The Moonstone Castle Mystery

by Carolyn Keene

  With this slim clue, Nancy and Bess hurried in the direction the little boy had indicated. They came to the end of town, but their search had yielded nothing. Discouraged, they turned back.

  “Oh, I just know George has been kidnaped!” Bess moaned in panic.

  CHAPTER IV

  Nancy’s Impersonation

  “I NEVER should have given you girls that assignment,” Nancy said. “If something has happened to George, I can’t forgive myself.”

  Bess was in tears. She and George had many little misunderstandings and sometimes found fault with each other, but the two girls were very close. The thought that George might be a prisoner was almost too much for Bess.

  “We must find her!” she said, a catch in her voice.

  “If we don’t get a lead on George in a few minutes, we’ll tell the police,” Nancy agreed. “Let’s go back to the tearoom and find out from Mrs. Hemstead where Mr. Seaman lives. Then we’ll go right to his house.”

  As the girls hurried along, Nancy added, “Bess, I’d still like to keep my identity here a secret. Do you remember the play I was in where I took the part of the shy girl—with the high-pitched voice —named Irene Insbruck?”

  “I’ll never forget it,” said Bess.

  “Well, I’m going to become Irene while I’m doing my sleuthing here,” Nancy announced.

  When the girls reached the tearoom, it was about to close. Mrs. Hemstead still sat in her rocker, swaying gently back and forth and humming a hymn.

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Bess could hardly keep her face straight as Nancy introduced herself in a voice pitched almost an octave higher than her normal one. Then she asked, “I understand you know most everyone in town. Could you tell me where Mr. Seaman lives?”

  Mrs. Hemstead leaned forward and gave a little chuckle. “Are you his girl friend?” she asked, as if she were latching onto a possible bit of gossip.

  Nancy did not have a chance to answer. Mrs. Hemstead, presuming this was the case, prattled on. “Nice man, Mr. Seaman. Reliable-like.” She winked. “That’s the kind of man a girl ought to have for a husband.”

  In the pause that followed, Bess felt she should say something to carry on the pretense, so she remarked, “Mr. Seaman really ought to reduce, though. Irene prefers thin men.”

  Mrs. Hemstead laughed aloud and turned to Nancy. “After you’re married to him, you can put him on a diet,” she said, giving Nancy another wink.

  Nancy, playing the game, laughed too. “Right now I’m only interested in learning where his house is. He never said.”

  “Well, now, I can’t tell you that,” the old lady said. “It’s somewhere out of town, but he never told me where it is.”

  Nancy showed her disappointment. She changed the subject abruptly. “Mrs. Hemstead, do you think I would like it here in Deep River?”

  “I don’t see why not. I’ve lived here all my life and look at me—hale and hearty yet!”

  The impersonator acted unconvinced. “I’ve heard some queer things have happened in this town,” she said.

  “Oh, it’s not bad.” Mrs. Hemstead shrugged. “Of course—” There were a few moments of silence, then the old woman brightened, sat up straight, and rocked back and forth furiously. “Of course, there’s the castle. Too bad it was abandoned. It was once a beautiful place—the show place of Deep River fifty years ago.”

  “Who owned it?” Nancy queried in her “Irene” high-pitched voice, which almost matched the tone of Mrs. Hemstead.

  “Some foreigners built it and lived there until it became haunted,” Mrs. Hemstead answered.

  “Haunted?” Bess repeated.

  “I’ll say it was,” Mrs. Hemstead replied. “The folks never finished building the castle—it was to have another turret—and finally abandoned it. There was one tragedy after another—a child drowned in the moat, a man got hoisted on the drawbridge and was crushed—”

  “Oh, please,” said Bess, “don’t tell us any more.”

  Mrs. Hemstead was not to be stopped. She said that no one had lived in the castle for many years, but the taxes on it were paid by someone living in Europe. “So the town can’t do anything with the place. The county can’t do anything with it, either. The State Police look it over once in a while to see that everything is in order out there.”

  Mrs. Hemstead suddenly pointed to an ancient framed map hanging on the wall. “Look at that,” she directed. “If you’ll look close, you’ll see that Deep River Valley was originally called Moonstone Valley. Nobody seems to know why the name was changed. I guess the people who lived in the castle knew this and liked the name, because they called their place Moonstone Castle.”

  At this bit of information Nancy and Bess looked at each other. This was the second time in two days that “moonstones” had come to their attention. Was there any connection between Moonstone Castle and the gem which had been sent so mysteriously to Nancy?

  “Speaking of queer things,” Mrs. Hemstead said reminiscently, “there’s the case of Mrs. Horton.”

  Nancy and Bess could hardly conceal their excitement.

  “Horton?” Nancy repeated.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Hemstead. “Her place was quite far out of town. She never was sociable, so folks around here didn’t know her very well. She never mingled much, and after her son and daughter-in-law died, nobody ever saw or heard from her again until just before her death.”

  “What happened to her?” asked Nancy.

  “Well, it was like this,” Mrs. Hemstead related. “Just at the time her son died, a couple of servants she had went off suddenly, and a new couple came there. After that, food was always delivered to the house, but the money for it was left outside. The tradespeople who went out there never saw anybody.

  “Talk got around that Mrs. Horton had become queer. Personally, I don’t know who was the queerest—Mrs. Horton or those servants she had. Why, do you know at the time of her last illness, they actually called in an out-of-town doctor, and when she died, the servants sent for an out-of-town undertaker? And what was even worse, the funeral was private. Not a soul in this town knew about it until it was over.”

  Nancy and Bess did not comment. Numerous questions raced through their minds. Bess, impulsively, suddenly blurted out, “What happened to the little grandchild who was staying with Mrs. Horton?”

  The instant she had asked the question, Bess was sorry. To her and Nancy’s relief, however, the old lady did not seem to think the question out of order.

  “Little grandchild?” she remarked. “If Mrs. Horton’s son had a little child, nobody around here knew it.” The woman chuckled. “You can bet your life, if any child was out there, I would have heard about it!”

  The two girls made no comment, for, at that moment, Mrs. Hemstead’s daughter came into the room. “Mother,” she said, “it’s time for bed. You’ve had quite a day.”

  Nancy and Bess left at once. They realized they should continue their search for George. When they reached the street, they turned in the direction where they had seen police headquarters.

  Their hearts and minds full of worry, the two girls hurried along in silence. As they passed a well-lighted soda shop, crowded with young people, they suddenly heard a familiar whistle.

  George was signaling to them from inside the shop!

  “Oh, thank goodness!” said Bess in relief.

  Nancy felt that a great weight had been lifted from her as she and Bess hurried inside.

  “You’ve given us the worst scare of our lives! What—” Bess started to scold her cousin.

  “I was just going to phone the tearoom to tell you where I was when I saw you coming,” George told the girls. “Come sit down with me while I finish eating and I’ll tell you everything that happened.” They listened attentively to her account of trailing Mr. Seaman and his going off in a car driven by a woman.

  “I started back to town. Halfway here, I was sure a man was trailing me. By this time, it was too dark to see him very w
ell, but he wasn’t the man I followed from the Brass Kettle.”

  “What did he look like?” Bess asked.

  “He was very thin. In fact, I think he was the same man who was following you in River Heights, Nancy,” said George. Suddenly she looked out the window and cried, “There he goes now! Look!”

  Nancy and Bess dashed to the window as the man hurried up the street.

  “That man looks familiar to me!” Nancy said excitedly.

  CHAPTER V

  The Spooky Drawbridge

  “DO YOU know that man?” George queried.

  Nancy thought hard but could not remember who he was. “His face certainly does look familiar. Maybe it will come to me later. Let’s follow him and see if we can find out who he is.”

  George’s meal was quickly paid for, and the girls hurried to the street. The stranger for whom they were searching was nowhere in sight. The young sleuths peered into various shops that were still open, and looked up and down cross streets. The man had vanished.

  “Well, we may as well go home,” said Nancy. “I confess I’m ready for bed.”

  “Me, too,” said Bess, yawning.

  On the way back to the motel, Nancy said she would like to visit the castle early the next morning. “That place intrigues me. It probably holds a mystery.”

  “I thought we were trying to find Joanie Horton,” Bess spoke up. “Don’t tell me you think she’s being hidden in the castle!”

  Nancy laughed. “No, not after all these years. I suggest we go to the castle before breakfast. Then we can start our sleuthing at the banks and those lawyers’ offices.”

  The three friends were up early. On the way to the parking area they stopped to gaze at the view of the valley. The sun was not very high yet and sections beneath the hills were in deep shadow. The castle, however, stood out clearly.

  Suddenly Nancy called out excitedly, “Girls, the drawbridge is down now!”

  “But the place is supposed to be empty!” Bess said. “It’s positively spooky!”

  The others agreed and stared at the spot, puzzled. Why was the bridge in this position? Who had lowered it?

  “Maybe it just fell,” Nancy suggested.

  “Could be,” George said. “Or maybe some sightseers were there, walked over the dry moat, and then let the drawbridge down so they could go back across it.”

  “It’s a logical explanation,” Nancy agreed. “Well, shall we go?”

  The girls climbed into Nancy’s convertible and she wound down the hillside to the town. Not many people were in evidence in Deep River and the visitors knew the restaurants would not be open yet.

  “I know I’m going to be famished before we get back,” Bess declared.

  “It won’t hurt you,” said George, surveying Bess’s plump figure.

  Bess made a face but did not retort. She sat in silence as Nancy covered mile after mile. “I had no idea the castle was so far from the business district,” she remarked.

  Finally they reached the grass-overgrown lane which led into the property.

  “Tire tracks!” George pointed out. “Somebody has been here recently.”

  Nancy parked at the side of the lane some distance from the moat. The tracks of the other car went on to the drawbridge. “I think we’d better proceed on foot,” she said. The girls alighted and walked forward.

  “I’m glad the bridge is down,” said Bess. “I’d hate to plod deep into that moat and up again on the other side.”

  Suddenly Nancy, who was in the lead, cried out, “There’s water in the moat! A lot of it!”

  The cousins hurried forward to look over the edge with Nancy.

  “It looks deep, too,” she added. “It’s not just rain water.”

  Bess was fearful. “Who put it in if nobody’s living here?”

  Nancy admitted that she was puzzled but was eager to continue the trek over to the castle itself. Before the girls could start, the bridge began to rise!

  “Oh!” Bess screamed. “The castle is haunted! A ghost must be raising the drawbridge!”

  “Don’t be silly!” George scolded her. “The townspeople and the police may think this place is unoccupied, but it’s my guess somebody is hiding here.”

  Nancy, who long ago had made it a rule never to side with either of the cousins when they were disagreeing, said, “One thing is sure. If we expect to get across now, we’ll have to swim. Let’s go back to town, have breakfast, do our calling at the banks and lawyers, then come back here wearing our bathing suits.”

  Bess did not comment on the suggestion, but it was evident from the expression on her face that she did not relish the adventure. As they walked to the car, the three friends kept turning around to see if they could catch a glimpse of anyone on the castle grounds. Nobody appeared. The place seemed to be deserted.

  “I wonder if more than one person is hiding at the castle,” said Nancy.

  George remarked that there must be more than one person. The bridge had been let down for a car to go over. And someone inside the castle walls apparently had pulled up the drawbridge.

  “Oh, dear!” said Bess. “This is getting terribly complicated. Why don’t we leave the castle out of our sleuthing?”

  The other girls did not answer her. Both Nancy and George were curious to see what was going on in the abandoned spot. Why had water been put into the moat and by whom? Had it been done to keep people out of the castle?

  As soon as the girls reached Deep River, they went to the Brass Kettle, but it was not open. They turned around and walked back to the main street and entered a modern diner. Their breakfast proved to be delicious and Bess’s good humor returned.

  By the time the girls had finished eating, the stores and offices were open. Nancy headed for the Deep River National Bank.

  Bess and George were always interested in observing Nancy’s sleuthing procedures. They often wondered whether it was her charm, her straightforward manner, or her businesslike approach that unfailingly gained her entrance to offices of officials. Now, with little explanation on her part, the girls were ushered into the president’s office.

  Mr. Kleat was a pleasant man, but one who repeatedly was interrupted by telephone calls and messengers. He listened attentively, however, to Nancy’s request for information about the deceased Mrs. Adelaide Horton.

  “I’m afraid there is little I can tell you,” the man replied. “I knew Mrs. Horton only slightly. One day she came in and closed out both her checking and her savings accounts. Then she went to her safe-deposit box and removed the contents—apparently securities.”

  “She gave no explanation?” Nancy asked.

  “None whatever. She was not a talkative person. Furthermore, we never question what our clients do. Of course we were sorry to lose her accounts.”

  “How long ago was it?” Nancy queried.

  Mr. Kleat thought for a few moments, then said, “I can’t remember exactly how many years ago, but it was a few months before her death.”

  At that moment Mr. Kleat’s buzzer sounded. He answered and said, “All right. Put him on.” The president turned to the girls. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me now. I have an important long-distance call.”

  Nancy arose hastily and thanked him. She hurried from the room, followed by Bess and George.

  When they reached the sidewalk, George asked, “Nancy, do you think that you learned anything important?”

  “Indeed I do. I’ve had a feeling all along that something strange was happening between Mrs. Horton and the couple who worked for her. I’m beginning to think that maybe the servants were using some hypnotic influence over Mrs. Horton to get her money and securities away from her.”

  “How perfectly dreadful!” Bess commented.

  Nancy walked up the street, telling the girls she was going to visit the other bank in town. At this institution the girl detective was told a similar story to the one she had just heard, but the information came from the head cashier. He was the only person w
ho had been working at the bank fifteen years before.

  This man was a little more talkative and revealed the fact that Mrs. Horton was considered to be wealthy. “I believe she left everything to a granddaughter,” he said, “but the details have slipped my memory.”

  Nancy was sorry to hear this, because for a moment she had hoped that the man would supply a helpful clue. He smiled. “Mrs. Horton never talked about her personal affairs to anyone—she didn’t seem to want a soul to know her business.”

  Nancy, realizing that the cashier could throw no further light on the mystery, thanked him and the girls left the bank. Their next stop was at one of the law offices. Here the young sleuths learned nothing—the two lawyers who shared the office had been in town less than five years and had never heard of Mrs. Horton.

  At the next attorney’s Nancy had a little better luck. The man had heard of Mrs. Horton, and although he knew nothing about her personally, he said, “I believe a Mr. John Wheeler, who is now retired, took care of her estate.”

  “Does he live in town?” Nancy asked eagerly.

  “Yes. On Victoria Street. I don’t know the number of the house, but you can’t miss it. On the front lawn there’s a huge statue of a dog.”

  As the girls hurried toward Mr. Wheeler’s home, Nancy wondered if this was the man to whom her father had referred and who was reported to be out of town. She fervently hoped he was back!

  To her delight, Mr. Wheeler had returned and he welcomed the girls cordially. He was about seventy years old, but very spry looking.

  “It’s rare that even one young lady comes to call on me,” he said with a lilt in his voice. “To have three all at once—and such attractive ones —is a great pleasure indeed. Do come in and sit down.”

  The girls seated themselves in the spacious, beautifully furnished living room. Nancy apologized for the intrusion, then introduced herself as the daughter of Carson Drew, the attorney.

  “I believe you settled the estate of Mrs. Adelaide Horton?” Nancy said questioningly.

  “Yes, I did.”

  Nancy said that her father had come to Deep River looking for Mr. Wheeler, but had learned he was out of town.