The Moonstone Castle Mystery

by Carolyn G. Keene

  During this conversation, Nancy quickly prepared two cups of hot cocoa. Then she brought out some delicious angel cake which their housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, had made. Father and daughter sat down to enjoy the snack and to wait for a report from police headquarters. When half an hour had gone by and no message had come, Nancy asked her father if he would mind calling the police.

  “You do it,” he suggested, giving a big yawn. “I admit I’d like to get some sleep. But without knowing whether or not that prowler has been captured, I doubt that I can doze off.”

  Nancy hurried to the phone. The report was disappointing. Detective Donnelly had reported to headquarters from a pay phone that the prowler had abandoned his car and fled into the woods. There was no chance of finding him in the dark.

  “Donnelly is returning to your house,” the sergeant went on. “It’s possible that the suspect may double back. Incidentally, the car he was in was reported stolen today, so we have no clues to his identity.”

  Nancy relayed the message to her father and the two started upstairs.

  “I suppose I should tell you a little bit more about the Horton case,” the lawyer said. “Just this afternoon I received a message from a woman in Deep River whom I have been trying to contact. She was a college friend of Mrs. Horton’s who had been out of touch with her for ten years —in fact, until just before Mrs. Horton’s death. This Mrs. Emory remembers she phoned the Horton house to talk to her friend about a class reunion. A man answered but did not give his name. He said that Mrs. Horton was too ill to come to the phone. However, he did say he and his wife, employed there as servants, were leaving shortly for San Francisco.”

  “And that,” said Nancy, “is where you found out that a Joan Horton went. They probably took her!”

  “Right.” Mr. Drew went on to say that he had been to call on the present owners of the Horton property.

  “They are very nice and wanted to be helpful, but knew little about what had taken place at the house. They had bought the property through a realtor after the former occupants moved out of town. They did give me one clue, though. Soon after they had moved in, they had come upon a postcard dropped behind some old junk in the attic. It was addressed and mailed in New York eighteen years before, to Mr. and Mrs. Ben Oman in San Francisco. It was signed Claire.”

  “And you think that Oman might have been the name of Grandma Horton’s servants?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes, I do,” her father replied. “Anyway, I think all these clues in San Francisco are worth investigating.” He ushered Nancy ahead of him and began to turn out the lights.

  His daughter stopped and smiled at him. “Are you sure there will be anything left for me to do in Deep River?” she teased.

  “Plenty,” he assured her. “And what’s more, my dear, I like your fantastic intuition when you’re working on a case.”

  The two said good night for the second time and soon were asleep. The following morning Nancy drove her father to the airport to catch an early plane to the West Coast. Upon her return, she found Bess and George at her home with their luggage.

  Bess said with a broad smile which revealed her dimples, “I brought a swim suit, a tennis racket, and hiking shoes. We’re going to have some fun up in Deep River Valley as well as sleuthing, aren’t we?”

  Hannah Gruen, the pleasant, motherly woman who had taken care of Nancy since the death of her mother when Nancy was only three years old, thought it an excellent idea.

  “If you can make people think you’re there on vacation, it probably will be advisable.”

  Nancy was thoughtful. “I’m wondering if I should take the moonstone,” she said.

  At once Bess spoke up. “Please do. It’s supposed to bring you good luck, and when you’re solving mysteries, you can use it!”

  “Luck certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Mrs. Gruen remarked.

  George was inclined to consider the whole matter superstitious. “But if you want to take the moonstone just to look at because it’s beautiful, okay.”

  The others laughed and Nancy went to get the mysterious gift, which she put into her purse.

  “Everybody ready?” she asked. “If so, let’s go!”

  Her own suitcases were already in the car. Those belonging to Bess and George were carried out and stowed in the luggage compartment.

  “Good-by, Hannah dear,” said Nancy, hugging the housekeeper. “Take care of yourself.”

  “The same to you, Nancy.”

  The three girls stepped into the car. Before Nancy could turn on the ignition, the telephone in the Drew home rang. She waited while Hannah answered it. A few moments later the housekeeper came running outside, waving her arms.

  “Nancy, wait! There’s a phone call for your father, but the man says he’ll talk to you. It’s urgent!”

  Quickly Nancy jumped from the car and ran inside to the phone. The caller was Mr. Bowen.

  “Oh, Miss Drew,” he said, his voice betraying nervousness, “I’ve just received a threatening phone call from a man. He said that if anyone dared to try solving the mystery of our grandchild, he would be walking into great danger!”

  Nancy was amazed, but realized that some person or persons involved in the case must be extremely afraid of being investigated.

  “Your father phoned me last night that you and some friends are going to Deep River to look for clues to the mystery,” Mr. Bowen went on. “After the threat I’ve been given, it probably would be unwise for you to go! Please, Nancy, stay home!”

  The young sleuth, by this time, had made up her mind what to do. “No, Mr. Bowen,” she said, “I’m not going to let anybody scare me off this case. I promise you I’ll be careful, though, and not let myself be trapped.”

  Mr. Bowen said he admired her courage, but pleaded with her to heed the mysterious warning.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Nancy promised.

  She returned to the car and told the others about the phone call. Before either of the girls had a chance to be influenced by Mr. Bowen’s advice not to make the trip, Nancy kissed Hannah again, slid behind the wheel, and waved a cheery good-by.

  Mrs. Gruen stood gazing after the girls, shaking her head as if to say, “Nobody can threaten Nancy Drew and get away with it! It worries me, but I admire her courage.”

  Late in the afternoon the girls reached Deep River, a small but bustling town. They easily located the winding road which led up the mountainside to the Long View Motel.

  “What a gorgeous view!” Bess exclaimed when they reached the top. “You can see for miles up and down the valley.”

  “Yes,” said Nancy, “and as soon as we unpack some of our things, I want to take a good look at it.”

  The travelers found the owner, Mrs. Thompson, to be a delightful woman about thirty-five years old. The motel itself was charming and had a homelike atmosphere. The girls were shown to one large room with three beds in it.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable,” Mrs. Thompson said. “If there is anything you want, just let me know.” She left the room.

  “All I want right now is to stretch my legs,” said George, who began to do some calisthenics before unpacking.

  In a short time the girls had hung up their dresses and put away their other clothes and toiletries in the pine bureaus. Nancy put the moonstone in its little satin-lined case in an evening bag and hid it under a couple of scarves in one drawer.

  She picked up the binoculars she had brought, and asked the others if they were ready to walk around the terrace and see the view of Deep River Valley.

  “Sure thing,” said George.

  As Nancy locked their door, Bess and George began to walk around the grounds. They were delighted to see two tennis courts and a swimming pool.

  Nancy, meanwhile, walked to the edge of the terrace from which the ground fell away sharply. She raised the binoculars to her eyes and viewed the valley and town below.

  “I wonder where the Horton house is,” she thought, not seeing one which fitted the descrip
tion her father had given.

  Suddenly Nancy noticed that a thunderstorm was brewing. For a few moments she watched the scudding black clouds. Then, as she swept the binoculars downward toward the river, she focused directly on an unusual sight.

  “A castle!” Nancy murmured to herself.

  The building stood on an island. It was two stories high and had a turret at one end. Around three sides was a dry moat with a drawbridge, which was up, and formed part of the castle wall. When Bess and George joined her, they took turns using the binoculars, so that they too might view the castle.

  “How absolutely fascinating!” Bess exclaimed. “To think of a real castle way out here!”

  “I suppose the moat was once filled with water that came from the river,” George commented. “While we’re here, let’s go down and see it at close range.”

  Nancy nodded agreement. Taking the glasses again, she studied the building and grounds, then said, “The surroundings look pretty wild. I wonder if anyone lives there.”

  The three girls were so intent on the view that they had not noticed that the storm clouds were coming closer. A strong gust of wind suddenly blew their skirts.

  “It’s going to rain!” said Bess. “We’d better go inside.”

  As they started back, the girls passed a huge oak tree. At that instant a bolt of lightning ran down one side of the trunk. A terrific cracking noise followed. The ground vibrated, giving Nancy and her friends a tingling sensation.

  “The tree’s going to fall!” Bess screamed.

  CHAPTER III

  A Strange Inquiry

  THERE was a tremendous crash behind the girls. The great oak had split in two, the outermost branches of the falling section barely missing Nancy and her friends.

  “Hypers! That was a narrow escape!” said George, catching her breath. “I feel numb.”

  “So do I,” said Nancy. “It’s a good thing we weren’t any closer to that bolt! We might have been struck!”

  “I’m a wreck,” Bess declared. She kept on going, however, toward the motel.

  As the three girls rushed inside, there was a bright flash of lightning. It was followed by a deafening roar of thunder.

  “There’s no rain!” said Bess, quavering. “What’s the matter?”

  Nancy answered her, “I guess this is what’s known as a dry storm. They’re the worst kind.”

  In a few moments, however, it began to rain. The curtain of water was so thick that one could not see more than ten feet ahead through the windows. As they watched the storm, Mrs. Thompson came to the girls’ room to inquire if they were all right.

  Nancy assured her that they were, but confessed that the bolt of lightning and the crashing tree had given them a scare. “I’m terribly sorry your lovely oak is ruined,” she said sympathetically.

  “I’m sorry too,” the motel owner replied, “but the ruined side is away from the motel. Perhaps the tree surgeon can fix it up so that it won’t be too noticeable.”

  “Do you often have storms like this?” Bess asked.

  Mrs. Thompson said it was the first one since she had taken over the management of the motel. “But then I’m new to the community. I’ve been here less than a year.”

  “Then perhaps you don’t know much about the castle I saw down in the valley,” Nancy remarked. “It looks like an intriguing place.”

  Mrs. Thompson smiled. “I have no doubt it is. Since I came here I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to learn much of the local history. But” —she paused a moment, her eyes twinkling—“I suggest that if you want to learn anything about Deep River or Deep River Valley, you talk with Mrs. Hemstead. She’s the mother of the owner of the tearoom downtown called the Brass Kettle.”

  The three girls laughed and George remarked, “You mean she’s the town busybody?”

  “I guess that’s a good name for her,” Mrs. Thompson answered. “She prides herself on not missing a thing that’s going on.”

  Nancy was listening intently. Here was somebody who might know something about Mrs. Horton’s grandchild!

  “Let’s have supper at the Brass Kettle,” she said to the girls, who realized the significance of her suggestion.

  They waited until the rain had stopped, then left for the quaint village. Nancy drove the full length of Main Street, looking left and right for the Brass Kettle. Not seeing it, she turned around and started back, remarking, “The tearoom must be on a side street.”

  As they rode along, pausing at each cross street, Nancy noted the lettering on two different office windows. Both offices were occupied by attorneys. “I wonder if one of them was the lawyer who settled the Horton estate, and if so, whether he has returned from his vacation,” Nancy mused.

  She also noted that there were two banks, and made up her mind to visit all four places the next day, and find out what she could.

  Suddenly George called out, “I see the tearoom. Stop! Turn to the right!”

  Nancy backed up, then drove down the side street. The Brass Kettle was two doors from the corner.

  The place was attractive. In front of the old-fashioned white house with a center entrance was a lovely garden of flowers, enclosed by a white picket fence.

  The girls entered the restaurant. The interior was just as quaint and attractive as the exterior. On the left of the center hall was a waiting room with a high-backed sofa and straight chairs. Several hanging shelves with knickknacks decorated the walls. Over the fireplace, in an elegant gilt frame, was the portrait of a distinguished-looking elderly man with white hair and a long beard. Velvet carpet, with a large flower design, blended perfectly with the other furnishings.

  Nancy and her friends noted all this in a quick glance. Their attention focused on an old lady seated in an antique rocker. Her black silk dress was severe and the neckline edged in ruching. Talking to her was a short, stout man, his back to the girls.

  As the girls paused, they heard the old lady say to him in a high-pitched voice, “The name’s Drew, you say? I’ll let you know.”

  Bess and George each grabbed one of Nancy’s arms. Did the stranger perhaps mean Nancy or her father?

  Instantly Nancy decided it might be wise to stay out of sight. Pulling the girls to one side, she whispered, “I’ll go into a back corner of the tearoom. Find out what you can, and if you have to give names, just use your own. Don’t mention mine or let on I’m here.”

  Nancy hurried around the corner of the doorway and found a table well hidden from the waiting room. Meanwhile, Bess and George dawdled in the hall, hoping to hear more and to get a good look at the man. Eventually he moved into view.

  Bess rearranged her hair several times, then took out a compact and spent a few moments powdering her nose. George, whose hair was short and close cut, found it difficult to change her hair style, so she, too, powdered her nose. Then she pretended to be having difficulty brushing some imaginary dirt off her blouse.

  Suddenly the man said to the elderly woman, “I must meet Miss Drew. I have something very valuable to give her.”

  Bess jumped. It might be a gift for Nancy!

  “Very good, Mr. Seaman,” the woman replied.

  Bess whispered to George, “We ought to call Nancy and let him give her this valuable thing if she’s the right Drew.”

  “Not” George said in a low but firm voice. “If he means Nancy, I don’t believe there’s any gift. Bess, you go in with Nancy and tell her what happened. I’m going to follow that man and see what I can find out.”

  Her cousin demurred for a moment, but George was insistent. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” she promised. “I’ll just see where he goes.”

  Satisfied, Bess turned into the tearoom and walked to the table where Nancy was seated.

  As Mr. Seaman said, “Good-by, Mrs. Hemstead.... I’ll be seeing you,” George turned her back to the waiting room and put her head down as if searching for something in her purse. The man came out and immediately left the restaurant. George followed.
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  The stranger walked up Main Street, block after block. His pace quickened. So did George’s.

  “Where in the world is he going?” she asked herself. “I wonder if he knows I’m following him and is trying to throw me off the track.”

  Nevertheless, she strode on determinedly. Finally, at the very edge of town, she noticed a parked car. As the man approached it, the door swung open and he jumped inside. Instantly the automobile drove off.

  George was not close enough to do any more than get the license number of the dark car and note that the driver was a woman. It was too dark to distinguish anything about her. The young sleuth turned back.

  At the tearoom Nancy and Bess ordered their supper. They ate slowly, thinking George would return at any moment. They finished eating and still George had not returned. Both girls became alarmed. What could have happened to George?

  “I never should have let her go alone,” Bess chided herself. “George takes such wild chances. Goodness only knows what she may have gotten into.”

  Nancy was afraid that Mr. Seaman, thinking George was following him and not wishing to be found out, might have harmed her.

  “George may be a prisoner this very minute!” Bess said fearfully.

  Though Nancy agreed, she remarked, “George knows how to take care of herself. Just the same, I think we should go look for her.”

  The girls quickly paid their checks and left the tearoom. They looked up and down the side street, then walked to Main Street. George was not in sight.

  “That Mr. Seaman may have been the man who phoned the Bowens,” Bess said. She was almost in tears. “M-maybe that threatened danger is already in progress!”

  As the girls wandered aimlessly along the street, a little boy, who had been playing on the sidewalk, smiled at them.

  Nancy returned his smile and said, “We’re looking for a friend of ours,” she explained, then described George. “Did you see a girl like that anywhere around?”

  “Oh, yes,” the little boy answered. He pointed. “She went that way.”