The Castle Conundrum (Hardy Boys)

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Libby was holding her palm against her cheek. “Are you hurt?” Joe asked her.

  Her lips moved, but he didn’t hear any words. He took her hand and gently moved it away from her face. There were no cuts, only a pinkness where she had been pressing her hand against it.

  “I … I …” Libby stammered. “Up there. I saw him. Or … or something. It looked like a puff of smoke, but I knew. It was the spirit of the Sieur! He doesn’t want us here. He is saying, ‘Leave!’ Or he’ll drive us away.”

  A crowd gathered to listen to Libby. On their faces Joe saw a mixture of unease and doubt. Was the chateau really haunted?

  “I, too, looked up when the stone fell,” Manu said. “I saw no ghost. I think you imagine this.”

  Luis took Libby’s side. “If she says she saw something, she did.”

  “This is just what I warned you about,” Gert added. “The spirit of this place is angry with us.”

  “Nonsense,” Marie-Laure said loudly. “There is no ghost here. This is my family’s home since the days of Charlemagne. Would we stay in a place that is haunted?”

  “You didn’t stay,” Gert pointed out. “Your family moved away from Fréhel after the Sieur was killed. You let the chateau fall into ruins. Your ancestors and the townspeople left because they were afraid of something they could not explain.”

  Before Marie-Laure could reply, her brother pushed forward. He stopped with his face just inches from Gert’s. “You will stop this idiotic talk at once,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Gert’s face reddened. “You will not tell me what to do,” he retorted. “Your family does not rule here any longer. You are too arrogant.”

  “You dare to speak of arrogance?” Jean-Claude said. “You?” He gave an exaggerated laugh.

  Joe put one hand on Gert’s shoulder and the other on Jean-Claude’s. “Okay, take it easy,” he said. Gert tried to shrug him off. Joe tightened his grip.

  “Joe’s right,” Frank said. “Arguing won’t get us anywhere. Personally, I’d like to take a close look at the wall up there. A stone that size doesn’t fall all by itself.”

  “Just my point,” Gert said. He took a step back from Jean-Claude. Joe let go of his shoulder. “The Sieur’s ghost must have pushed it.”

  “If he did,” Joe said, “he’s been working out at the Spookytown Gym. That looked like one heavy stone!”

  Kevin came running up the street. “What happened?” he demanded. “Is anybody hurt?”

  Welly explained, and a couple of times Gert seemed ready to chime in with his ghost theory. Joe thought that the scowl on Jean-Claude’s face may have stopped him.

  When Welly finished, Frank asked, “Can Joe and I go up and look at the castle wall? I’d like to see if we can get an idea of how the stone fell.”

  Kevin gave him a shrewd look. “I’ve got no problem with that,” he said. “But the chateau is private property. It’s nothing to do with TVI.”

  “I’ll take you,” Jean-Claude offered.

  “Be very careful,” Gert said. “The ghost of the Sieur may decide to push you off the castle wall.”

  Jean-Claude turned away and muttered something in French. Joe guessed it meant, “I wish someone would push you.”

  The path to the chateau was steep and rocky. It ended at the edge of a dry ditch about eight feet deep and ten feet wide. A rickety wooden footbridge crossed the ditch to the chateau’s main gate.

  “This is the moat,” Jean-Claude told them.

  “I thought moats were filled with water,” Joe said.

  Jean-Claude laughed. “In Provence? You would have to be very rich indeed for that! No, the moat is simply to slow down anyone who attacks the chateau. If you withdraw the bridge, they must climb down one side and up the other. While they do, you can shoot arrows or drop things on them from above.”

  “Things like a big stone,” Frank said.

  Jean-Claude didn’t reply. He led the way across the bridge and through the unbarred gate. Joe noticed a crooked sign tacked to a post near the bridge. The faded letters read:

  Propriété Privée Défense d’Entrer

  The Hardys didn’t need much French to translate that: “Private Property—Don’t Enter.” The sign didn’t look likely to stop many trespassers.

  Once past the gate, they had to walk through an arched tunnel.

  “We are going under the guardroom now,” Jean-Claude explained. “Once there were holes in the ceiling for shooting more arrows at invaders. They are blocked off since a long time. Watch where you step,” he added.

  Good advice but a little late. Joe had just bumped his foot on a rock.

  The tunnel led to a big courtyard. High walls encircled it. Some of them had tall arched windows. Others were bleak, bare stone.

  Frank looked around. “I’m confused,” he admitted. “Aren’t castles supposed to have pointy towers with walls around them? I see the wall, but where’s the castle?”

  “It is part of the wall,” Jean-Claude said. “True, many old chateaux had a strong central building. It was called the donjon or keep. If the enemy got through the outer wall, the defenders could retreat to the keep and go on fighting.”

  “I remember that from a TV special about the Middle Ages,” Joe contributed. “One castle had three different sets of walls and a keep.”

  “A royal castle, I think,” Jean-Claude said. “Who but a king could afford enough men-at-arms to guard so many walls? Here at Fréhel, the cliffs were the first defense. Because of them, there was no real need to build a separate keep. My ancestors saved much effort by making the outer wall one of the sides of the living quarters. The great hall even has big windows that look out onto the village. You will see later.”

  “This place is fascinating,” Frank said. “I’d love to take a closer look around. But right now, how do we get to where that stone fell from?”

  “We have to go here,” Jean-Claude replied. He led them around a corner and pointed.

  Frank gulped. A series of squared-off stones stuck out from the wall. Each was higher and farther to the left than the one before it, to form a set of stairs. Some stones stuck out a couple of feet. Others were barely a foot wide. Here and there, gaps showed where a step had broken off altogether. Of course there was nothing like a handrail.

  “You see why we cannot allow visitors,” Jean-Claude said gravely. “If we ever decide to open the chateau to the public, we will first have to put in an ugly modern stairway.”

  “I’d hate to go up those steps in the dark,” Joe said. “That’d be a good recipe for a broken neck.”

  Frank took the lead. The stones felt very solid. As long as he didn’t look down, he was okay. Still, he gave a sigh of relief when he stepped onto the top of the wall.

  The wall was wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The outer edge was about three feet higher than the walkway. Frank imagined bowmen leaning out to shoot arrows, then ducking back for protection from the besiegers’ reply. He looked over the edge. The place the stone had landed was twenty feet over to the right.

  “That way,” Frank said. Joe was already ahead of him.

  “Look at this!” Joe exclaimed. He pointed at the top of the wall. “These scratches are lighter than the rest of the stone. I think they’re fresh.”

  “You’re right,” Frank said. “And this patch near the outer edge looks damp.” He touched his fingertip to it. Definitely wet, and cool, too.

  Joe bent down to pick up a short, thick piece of wood. The ends looked scraped, as if they had rubbed against something hard. “This could have been used as a prop,” Joe said. “The same as that booby trap yesterday.”

  “Yes, but there’s no string tied to this one,” Frank replied. “What made the stone fall when it did? How’s this … our baddie guy props the stone so it’s tilted toward the edge. Then he shoves a block of ice under it to hold it up and takes the prop out. The ice melts, the stone tips over the edge, and boom!”

  “Sounds good to me,”
Joe said. “So the guy comes up here after breakfast and rigs the trap. Then he has plenty of time to go back down and establish an alibi before it falls.”

  “You fellows are something,” Jean-Claude said admiringly. “Anyone would say you were real detectives!”

  “Er—thanks,” Frank said. “But if we’re right, you see what it means. The guy had no way of knowing exactly when the stone would fall.”

  “Or whether someone would be in the way of it,” Joe added. He rubbed the fresh scratch on his arm. “It’s only luck that nobody was killed.”

  After lunch another game of pétanque was started. Joe stopped to watch. Marie-Laure was seated on the other side of the square. She waved, then pointed to a place next to her on the bench. Joe went over and sat down.

  “If we are to be partners tomorrow,” Marie-Laure said, “you must look and learn.” She gave him an impish grin.

  “I don’t think that’ll do it,” Joe said. “I’ll need some practice, too.”

  “I’ll play with you this evening,” Marie-Laure promised. “You will pick it up quickly, I know.”

  Joe let his eye wander over the sunlit houses, the narrow, crooked lanes, and the looming presence of the chateau. “This is quite a place,” he said. “You must be really fond of it.”

  “Oh, yes,” Marie-Laure said. “It means very much to me. To all my family. If only we can keep it from the hands of Immo-Trust …”

  “Who’s that?” Joe asked, puzzled.

  Marie-Laure twisted her hands in her lap. “A very powerful firm of developers,” she replied. “Parisians. They want to make Fréhel into a place for only the rich. They would put guards down in the valley to turn away ordinary people. If Sophie can raise enough money for TVI, there is no problem. But if not, we may have no choice. We may be forced to sell the entire property to Immo-Trust.”

  Joe remembered Marie-Laure’s words that evening. According to custom, everyone went up to the ledge to watch the sunset. Before they returned to the village, Sophie said, “There is something you should all know. An important newspaper in Avignon has just printed a long article about Fréhel.”

  “That’s super!” Welly said. “What did it say about TVI?”

  “Nothing very good, I’m afraid,” Sophie told him. “It deals mostly with history. It retells the legend that the Sieur’s ghost haunts the village. Much talk about mysterious events and so on. Then it suggests that our program is close to collapse. It claims those in it are being frightened away.”

  “What nonsense!” Marina scoffed. “Anyone can see we are all still here.”

  Sophie nodded. “True. But many more people will see the article than will see us. And those who have thought of supporting TVI with their contributions may think again. Will they want to throw their money away on a failing program?”

  “This is a disaster!” Narguib declared. “What can we do?”

  “Stay calm,” Sophie replied. “If people from the media come to visit, show them the positive work we are doing. Tell them about the spirit of friendship and cooperation among young people from such varied countries.”

  “They can see all that for themselves,” Antonio said. “They simply need to look.”

  “People don’t always see what is in front of them,” Manu pointed out. “Especially if they are hoping for something else.”

  “A very good point,” Sophie said. “And of course they will be. They will be hoping for something to astonish and amaze their audience. That is why it is so important for us to avoid saying anything to suggest—”

  “Look!” Luis suddenly exclaimed. “Up there!”

  Joe spun around and stared up at the chateau. What was Luis so excited about?

  Then he saw it. One of the tall window openings of the great hall was starting to brighten with a ghastly green color. A vague glowing form that was not human floated slowly across the opening.

  Those around Joe started muttering in their different languages. Libby gasped and thrust the knuckles of her right hand between her teeth.

  The form floated past a second window. Moments later it appeared over the wall of the chateau. Its movements became jerky and threatening. Suddenly it began to rise quickly, then dwindled into the evening sky and vanished.

  In the silence that followed, Libby cried, “It was him! I saw his face! He hates us! He wants us all dead!”

  6

  Spook Hunt

  Libby started to tremble. Sophie went over and put an arm around her.

  “I am furious!” Jean-Claude announced loudly. “Whoever is responsible for this is my enemy and the enemy of TVI!”

  “Even if it’s your great-great-great-grandfather?” Gert asked.

  Jean-Claude clenched his fists and took a step toward him. Frank moved between them. “That’s not helpful,” he told the German boy. “Who got a good look at that thing? Anyone?”

  The others hesitated. During the silence, Frank scanned the circle of faces. Just as he thought—no one was missing. Either the incident was the work of an outsider, or it involved some sort of delayed action device. Unless, of course, they had just had an authentic visit from the ghost of the Sieur de Fréhel.

  “It was huge,” Welly said. “At least ten feet tall.”

  “No, no,” Sari said. “I am sure it was no more than two or three feet high.”

  Some of the others laughed. Welly and Sari had such different impressions. Frank was not surprised. He was used to hearing eyewitnesses disagree about even the simplest detail.

  “At least everyone saw it was green?” Manu asked.

  “I’d say greenish white,” Marina replied. “More white than green. Hardly green at all, in fact.”

  “What did you think of the sword of fire it was holding?” Antonio asked.

  “What rubbish!” Welly said. “It wasn’t holding anything!”

  “Did you see a sword of fire?” Joe asked Antonio.

  “Well … no,” Antonio admitted. “I wondered how suggestible you are, that’s all. In truth, I saw only something that glowed and moved. It looked like nothing in particular. But definitely green.”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Kevin said. “If any of you know something about this stunt, I hope you’ll think long and hard. You could do serious damage to everything we’re working for.”

  “I suggest we all go back and have a tisane,” Sophie said. She noticed Frank’s questioning look and added, “That’s an herb tea. Whatever that thing was, it gave some of us a shock.”

  The group started down the path to the village. Frank and Joe fell in next to Marie-Laure and Jean-Claude.

  “We’d like to look around the chateau,” Frank announced.

  “That does not astonish me,” Jean-Claude said. “But now? Impossible. You must wait until morning.”

  “If there’s anything that would show what really happened tonight, it may be gone by morning,” Joe pointed out.

  “I know that,” Jean-Claude replied. “All the same, you must wait.”

  “The chateau is not so safe even when you have light to see well,” Marie-Laure added. “I know it well since I was a baby. Even so, I would not go there by night. Say you do not fall through a hole in the floor. There are still the vipères that hide among the stones.”

  “But—” Joe began to say.

  Marie-Laure gave him a roguish look. “Besides, tonight you must practice at pétanque. You promised!”

  The peep-peep-peep of Frank’s wrist alarm bored into his dream. He opened his eyes and brought the dial close to them. Five-thirty. He rolled over and looked toward the nearest window. It glowed with the pinkish gray of first light.

  Frank climbed down from his bunk and touched Joe on the shoulder. Joe awoke instantly. They quickly pulled on shorts and T-shirts. Carrying their shoes, they crept down the stairs to the street. After a moment to slip on their shoes, they started up the hill toward the chateau.

  As they crossed the footbridge to the entrance tunnel, Joe murmured, “How do w
e find the great hall? We haven’t been there yet.”

  “We look for the biggest room,” Frank replied, with a straight face. “No, seriously—it’s behind those tall arched windows. How hard will that be to find?”

  Not hard, as it turned out. The first doorway they entered led them to a huge roofless space with rows of windows on two sides. Oddly, the bottom edges of the windows were twelve feet up from the stone floor.

  “Why are they so high?” Joe wondered. “Was this a chapel?”

  “Look at the fireplace, down at the far end,” Frank replied. It, too, was up from the ground. “There must have been another floor, about ten feet over our heads. It probably went the same time as the roof.”

  “So we’re standing in the cellar,” Joe said. “Weird.”

  Frank lowered his gaze from the walls and windows. “Hmm. This place has been abandoned for years, right?” he asked.

  “Right,” Joe said.

  “Then tell me this,” Frank continued. “How come the floor is so clean?”

  Joe scanned the floor. Then he said, “Simple question, simple answer. Somebody swept it. Look. Over here you can still see the marks of a broom.”

  “And a pile of dust,” Frank added. “So whoever swept wasn’t worried about dirt. They were getting rid of traces they’d left. Footprints, whatever.”

  “Not all of them,” Joe said, with excitement in his tone. “Look at this.”

  Frank joined him near the outer wall. At the edge of one of the flagstones was an odd spiral mark about six inches across. It looked scorched. In the center of the mark, a blackened thumbtack was stuck into a crack in the stone. A thin layer of gray ash covered the area.

  Frank touched his fingertip to the ash, then smelled it. “Why am I thinking of backyard barbecues?” he wondered aloud.

  “Because that looks like ashes from a charcoal grill,” Joe responded. “Duh!”

  “Uh-uh. That’s not it,” Frank said. “Here. Smell.”

  Joe sniffed the ashes. His face changed. “Hold on,” he said. “It’s that mosquito stuff. Like in candles. What’s it called?”