Contents
* * *
1 A Strange Chat
2 The Stone Arrowhead
3 Witch Lore
4 Rock Idol
5 Press Party
6 Powder Bag
7 Surprise Meeting
8 An Unexpected Visitor
9 A Night on the Town
10 A Haunted Land
11 Spook Attack
12 Danger in the Dark
13 A Whispered Warning
14 Night Sight
15 Undine
16 The Grotto Symbol
17 Secret Altar
18 Witch Bane
1
A Strange Chat
“Guess who’s at the party, Nancy!”
“About half the population of Long Island, I should think.” Grinning, Nancy Drew gazed around at the guests. Some were dancing under a striped pavilion, while others chatted or sauntered about the lawn. Their talk and laughter, mingled with the strains of music, made it difficult to be heard.
“No, be serious, Nan—guess who!”
“I am serious, Bess. I’ve met about a dozen people just in the last few minutes, and I doubt that I’ll remember any of their names when we leave.”
“You’ll remember this person’s name,” Bess Marvin declared firmly.
“All right, I give up.” The strawberry blond’s sapphire eyes twinkled. “Who’s here?”
“Lance Warrick!”
“The rock star?” Nancy’s eyes opened wide.
“How many Lance Warricks are there?” Bess was thrilled.
“Wow! If you’re right, we may be in for a mob scene!”
The teenage detective was something of a celebrity herself, yet even she couldn’t help feeling a tingle of excitement at the chance of meeting the popular British rock star in person. Lance Warrick had that effect on most girls. His group, the Crowned Heads, was just winding up a sensational concert tour of the United States.
“Have you actually seen him, Bess?”
“Not yet, but somebody said he just went by the pavilion, so George is trying to spot him.”
Georgia Fayne, nicknamed George, was Bess’s cousin.
“Aren’t you glad we came, now?” Nancy teased. “Remember how George kept saying this party would be a terrible bore?”
“I know! Oh, Nancy, if we’d missed such a chance, I never would’ve forgiven myself!”
Nancy giggled at her plump blond friend’s quivering enthusiasm. While visiting Nancy’s Aunt Eloise in New York City, the three girls had been invited to a charity garden party given by a women’s university club to which her aunt belonged. The party was being held in a white-columned mansion overlooking the blue waters of Long Island Sound, and so far the girls had enjoyed every minute of it. Lance Warrick would be a terrific added attraction. “Is his whole group here, or just the king himself?” Nancy inquired.
“I don’t know—but wouldn’t it be thrilling if we could meet all the Crowned Heads?” Bess gushed. “Wait! Here comes George now!”
Georgia Fayne could hardly have been more different from her cousin. A pretty, trim-figured girl with short dark hair, she was as active and adventurous as her boyish nickname suggested.
“Well, did you see Lance Warrick?” Nancy asked with a grin.
“He’s back at the pavilion again, dancing with one of the clubwomen,” said George, “but you should see all those idiot debs waiting to cut in!”
Bess dimpled. “You wouldn’t stoop to such tactics yourself, I presume?”
“Only if I could find some way to cut them all out. By the way, Nancy, here’s something for you.” George handed her a folded note.
“What’s this?”
“Don’t ask me. Remember that servant in the white jacket who recognized you when we arrived?”
“The one who held the car door open for us?”
George nodded. “He said a friend was looking for you, and asked me to give you this.”
Since the girls were strangers on the Island, and her Aunt Eloise had another engagement which had prevented her from attending the party, Nancy couldn’t imagine who the friend might be.
The note was on monogrammed cream vellum, evidently torn from a purse pad:
Nancy, can we talk for a few moments? I’ll be waiting by the refreshment table nearest the garden.
Olive Harwood
Nancy gave a little exclamation of surprise. “It’s from Mrs. Harwood! Remember her?”
“Of course,” said Bess. “She used to be a neighbor of ours back in River Heights.”
“Moved to New York, didn’t she,” George added, “after her daughter married that Englishman?”
“That’s right. She wants to talk to me about something. Keep an eye on developments with Lance Warrick, you two—I’ll be right back!”
Nancy started off across the lawn, weaving her way among the party guests. Presently she caught sight of her former neighbor. The straw-hatted society matron looked rather grave and thoughtful but broke into a smile of greeting as the teenager approached. “Nancy, dear!”
“Why, Mrs. Harwood! How nice to see you again! How does Lisa like married life in England?”
“I wish I could say she was ecstatically happy, Nancy, but the truth is I’m worried about her. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Shortly before the widowed Mrs. Harwood had moved to New York, her only child, Lisa, had married an English aristocrat named Hugh Penvellyn. Their wedding had been one of River Heights’ most festive and fashionable in recent years.
It was obvious to everyone that the couple were deeply in love. And the fact that, after their honeymoon, they would be settling in the groom’s ancestral castle gave the whole affair an aura of fairytale romance. But now it sounded as though the two might not be living happily ever after.
“Is anything wrong?” Nancy’s keen eyes searched the other’s face sympathetically.
“I’m very much afraid so.” Mrs. Harwood sighed. “Yet, I seem to be groping in the dark—that’s what’s so frustrating, Nancy. I can’t imagine what could possibly have come between Lisa and Hugh.”
“Have you seen them since the wedding?”
“Yes, I flew to London at Christmas time. That’s when I first realized something was troubling Lisa.”
“She’s still in love with Hugh, surely?”
“Oh, more than ever! In fact, when I suggested she come back to New York with me for a week or so, Lisa wouldn’t hear of it. It seemed she couldn’t bear to be parted from him, even for that long.”
Nancy was puzzled. “Then what makes you think anything’s amiss?”
“The way she looks and acts—everything about her. You know how gay and lively Lisa always was. Well, now she seems totally changed. Her eyes are absolutely haunted, Nancy. She acts as though some terrible secret is weighing on her mind, dragging down her spirits. She looks dreadful!”
Nancy suggested they sit on a garden bench and brought two glasses of punch from the refreshment table. Meanwhile, Mrs. Harwood opened her handbag and took out an airmail envelope with a British stamp. In it was a colored snapshot, which she handed to Nancy as Nancy handed her one of the glasses of punch.
The teenager studied the photo with interest. It showed Lisa in the foreground, her blond hair streaming in the breeze. Penvellyn Castle loomed behind her on a grassy headland, with the vivid blue sea sparkling below in the summer sunshine.
“What a beautiful place to live!” Nancy said. “The castle’s in Cornwall, isn’t it?”
“Yes, in the southwest of England. But it’s Lisa herself I wanted you to see. Can’t you tell just by looking at her that she’s unhappy?”
The attractive blond girl whom Nancy had known all through their school yea
rs had certainly changed—and judging by the photo, not for the better. She seemed thinner, almost haggard, and her slanting green eyes had dark circles.
“Lisa doesn’t look herself, that’s for sure,” Nancy agreed. “Perhaps she’s homesick.”
“Then why won’t she come back, if only for a short visit?” Mrs. Harwood shook her head, her eyes clouded with concern. “No, I’m convinced it’s far more serious than that.”
“Do you and Lisa keep in close touch?”
“Oh, yes! We correspond frequently and talk on the phone every few days . . .” Olive Harwood seemed to want to say something else. At last she blurted, “Nancy, will you treat what I’m about to say in absolute confidence?”
“Of course, Mrs. Harwood. You wouldn’t be confiding in me if you didn’t know that already. What is it?”
“Am I being foolish to wonder if . . . if . . . well, if Hugh may secretly be poisoning my daughter?”
2
The Stone Arrowhead
For a moment Nancy was too shocked to reply. The sedate society matron looked deadly serious.
“What on earth makes you think he might want to kill Lisa?” Nancy asked incredulously.
“It’s not as fantastic as it may sound,” Mrs. Harwood persisted. “Many of these titled Englishmen, from what I hear, haven’t enough money to keep up their huge estates. And Lisa’s a rich girl in her own right. Her grandfather left a fortune to her, which came under Lisa’s full control when she turned twenty-one. So now, if anything happened to her, that money would all go to her husband.”
“Has Lisa seen a doctor recently?”
“She says she has, and tells me he found nothing wrong. But I’m terribly afraid she may be covering up . . . for Hugh’s sake.”
Nancy scarcely knew how to respond. “You met him during their engagement, Mrs. Harwood. Were you suspicious of Hugh then? Surely he didn’t strike you as a potential murderer?”
“No, I must admit he didn’t . . . but that was before I saw this dreadful change in Lisa.”
Nancy shook her head doubtfully. “I’m afraid I find the idea awfully hard to accept.”
“But what other explanation is there?”
“I don’t know, but there may be some perfectly simple reason.”
“Find it, then!”
Nancy’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “What exactly are you saying, Mrs. Harwood?”
The older woman laid a hand on Nancy’s arm. “My dear, the two of you have been friends for years, and Lisa thinks the world of you. She always spoke as if there were no situation you couldn’t handle, no mystery that Nancy Drew couldn’t solve. Won’t you please look into this one, if only to put my mind at ease?”
Nancy was touched. “I’m happy Lisa feels that way, Mrs. Harwood, and flattered that you should ask me to help. But really—Lisa’s in England, and I’ll soon be going home to River Heights. How can I possibly find out what’s wrong?”
“That’s no problem, my dear. You could fly to England for a week or two at my expense. When Lisa hears you’re coming, she’s sure to invite you to visit her in Cornwall. That way, you can see for yourself how she and Hugh are getting along, and decide if there are any grounds for my suspicions.”
Nancy had no immediate plans for the summer, and the idea of a trip to England was certainly tempting. She loved London, and right now it was an exciting source of trendy new fashions, new music and new life styles.
All the same, she felt deep misgivings about prying into Lisa’s marriage. Her knack for solving mysteries had made the name of Nancy Drew well known to the public, and had brought the teenage sleuth intriguing cases from points far beyond River Heights. But none of her cases had ever involved her in problems between a husband and wife.
“Do say you will, my dear!” pleaded the older woman as she picked up the envelope to replace her daughter’s photograph in it.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mrs. Harwood, but to be honest, I feel—”
Nancy broke off as she saw something fall onto her friend’s lap. “Where on earth did that come from?” she inquired softly.
It looked like a tiny arrowhead, about an inch long, carved from some sort of glassy stone. Olive Harwood picked it up between her thumb and forefinger.
“It was in the envelope when I first opened it,” she replied. “I wondered myself, but there wasn’t a word about it in Lisa’s letter, so I suppose it must’ve gotten into the envelope by accident. . . . Odd little thingamajig!”
She went on as Nancy studied the object with a troubled frown. “Looks rather Stone-age, doesn’t it?—like one of those ancient artifacts archeologists dig up.”
Nancy nodded absently, absorbed in her thoughts. She had once read about an English farmer plowing up a gold ornament dating back to the days of King Alfred.
With a sigh, her former neighbor returned to the subject that was uppermost in her mind. “Anyhow, my dear, please say you will visit Lisa!”
“Let me think about it, and I’ll give you a definite answer tomorrow. . . . And may I keep this . . . thingamajig for the time being?”
Mrs. Harwood smiled and patted her hand. “Of course, Nancy! And now let me ask something else—would you like to meet Lance Warrick?”
The pretty teenager flashed a smile. “What girl wouldn’t? Can you arrange it?”
“I can do better than that. I’ll introduce you personally!” Taking Nancy by the hand, she rose and drew her back toward the party.
“You’re serious?” Nancy asked as they left their glasses at the table and started across the lawn.
“Absolutely! I’m one of the people who persuaded him to come here today. I thought it might help ticket sales—he’s promised to preside over the raffle, you see.”
“You know Lance Warrick?” Nancy asked in surprise.
“My son-in-law does. I suppose you could call that one of the fringe benefits that go with a titled English connection.”
Many of the guests were now clustering around the pavilion. Evidently word had spread that the British rock star was among the dancing couples. Although two other members of his group were also on hand, he was the focus of all eyes.
The music of the garden party orchestra was tame and conventional compared to the rock group’s. Yet Lance seemed to fit in and dominate the scene naturally. In his white silk suit, with his lavender shirt and tie and spiky blond hair, he was instantly recognizable—an impish mixture of Mick Jagger, Billy Idol and David Bowie.
At the same time, Lance Warrick was, as always, uniquely himself—and outrageously handsome!
Nancy was suddenly annoyed at herself for thinking so. Her attitude toward the rock star had abruptly changed. He was acting too much like the lord of the manor, she felt—dancing with one girl after another, while all the rest stood oohing and aahing around the fringes, eagerly hoping to catch Lance’s eye.
George was right, thought Nancy—they are idiots! Do I really want to be one of them?
Lance had just noticed Mrs. Harwood and was blowing her a kiss. She waved her fingers gently and put an arm around Nancy, to draw his attention to the titian-haired teen.
Lance winked at her and smiled back at the older woman. “Be right with you, Olive darling!”
Nancy blushed as a dozen girls looked daggers at her. She could imagine their envious thoughts, wondering why she should be favored with the rock king’s attention ahead of them.
Lance swung his current partner carelessly away into the waiting arms of his drummer, Bobo Evans. Then he started jauntily toward Mrs. Harwood and her attractive young companion.
Nancy abruptly turned away from the pavilion.
Mrs. Harwood called out, “Nancy dear, where are you going? Lance wants to dance with you!”
“No, thanks. Tell him I appreciate the honor, but I’d rather have another glass of punch.”
3
Witch Lore
Eloise Drew lived in a charming old Victorian apartment building on the Upper West Side of
Manhattan. With its turrets and gargoyles and crenelated ramparts, it looked like something out of a Gothic horror movie, but Nancy loved its spacious, high-ceilinged rooms and romantic atmosphere.
“Well, I hear you put the King of Rock in his place yesterday,” her aunt joked as Nancy emerged from the guest room next morning.
Bess and George had already beaten her to the breakfast table.
“Something tells me a couple of gossipy little tongues have been wagging,” said Nancy, grinning at her two chums.
“No, actually it was Olive Harwood who told me.”
“Oh, my! I hope I didn’t embarrass her.” Nancy looked contrite as she took a chair.
“Not to worry, my dear. She thought you showed a splendidly independent spirit.”
“She did! You should have seen her, Miss Drew,” put in George Fayne. “Here were all these swooning females ready to fling themselves at Lance Warrick’s feet, and Nancy gives him the brush-off!”
“But what a waste!” Bess lamented. “The chance of a lifetime and she passes it up!”
“And was he ever surprised!” George chuckled. “The poor guy was stunned. He couldn’t believe that any girl would actually decline the thrill of dancing in his glamorous embrace!”
Nancy winced. “I was a bit rude.”
“Baloney! It did him good. He was really getting too arrogant for words, the way he was carrying on there in the dance pavilion!”
“He’d have to be pretty unusual not to have his head turned by all that attention.” Nancy helped herself to a slice of toast. “I must say he seemed nice enough when we talked later on.”
In fact, Nancy felt ashamed of her display of temper. Lance had come upon her later in the evening in their host’s mansion and had insisted on escorting her through the food line. Not only had he proven himself a charming conversationalist—he’d refrained from even mentioning the abrupt way Nancy had turned her back on him in the pavilion.
Aunt Eloise smiled and poured herself more coffee. “Well, at any rate, he sounds like a very interesting young man. By the way, Nancy, Olive Harwood asked me to remind you to call her about what you discussed yesterday.”
The Bluebeard Room Page 1