“A detective never tells her secrets,” she said, laughing. “But I promise we’ll all join you later.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Rick replied.
Nancy, Bess, and George quickly showered and changed their clothes. Then they set off in Nancy’s convertible for Bridgeford. The old town, situated about a mile from the main road, was a beehive of activity.
“Oh, this is simply wonderful!” Bess cried out in delight, gazing around at the quaint buildings, some of which had been restored.
“I like that covered bridge,” George spoke up. “I suppose it led to what was the main road in olden days.”
“This rushing stream was used to turn the water wheel in that old mill,” Nancy remarked. Some distance up the stream stood the miller’s vine-covered cottage. The great wheel and the grinder were in a wing of the house.
The girls walked around for a while, inspecting the ancient bakery which as yet held no food; the blacksmith’s shop with its fire pit, anvil, and smoke-stained walls; and finally what a workman told them had been the “artillery house.”
“What does that mean?” Bess asked.
The man explained that it had once contained firearms—rifles, pistols, cannon, together with bullets, gunpowder, and other weapons for helping ward off unexpected attacks from enemies.”
“You mean like Indians?” Bess inquired. The workman nodded.
As the girls walked off, Nancy said, “Perhaps we’ve done enough sight-seeing and should find the old stagecoach.” She was about to ask another workman where it was when the girls saw John O’Brien coming toward them.
He smiled broadly. “I thought I saw you here,” he said. “Let me show you around.”
Nancy thanked him but said, “We’re eager to look at the stagecoach.”
John O’Brien told the visitors to follow him, and led the way to an old barn which had not yet been repaired. As he opened the creaking door, the man said, “There she is. I detached the horses. They’re in another barn.”
“May we inspect the stagecoach?” Nancy asked.
“Sure. Go ahead. But don’t damage anything.”
John O’Brien said he had an errand to do in another part of the village. When he finished he would be back. The young man strode off and instantly the girls began to investigate the ancient vehicle.
Nancy took the photograph of old Mr. Langstreet’s stagecoach from her purse to compare it with this coach. She stood off at a short distance and surveyed the one in the barn, then stared at the picture. The design and size were identical!
A pleased smile came over her face. “Girls, it looks as if this might have been Great-uncle Abner’s stagecoach!”
“Super!” said George. “Now let’s find that clue!”
After a short conference, it was decided that George would search the driver’s seat and the box under it. Nancy would examine the interior, while Bess investigated the “boot” at the rear. This was a great triangular leather sack attached to the back of the stagecoach to hold baggage.
There was complete silence for many minutes as the girls worked. George went over every inch of the driver’s seat, removing the cushion and looking thoroughly in the leather-lined box beneath. She found nothing.
Nancy had no better luck inside. She had turned up and thoroughly examined under and around the cushions on the front and rear seats, and the one in the center. She had felt the padded walls and looked for any opening. Then she had dropped to her hands and knees for an examination of the floor. Finally she came to the conclusion that no clue was going to be found easily.
Just then Bess gave a loud squeal. George and Nancy jumped to the ground and ran to her side.
“Have you found the clue?” Nancy asked excitedly.
Bess had unbuckled the cover of the “boot” and inside had found a newspaper dated 1860. Quickly she laid it on the ground and carefully turned the pages, skimming through the various items and advertisements which might yield the clue for which they were hunting.
Finding nothing, she turned back to the first page and this time all the girls went over each article minutely. Still they found nothing to help them.
“Oh dear!” said Bess. “I thought sure I had solved the mystery!”
The newspaper was put back into the “boot” and the fastenings closed.
“If the clue is in this stagecoach, it’s well concealed,” Nancy remarked. “I wonder if we could possibly look inside the cushions and other hiding places.”
At that moment John O’Brien returned. He seemed to be excited. “Come on with me, quick!” he exclaimed. “They’re going to put the water wheel into operation. It hasn’t turned in a hundred years!”
The three girls hurried along beside him up the towpath which led to the miller’s home. There were a few sight-seers present, but the bulk of the audience was comprised of people working on the restoration.
Bess was swept toward the great water wheel
They crowded into the small cellar room which contained part of the sluiceway leading to the big wheel. The girls became separated from John O’Brien and were pushed against one of the wooden sides of the sluiceway.
“Everyone set?” called a man standing not far from Nancy. He had one hand on a great wooden lever which could divert the water to or from the great wheel.
“Guess we are!” came a reply.
The man pushed the lever with all his might. Instantly tumbling, gushing water rushed into the sluiceway, headed for the wheel’s blades. At the same instant the crowd surged forward to watch.
An overeager man stumbled into Bess and knocked her off balance. Unable to steady herself, the astonished girl tumbled headlong into the sluiceway!
Bess cried out and tried to grab the wooden side, but the rushing water was too powerful. She was swept along toward the turning blades of the great water wheel!
CHAPTER III
An Ominous Warning
WHEN Nancy and George realized what had happened to Bess, the two girls made a wild leap forward and grabbed for her in the sluiceway. Water spurted in all directions over the stunned onlookers, as Nancy and George managed to pull their chum to safety.
“You all right, young lady?” cried out the man who had turned the lever.
“Y-yes,” Bess sputtered.
She was a bedraggled sight, with her hair and clothes hanging limp! “Please, let’s go home,” she said plaintively.
“Right away,” Nancy replied.
The worker who had jostled Bess off balance apologized profusely, and asked if there was anything he could do.
The forlorn girl shook her head. “No, thanks.”
The man in charge of the mill now ordered everyone out of the place. Coming over to the girls, he said, “I’m mighty sorry this happened. Thank goodness you weren’t hurt.”
The three friends left hurriedly and headed at once for Nancy’s car. John O’Brien, who only a moment ago had realized that Bess was the victim of the accident, caught up to the girls and offered to do whatever he could.
“I’ll be all right,” Bess assured him.
Nancy said that she had a raincoat in the back of the car which Bess could put on during the drive back to Camp Merriweather.
“Outside of the little accident, we really had a wonderful time here,” Nancy told John O’Brien. “Thank you for suggesting we come.”
The trucker saluted and went off to his job. The girls were soon back at the lodge.
“I’ll pull into an inconspicuous spot in the parking yard,” Nancy told Bess. “Then we can go up the back stairway and nobody will question you.”
“Thanks,” said Bess. “I suppose you mean the Monteiths.”
Unfortunately, the three girls had no sooner stepped from the convertible than they were confronted by Ross and Audrey who appeared like apparitions out of the bushes that surrounded the parking area.
“Why, Bess Marvin!” Audrey Monteith cried out. “Whatever have you been doing to yourself?”
�
�I had a little swim,” Bess returned tersely.
As if disbelieving Bess’s words, Audrey pulled aside the raincoat the girl was wearing. Seeing the soggy clothing beneath, she remarked, “But not a swim you intended to take.”
Bess offered no further explanation. Nancy and George did not say a word as the three walked up a path toward the rear of the lodge. Audrey and Ross followed close behind.
“Mrs. Strook is a delightful old lady, isn’t she?” Ross queried.
“Yes, she is,” Nancy answered.
“Have you known her a long time?” Ross prodded.
“Long enough to feel that I know her rather well.”
“So you won’t talk?” Audrey remarked. “Nancy, you don’t have to be so tight with your information. Tell us, why did you and Bess and George go to see Mrs. Strook?”
Nancy and her friends were annoyed, but resolved not to lose their tempers. George, however, could not resist a remark. “Like you and your husband, we had a cool drink there—only ours was iced tea.”
The Monteiths looked at each other as if to say, “We’re not going to find out anything now,” and hurried down a side path.
Bess fumed, “Nancy, first thing you know those two horrible creatures will be taking the mystery right out of your hands and trying to solve it themselves!”
Nancy was silent for a few seconds, then she set her jaw firmly. “Let them try it!” she said.
When the girls reached their rooms, Nancy suggested that they put on bathing suits and go for a real swim. Bess grinned. “My second today. And anyway, we promised Rick and the others we’d join them later.”
For the next few hours the three girls thoroughly enjoyed themselves. There was no mention of the mystery until they were preparing for bed. Then George asked Nancy how she planned to continue searching for the clue in the old stagecoach.
“I’m going to ask Mrs. Strook’s permission to tell part of her secret to Mrs. Pauling, the woman who owns the stagecoach. Maybe she’ll let me make a more thorough search.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Bess remarked. “When do you plan on going?”
“Monday morning.”
Bess and George said they would have to be counted out as they had promised to play in a tennis match at that time.
“I’m sorry,” said Nancy.
Next day, Sunday, the girls went to church in town. Later Nancy phoned Mrs. Strook’s home and gave her the latest news.
“Do you think there’s a good possibility that coach was Great-uncle Abner’s?” the elderly woman asked eagerly.
“Yes,” Nancy answered. “It certainly looks a lot like the picture. I thought perhaps Mrs. Pauling might let us investigate a little deeper. Do you know her?”
“Not personally,” Mrs. Strook answered, “but I understand she’s a fine woman and is very civic-minded. I believe she would keep my secret and at least tell us anything she may know. Yes, Nancy, go ahead and talk with her.”
Directly after breakfast on Monday, Nancy drove to Mrs. Pauling’s home. It was a large house built at the top of a knoll and reached by a winding driveway. In front of the house was a wooded area, screening the residence from the highway. Nancy could see barns and other buildings to the rear as she drove up and parked.
At the same instant she heard yelping dogs approaching, and within seconds she was surrounded by a pack of hunting hounds.
Nancy smiled. “They’re cute—and harmless.”
She was about to pick up her purse and get out of the car when from around the comer of the house bounded two very large police dogs. They began to bark noisily and instantly the hunting hounds slunk away.
The police dogs took up stations on either side of Nancy’s convertible and from their ferocious expressions and unfriendly barks she knew that they would not allow her to alight from the car.
“This is a fine mess,” Nancy told herself. “Now what am I going to do?”
As if in answer to her question, the front door opened. A woman of about sixty, wearing attractive sports clothes, hurried toward Nancy. “Rex, be quiet!” she commanded. “Brutus! That will do for now!”
There was instant obedience. Together the dogs trotted off around the side of the house.
“I’m sorry about such a reception,” the woman said. “The dogs are having their morning run.” She smiled engagingly. “You see, I am well protected.”
Nancy laughed as she stepped from the car. “They were certainly on the job. I’m Nancy Drew from River Heights. I’m staying at Camp Merriweather. Are you Mrs. Pauling?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to talk to you a few moments if I may,” Nancy said.
Mrs. Pauling’s face broke into a broad smile. “You may talk, but don’t try to sell me anything,” she warned. Before Nancy could assure her that this was not her intention, the woman inquired, “Are you by any chance Carson Drew’s daughter?”
“Why, yes, I am.”
“Then you are most welcome here,” said Mrs. Pauling. “Your distinguished father took care of a case for my late husband and did a very fine job. Mr. Pauling praised him many times for the work.”
“Dad’s wonderful,” Nancy said, as Mrs. Pauling led the way into the house, then through a long, wide hall and out a rear door to a beautiful patio garden. “I’m up here on vacation and happened to stumble on a mystery. It may concern the old stagecoach you donated to Bridgeford. May I tell you about it?”
“Please do,” Mrs. Pauling said, as she indicated comfortable chaise lounges and chairs. “Let’s sit down here.” She stretched out on one of the lounges while her caller chose a bamboo chair.
Nancy told about Mrs. Strook and her great-uncle, Abner Langstreet. By the time she had finished her story, Mrs. Pauling was leaning forward, listening intently.
“I’m certainly going to help all I can,” she remarked. “If the men who worked on the old stagecoach found anything in it, they failed to tell me. But I’ll phone the carpenter and the painter at once and find out what they know.”
Mrs. Pauling arose and walked to the ground-level porch to use a wall telephone. As Nancy waited, she picked up a local newspaper. There were large headlines telling the sad plight of the Francisville school children.
“Poor kids! If I could only find that clue,” Nancy thought, “it might help the situation!”
When Mrs. Pauling returned, she said that the carpenter had not come across anything unusual while restoring the old stagecoach. But he admitted that he had not taken the vehicle completely apart. Something might be hidden, he thought, deep inside the cushions, behind the upholstered sides, or even between the leather lining and the wood of the compartment beneath the driver’s feet. The painter could offer no help either.
Mrs. Pauling sat lost in thought for several seconds. Then she said, “Tomorrow morning I’ll have John O’Brien bring the stagecoach back here. I’ll ask the carpenter to come over. You and he can take the old stagecoach entirely apart if necessary to find this clue that is going to mean so much to the town of Francisville.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” cried Nancy, who felt like hugging the woman. “And may I bring along my friends who are vacationing with me?”
“By all means,” Mrs. Pauling said graciously.
Nancy, eager to tell Mrs. Strook and Bess and George the good news, said good-by to Mrs. Pauling, hurried through the hall, and out the front door toward her car. As she neared the convertible, a tall, muscular man in work clothes strode from among the trees in front of the house. He was about fifty years of age and had a very sour expression.
“Are you Nancy Drew?” he asked, stepping directly toward her.
“Yes.”
Suddenly the stranger began to wave a finger in Nancy’s face. “I’m here to tell you,” he cried out, “that I don’t want all these city folks movin’ in and ruinin’ our countryside! Water pipes, electric lights, and now a new school that’s goin’ to cost a mint o’ money to us taxpayers! I won’t have it, I tell yo
u!”
As the irate man paused for breath, Nancy, who had stepped back in dismay, said in defense, “I have nothing to do with all those things!”
“Yes you do!” the stranger shouted at the top of his voice. “You’re part o’ this whole deal! Now you keep your nose out o’ our community affairs!”
He glared belligerently at Nancy. “If you don’t,” he warned, “you’re goin’ to get hurt!”
CHAPTER IV
Hard-fought Games
Too amazed to reply again, Nancy stared at the truculent stranger. As he burst into a second tirade, the two police dogs suddenly raced around the corner of the house and growled.
“Good boys!” Nancy cried out.
The intruder did not wait to find out whether the dogs were friendly or not. Turning on his heel, he ran with long strides and disappeared among the trees. The dogs raced after him, giving deepthroated barks.
Nancy waited. Within three minutes the dogs were back. Turning to step into her car, she saw Mrs. Pauling in the doorway. The thought occurred to Nancy that perhaps the woman might know the intruder. She asked her.
“No, I never saw him before,” Mrs. Pauling replied. “What a dreadful creature! I arrived too late to hear all he was saying to you. At the end, though, it sounded like a threat.”
Nancy admitted that it was. “I think I’ll hurry down to the main road and see if I can find out who he is. He’s probably running off in a car. I’ll follow him.”
The young sleuth jumped into her convertible and sped off. But when she reached the main road, there was no car in sight and no sign of the strange man.
“If he lives around here,” Nancy told herself, “shopkeepers in town probably know him. I’ll go into Francisville and make some inquiries.”
As she drove along the tree-shaded main street, Nancy noted that all the buildings were old-fashioned, with the exception of a new large, brightly lighted supermarket. Seeing a quaint-looking drugstore, Nancy decided that the proprietor might be a good person to interview. The drugstore owner, a short, plump, jolly person, smiled at Nancy and asked what she would like.
The Clue in the Old Stagecoach Page 2