Frank stared tiredly at the man until the speech was finished. "Fine," he said. "Do you have two rooms available?"
"I believe I can accommodate you and the young lady, sir. Yes, I can put you in executive suites twenty-two and twenty-five, which are right next door to each other, in spite of the numbers."
As he signed the register, Frank leaned across the counter. "You seem to know the town well. Are you familiar with Emily Cornwall?"
"Ah, yes, the poor lass," Winterbotham said, sighing. "Miss Emily arrived a matter of two weeks ago and took up residence in the Talbot mansion."
Karen came over, yawning, and signed her name. "Would you mind if I went up to my room, Frank? Otherwise I'm going to zonk out right here."
"Could we have Ms. Kirk's key? Then you could go on with this interesting story."
"Of course. Nearly asleep on her feet, she is." Winterbotham reached into a cubbyhole behind him. "Here you are, miss, room twenty-five. Do you wish me to see you up?"
"No, I'll find my own way," Karen said, taking the heavy brass key.
"Here are the stairs. Climb but two flights and go left from the landing."
"Got it." Karen glanced back, her eyes heavy. "I'll see you in the morning sometime, Frank."
"A very charming young lady," commented Winterbotham after Karen had departed. "Now, where was I?"
"The Talbot mansion," Frank said.
"It's a huge old pile set in the middle of a dozen bleak acres beyond the moors outside of town. Miss Emily has had few visitors and is said to be ailing. Very rich she is, but then money can't buy good health, as many another has learned. Nor good luck either, considering the accident just the other day."
"What sort of accident?" Frank wanted to know.
"Oh, now, it wasn't the young lady, it was her companion, Miss Sheridan." Winterbotham nodded vigorously. "Poor woman was struck down near the shops by a hit-and-run driver while she was out marketing. She languishes at the moment in a hospital two villages away."
"Who's looking after Emily Cornwall?"
"Ah, she had a bit of luck there - was able to hire someone locally to see to her needs until the injured lady is up and about again." He frowned, trying to remember. "A young woman, I believe, named Miss Forman."
"How lucky," Frank said. "Any other new arrivals in town?"
"Well, there's that Professor Hobart," the hotel proprietor answered. "He arrived a month or so ago, just before poor Miss Emily. Leased the old Oscard estate. That's the place most folk hereabouts call Castle Fear."
"Spooky name. Why do they call it that?"
"It's a grim, gray, bleak place, hundreds of years old, perched on a cliff overlooking the sea." Winterbotham shook his head. "Some say it's haunted. There are also those who say it was a smuggler's den in days gone by. Myself, I believe both stories and don't go near there after dark." He smiled a little shame-facedly. "Nor by day, I have to admit. Too many secret passages, tunnels, and such-like around Castle Fear. I wouldn't want to fall into one, not I."
"What's Professor Hobart supposed to be up to?"
"Writing a book, he says, about local folk customs. If you ask me, the folk around here don't have a single custom worth reading about, unless you're daft." Winterbotham shook his head. "And for the life of me I can't see why the professor needs half a dozen burly lads hanging about if all he does is scribble. But I'm the first to admit I've never tried to write a book. Perhaps he's got them keeping the roof up. The whole castle is in a shocking state. I'm surprised it hasn't tumbled down before now."
"Have you seen the professor?"
"Just the once," Winterbotham said. "He's not a bad-looking chap - tall, thin, and blond, with a bit of a mustache. Talked with him a bit about local customs. But I had the impression that he and I would never be close friends, if you know what I mean."
Frank stepped back from the registration desk. "How would I get to Castle Fear?"
Winterbotham stared at him. "You're not thinking of going there, lad. Not after what I've just told you."
"Actually, you made it sound quite interesting," Frank assured him. "I'm not at all sleepy, and a stroll is just what I need before turning in."
Sighing, Winterbotham ducked below the desk. He reappeared with a large flashlight and a knobby walking stick. "Better take these with you, sir, if you're going near Castle Fear."
***
Daylight came slowly, fighting its way through the heavy sea mist that hung over the countryside. Frank, swinging the borrowed walking stick, was working his way down the winding wooded path that led to the cliffside where Castle Fear stood. Though he couldn't see the ocean through the chilly fog, the salty scent of it was heavy in the air. From the distance came the cries of sea gulls.
Frank recalled the hotel proprietor's description of Professor Hobart, which came awfully close to describing the picture he'd seen of Nigel Hawkins. And the old castle sounded like a perfect headquarters for an illegal operation. Especially with lots of smugglers' tunnels for easy getaways.
Frank was moving briskly along the path. He was worried about Joe. He was sure his brother wasn't dead. Hawkins and his crew could have seen to that easily enough at several points along the line. For instance, they could have captured Joe, Karen, and himself right on the train. Instead, only one of them had been grabbed. That meant Hawkins wanted someone to question, to see how much they knew.
They'd be rough on Joe, to make him talk. So Frank had to get him out of Castle Fear as soon as he could. When he'd stepped out of the hotel, Frank had thought for a moment of going to the local police. But he could imagine the look on the local constable's face when he showed him a couple of pictures of Emily Cornwall and accused this Professor Hobart of kidnapping his brother.
Police were usually a bit short on patience and understanding - especially when you came to them with a farfetched story and no proof. Besides, Professor Hobart, although a recent arrival, was a local resident, while Frank was nothing but an outsider.
No, Frank had decided to gamble on a quick raid, figuring a single intruder had a better chance of getting into the castle without arousing guards.
Frank was clear of the woods now, making his way down a steep, grassy hillside. His target began to loom out of the fog, at first just as darker gray patches in the milky gray of the sea mist.
The place was huge, made up of dark gray blocks of stone dappled with greenish moss - it would make for slippery climbing. Towers rose up at the corners of the outer walls, and up from the main keep inside. Frank could make out narrow windows with rusted iron grilles set in them. They offered no way in. As he scanned the once-impregnable walls, however, he spotted several sections that had fallen away into ruin. High up in the castle's keep, he saw a few lights showing in windows.
Carefully Frank took a zigzagging course down the fog-ridden hillside.
The screeches of the sea gulls were louder, and he could hear the surf pounding at the rocky beach hundreds of feet below the cliff edge.
Frank reached the wall and worked along beside it. He'd noticed a dark gap that wasn't near any of the overlooking lit windows. Yes, he could climb up on the crumbling stone here and get inside.
And nobody would even know he was there.
Frank was already scaling the pile of rubble when a dark figure came flying out of the gap.
Before Frank could raise a hand to defend himself, a shoulder smashed into him.
Together with his phantom attacker Frank tumbled to the ground.
Chapter 13
Joe Hardy stood with his back pressed to a tree trunk. His chest burned from his run into the forest. But he didn't gulp air greedily. Instead he kept his breathing shallow, straining his ears for the sound of the guy chasing him.
He'd been zigzagging through the dark woods for nearly ten minutes. By now he figured he must have gotten a good distance between himself and that creep with the gun.
He grinned as he heard the pursuer go crashing past a hundred yards to his left. The
man was muttering to himself, cursing, plunging on deeper into the dark woods.
Joe said to himself, "This would be a good time to double back."
After listening for another few seconds, he nodded and started back the way he'd come.
Behind him, the man with the pistol plowed his way deeper into the trees. He obviously had no idea where Joe was.
Joe reached the road. The car still stood on the grassy edge. Its front passenger door still hung open, spilling the faint glow of the dome light into the night.
Crouched low, Joe approached the car as if he were stalking a very dangerous animal. It would be embarrassing to lose one gunman, only to be nailed by another one still sitting in the car.
But when he finally peeked inside, the car turned out to be empty.
He eased up to the driver's side and peered in. Then he quietly opened the door, slid behind the wheel, and laughed.
"You should never leave your keys in the ignition," he said aloud as he reached across to catch the handle of the opposite door and shut it. "I mean, that gives people ideas about stealing your car."
The engine was very quiet. Joe was hardly aware that it had started. He strapped on the seat belt, gave a lazy salute in the direction of his stumbling pursuer, and drove off down the road.
Joe got lost twice on the winding country roads and wound up seeing a lot more of the nighttime Kentish scenery than he wanted to. At dawn he found himself in a village - but it wasn't Beswick.
A helpful constable who was walking his bicycle along a tree-lined lane gave Joe detailed directions on how to find his way. The police officer wasn't at all interested in Joe's borrowed auto.
The instructions worked out perfectly, and at a few minutes past eight in the morning, Joe rolled into Beswick. The day was gray and overcast. The village, which resembled the last two Joe had wandered through, had a gloomy feel to it.
Parking the car near the railroad station, Joe set off on foot down toward the center of town. The village was coming to life. Shopkeepers were removing shutters, putting out their wares, sweeping the sidewalk. Joe was still limping from his jump off the train. He was glad when the first inn came into view - the Winterbotham Wayside Hotel.
Joe was heading for the front door, eager for a chance to sit down and get some breakfast. Before he got to it, the door snapped open, and Karen Kirk came tearing out.
She bumped smack into Joe, stared in disbelief, and jumped back. "Joe! You're alive!"
Looking himself up and down, Joe said, "As far as I know."
"But what happened to you?"
"Well, I sort of left the train - urn, unexpectedly," he answered. "I'll fill you and Frank in over breakfast."
"That's just it." Karen's face was pale as she grabbed Joe's arm. "Frank is gone."
"Gone where?" He guided Karen over to a wooden bench by the doorway and sat her down.
"We got to town three or four hours ago. I went up to get some sleep. That's what I thought Frank would be doing, too, as soon as the man who runs the hotel - Mr. Winterbotham - stopped talking his ear off."
"But Frank didn't go to bed."
Karen nodded. "According to Winterbotham, he borrowed a flashlight and a walking stick and headed for a place called Castle Fear."
"Doesn't sound like a tourist joint," Joe said.
Karen filled him in on the other information the proprietor had given her. "This Professor Hobart sounds like he must be Nigel Hawkins."
"So Frank, figuring that Jillian and Jed were being held at the castle, went there to take a look around," Joe finished.
"He thought you were there, too," Karen added. "I mean, we figured you'd been kidnapped off the train and taken to Hawkins's headquarters. As soon as Frank learned about Castle Fear, he must have gone right over there."
Joe shook his head. "And this is the guy who told me to cool it when I ran after the clown who shot at us."
"Frank left hours ago, and he hasn't come back." Karen looked worried. "We've got to get to the castle right away."
"We're not even sure anything's happened to him. Frank may just be looking around - and we might call attention to him."
"What is it with you guys? Don't you ever worry about each other? I'd say three hours was a long time to just be looking around."
"Sure, it's possible something happened to Frank and he's a prisoner now, too." Joe shook his head. "If we're going to storm a castle with just the two of us, we're going to have to make preparations."
"We'll give Frank a few more hours. In the meantime, we'll visit the local library - maybe the church as well." He got to his feet. "We also have some social calls to make. I passed an interesting-looking little restaurant on the way here. They were just opening up. Let's go get some breakfast."
"How can you eat at a time like this?"
"Hey, it's breakfast time. That's a great time for eating breakfast," Joe said. "Besides, assaulting a joint with a name like Castle Fear isn't a job I'd like to do on an empty stomach."
***
Frank Hardy found himself in a scrambling struggle outside the ruined gray battlements of Castle Fear. He'd taken one punch and given the dark figure in front of him two before he realized who he was fighting. "Jed - Jed! It's me, Frank Hardy."
The actor stepped back, stopping in midair the punch he'd been aiming at Frank's face. "Sorry. I thought you were one of the goons here." Jed looked around. "Have you brought the cops with you?"
"I'm by myself. I just heard about Castle Fear and - "
"That's what they call this dump?"
"It's the name the local folks around here gave it." Frank's mind was on other things. "What did you see inside? Was my brother in there? Have you seen Jillian?"
"Your brother?"
Shannon looked confused, and Frank couldn't really blame him. "They grabbed Joe a little while after they got you."
Jed shook his head. "I didn't see Joe - or Jillian, either. Some of those clowns were talking about her, though. She's in the castle someplace - they've got her locked up."
He talked in nervous jerks, his face tight. "It's all about some kind of scam they've got going on, and they're going to use Jillian in some way. I don't like this at all, Frank. They're talking about making her do whatever they've got in mind."
Frank cut off the excited actor. "How did you manage to get away?"
Jed pointed back at the castle. "The bars on my window were loose," he explained. "A few hours of working on them, and I was able to squeeze out. As for the rest" - he shrugged with a slightly embarrassed smile - "the stuff about me doing my own stunts - well, it's not just publicity garbage. I really do them. The jump into the courtyard wasn't so hard - I've done worse for the cameras. After that it was just a case of running for the nearest break in the wall."
"How did they manage to get you in London?" Frank asked.
"That was really stupid." Jed's ears were turning pink. "I was lured into this - urn - business office, and these two guys jumped me on the stairway."
"We know about Bert Dickens - your other private eye."
Shannon's ears went pinker. "Hey, look, I wanted as many people out looking for Jillian as possible. Dickens was highly recommended by a publicity guy in London."
Jed quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, the goons knocked me out, and I woke up here. How did you find me?"
"We can talk about that later." Frank was already picking up his flashlight and walking stick, which had been knocked to the ground by Jed's initial attack. "Right now we have to get back to the village and alert - "
"I think you two would be much wiser to head back into the castle," a cultured British voice boomed out from behind them. "And be quick about it."
The voice took on a steely edge. "I'd rather hate to be forced to shoot you out in the open."
Chapter 14
Joe leaned back in his chair, disappointment showing on his face. "Looks to me like nobody in all of England knows how to make an English muffin," he said, wiping his mouth on hi
s linen napkin.
"That sure didn't stop you from finishing off three of them." Karen Kirk was drumming her fingers on the tabletop.
"Well, that's just common courtesy," Joe explained. "It's impolite not to eat what's put down before you."
She sipped her tea, glancing at her wristwatch at the same time. "What sort of social calls did you have in mind?"
"I'd like to visit Emily Cornwall. Do you know where she's staying?"
Karen sighed. "Oh, yes. Mr. Winterbotham told me all about that - for just about forever."
She pointed down the road they were facing. 'Emily Cornwall is living at the Talbot estate, out beyond the edge of the village. Her longtime companion isn't with her, though."
"How come?"
"The poor woman got bounced around by a reckless driver. She's in the hospital with a broken leg."
"I'll bet our Emily was able to get a new companion, though."
"Right," Karen said. "It's a local woman named Miss Forman."
"Who no doubt is on Hawkins's payroll."
"You think so?"
"Kind of a coincidence otherwise." Joe rested both elbows on the tabletop. "Hawkins needs to have somebody near Emily."
"If Miss Forman is working for him, that will make our business a little tricky, Joe."
He just grinned. "That's the whole challenge." His grin slipped a little. "First, though, we have to drop in on the local library."
"Okay," Karen finally said. "I know that journalists are supposed to start off with research. But why is a detective so interested in the Beswick library?"
"It's a terrible secret," Joe told her, his eyes twinkling. "I've always had this thing for musty old books."
***
Frank Hardy and Jed Shannon found themselves staring down the barrel of a Luger pistol.
The man who held the gun was Nigel Hawkins. "You young chaps have caused me no end of trouble." Hawkins had only one eyebrow raised, and he held the Luger rock-steady. But the look in his eyes said that he'd easily kill them if they tried anything.
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