The Witchmaster's Key

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “This looks like the cap Nip Hadley wears,” Frank exclaimed.

  “Right. I wonder if he was one of that gruesome twosome.”

  Frank turned the cap inside out. In the moonlight he read the label. The cap came from a store on the Isle of Man. They decided this was a clue they would investigate when they got the chance.

  “Perhaps we should go there,” Frank said.

  They trotted back to the parking area where they had left Rowbotham in his car. It was deserted. There was no sign of the auto. The professor was gone!

  CHAPTER XII

  Mysterious Message

  JOE scratched his head. “I wonder where the prof is!”

  “Search me. Looks like he vamoosed on us,” Frank said. “Think he’s a phony? Maybe he knew those guys were waiting for us. That would explain why he was so dead set on getting us to Stonehenge.”

  “Could be. But why? Perhaps that bump on his head was acting up and he went to a doctor. Let’s check.”

  They jogged into town, where they went to police headquarters. The officer on duty shook his head when they described Rowbotham. No such person had been reported injured.

  The Hardys next tried the Salisbury hospital. The reply was negative there, too. No patient had come in to have a bump over his eye treated.

  Frank and Joe walked to Salisbury’s main street.

  “Lost–one professor!” Joe said, worried.

  Frank, too, was solemn. “We’d better get back to Griffinmoor as soon as possible, if there’s a train at this time of night.”

  The station was dark and deserted when they arrived. A schedule told them the next train to Griffinmoor did not leave until the following noon.

  “Too bad we don’t have a broomstick to ride back to the witch museum!” Joe grumbled.

  “We could try our thumbs,” Frank suggested.

  Glumly they walked to the highway, trying to hitch a ride. Finally a car stopped. The driver was about their age. He said he was a student and would give them a lift as far as Oxford.

  “Fine,” Frank told him. “It’s on the route to Griffinmoor. That’s where we’re going.”

  As they drove along, the three discussed the differences between England and America. The sun had risen by the time the spires of Oxford came into view. The Hardys got out, thanked their driver, and began thumbing again.

  At Bedford, a large Lincoln Continental pulled to the side of the highway to wait for them. Eagerly they ran to it.

  The driver was a stout motherly woman, who wore an enormous hat that resembled a bowl of fruit. Around her neck was a large fox fur. She invited them to get in and started up again. Frank and Joe explained they were traveling from Salisbury to Griffinmoor.

  “All the way from Salisbury!” the woman said sympathetically. “And all night on the road! You poor boys must be tired!”

  “I could be more lively,” Frank admitted.

  “And I’m not about to do any handstands either,” Joe said. Then he added, “Where are you going, ma’am?”

  “Home!”

  “Home?” the Hardys queried in unison.

  “Yes. You boys need a bath, a meal, and a nap. My house is just the place. When you feel fit, you can resume your journey.”

  Frank and Joe were alarmed at the thought of any delay in their investigation.

  “Where’s home, ma’am?” Frank inquired.

  “Johnshire. Only about twenty-five miles out of your way. We should be there in an hour.”

  “Well, that’s very kind of you, but you see, we have to be in Griffinmoor at a certain time and—”

  “Nonsense! Wherever you have to be, you won’t be any good if you’re tired out. Nothing’s as important as a good rest.”

  “We’ve been resting in the car,” Frank protested weakly. “Right now, I feel like a million dollars!”

  “And I’m ready to do handsprings like crazy!” Joe boasted.

  “You’re just saying that,” the woman objected. “I know. I have three sons of my own. I understand what boys need. You’re coming home with me. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  The Hardys became desperate. They urged her to drop them off. She repeated that they had to be spruced up after being awake all night. They insisted they did not want to be any trouble. The smiling woman replied that they would not be any trouble at all.

  She kept on driving, and they wondered how to escape from the motherly grip of their good Samaritan. They were beginning to give up hope when she slowed her car to turn off the main road. Frank made a split-second decision. He nudged Joe with his elbow, a signal to get ready for action.

  As the nose of the car began to turn the corner, Frank wrenched the door open and flung himself out. Joe piled out after him. They hit the turf alongside the highway, tumbled over, and scrambled to their feet.

  “Whew! That was a close call!” Joe gasped.

  They saw the car stop halfway up the side street. It began to back toward them!

  “She thinks we fell out!” Frank cried. “Make tracks before she corrals us again!”

  They raced up the highway and caught another ride in the nick of time. This driver took them into Cambridge and left them standing on the sidewalk in front of a grilled gateway. A plaque read: DOWNING COLLEGE.

  “I’d like to see the Cambridge colleges,” Joe remarked.

  “So would I,” Frank answered. “But we don’t have time.”

  A lorry rattled down the road. The driver said he could take them as far as Griffinmoor.

  “Great!” Joe said as they climbed up.

  They reached the Rowbotham house, feeling tired, dirty, and discouraged. Joe punched the doorbell, and Sears gasped when he opened up.

  “What’s the matter?” Frank asked him. “Did you expect us to stay in Stonehenge permanently?”

  “Oh, no sir,” the butler responded. “It is simply that Professor Rowbotham has been wondering where you were.”

  It was the Hardys’ turn to stare. “You mean the professor is here?” Joe exclaimed.

  “Yes sir. He is waiting for you.”

  “How long has he been back?” Frank wanted to know.

  “Long enough to become angry with you, I’m afraid.”

  They found Rowbotham sitting in an easy chair in the study. He had his hands cupped over the handle of his cane. The bump on his head was still there.

  They hit the turf alongside the highway!

  “What did you mean, leaving me alone at Stonehenge?” he scowled.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Frank said. “You were the one who did the leaving! Why did you drive home without us?”

  “But you sent me a message saying that you weren’t coming back with me!”

  “What?”

  “Oh dear, now I see. It must have been a deception. Tell me, what happened to you?”

  After hearing them out, the professor looked embarrassed. “Ah–ah, I must apologize for blaming you,” he said. “The fact is that a man came along while I was asleep in the car. He woke me up.”

  “What did he look like?” Frank asked.

  “He had a heavy shock of ah–gray hair. Also a bushy beard.”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. The description fitted the leader of the witch mourners at the funeral of John Pickenbaugh!

  “The man,” Rowbotham went on, “told me he had a message from you boys.”

  “What was it?” Joe asked.

  “He said you had picked up an important clue, and had gone off to investigate it. He said you wanted me to drive back to Griffinmoor alone.”

  “That was a lie!” Joe informed him. “We would never have told you to drive over a hundred miles when you were woozy from that blow on the head!”

  Rowbotham nodded. “I can see that now. But at the time, I thought you had met the man who phoned here. I supposed he had given you vital information about the burglary at the Witch Museum.”

  “That’s understandable,” Frank said soothingly. “But how did you manage
to drive to Griffinmoor?”

  “Ah–ah, by that time I felt rested. Had a bit of trouble starting the car, but the man was very kind and helped me.”

  “I bet he was kind!” Frank muttered.

  “Well, ah–ah, I suppose I should have suspected him. Not very perceptive at all. Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry,” Joe said. “We made it back okay.”

  “Ah–ah, I am glad you did. Now I’ll go to my room and take a nap.”

  Sears helped him up the stairs. Frank and Joe went outside to make sure the butler would not hear them. They stopped by a rosebush to discuss the new turn of events.

  “I suspect the prof,” Joe asserted. “Why didn’t he try to find us in Stonehenge?”

  “And was he really as dizzy as he pretended?” Frank mused. “Or is he fuzzing up the facts to keep us in the dark? What’ll we do now?”

  “The car, Frank! Maybe it’ll tell us more than the prof did.”

  They went into the garage and searched the compact. Joe had his head in the trunk when Frank called him in an excited voice. He was in the driver’s seat. As Joe approached, Frank handed him a cablegram.

  “Take a gander at this! I found it wedged between the two front seats!”

  Joe opened the cablegram. It was from New York. The message read: Plans changed. Get rid of Hardys.

  CHAPTER XIII

  A Near Miss

  JOE whistled. “Somebody’s awfully careless with his cables!”

  “That’s for sure. This is one hot item to leave where we can find it. Any ideas off the top of your head, Sherlock?”

  Joe hazarded a guess. “The cablegram was dropped when Bushy Beard helped the prof start his car in Stonehenge. Now we know for sure somebody’s out to get us. And he’s got a partner in the good old U.S.A.”

  Frank reflected for a moment. “If Bushy Beard dropped it accidentally, then he’s our enemy, not the professor.”

  “Still, I think we should ask point-blank if the cable belongs to him,” Joe said.

  “All right. His reaction might give us a clue.”

  The clatter of horses’ hooves announced the arrival of Nip Hadley. The Craighead groom rode Midnight up the semicircular driveway and drew rein. The Hardys joined him. They noticed he had a black eye and wasn’t wearing his cap.

  “Where’d you get the shiner, Nip?” Joe asked.

  “Playing soccer.”

  “Why no cap?” Frank said.

  “Left it in the stable.” The groom quickly changed the subject. “I’m glad you blokes are here. I have news for you.”

  “Spill it, pal,” Frank said.

  Nip glanced around to see that nobody was listening. Then he bent down and whispered, “I was in the kitchen over at Craighead Castle. I heard someone mention your name. Not a friendly voice, either. I don’t know who it was, but he could be an enemy of yours. You better watch out!”

  “Looks as if we have enemies all over England,” Joe joked.

  “Also across the Atlantic,” Frank continued.

  “What are you driving at?” Nip seemed puzzled.

  Before the Hardys could reply, a red MG eased into the driveway. Nip turned in the saddle to make sure the vehicle had enough room to pass his horse. Deciding it had, he looked again at his American friends.

  The MG came up slowly until it was a few yards away. Suddenly the driver stepped on the gas. Gravel spun under the tires as the car powered forward.

  The MG hurtled at Frank and Joe! They whirled and saw that the driver was wearing a mask. Instinctively the Hardys hit the ground behind Midnight, using the horse for a shield.

  The sound of the advancing automobile frightened the animal. It reared and threw Nip out of the saddle. He landed on the Hardys, and all three lay sprawled in the driveway.

  The MG careened past like a red flash and roared away in a cloud of dust.

  Nip picked himself up and quieted his horse, while Frank and Joe got shakily to their feet. None of them had noticed the car’s license plate.

  “I saw an emblem of the London Motor Club,” Joe reported. “At least it’s a clue.”

  Nip remounted, wondering aloud why anybody would want to kill the Americans.

  “That’s for him to know and for us to find out!” Frank responded grimly. “By the way, Nip, can you arrange a tour of the castle for us? We’d like to see how the Craigheads live before we go back home.”

  Nip looked down in surprise. “When will that be?”

  Frank gave Joe a sidelong wink, telling him to play along. “Pretty soon.”

  “Any day now,” Joe agreed. “How about the tour?”

  “Sorry. Ain’t got the authority. I’m just in charge of the stable. You’ll have to ask somebody who works inside the castle. Cheerio!”

  Turning Midnight’s head, Nip slapped the horse with his crop and cantered down the driveway. The clip-clop of horseshoes on gravel died away.

  “This case is getting more mysterious all the time,” Frank observed.

  “And more dangerous,” Joe warned. “Let’s go in. We can talk to the prof when he wakes up. If he knows anything about the cablegram, he’d better come clean.”

  Sears informed them that Rowbotham was awake and in the study. The murmur of voices told them a visitor had arrived. As they approached the room, they recognized the caller’s voice. It was Dr. Burelli.

  “There’s only one way for us to solve the problem,” the dentist was saying, “and that is to get rid of—” He broke off upon noticing Frank and Joe.

  Rowbotham invited the boys into the study.

  “My patient and his brother,” Burelli greeted them. “How do your gums feel, Joe?”

  “Fine,” Joe said. “No problem.”

  “No pain?”

  “None.”

  “Ah–ah, we were discussing the Gravesend Players,” Rowbotham interjected. “One actor wants to play a lead role that he is simply incompetent to handle.”

  “Fancies himself as Hamlet,” Burelli stated “but he should stick to Peter Pan. As I came in the back way, I spied you talking to Nip Hadley. You seem to be friends with him now. He’s not a bad chap when you get to know him.”

  “Nip’s got a few rough edges,” Frank said. “That’s all.”

  “The groom needs grooming.” Burelli laughed.

  “We asked him if we could tour the castle,” Frank went on, “but he said he didn’t have the authority to let us in. Only someone who works in the place could.”

  “Ah–ah, Sears’ sister is married to Goodman, the Craighead butler,” Rowbotham said. “Perhaps he could arrange it for you.”

  “That would be great!” Joe said.

  The professor rang for his servant and requested that he ask his sister about the matter.

  “Certainly, sir,” Sears replied. “I am sure we can do it. My sister is the housekeeper at the castle and will be glad to take you around. I’ll go along to make sure everything is in order.”

  The boys were galvanized. “How about tomorrow, Sears?” Frank asked. “We would like to get a good night’s rest before starting on that venture.”

  “Agreed, sir,” Sears replied.

  “Well, I must return to duty,” Burelli informed the gathering.

  Rowbotham escorted him to the front door. When he came back, Frank pulled the cablegram from his pocket and handed it to him.

  “What is it?” the professor asked.

  “Read it, sir.”

  Curiously Rowbotham glanced at the piece of paper. A look of alarm came over his face. “Ah–ah, that is–well, that is outrageous!”

  “We thought so, too,” Joe said.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “In your car!”

  “What? Impossible! How would it get—”

  The professor staggered over to his easy chair and collapsed in it.

  CHAPTER XIV

  The Curse

  ALL the blood had drained from the professor’s face. He looked ill.

 
Frank was alarmed. “You need to see a doctor, sir!”

  Rowbotham shook his head. “Ah–ah, I did. He told me I had a mild concussion. Nothing to worry about.”

  Joe was suspicious. “Is the cablegram what’s bothering you?”

  “Just so. But I know–ah–nothing about it. I am concerned for your safety. Perhaps some evil person wants you out of the way because you are close to a solution of the burglary at the Witch Museum.”

  “We have made no headway,” Joe scoffed. “This looks like one case we’re not going to solve!”

  “I have a feeling all these mysterious shenanigans are connected with Lord Craighead’s disappearance,” Frank said. “Was he really on his way to Dublin five years ago?”

  Rowbotham shrugged. “Everybody in Griffinmoor believed he was. Nobody denied it at the time.”

  “It could have been a cover story he dreamed up,” Joe pointed out. “Anyhow, there’s one place to look for him.”

  “Where?” Rowbotham asked.

  “Dublin!”

  Frank nodded. “I go along with that. We’d better add Ireland to our transatlantic tour. Professor, suppose you spread the word that we’ve gone home. That way we can carry on the investigation without fear of anybody tailing us.”

  Rowbotham agreed. He told them to go to Tara Lodge near Dublin. “This is the home of Lord Craighead’s army friend, Colonel Melvin Stewart. They were supposed to meet there.”

  The Hardys made their plans that night. They would visit Craighead Castle the next day, and on the following morning, fly to Dublin.

  “I’ll pack the cap we found at Stonehenge,” Frank said. “Maybe we can go to the Isle of Man and check it out.”

  The following day they set out with Sears for the Craighead estate. Joe drove Rowbotham’s compact through town and out into the countryside, while Frank mulled over the mysterious cablegram from New York. He put a pointed question to the butler.

  “Sears, have you any relatives in America?”

  “No, sir. But my brother-in-law, Mr. Goodman, has a cousin in New York. Why do you ask?”

  Frank pretended to be unconcerned. “Just curiosity. Being Americans, we’re interested in Englishmen who have relatives living in our country.”