The Witchmaster's Key

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Oh, is that so?” the woman sniffed.

  “Yes, you see we’re apprentice witches ourselves.”

  “Where from?” the man snapped.

  The unexpected question caught Frank off guard. As he fumbled for an answer, Chet came to his assistance.

  “Bayport, U.S.A.”

  “Witchmaster?” the man snarled.

  “Chief Collig!” Joe said quickly.

  Frank, Phil, and Chet had a hard time keeping their faces straight. Chief Collig was the head of the Bayport Police Department!

  “Never heard of him,” the woman said. “But then, we never heard of Bayport, either.”

  “You can find it on the map of the United States,” Joe assured her.

  Frank intervened. “We’d like to visit a coven while we’re on the Isle of Man. Can you set it up for us?”

  The black witches exchanged glances. Then the sister nodded. “Maybe we can arrange it for you.”

  “It will cost you ten pounds each,” the man added. “Come back at nine o’clock tomorrow night. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  Strolling back through Douglas, the Hardys discussed the situation with their pals. Phil and Chet agreed that forty pounds was a lot of money to invest in their adventure. They decided to cut the sum in half.

  Frank and Joe would pay twenty pounds to visit the coven. Phil and Chet would tag along as backups in case of trouble.

  “It will be worth twenty pounds if we discover any clues,” Frank pointed out.

  “But now that we’ve found the stolen items from Griffinmoor,” Phil said, “shouldn’t we notify the police immediately?”

  “Not yet,” Joe replied. “We don’t have proof. It would be our word against theirs. The Douglas police wouldn’t have any reason to believe us. We’ll have to get in touch with Griffinmoor first.”

  Frank turned his head slightly and looked out of the corner of his eye. “Keep walking and don’t look back,” he said in an undertone. “We’ve got a tail behind us.”

  Following his directions, Joe, Phil, and Chet strolled nonchalantly along as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

  Phil also spoke in an undertone. “Do you recognize him, Frank?”

  “I sure do. He’s the guy who threw the dart at Harry Burk in the pub!”

  They turned a corner. So did their shadow. He pretended to be looking in the shop windows.

  Frank said, “We’ll go to the inn as if nothing were happening. If he follows us, he may tip his hand.”

  There seemed to be nothing better to do. When they arrived, the landlady was inspecting a batch of receipts at the desk. She ignored them.

  Frank peered covertly out the lobby window. “Our shadow’s headed this way. He’s coming in!”

  “What’ll we do now?” Chet asked.

  “You three go up to the room,” Frank said. “I’ll stay on the second-floor landing and keep watch.”

  Scuffing their feet, the boys made a lot of noise as they climbed the three flights of stairs. Frank silently remained on the second-floor landing. Then he tiptoed down as far as he could and peered over the bannister into the lobby.

  Their shadow came through the door and advanced to the desk. The landlady leaned toward him and he whispered something into her ear. Then, furtively, he hastened out.

  The landlady picked up the telephone and dialed a number!

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Kidnapped!

  FRANK strained to hear what the landlady was saying, but she spoke in a voice too low for him to understand.

  When she hung up, Frank tiptoed up the stairs to their room. Silently he opened the door, slipped inside, and told the others what had happened.

  “I don’t know what we’re up against now,” he concluded. “But we’re sitting ducks. Maybe two of us should stand guard while two sleep.”

  His companions agreed, and Phil and Joe took the first shift. But the night passed without incident.

  In the morning they held a council of war to plan their strategy for the day.

  “We don’t have anything on tap until nine o’clock tonight,” Phil observed. “What say we spend the day at the beach?”

  “Great!” Chet said, and his eyebrows waggled. “Maybe we can meet some girls!”

  “Take it easy, Romeo,” said Joe.

  After breakfast they strolled to a bath house near the promenade, donned swimming trunks, and ran into the deep water. They swam around like seals for half an hour. Then they went to the beach and sprawled on the sand beside some other bathers. They began to chat.

  Phil lowered his voice and said, “Why are these people smiling at us?”

  “I noticed that, too,” Frank said. “Maybe they’re just friendly.”

  A woman heard him. “I’ll tell you why,” she said. “It’s because you’re very brave boys!”

  “What do you mean, ma’am?” Frank was puzzled.

  “Aren’t two of you the Hardy boys?”

  “Yes, we are. I’m Frank. This is Joe.”

  “Well, then, you’d want to read this.”

  The woman handed Frank a newspaper. Phil, Chet, and Joe gathered around him and read over his shoulder.

  The London paper described the sinking of the ferryboat. Frank and Joe Hardy were named as the two American passengers who did not abandon ship until just before she sank, and were picked up by a rescue boat.

  The captain was quoted. “They were very courageous,” he said, “to take their chances in the Irish Sea instead of trying to climb aboard a crowded lifeboat.”

  “Wow!” Chet exclaimed. “A couple of heroes.”

  “Indeed they are,” the woman said, as Frank returned the paper and thanked her.

  But he looked unhappy. “No wonder our cover is blown,” he muttered. “Our enemies know where we are for sure.”

  “Sorry,” Joe said sheepishly. “It’s all my fault for talking too much.”

  “Nothing you can do about it now,” Chet said. “You’re big shots and you might as well enjoy it.”

  “Oh, I hope you do!” the voice came from a girl behind Joe.

  Startled, he turned around to look at the speaker, a willowy blond with a big smile.

  “I mean, I hope you enjoy your stay on Man,” she said. “My name’s Shirley Evans. I live here.”

  After introductions, Shirley asked Chet and Phil if they had been on the ferry boat too, and when she heard about their bicycle trip, she listened politely to their experiences for a few minutes.

  But it was obvious that she had her eye on Joe. After a while, she directed all her attention to him. Joe did not mind at all. They chatted gaily for a while, then moved away from the others, discussing foreign politics of their respective countries.

  Chet shook his head. “What do you know? Joe’s being swept off his feet right before our eyes!”

  “Obviously he’s in love,” Phil added. “Just look at him. His face is one big grin!”

  Frank chuckled. “Shirley’s very pretty. I would be grinning too if she’d picked me.”

  Phil laughed. “Some talk for a hard-boiled detective! I thought you only had work on your mind!”

  “There’s a place and time for everything. Hey look, we’re in again!”

  Shirley had stood up and was addressing all the boys. “Why don’t you come and have lunch at my house? It’s just on the other side of the promenade. Mum and Dad would be glad to meet you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Joe said, and he sprang to his feet.

  But the others were reluctant. “We want another dip. Join you later.”

  Shirley gave her address, took Joe’s arm, and left. At home, she introduced her new American friend to her parents. Mrs. Evans, a charming woman with close-cut hair, was involved in social work. Mr. Evans, a tall, stout man, was a lawyer. They welcomed Joe, served lunch, and plied him with questions about himself.

  “Frank and I have just been to Dublin,” Joe revealed. “We visited Colonel Stewart at Tara Lodge.”

  “That
’s quite a coincidence,” Evans said. “I served under Colonel Stewart in the Army.”

  “Then you may have known the Marquis of Craighead! The one who disappeared five years ago. We’re trying to find out what happened to him.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know Lord Craighead,” the lawyer said. “But I remember when he vanished. It caused quite a stir in military circles. All kinds of rumors were about. One even placed him here on the Isle of Man!”

  “How was that, sir?”

  “A serving girl who had once worked in the kitchen at Craighead Castle took the ferry from Liverpool to the Isle of Man. During the voyage she saw a ragged, unkempt man who looked like Lord Craighead. She couldn’t be sure. I tried to find him without success.”

  A ring of the doorbell announced the arrival of Frank, Phil, and Chet. They, too, had lunch while Evans repeated what he had told Joe.

  “I couldn’t believe the ragged man really was Craighead,” the lawyer went on. “He was an aristocrat, who always dressed well.”

  “He could have been disguising himself to fool everybody,” Phil commented.

  Evans admitted the possibility.

  Frank changed the subject. “Have you lived here long, Mr. Evans?”

  “All my life. I was born here. This house belonged to my grandfather.”

  “Then you must know about the feud between the black and the white witches.”

  Their host nodded. “I’ve heard about it.”

  “These black witches,” Chet asked, “where do they hold their big powwow?”

  Evans laughed. “You mean, where does the coven meet? I’ve been told it’s in an ancient moldering castle on the west coast of the island. That’s all I can tell you about black witchcraft. The white witches are something else. Their headquarters are at the Witches Mill in Castletown.”

  “That’s on the southeast coast,” Mrs. Evans explained. “I’ve been there. It’s quite respectable.”

  Shirley giggled. “Respectable, Mother? How can witches be respectable?”

  “Well, Shirley, the couple who run the Witches Mill told me the coven prayed for rain at their last meeting. I call that respectable. Our farmers need rain.”

  After a little more chatting, the boys thanked their hosts and got up to go. Shirley said to Joe, “Don’t forget to write to me,” and added archly, “it will foster international understanding.” Her father chuckled.

  “I’ll write, scouts honor,” Joe replied as he left.

  On the way back, Joe took a lot of good-natured teasing from the others about his new girl friend, but in their room the talk became serious.

  “If that guy the serving girl saw was Lord Craighead,” Phil wondered, “what was he doing on the Isle of Man?”

  “Who knows? Perhaps he’s still here, alive and well,” Frank speculated.

  “Maybe He Goat came here to see Craighead!” Joe exclaimed.

  Chet flexed his biceps. “I’m ready to butt heads with He Goat!”

  When night fell they returned to Black Magic Hall. The street was empty. A single dim light shone behind the drawn shades of the witch museum. Frank paused on a corner.

  “Let’s synchronize watches,” he suggested. “It’s five to nine. Joe and I will go in and join the coven. If we don’t come out in an hour, you fellows rush to the rescue.”

  “Understood,” Phil said. “Meanwhile, I’ll watch the front of the building.”

  “I’ll patrol the back,” Chet promised.

  “Okay,” Joe said, “here we go.”

  The woman opened the door of Black Magic Hall when Frank tapped on it. An old dusty grandfather’s clock began to sound the hour of nine as they entered. The strokes boomed through the murky museum, setting up echoes in a long dark passageway leading to the rear of the building.

  The sound made Frank uneasy. “That clock bothers me,” he whispered to Joe while the woman was bolting the front door. “It’s like the countdown to a funeral.”

  The man they had spoken to the day before suddenly strode out of the dark passageway and confronted them.

  “Have you the money?” he demanded.

  Frank and Joe each handed him ten pounds.

  The witch counted the bills carefully before putting them in his coat pocket.

  “Never fear, the black witches will take care of you,” he said with a sinister smirk.

  “You’ll have to wear this,” his sister hissed menacingly.

  She deftly pulled a black velvet hood over Frank’s head and drew the string tight under his chin. Her brother did the same to Joe. The Hardys were blindfolded before they knew it.

  They joined hands at a command from the woman, who took Frank by the arm and led him down the dark passageway. Joe followed and the man came last, gripping Joe’s shoulder with fingers like iron claws.

  The rattle of a chain told the boys that a door was being opened. They were pushed out of Black Magic Hall to a car with its motor idling.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” Frank protested. “Where are you taking us?”

  “You want to visit our coven, don’t you?” the man asked. “That’s where we are going. Now get in the car!”

  Frank felt his way into the back seat and Joe stumbled in beside him. Both were uneasy as the car roared off.

  “I wonder if Chet saw us,” Frank thought.

  Chet had spotted them, but the car shot away before he could do a thing. Racing around the building, he told Phil that the Hardys had been kidnapped. They frantically looked for a taxi, but the street was deserted.

  “What’ll we do?” Chet wailed. “They’re gone, and we have no idea where!”

  The car bearing Frank and Joe raced through Douglas, barreling along the streets and taking curves at high speed. The boys could feel the change from asphalt to a dirt road, and they realized they were in the countryside.

  The driver cursed savagely when he had to slow down for a flock of sheep. Circling behind them, he made the speedometer jump again.

  Joe estimated that they had driven for an hour when they began to feel salty sea air. The wheels bounced and jounced over roads pitted with potholes. Finally the driver braked to a jolting stop.

  A couple of powerful men dragged the Hardys out of the car. Again they were ordered to clasp hands. Again they were led forward, blindfolded by the velvet hoods.

  They went down a sloping ramp, through an open doorway, and up a stone staircase. Joe stumbled on the top step and fell.

  The boys were blindfolded.

  “Get up!” a harsh voice growled. “Move on or it will be the worse for you!”

  Frank started to protest that they could scarcely breathe, let alone move, but his words got lost in the folds of his hood.

  Joe scrambled to his feet. The march went on. A flagstone corridor led to a broad curve followed by a sharp corner. There were more stairs and more corridors.

  By now Frank and Joe were completely confused about the route.

  “That’s the idea,” Joe thought. “They’re taking us the long way so we won’t know where we are.”

  Frank, who had been trying to memorize the many turns and twists of the route, gave up in despair. “A white mouse in a maze is a lot better off than we are,” he said to himself. “At least the mouse can see!”

  Rough hands brought the Hardys to a sudden halt.

  “The moon is full,” said a strange voice.

  “The sun has set,” responded the man who had growled at Joe on the staircase.

  “Since you know the password,” the strange voice continued, “only one question remains. Who are these two strangers?”

  “Sacrifices!”

  The word gave the boys cold chills.

  “Are you sure of their identity?” the strange voice demanded.

  “Yes. I followed them to their inn. The landlady gave me their names–Frank and Joe Hardy. She passed the information to Black Magic Hall. That is how we trapped them.”

  “Well done. You may pass.”

  The boys were p
ushed forward and hustled down one last flight of stone steps. They heard a key turn in a lock. A door screeched open and the two captives were hurled headlong into a room as cold and dank as a dungeon. A chatter of eerie voices greeted them. Then all was silent until a man spoke with a gloating cackle.

  “He Goat, unmask them!”

  CHAPTER XIX

  The Torture Chamber

  HE Goat’s fingers loosened the drawstrings and whipped off the velvet hoods. Frank and Joe got to their feet and blinked.

  They were horrified by the scene before them. They found themselves in a large stone chamber with no windows. Rows of black candles flickered from sockets in the walls. Blazing logs on a big hearth sent tongues of flame flicking up the chimney.

  Ten men and women stood in a semicircle facing the boys. All wore hideous witch masks. He Goat was unmistakable, since his mask was the head of a goat with a protruding snout and short, curved horns.

  A wooden throne stood against one wall, and upon it sat a man representing Satan. His ghastly mask was crowned by a weird headdress of purple and white feathers. He held a wand in one hand and a sword in the other. At his elbow stood a crystal ball on a tripod.

  The eyes of the evil creature glistened from the firelight as his gaze bored through the Hardys.

  Now for the first time Frank and Joe noticed an open coffin lying at Satan’s feet. In it was a body, but the boys were unable to get a clear view of the cadaver.

  Finally Satan intoned, “There are now thirteen present. That makes a coven, assuming that our two apprentice witches are genuine.”

  Abruptly he leaned forward and waved his wand over the body of the coffin. His voice became hoarse as he croaked, “Abracadabra! Abracadabra! Abracadabra!”

  The other witches took up the chant, which rose in a howling crescendo, making the Hardys’ blood run cold.

  Then Satan leaned back on his throne and mumbled an incantation. He pointed the sword at the boys and shook his feather headdress ominously.

  “Do you wish to survive this encounter?” he snarled.

  “Yes, we do,” Frank answered.

  “You must swear allegiance to me, Frank and Joe Hardy!”

  Obviously this diabolical character knew them. But whose face was concealed behind that mask in the nightmarish charade?