Carolyn Keene_Nancy Drew Mysteries 041

by The Clue of the Whistling Bagpipes

  “Finally,” Ned went on, “Mrs. Morrison decided to write the warning note anonymously. She put it in your mailbox, rang the bell, and hurried away.”

  Nancy again praised Ned for his fine sleuthing. Then she told him about her own adventures in Scotland and of the man named Dewar.

  “I’m sure now that what Mrs. Morrison overheard was the name Dewar,” Nancy added.

  Bess and George, meanwhile, having caught snatches of Ned’s big news, could hardly wait for Nancy to finish the conversation. At last she put down the phone and told them.

  “At dinner I’m going to ask Dad if we shouldn’t notify the police.”

  “Well, I think it’s about time!” said George. “The idea of that horrid Mr. Dewar trying to injure you—maybe even kill you!”

  “But why would anyone want to go to such lengths?” Bess queried.

  Nancy shrugged. “I figure Mr. Dewar must be the head of a gang. He’s probably carrying on some kind of underhanded scheme that he doesn’t want my dad and me to investigate.” The young sleuth added that since one suspect, Petrie, had been in River Heights and now had met Dewar in Scotland, it was her guess that the whole affair had something to do with smuggling.

  With a sigh, Bess said, “We started out with a nice little mystery. Now we’re mixed up with smugglers and bomb-planters and goodness knows what else!”

  Nancy and George laughed. In a few minutes Mr. Drew knocked on the girls’ door and the group went downstairs to dinner. Nancy told him what she had learned from Ned. Mr. Drew agreed that the police should be notified, and Nancy did this directly after the meal. She included all aspects and possible clues in the mystery so far. The chief constable promised to try to apprehend Mr. Dewar for questioning.

  The following morning the group went to church. On their return to the hotel, Nancy called headquarters once more. The superintendent on duty said, “We have no news of Mr. Dewar, but we did follow up your tip on the houseboat. I guess you were right about the occupants. By the time we got there last evening the men had left.

  “Neighbors told us that earlier they had moved many large boxes and packages to a truck waiting on the road. Sounds suspicious to me. Evidently they wanted to make everything look honest, because they left money on a table with a printed note: ‘This is for the rent.’ ”

  The officer went on, “Too bad we got there so late. All the police of Scotland have been alerted. I am sure Mr. Dewar will be picked up, as well as his friend Paul Petrie.”

  The next day Mr. Drew had a business conference in connection with the Douglas estate, so the girls decided to visit Edinburgh Castle. They took a taxi up the steep hill leading to it.

  At either side of the entrance stood a soldier. One wore a kilt, tight-buttoned jacket, and the narrow Glengarry cap with two ribbons hanging down the back. In front of the kilt hung a sporran, a slightly elongated white leather purse. The other soldier wore trousers of the regimental plaid. The men smiled at the girls as they passed through the great stone archway into the courtyard.

  In the castle itself there were rooms and rooms of old armor and regimental coats. Nancy noticed an absence of kilts in the various showcases. A guard said that after the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745 when Bonnie Prince Charlie, the Young Pretender, fled from the Highlands to France, and the House of Hanover reigned over England and Scotland, the wearing of kilts was forbidden.

  “This was done to keep the Highlanders from being reminded of Scottish clans and their taste for rebellion. The custom was not revived until George III’s reign.”

  Bess, who had overheard the conversation, remarked, “I’m glad kilts were revived. Men look so picturesque wearing them!”

  After Nancy and her friends had seen most of the stately castle, they went outside to look into tiny Saint Margaret’s Chapel. They learned that anyone in the armed forces of the United Kingdom, no matter what his religion, can be married there.

  “Isn’t that sweet!” Bess said dreamily.

  As the three visitors left the courtyard, George said, “Where to next?”

  Nancy, looking straight down the hilly street which led to Holyrood Palace, said, “This is called the Royal Mile. There are many famous places on the way. Let’s walk down.”

  On the way they came to St. Giles’ Cathedral and went straight to a square side room which was the Chapel of the Knights of the Thistle, the Highest Order of Chivalry.

  Very tall, narrow seats, beautifully carved, were arranged side by side. Above them were the various family shields, topped by canopies and coats of arms.

  Bess sighed. “Isn’t it romantic? Think of all those noblemen in full regalia seated here and discussing the destiny of Scotland!”

  George grinned at her cousin. “Bess, you should have lived a couple of centuries ago and been carried off by a romantic knight and had him pin a corsage of thistles on you—that’s the national emblem.”

  Nancy smiled as the girls walked into the main part of the cathedral. The pulpit proper stood in the center with rows of benches facing it from four sides. Nancy glanced at the guidebook she was carrying.

  “It says a woman was responsible for starting the 1637 civil war here. There were no pews, so each member of the congregation brought his own stool. A woman named Jenny Geddes, angry at the Bishop for the views he was proclaiming, suddenly stood up and hurled her stool at him! At once there was a commotion, and soon religious riots broke out all over Scotland.”

  “She was a courageous soul!” George commented.

  As the trio left the fine old building, Nancy remarked, “Down the street a short way is the home of John Knox, the great reformer and preacher.”

  The girls hurried toward the small three-story structure and went up an outside stairway. The residence contained only display cases of letters, books, sermons written by Knox, and pictures.

  “Oh, look!” Bess cried suddenly. “See how John Knox signed his name!”

  Her friends stared. In a bold scrawl was written Johannes Cnoxus!

  George read bits of sermons and remarked, “He was a fiery preacher, all right. I wonder if anyone today would sit still for two hours and listen to such tirades!”

  She and the others went out to the street again. Bess declared she was very hungry, so they found a small restaurant above St. Giles and had luncheon. Then they continued down the Royal Mile.

  About two minutes later George suddenly remarked, “I have a hunch the man back there is following us on purpose.”

  Nancy stole a glance at him. He had reddish hair, side whiskers, and a beard. He wore a kilt and a navy-blue balmoral.

  “He looks vaguely familiar,” Nancy said, “but I can’t place him.”

  George whispered, “Let’s turn and walk toward him to see what happens.”

  The three friends did an about-face. As the man passed them, he averted his face and went on, but in a few moments he turned and once more followed the girls.

  “Suppose we cross the street and head for Holyrood again,” Nancy suggested.

  When the trio was on the opposite side, the red-bearded stranger soon crossed over and once more walked behind them.

  “Oh, dear!” said Bess. “What’ll we do?”

  George grinned, and said she had a daring proposal to make. “If Nancy thinks she knows the man but doesn’t recognize him, it might be because he’s wearing a disguise. What say we find out if those side whiskers and beard are false!”

  CHAPTER X

  Gaelic Code Message

  “OH, George!” Bess protested. “You wouldn’t dare try pulling off that man’s beard!”

  “Wouldn’t I!” George retorted. “If he’s one of Nancy’s enemies, I want to find out just who he is!”

  Nancy smiled. “Thanks a million, George, but we Americans had better not cause any disturbance here. How about this idea? Why don’t we separate and meet at Holyrood Palace? Mr. Redbeard can’t follow all of us.”

  “That’s a good plan,” Bess agreed at once. “Since I’m sure i
t’s you he’s after, why don’t you let him follow you, and George and I will follow him!”

  Nancy nodded. “I’ll walk on this side of the street with George. Then she can stop and pretend to look in a window and drop behind the man when he goes by. Bess, you cross over, and in case he does too, see where he goes.”

  The plan worked nicely until they neared the Scottish law-court buildings on Bess’s side of the street. Then, suddenly, the strange man dashed into one of them.

  Bess’s heart was beating fast. But she took a deep gulp of air and plunged after him.

  The guard at the door stopped her. “Have you a pass?” he asked.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Then I’m afraid I cannot let you in. The building is closed to visitors today.”

  Bess flushed. “I wanted to find out about the red-haired man who came in here.”

  The guard eyed Bess a bit suspiciously. Then he said stiffly, “I cannot tell you anything about him except that he had a pass.”

  Chagrined, Bess turned away. She waited for several minutes, but the bearded stranger did not reappear. She was puzzled. Why had he been following the girls if he were on legitimate business? And if he were not, how did he happen to have a pass to the building?

  Disappointed that her part in the sleuthing had brought no results, Bess started down the street and finally came to the grounds of Holyrood Palace. Nancy and George were waiting.

  “Any luck?” George asked her cousin.

  Bess shook her head and told what had happened. “If that man isn’t honest, how did he obtain a pass?”

  George sniffed. “I’ll bet it was a phony—or stolen!”

  Nancy was cudgeling her brain—wondering why the stranger seemed familiar. But she could arrive at no conclusion. “I guess there’s nothing more we can do,” she said finally.

  The girls turned to gaze at the palace, built in 1128 as an abbey. The reddish-brown stone structure was still intact. It was surrounded by a large garden and a high iron picket fence.

  A guide took them through the fabulous dwelling. Each room was exquisitely furnished, and the girls learned that the present royal family of Great Britain had a large apartment in the palace which they used when visiting Edinburgh.

  When the girls reached the enormous, elegantly furnished dining room, Bess burst out, “Imagine eating here with your husband at one end of the table and you at the other. You couldn’t even hear each other!”

  The guide grinned. Then he told them a bit of Scottish history, highlighted by the final amalgamation of England and Scotland in 1603.

  “This was the union of the crowns,” he said, “which occurred upon the death of Queen Elizabeth I of England. At that time James VI was king of Scotland; thus he also became King James I of England.”

  “You mean he had both countries to run?” Bess asked, wide eyed.

  “Yes. And, by the way, he had a very interesting start in life. When he was an infant, his mother had him lowered out of a high tower window in Edinburgh Castle to prevent her enemies from taking him for baptism in another faith. It was a dangerous descent.”

  “The poor baby!” Bess said sympathetically.

  “He didn’t do so badly,” George remarked, “becoming king of two countries!”

  Again the guide smiled, then presently escorted them back to the entrance. The girls thanked him for a most interesting tour, and a few minutes later found a taxi to take them back to their hotel. At the entrance they met Mr. Drew, who had just finished his work for the day. He and the girls went in to have tea.

  The lawyer asked for an account of their day’s sightseeing and frowned upon hearing about the red-bearded stranger following the girls. “If you ever see him again,” he said, “I hope you can find out who he is.”

  “Next time I won’t fail!” Nancy declared.

  The lawyer reported that his conferences had been successful, but he must remain in Edinburgh a few days longer.

  “I suggest that you three go on ahead of me to Douglas House. This afternoon while I was in one of the lawyer’s offices I met a charming girl who comes from the Isle of Skye.

  “I learned that she is about to start home and would love to catch a ride. I’m sure you girls will like her, so I invited her to have dinner with us. If you think you can all get along, she’d be glad to act as guide in Inverness-shire. Her name is Fiona Frazer, and she knows the area well.”

  Fiona Frazer proved to be all that Mr. Drew had prophesied. She was a beautiful girl—tall and slender, with rosy coloring, black hair, and big friendly blue eyes. After they had all met in the lobby, Fiona turned to Nancy. “Didn’t I see your picture on the cover of Photographie Internationale?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid you did. It has made me a rather conspicuous figure in your country,” Nancy said, describing her recent experiences.

  Fiona frowned. “Up in Inverness-shire there aren’t so many people, and perhaps you won’t have any trouble.”

  The group spent a delightful dinner hour. By the time they reached the dessert course, Nancy, Bess, and George had become very fond of Fiona. She, in turn, seemed to like them very much. It was arranged that the following morning the four girls would rent a car and start together for Douglas House.

  Nancy told Fiona about the mystery they were trying to solve. “You can still change your mind about going along.”

  The Scottish girl laughed. “I love the sound of it and I like excitement! I’ll go.”

  As they were eating dessert, a woman passed their table. She waved her hand graciously to Fiona and said something in a language which the girls did not understand. When the woman went on, Fiona explained, “She was speaking in Gaelic.”

  “What a pretty language!” said Nancy. “Do you speak it fluently?”

  “Oh, yes,” Fiona answered.

  Nancy was intrigued. “You must teach me some words while we’re driving along.”

  Fiona laughed. “Let’s start right now.” She picked up a roll from a dish which had not been removed from the table and said, “This is aran. It is pronounced ā-rran.”

  “It means bread?”

  “Yes.” Fiona went on, “Tomorrow we shall go on a lõ-ang. It’s spelled l-o-n-g, and means ship. Actually, what we’re taking is a ferryboat.”

  Nancy blinked excitedly. She had suddenly recalled that the word long was in the mysterious note she had found in the bureau drawer! “Fiona, is m-a-l-l a word?” she asked.

  “Yes. You pronounce it mā-ool, and it means slow.”

  Hearing this, Nancy opened her purse, took out her notebook, and wrote out the strange words in the mysterious note. Fiona translated:

  “‘Highway ditch lock rod ship slow wife member without stamp.’ Stamp means an impression.”

  George gave a groan. “That message is as unintelligible in English as it is in Gaelic!”

  “I’m sure,” said Nancy, “that the message is in code. ‘Ship slow’ could have meant that houseboat on Loch Lomond where the mysterious men were staying.”

  “You’re right!” George exclaimed. “The note was left for Mr. Dewar. Maybe it means that if Nancy should show up, the occupants of the houseboat were to leave immediately with their possessions.”

  “It does look,” said Mr. Drew, “as if the boxes which were removed contained stolen goods.”

  Nancy agreed, thinking this would tie in with her theory about a smuggling racket. Then she added grimly, “I’ll bet Mr. Dewar was the driver who tried to run me off the road and cause an accident. When he failed, he went back and warned those men to get out.”

  Her father was thoughtful. “Nancy, if you girls are right in your theories, you have picked up one clue to many secrets that may be contained in the Gaelic code message!”

  CHAPTER XI

  Submerged Car

  MR. DREW and the four girls continued to stare at the strange Gaelic code message. Fiona offered a suggestion that the writer was not familiar with the language. He had merely used c
ertain words to convey his message.

  “You mean,” said Bess, “that he could have done this by using a dictionary?”

  “Yes.”

  George grinned broadly. “I was just thinking that the words ‘wife member without stamp’ might mean that some woman is involved in the mystery. She could be a foreigner who isn’t in this country legally.”

  Mr. Drew looked at George admiringly. “You may have interpreted this correctly. If so, you girls had better keep your eyes open for a woman who is trying to hamper you in your endeavors.”

  Nancy remarked with a grin, “I can’t let Bess and George get ahead of me in this guessing game! Perhaps the first two words, ‘highway ditch,’ meant that Mr. Dewar was to force my car into a ditch if possible.”

  “And he did!” Bess told Fiona.

  Soon afterward, the group left the table. Fiona said good night. She would meet the girls in the morning after breakfast. “It is most kind of you to give me a ride,” she said, “and I shall do my best to make the trip interesting.”

  At nine the following day Fiona was waiting in the lobby. Outside stood the girls’ rented car, a small four-seat convertible sports model. After Nancy and her father had signed all the necessary papers, the driver went off. A porter stowed the girls’ baggage in the trunk. Nancy kissed Mr. Drew good-by and took her place behind the wheel.

  “We’re off!” Bess cried enthusiastically. “And what a beautiful day!”

  Fiona directed the way out of town and across the Firth of Forth. Then they headed northwest toward the town of Fort William.

  “Are you happy to be going home to the Isle of Skye?” Bess asked the Scottish girl.

  “Yes, indeed,” Fiona said, smiling. “And I hope that you will be able to come and visit me before your trip is finished. I could tell you much local history and folklore.”

  “Tell us some now,” Nancy urged. “I don’t even know the names of famous spots on Skye.”

  “One is Borreraig, where the most famous college of piping once trained pipers from all over the Highlands!” Fiona declared, her eyes sparkling.