ the biggest of our river clams. And this is a whelk from the seashore. You can get dye out of it when the critter’s fresh.”

  “How interesting!” the girls exclaimed.

  Pleased by their attention, the man showed them other shells which were too large to stand on the narrow shelf. One, measuring three feet across, had come from an island in the Pacific.

  Nancy grinned. “What a pearl that might hold!” She told of her own loss, saying she was glad the pearl was not large and valuable.

  The former sailor showed the girls other treasures from the sea; huge fluted specimens and tiny, delicate shells. Amazed at the variety, Nancy asked Salty if he had collected them during his travels.

  “No.” The clam digger laughed. “Mr. Heath gave ’em to me.”

  The name startled Nancy. “Not Walter Heath?”

  “No. Ira Heath—Walt’s father,” Salty answered. “He gave me the shells when he had his button factory on the inlet.”

  “A button factory near here?” Bess asked in surprise.

  “It’s been closed for years. It was shut down when the supply o’ fresh-water mussels gave out. Mollusk mother-of-pearl shells are used, you know, to make pearl buttons.”

  “What became of Mr. Heath?” Nancy inquired.

  “Ira was born in England an’ went back there on a visit. He died in London. His son Walt was left in charge here.”

  “Did Ira build the castle?” Bess asked.

  Salty nodded, warming to the story. “Yes, Heath Castle was built to look like one o’ those fancy English places. The gardens were beautiful—a sight to set your eyes ablaze with admiration. Stone walls everywhere, with flowers an’ vines, an’ all kinds o’ trees from everywhere in the world.”

  Nancy was becoming more eager every minute to see the estate.

  “But for me,” Salty went on, “the place is too lonesome. No houses close by. The old gent built it ’bout a mile up the river from the button factory. Walter lived in it, too, an’ he used to do some o’ his scientific experimentin’ there.”

  “What kind of experiments?” Nancy asked.

  “Don’t know,” said Salty. “Since Walt died, no one ever goes near the castle, or the factory on Harper’s Inlet.”

  “Harper’s Inlet?” Nancy repeated thoughtfully. “Someone must have been there yesterday.”

  “That’s right,” Bess agreed. “We saw a motorboat coming out of the inlet. It crashed into our boat.”

  “Queer,” Salty commented. “I don’t know what business anyone would have at the factory. Who was the fellow?”

  “That’s what we came to ask you,” Nancy replied.

  She gave a complete account of the incident. Salty could not identify the man or his boat from her description, but he promised to watch for such a person.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for the boat, too,” he added. “Can’t figure what the fellow would be doin’ there. Fishin’s no good there. Maybe I’ll run up an’ have a look.”

  Satisfied that Salty would be able to locate the boat if anyone could, Nancy and Bess thanked him and left.

  As they stepped onto the dock they saw that the weather had changed. Dark clouds filled the sky and the wind was whipping the river into whitecaps.

  “I wanted to visit Heath Castle today,” Nancy said, “but it wouldn’t be wise to take a boat out now.”

  “Let’s do it tomorrow,” Bess suggested.

  “Then George can go with us,” Nancy said.

  A surprise awaited Nancy when she reached home. While she and Mrs. Gruen had been away, the two rosebushes had been replanted in the garden. They were only slightly wilted from having been moved twice.

  “Oh, I’m so glad Joan brought them back!” Nancy declared. “I’m sure she wouldn’t have taken them if that Hooper boy hadn’t urged her to.”

  Nancy was pressing earth firmly about the bushes when her father drove into the garage. She stopped her work and ran to greet him. Mr. Drew was a distinguished-looking man, tall and handsome.

  “I’m happy you’re back from your trip,” she said.

  “Hello, Nancy.” He smiled. “How’s the garden?”

  “Better today. The rosebushes that were taken day before yesterday are home again.”

  The Drews went into the house together and Nancy told him about the boat, the Fenimore problems, and the mystery of Juliana’s disappearance.

  “Dad, tell me all you can about Ira Heath and his son Walter,” she said. “Did you know them?”

  “Only by reputation. For years they operated a very successful pearl button factory. Then the business went to pieces.”

  “I already know that part,” Nancy said. “What about Heath Castle? After Walter Heath died, who took charge of the place?”

  “Daniel Hector is the executor, I believe.”

  Nancy’s mind flew to the unpleasant customer in the curio dealer’s shop.

  “The lawyer?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Mr. Drew replied. “But I must say his sharp practice of law never appealed to me.”

  “Do you think Mr. Hector did everything possible to find Juliana?” Nancy asked thoughtfully.

  “I believe so.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “I saw her perform many times, and admired her dancing very much,” Mr. Drew replied. “Why she disappeared at the height of her career has always puzzled me.”

  “Apparently she left no clues behind.”

  “The case was a strange one,” her father said. “I guess her fiancé was pretty broken up over her disappearance. I’ve always wondered if he might have had something to do with it.” After a pause he added, “Heath Castle might provide a key to the mystery.”

  “I was thinking the same thing!” Nancy exclaimed with a mysterious twinkle in her eyes. “Tomorrow I’ll go there and take a look around that castle and those old walls!”

  CHAPTER IV

  The Haunted Walk

  SHORTLY after breakfast the following morning, Nancy, Bess, and George drove to Heath Castle. By studying a map of the area, they had discovered a little-used road which led to the abandoned estate. Though this woodland route was rough and dusty, Bess preferred it to another boat trip.

  “Hope we don’t get a flat tire,” Nancy remarked, maneuvering the car to avoid jagged rocks. “How much farther is it?”

  George peered at the odometer and noted that they had traveled about five miles from the outskirts of River Heights.

  “We’re coming to something!” she exclaimed a moment later.

  Through the trees the girls caught a fleeting glimpse of a tall tower. The car rounded a sharp curve, blotting it from view. Then the road ended abruptly in front of a high, vine-covered stone wall.

  “The front boundary of the estate!” Bess announced. “There’s the name Heath Castle on the gate.”

  Nancy jumped from the car and led the girls to the iron gate. It was fastened by a heavy iron chain, secured by a huge padlock.

  “The key I have won’t open this padlock,” Nancy said. “It’s for the front door.”

  “Who put the padlock on?” Bess asked.

  “Probably Daniel Hector, the executor,” George replied.

  “Whoever it was is determined to keep everyone out,” Nancy said thoughtfully.

  “How do we get in?” Bess asked.

  “Over the top, commando style,” George urged. “Lucky we wore jeans.”

  Nancy and Bess looked with misgivings at the sharp iron spikes of the high, rusty gate.

  “I don’t like the idea of climbing over that. There must be an easier way to get in,” Nancy said, her gaze roving along the crumbling, ivy-covered wall.

  The girls walked alongside for some distance. Finally they came to a spot which was a bit lower than the gate and offered good toe holds. It was not difficult for them to grasp vines and pull themselves to the top. Bess wa
s reluctant to go, but decided to follow. The three friends leaped down on the other side of the wall and started through the dense growth of trees and shrubs.

  It was damp and cool beneath the canopy of leaves. There were many eerie noises. As they progressed, Bess said she felt very uneasy.

  “Listen!” she commanded tensely. “What’s that?”

  “The cooing of a pigeon,” Nancy replied. “Come along, or we’ll all have the jitters.”

  Just ahead stretched a long avenue of oak trees, which the girls thought might lead to the castle. They tramped through the waist-high grass and came to a vine-tangled, fern-matted bower. Two handsome stone vases lay on their sides, broken. Apparently rain water had filled them and frozen during the winter, bursting the vases.

  “What a shame this place is being neglected!” Nancy commented, pausing a moment. “Mr. Hector ought to take care of it. Surely there must be money in Mr. Heath’s estate set aside for that purpose! If Juliana should come back, she would hardly recognize the place.”

  At the end of the oak-lined avenue, the girls came to a weather-stained loggia of stone. Its four handsomely carved pillars rose to support a balcony over which vines trailed. Steps led to the upper part.

  After mounting to the balcony, Nancy and her friends obtained a fine view of the nearby gardens. They had been laid out in formal sections, each one bounded by a stone wall or an un-trimmed hedge. Here and there were small circular pools, now heavy with lichens and moss, and fountains with leaf-filled basins. Over the treetops, about half a mile away, the girls could see two stone towers.

  “That’s the castle,” said George.

  Amid the wild growth, Nancy spotted a bridge. “Let’s go that way,” she suggested, starting down from the balcony.

  In a few minutes the trio had crossed the rickety wooden span. Before them lay a slippery moss-grown path.

  “The Haunted Walk,” Nancy read aloud the name on a rustic sign.

  “Why not try another approach?” Bess said with a shiver. “This garden looks spooky enough without deliberately inviting a meeting with ghosts!”