The Moonstone Castle Mystery (2 page)

“Hypers!” cried George in disgust. “And we were so close!”

The cousins hurried back to the Drew home. When Nancy heard the story, she dashed to the telephone and called her friend Police Chief McGinnis.

“I’ll tell you the whole story in a minute, but first, could you try to locate a man who is on the bus to Granby and find out who he is? He’s wearing a tan-and-brown-plaid suit, is thin, and scowls. He’s been shadowing me.”

“Yes, indeed, Nancy. Hold the wire.” The chief was gone nearly a minute, then came back. “Now tell me the whole story.”

Nancy started with the mysterious moonstone gift and ended with the man’s running away suspiciously. She could hear Chief McGinnis muttering under his breath.

Aloud he said, “I’m glad you told me, Nancy. Something’s afoot, that’s sure. Watch your step. I’ll call you as soon as I have some word.”

As the girls sat waiting, Nancy said, “Would you like to hear about the case Dad’s working on? I can tell you because it’s no secret.”

“But I’m sure it’s a mystery,” said Bess, her eyes twinkling with interest.

“Yes, and a strange one. Jungle prisoners in Africa and a baffling disappearance in the United States.”

George, who was seated cross-legged on the floor of the Drews’ cheery living room, urged, “Go on!”

Nancy, her face tense, said, “Fifteen years ago a Mr. and Mrs. Bowen accepted a call as missionaries to a part of Africa where the tribes were restless and always at war among themselves. The Bowens had been there only three months when they were kidnaped by a hostile band and not released until recently.”

“Oh, how cruel!” exclaimed Bess, who was seated beside Nancy on a green-and-gray-striped sofa. “How did your father come into the picture?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Bowen returned to this country a few weeks ago. They went directly to the town of Deep River in Deep River Valley where they had left their two-and-a-half-year-old grandchild Joan, called Joanie, with her Grandmother Horton. The little girl’s own parents had died shortly before the Bowens went to Africa.”

Nancy leaned to the side and pulled open a drawer in the end table by the sofa. She took out a photograph of a little girl.

“She’s darling!” Bess exclaimed. “Don’t tell me something happened to her!”

“I’m afraid it did,” Nancy replied. “Grandmother Horton died six months after the Bowens left. There were no other relatives and the child disappeared.”

“Disappeared!” George repeated incredulously.

“It’s even worse than that,” Nancy went on. “Nobody in Deep River ever saw or heard of the child. Her Grandmother Horton, who lived on the outskirts, never came to town after Joanie arrived—it is assumed the woman wasn’t well.”

“Maybe Joanie died, too,” Bess suggested.

“There’s no record of her death. Besides, in her will Grandmother Horton left her estate to Joanie. The estate was settled, but so far Dad hasn’t found any record of a guardian or learned one thing about the child’s whereabouts.”

Bess gazed at Joanie’s photograph. “The poor little girl! I certainly hope she’s alive and the Bowens can find her.”

George rocked back and forth, holding her knees. “Joanie would be seventeen or eighteen now. Pretty hard to recognize her from this picture. By the way, didn’t your father talk to Grandmother Horton’s lawyer?”

“Dad says he’s away on an extensive vacation and can’t be reached. I didn’t even learn his name. Many other people who might have been helpful have either died or moved away from Deep River.”

“Weren’t there any servants?” George asked.

“Yes. Mrs. Horton had a couple, but they disappeared at the time of her death.”

“How did your dad happen to get the case?” Bess queried.

“Someone the Bowens knew suggested him. They’re heartbroken over the whole thing, of course, and naturally want the mystery solved.” Nancy suddenly looked out the window. “Here comes Dad now.”

The lawyer drove his car into the garage. When Nancy’s tall, handsome father came into the living room, he kissed Nancy, then said, “Hello, Bess, George. I’m glad you girls are here because I have a proposal to make.”

The three friends were all attention as he continued. “Nancy, I’ve picked up a good clue in the Horton case from a retired luggage dealer. Some fourteen years ago a Joan Horton went from Deep River to San Francisco. I want to track her down if possible. But, in the meantime, my investigation in Deep River to clear up the business about the missing child should be continued. Would you like to make the trip—provided Bess and George can go with you?”

As Nancy’s eyes sparkled in anticipation, Bess squealed, “Oh, Mr. Drew! You mean it? This sounds simply marvelous!”

“And exciting,” George added. “I’d love to go. May I call up Mother and Dad right now?”

“Please do. And tell them this is a business trip. All your expenses will be paid by the Carson Drew law firm.” He turned to his daughter. “Nancy, you haven’t answered my question.”

With a chuckle Nancy said, “Stop teasing, Dad. Have I ever turned down a case?”

George received permission to go, then Bess called her house. Mrs. Marvin said her daughter might accompany Nancy, and added that if Mr. Drew had not already chosen a place for them to stay, she would recommend the Long View Motel on top of the hill overlooking Deep River and the valley.

“It’s delightful. Mrs. Thompson who runs it is charming, and can give you girls some motherly attention if you need it.”

Bess reported her mother’s suggestion to the lawyer, who smiled. “It sounds like the perfect place for you girls. Could you be ready to leave tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” the trio chorused eagerly, and Bess and George hurried off to start packing.

Nancy brought the moonstone, the warning note, and the strangely addressed wrapper to her father, who studied them all carefully. “I gather these letters were cut out of a River Heights newspaper—they match the print, so there’s no clue as to whether the sender is a local person or someone who came here and bought a paper.”

Mr. Drew was as puzzled as Nancy, and could see no connection between the moonstone and the case on which he was working.

“It’s possible that some eavesdropper heard me discussing the Horton mystery the other day, and is trying to get some message across to you, Nancy,” the lawyer said. “Keep alert to anything to do with moonstones.”

At that moment the telephone rang. Mr. Drew answered it, while Nancy waited. Presently he returned to say that Chief McGinnis had called. The man who had followed Nancy, then suddenly hopped a bus, had alighted before the police had a chance to intercept it.

Nancy was pensive. “I wonder if he’s still in River Heights. If so, he may come here again.”

“I thought of that,” Mr. Drew said, “so I asked the chief to send a man over to watch the house tonight.”

Nancy spent most of the evening in her room packing for the trip to Deep River. She went to bed early and soon fell asleep, but around midnight was awakened by shouts of “Stop! Stop!”

The young sleuth jumped out of bed and ran to a window. Just then the sound of a shot rang out through the still night.

Nancy pulled on her robe and slippers. She dashed to her father’s room. To her astonishment, the door was open and he was not there!

With a quaking heart Nancy flew down the front stairway, calling, “Dad! Dad!”

There was no answer.

AS NANCY reached the bottom of the stairway, the front door burst open and her father rushed in. He went straight to the telephone in the hall and dialed a number.

Nancy stood stock-still, thankful that her father was all right, but wondering what had happened outside. In a moment he said, “Sergeant, this is Carson Drew speaking. I have a message from your man Donnelly. Donnelly has been watching our house tonight. He almost caught a prowler, and has gone after him in a car. Donnelly can’t radio in because his set is out of order.”

Mr. Drew went on to say that the intruder had gone off in a car. “Here’s his license number.” He gave it slowly so the sergeant could write it down.

When the lawyer hung up, he looked at Nancy, who still stood at the foot of the stairway.

“Dad, what happened?” she asked tensely. “I heard a shot!”

Before answering, Mr. Drew grinned broadly. “And you thought your old dad had met his end, eh?” he teased. “As a matter of fact, that shot had nothing to do with the prowler, Detective Donnelly, or the getaway. Somebody was having trouble with an old jalopy on the side street. It back-fired just as the intruder took off and Donnelly yelled ‘Stop!’”

Nancy heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m glad nobody was shot. Please tell me the rest of the story.”

“Let’s go into the kitchen and get something to eat,” Mr. Drew suggested. “That’s what brought me downstairs in the first place. I wasn’t sleeping, and got so hungry I came down for a midnight snack. As I reached the hall, I saw a shadowy figure sneak past the living-room window. I went to look and was just in time to see Donnelly start chasing the prowler. I caught a glimpse of the man under a street light before he jumped into a car.”

“What did he look like?” Nancy asked.

Mr. Drew said the stranger was thin, dark-haired, and had a scowling expression.

“Oh, he might be the same one who was following me—the one that Bess and George saw!” Nancy exclaimed.

“He probably was,” the lawyer agreed. “I wonder what he was doing around here.”

“Perhaps trying to steal the moonstone that was sent to me,” Nancy guessed.

“That might be,” Mr. Drew agreed. “One thing is sure—he wasn’t planning to eavesdrop on us—because we were in bed.”

During this conversation, Nancy quickly prepared two cups of hot cocoa. Then she brought out some delicious angel cake which their housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, had made. Father and daughter sat down to enjoy the snack and to wait for a report from police headquarters. When half an hour had gone by and no message had come, Nancy asked her father if he would mind calling the police.

“You do it,” he suggested, giving a big yawn. “I admit I’d like to get some sleep. But without knowing whether or not that prowler has been captured, I doubt that I can doze off.”

Nancy hurried to the phone. The report was disappointing. Detective Donnelly had reported to headquarters from a pay phone that the prowler had abandoned his car and fled into the woods. There was no chance of finding him in the dark.

“Donnelly is returning to your house,” the sergeant went on. “It’s possible that the suspect may double back. Incidentally, the car he was in was reported stolen today, so we have no clues to his identity.”

Nancy relayed the message to her father and the two started upstairs.

“I suppose I should tell you a little bit more about the Horton case,” the lawyer said. “Just this afternoon I received a message from a woman in Deep River whom I have been trying to contact. She was a college friend of Mrs. Horton’s who had been out of touch with her for ten years —in fact, until just before Mrs. Horton’s death. This Mrs. Emory remembers she phoned the Horton house to talk to her friend about a class reunion. A man answered but did not give his name. He said that Mrs. Horton was too ill to come to the phone. However, he did say he and his wife, employed there as servants, were leaving shortly for San Francisco.”

“And that,” said Nancy, “is where you found out that a Joan Horton went. They probably took her!”

“Right.” Mr. Drew went on to say that he had been to call on the present owners of the Horton property.

“They are very nice and wanted to be helpful, but knew little about what had taken place at the house. They had bought the property through a realtor after the former occupants moved out of town. They did give me one clue, though. Soon after they had moved in, they had come upon a postcard dropped behind some old junk in the attic. It was addressed and mailed in New York eighteen years before, to Mr. and Mrs. Ben Oman in San Francisco. It was signed Claire.”

“And you think that Oman might have been the name of Grandma Horton’s servants?” Nancy asked.

“Yes, I do,” her father replied. “Anyway, I think all these clues in San Francisco are worth investigating.” He ushered Nancy ahead of him and began to turn out the lights.

His daughter stopped and smiled at him. “Are you sure there will be anything left for me to do in Deep River?” she teased.

“Plenty,” he assured her. “And what’s more, my dear, I like your fantastic intuition when you’re working on a case.”

The two said good night for the second time and soon were asleep. The following morning Nancy drove her father to the airport to catch an early plane to the West Coast. Upon her return, she found Bess and George at her home with their luggage.

Bess said with a broad smile which revealed her dimples, “I brought a swim suit, a tennis racket, and hiking shoes. We’re going to have some fun up in Deep River Valley as well as sleuthing, aren’t we?”

Hannah Gruen, the pleasant, motherly woman who had taken care of Nancy since the death of her mother when Nancy was only three years old, thought it an excellent idea.

“If you can make people think you’re there on vacation, it probably will be advisable.”

Nancy was thoughtful. “I’m wondering if I should take the moonstone,” she said.

At once Bess spoke up. “Please do. It’s supposed to bring you good luck, and when you’re solving mysteries, you can use it!”

“Luck certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Mrs. Gruen remarked.

George was inclined to consider the whole matter superstitious. “But if you want to take the moonstone just to look at because it’s beautiful, okay.”

The others laughed and Nancy went to get the mysterious gift, which she put into her purse.

“Everybody ready?” she asked. “If so, let’s go!”

Her own suitcases were already in the car. Those belonging to Bess and George were carried out and stowed in the luggage compartment.