Nancy and George laughed. Then Nancy said, “Here’s a new mystery. Bartescue uses at least two different styles of handwriting.” She told about the registration cards.
“And probably several aliases,” George commented with a look of disgust. “Anyway, hereafter I’m going to call him Barty.”
“Barty the Barge-In!” Bess said.
That evening Mr. Drew had dinner with the girls. Nancy noticed that her tall, handsome father seemed a bit preoccupied.
“Isn’t your case progressing well, Dad?” she asked.
“Not so far,” he replied. “I’ll probably need your help soon, Nancy.”
“I’ll be ready.”
After dinner Mr. Drew told the girls that he must leave the hotel for a few hours.
“We’ll manage to amuse ourselves,” Bess said, chuckling.
The hotel orchestra was an excellent one. The girls met many attractive young men who were vacationing at Deer Mountain. Nancy, Bess, and George were never at a loss for partners. Bartescue was persistent and danced with Nancy several times. Though he was an excellent dancer, Nancy did not enjoy being with him.
At the end of one number he firmly steered her toward the terrace. She was annoyed, but told herself, “This might be a chance to find out more about the man.”
He launched into a story of his adventures in England. But at the first opportunity Nancy led him on to the subject that was uppermost in her mind.
“Obviously golf is one of your main interests, Mr. Bartescue. Do you also have other interests?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “I enjoy tennis—But what are some of yours?”
“Well, for one thing, graphology intrigues me. Some people profess to be able to tell a person’s character by means of his handwriting.”
In the semidarkness she did not notice her companion regard her shrewdly as he answered, “What an interesting story could be built up around mine! The way I write varies with my moods. Today your charm had me so baffled I could hardly sign my name at all. I doubt that I would even recognize it on your scorecard.”
Nancy glanced quickly at the man but his face was a mask. Unexpectedly he began to move closer.
“Nancy, you are very attractive. In all my life, I’ve never met anyone that I—”
Nancy took a step backward. She did not realize that she had been standing near the edge of the terrace. Suddenly her heels were no longer on solid cement and she felt herself falling. She gave a cry of alarm. Before Bartescue could extend a hand to save her she toppled into a flower bed!
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously, springing down to assist her.
Nancy slowly rose from the ground, trying to brush the dirt from her long dress.
“I think I’ve sprained my hand,” she admitted.
“Shall I call a doctor?” Bartescue asked.
“No, no. I’ll be all right. Just leave me here.”
Nancy’s outcry had brought several dancers running from the hotel ballroom. The situation was intensely embarrassing to her. She did not wish to explain that her fall from the terrace had been caused by trying to avoid Bartescue’s unwelcome attentions.
“Let me see your hand,” Bartescue urged. “I don’t believe the sprain is a bad one.”
Nancy ignored him. Walking away swiftly, she went directly to her room. The pain in her left hand was not so intense now, but the fingers were becoming stiff.
“I’ll never be able to play in the tournament,” she thought miserably.
While Nancy was in the bathroom running cold water on her hand, Bess and George came hurrying into the room.
“Oh, Nancy,” Bess wailed, “we just heard about your accident. Barty said you weren’t hurt, but you are!”
“Let me see the injury, Nancy,” George demanded.
“There’s nothing to see. The skin isn’t even broken. But my hand still hurts!”
“You must go to a doctor,” George urged.
At that moment Carson Drew returned to the hotel and came straight to his daughter’s room. Upon hearing about the injury, he too became concerned, particularly when Nancy admitted that her back had been twisted slightly.
“Now don’t be foolish,” he said severely. “I’m going to have the house physician come up.”
Dr. Aikerman was a quiet, dignified man who had little to say. The few words he spoke after his examination were directly to the point.
“This sprain isn’t serious, but you must give your hand a rest. I’ll bind it for you and don’t use this hand for three or four days.”
“You mean I can’t play any golf?”
“No golf.”
“But, Doctor,” Nancy pleaded, “it really doesn’t hurt very much. And the tournament starts day after tomorrow.”
CHAPTER III
Nancy’s Assignment
“NANCY stands a very good chance of participating in the tournament,” Bess told the doctor. “It would be a shame if she couldn’t play.”
“Well,” he said finally, after studying Nancy with twinkling eyes, “I suppose you could play. But right now I advise against it. However, by tomorrow night I may alter my opinion.”
Dr. Aikerman picked up his physician’s bag. “Nancy, I suggest a hot bath and a body massage to prevent your muscles from becoming stiff.” The idea rather appealed to Nancy, who felt battered and sore.
After the doctor had gone, George spoke up, “Bess and I could give you a good rub.”
Nancy regarded her dubiously.
“There’s absolutely nothing to it,” Bess put in. “You locate the various muscles and then rub until the soreness is all gone.”
Nancy allowed herself to be persuaded. After the hot bath, she stretched herself full length on the bed.
“Where do you hurt the most?” George inquired.
“Everywhere.” Nancy groaned. “Oh, don’t rub in that spot, please, George. It’s too tender!”
“I have to massage the muscles,” her friend insisted.
“Where did you get that bottle of liniment?” Nancy demanded. “It smells awful.”
“This is a free massage, so don’t be so critical.”
Bess relieved George when the latter’s arms grew weary of the task. There was no rest or relaxation for Nancy. She was pummeled and pounded by her well-meaning but inexperienced masseuses until she felt ready to cry from sheer exhaustion.
“Oh, girls, I can’t stand any more,” she pleaded finally. “Just let me crawl under the covers and go to sleep.”
“We’re through now, anyway,” Bess declared as she helped Nancy roll over on her back again. “In the morning you’ll feel fine.”
“I hope so.”
Nancy closed her eyes. Before George could snap out the light, the telephone rang. Bess answered the call.
“It’s for you, Nancy. Long distance.”
“I wonder who it can be. I hope nothing is wrong at home,” Nancy said anxiously as she painfully pulled herself to a sitting position and took the phone.
A familiar voice at the other end of the line said cheerily, “Hello. Nancy? This is Ned. Can you hear me?”
“Perfectly. Hi!”
“Your voice doesn’t sound natural,” Ned Nickerson remarked. “I guess I shouldn’t have bothered you so late at night. But I thought maybe you weren’t having a very exciting time and would like to hear from an old friend, meaning me.”
“Oh, Ned, I love hearing from you, but you’re entirely wrong about there being no excitement at Deer Mountain.”
She told him about the haunted bridge, her unpleasant experience with Martin Bartescue, and finally of the accident.
“I’d like to give that guy a going over he wouldn’t forget!” Ned replied angrily.
“You can’t very well do it by long distance.” Nancy laughed.
“No, but you may be seeing me sooner than you expect. I thought if you were planning to stay at the hotel for several days I might drive up with a couple of buddies.”
“Meaning Burt and Dave?” Nancy asked.
“Yes.”
“Terrific, Ned! And before you come will you do me a special favor? Would you look in the Social Register and see if Martin Bartescue is listed?”
“Say, I hope you’re not getting interested in that—”
“Now don’t be alarmed, Ned,” Nancy interrupted. After explaining the situation, she hung up and told Bess and George the good news.
In the morning Nancy awoke feeling greatly refreshed. Her back was not so sore as she had expected, though her hand still hurt. She needed her friends’ assistance to dress and had just slipped on her shoes when a telephone call came from Mr. Drew.
“How would you like to take a ride with me this morning? That is, if you feel all right.”
“Of course. I’m much better,” Nancy answered promptly.
Intuition told her that the ride might have something to do with her father’s mysterious case.
“We girls will be down to breakfast in five minutes.”
They were about to leave their rooms when a porter appeared with a box of flowers for Nancy. She assumed that her father had sent them. As Nancy tore away the tissue paper from a dozen red roses in a container, a card dropped to the floor. She picked it up.
“Martin Bartescue!” Nancy exclaimed as she read the name. She left the flowers in the box and walked away.
“Wait a minute!” Bess cried out. “Even if you don’t like the man, don’t punish the poor flowers.” She rescued the roses and got water for them in the bathroom. “I’ve never seen a more attractive arrangement.”
“They are pretty,” Nancy admitted reluctantly. “I suppose he sent them because he feels responsible for my falling off the terrace.”
“Wear one of the roses down to breakfast,” Bess suggested.
“I’d rather not, but you girls are welcome to them.”
“No thanks,” said George. “I don’t like that man any better than you do.”
“I don’t either,” Bess added.
Nancy looked at Bartescue’s card once more. Turning it over, she saw that he had written a brief note of sympathy on the back.
“Girls, look at this handwriting! ” she called.
“It’s different from the signature on your scorecard,” Bess observed.
“And from the one on the hotel registration card,” Nancy told her.
George remarked, “I can’t help but feel there’s something suspicious about Martin Bartescue!”
Knowing that her father was waiting for her in the lobby, Nancy dropped the card into her purse without further comment. The three girls hurriedly locked their doors and went downstairs.
Directly after breakfast Nancy and Mr. Drew drove away. Bess and George decided to play tennis and do some letter writing.
While the Drews were riding along, the lawyer revealed to his daughter that for the past week he had been working on the legal angles of a smuggling case involving an international ring of jewel thieves.
“It has baffled New York detectives. For many months the customs authorities have been trying to round up the gang. Now the work has spread out all over the country. It’s believed that one of the members is a woman who frequents the summer resort hotels in this particular area. Unfortunately no description of her is available.”
“Then how can you hope to trace her, Dad?”
“There is one good clue.”
“What is that?”
“Detectives have learned that the woman carries an expensive jeweled compact set with diamonds and precious stones. In the case is a small picture of a child.”
“Her own child?”
“I don’t know, Nancy. There is very little information about this woman.”
“And you say she frequents the better hotels near here?”
“Yes. For days a woman detective who works with me has been making the rounds, searching for her. Miss Ingle has been taken ill and will be in a hospital for a while. That brings me to the point of why I invited you to come with me, Nancy. How would you like to take Miss Ingle’s place until she’s well again?”
“I’d love it!” Nancy cried promptly. “When do I start work?”
“This morning,” her father replied with a smile as he turned the car into a curving side road. It led toward an imposing hotel at the top of a high cliff.
Mr. Drew parked his car in the grounds of the Hotel Lincoln. As he walked slowly toward the entrance with his daughter, he explained what he wished her to do.
“Your work is very simple, Nancy. While I interview the hotel clerk, you are to wander about the lobby. Observe the women who pass through to see if any seems to act suspiciously or happens to pull out a compact similar to the one I described. She might be a member of the gang of jewel thieves.”
“I’ll also look in the powder room,” Nancy promised. “A woman naturally would make use of her compact there.”
At the hotel entrance Carson Drew said, “We’ll separate now. Meet you in half an hour at the car.”
The lobby was fairly crowded so Nancy attracted no particular attention as she seated herself near the elevator. Here she could see everyone who entered and left by the front door.
Presently, satisfied that the woman she sought was not on the main floor, Nancy went upstairs to look in the ladies’ lounge. She saw several women take compacts from their bags, but none of the containers was jeweled.
The chimes of a clock warned Nancy that she must return to the car to meet her father. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
“No luck?” Mr. Drew inquired, noting her unhappy expression.
“Absolutely none.”
“Well, we’re only beginning our search,” he remarked cheerfully, starting the engine. “An investigator’s work is always tedious.”
A short time later the lawyer drove the car into the grounds of Hemlock Hall, a hotel even larger and more exclusive than the Lincoln. “See you in half an hour.”
In the crowded lobby Nancy soon lost sight of her father. She became completely absorbed in her task of studying the women guests. Nancy was a bit dismayed when she glanced at her wrist watch. She must hurry if she were not to be late meeting her father!
“I’ll check out the powder room before I rejoin Dad,” she said to herself.
The place was deserted, except for a maid and an attractive-looking woman in her early twenties. Nancy gazed at the latter intently and immediately noted the sad expression on her face.
“She can’t be the person I’m after,” Nancy thought, and made a pretense of combing her hair before the mirror.
Her eyes were not upon her own reflection, but focused on the woman who sat nearby.
The next moment Nancy nearly dropped her comb as she saw the stranger open her handbag and take out a beautiful compact set with sparkling gems!
CHAPTER IV
A Weird Sight
NANCY’S heart leaped with excitement. Had she found the person for whom her father was searching?
The woman raised her eyes, flushing slightly as she became aware of Nancy’s stare.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” the young detective said, “but I couldn’t help admiring your beautiful compact. I’ve never seen one like it.”
The stranger graciously handed it to Nancy for closer inspection. With trembling fingers the young detective unfastened the catch. Would the case contain the picture of a child?
With mingled feelings of relief and disappoint ment, Nancy saw that the inside of the cover held only a mirror. After a few admiring comments, she returned the case, and asked the woman if she were a guest at the hotel.
“No, I’m not,” the other admitted. “I came to have lunch with a friend. Are you spending your vacation here?”
Nancy shook her head. “I’m staying at Deer Mountain Hotel.”
“Lovely place,” the young woman remarked. She paused as she powdered her face, then went on, “I formerly lived only a short distance from there. My home was destroy
ed by fire.”
Before Nancy could inquire about the exact location of the house or the stranger’s name, the woman arose. After replacing the compact in her bag, she left the room.
Nancy was tempted to follow her, but could think of no pretext for reopening the conversation. She returned to the car and found her father waiting for her.
“You’re late, Nancy. We won’t have time to visit another hotel. I must get back to Deer Mountain for an important interview.”
“I’m sorry I took so long, Dad. I thought I had located the woman you’re looking for.”
Nancy gave a detailed description of the jeweled compact which had attracted her attention and related the conversation with the young woman.
“Every clue is worth investigating,” Mr. Drew assured Nancy, “and it’s possible this woman may not be so innocent as she seems.”
At Deer Mountain Hotel father and daughter had a quick lunch in the grill, then parted. Nancy found her friends resting in their room after several hours of vigorous exercise playing tennis.
“You were gone such a long while we began to wonder what had happened to you,” George said as Nancy threw herself down into an overstuffed chair. “Tired?”
“Oh, a little, and my hand is hurting me again.”
“Golf scores have been coming in all day,” Bess reported, “but the last we heard you were still in the upper group.”
“There seems to be a lot of gossip in the hotel about your friend Barty,” George remarked. “One of the golf players, the former state champ, practically accused him of cheating.”
Bess put in teasingly, “While you were away, Nancy, he telephoned twice. We told him you’d be back about two o’clock.”
Nancy sighed. “It’s after that now so he’ll probably be calling again. I don’t want to talk to him. Let’s go for a walk to the woods near the sixteenth fairway. I’d like to visit the haunted bridge.”
At once Bess objected. “Oh, we shouldn’t go there alone,” she murmured nervously.
“Now don’t be silly,” George chided her cousin. “You know very well there are no ghosts. It’s only a story, of course.”
The Haunted Bridge Page 2
