Mystery of the Tolling Bell

by Carolyn G. Keene

  “She’s in the kitchen,” the girl replied, “but please don’t bother her now unless it’s important. Two of our girls failed to show up today, and we’re nearly frantic trying to serve everyone.”

  “Why don’t we pitch in and help?” Nancy suggested to her friends. “We’ve waited on tables before! ”

  “It would be fun!” agreed George.

  In the kitchen, they found their hostess frantically making dozens of salads. Mrs. Chantrey, a woman in her mid-forties, was ordinarily a serene and well-groomed person. Now a wisp of gray hair tumbled down over one eye, and a splotch of salad dressing stained her apron.

  “Hello,” Nancy said cheerfully. “Do you need any help?”

  Mrs. Chantrey dropped a knife. Her face mirrored dismay. “Why, it’s Nancy Drew, and these are your friends!” she gasped. “How ashamed I am to be found in such a state!”

  “You need help and we’re here to give it,” Nancy said with a smile. “Just tell us what to do.”

  “I can’t put you girls to work the first moment you arrive! Why, you’re my guests!”

  “We’d like to do it,” Bess spoke up.

  “Then I won’t protest any longer. You’re a gift straight from heaven! If you can help out for an hour, the worst of the evening rush will be over.”

  Chatting excitedly, Mrs. Chantrey tied aprons on the three girls. While George remained in the kitchen to make sandwiches, Nancy and Bess were sent to wait on tables. They went to Dora, the waitress they had met a few minutes earlier, and requested instructions.

  “You take the tables out in the garden,” the girl directed Nancy. “Bess and I will handle the inside dining room. Here are your order pads. Don’t try to carry too many dishes or you may have an accident.”

  “Waitress!” called an impatient voice.

  “Everyone is in a dreadful mood,” Dora whispered. “Some have been waiting nearly an hour for their food.”

  Nancy moved swiftly among the tables assigned to her. She took orders efficiently, learning the names of the dishes which made the Salsandee Shop so popular, including the Dandee Tart, filled with steaming hot fish pudding topped with salmon-colored meringue. The girls learned that the last syllable of the name Salsandee was derived from the “dee” in Dandee.

  Customers, at first impatient and cross, soon began to smile. One of the last diners in the garden was a white-haired man with spectacles. He dawdled over a frosted glass of iced tea. Nancy hovered near, hopeful that he would leave, but instead he became talkative.

  “Do you live here?” he inquired.

  “No, I’m just a visitor, helping out,” Nancy explained. “Actually I’m not a waitress.”

  “Well, I’m a stranger to this town myself. Came here looking for a bell.”

  Nancy remained politely silent.

  “Not an ordinary bell, but one that was made in a casting furnace in Boston during the Revolutionary War. A Paul Revere bell—that’s what I’m after.”

  “Are you an antique collector?” Nancy asked, becoming interested.

  “Not exactly. Although, of course, old bells are valuable as antiques.” The man gazed at her with shrewd eyes. “They tell me there are any number of old bells to be had around this town.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Nancy replied. “I arrived here only a few hours ago.”

  “I see, I see,” muttered the stranger. He finished his iced tea, left a coin by his plate, then went down the path toward the ocean.

  While thinking about her conversation with the man, Nancy began to clear away the dishes. She dropped the coin into her pocket, intending to give it and the other tips to Dora.

  As Nancy picked up a plate, she noticed a folded piece of paper on the ground at her feet and brushed it aside. Then the thought struck her that the paper might be important. Perhaps the diner who had just left the garden had dropped it.

  Nancy picked up the paper. The handwriting on it was very old-fashioned. A puzzled look came over the young detective’s face as she read the words, which were in French.

  “Whoever finds this May become enormously wealthy,” she translated in amazement. “In one of my XXX cast bells are embedded many jewels.”

  The paper had been torn in half, and the remainder of the strange message was missing!

  CHAPTER III

  Ghost in the Cave

  As Nancy reread the mysterious words, Bess Marvin approached the table.

  “Thank goodness the last customer has gone!” she exclaimed, pulling off her apron.

  “Uh-huh,” Nancy replied, her mind on the strange message.

  “You’re not listening!” Bess accused. “What is it you’re reading, Nancy?”

  “A paper I found on the ground after one of my customers left. He was an elderly man, Bess, and he said he had come to Candleton to find a bell that had been made by Paul Revere!”

  Nancy handed the paper to her friend to read and waited for her comments.

  “Do you suppose the man thinks the gems are hidden in the Revere bell? Why, it’s another mystery, Nancy!”

  “Not so loud,” the young detective warned with a quick glance around her. “If the contents of this paper should become known, some dishonest person in Candleton might start buying all the old bells around and selling them at a fancy profit.”

  “What is an XXX bell, Nancy?”

  “I don’t know, but my guess is the three X’s might be the trademark of the maker.”

  “Wouldn’t it be marvelous if we could find one ourselves!”

  “That’s an idea,” Nancy said with a smile as she folded the paper. “We should return this to the customer who lost it. I wish I knew his name.”

  Neither Dora nor Mrs. Chantrey could provide any information about the elderly man. They were sure he had never been to the Salsandee Shop before.

  “If the paper is valuable and belongs to him, he’ll come back here to look for it,” Nancy reasoned.

  Mrs. Chantrey sealed the message in an envelope and dropped it into a desk drawer, instructing Dora to give it to the stranger should he call. Then, grateful to the girls for their efficient help, she insisted they stop work and return to her house.

  “I’ll go with you,” she declared. “Dora will be able to take care of the few customers who may drop in between now and closing time. But first we’ll have some dinner.”

  The moon was rising as the three girls later walked along the beach with their hostess. Farther up White Cap Bay they glimpsed a light-house, and Mrs. Chantrey pointed out Whistling Oyster Cove and Bald Head Cliff.

  “Such picturesque names!” George remarked, stooping to pick up an odd-shaped shell. “Is fishing the chief occupation here, Mrs. Chantrey?”

  “I’d say the making of salt-water taffy is!” She chuckled. “But seriously, there’s one interesting spot you must visit,” Mrs. Chantrey went on. “Mother Mathilda’s Candle Shop.”

  “Did those lovely ones at the Salsandee Shop come from there?” Bess inquired.

  “Yes. You may have noticed they’re lightly perfumed.”

  As Bess and George asked questions about the village and its inhabitants, Nancy remained unusually quiet. She was concerned about her father’s absence. Deep in thought, she was startled when her hostess suddenly asked about him.

  “When will Carson arrive in Candleton, Nancy? We were expecting him this morning.”

  “I thought he’d be here before us,” she replied. “Dad telephoned before I left River Heights and said he was taking a plane from New York.”

  Although Mr. Drew was a busy man, and Nancy realized that he might have been delayed by unexpected business, he had never failed to let her know of a change in plans.

  “Now don’t worry about your father,” Mrs. Chantrey said quickly. “Perhaps there’s a message at home.”

  Nancy brightened at the suggestion. But when they reached the house, June Barber said that no word had come. Even though Nancy was greatly concerned, she decided that she could not allow w
orry over her father’s absence to spoil the evening for Bess and George.

  “Tomorrow we must explore White Cap Bay,” she said. “Mrs. Chantrey, in your letter you mentioned a mystery along the shore.”

  Her hostess smiled. “It concerns the cave at the base of Bald Head Cliff. My advice to you would be to avoid the spot.”

  “Please tell us why,” Nancy urged.

  “I’ve never been there myself,” Mrs. Chantrey continued, “but townspeople say it’s spooky and dangerous. According to the tale, Bald Head Cave is inhabited by a ghost. I don’t believe in ghosts, but the fact remains that some unhappy accidents have occurred in that area. Several persons nearly drowned, and one man lost his life.”

  “How do the accidents happen?” Nancy asked.

  “It’s said the ghost causes water to rush out of the cave. He tolls a warning bell whenever people are near, and if they don’t leave at once, the water engulfs them.”

  Bess shivered. “If the ghost were human, he’d drown too. So the thing must be supernatural.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Nancy asked.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Mrs. Chantrey replied. “But not for long. From what I hear, I judge the cave has always been there, but not the ghost nor the rushing water nor the tolling bell.”

  “Has the cave been explored?” George asked.

  “A few venturesome men have tried it but learned nothing.”

  The story excited Nancy’s curiosity. She thought about it late into the night, and concluded there must be some logical explanation for the phenomenon. As Nancy dropped off to sleep, she told herself that the only way to find out was to go there herself and investigate.

  In the morning, however, Nancy forgot about exploring the cave. No message had come from her father and she was unable to hide her alarm. She called her home in River Heights. Hannah Gruen had heard nothing from Mr. Drew and she in turn became worried.

  A call to the lawyer’s office brought no reassurance. Mr. Drew’s secretary was on vacation, and the girl who was taking her place said she thought he had gone to Candleton.

  “And there was no word from New York?”

  “None at all.”

  Discouraged, Nancy thanked her and hung up.

  “Perhaps he’s been in an accident,” she told her friends.

  “Now do stop worrying, Nancy,” Bess said kindly. “If your father had been in an accident, someone in River Heights would have been notified.”

  “Your father will be along any time now, so stop building up gory pictures,” George cut in. To get Nancy’s mind off the matter, she added, “How about exploring Bald Head Cave this morning?”

  “All right,” Nancy agreed with forced cheer-fulness. “I wonder how we reach the place.”

  They learned from June that even at low tide the only safe approach to Bald Head Cave was by motorboat. When she realized the girls intended to go there, June warned them not to venture near the cave. Nancy assured her they would be careful. She and her friends left the house and rented a sturdy craft from a fisherman at a nearby boathouse.

  Under Nancy’s guidance the small boat put-putted slowly along the shore. Rising above the water, and stretching out for about two miles, were the colorful cliffs which had attracted artists from all parts of the country.

  “I see a man up on that cliff with a telescope,” George said, scowling. “He’s looking at us. I hate people with telescopes. They have an unfair advantagel”

  Nancy laughed as she steered nearer shore. “No doubt summer visitors are resented by the all-year inhabitants.”

  The man disappeared from view as the boat came into the shadow of the cliff.

  “Look! The entrance to the cave!” George cried as they reached an indentation about half a mile from the ocean. “It’s rather large.”

  “Let’s just explore the outside,” Bess suggested nervously.

  Nancy smiled as she switched off the boat’s motor, allowing the craft to drift closer to shore. “You know very well, Bess, we couldn’t learn a thing without going inside the cave.”

  “Besides, the story must be exaggerated,” George added. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  Bess, whose gaze had been focused steadily on the cave entrance, suddenly gripped her cousin’s arm.

  “What is it?” George whispered.

  For a moment Bess, badly shaken, could not speak. Then, with a trembling hand, she pointed toward the dark mouth of the cavern and said shakily:

  “The ghost! I saw its white robe. It—it went back into the cave!”

  Startled by Bess’s words, Nancy and George gazed toward the cave entrance. They could see nothing but the dark opening framed by rocks and water.

  “You must have imagined it, Bess,” declared George. “There’s no ghost—nothing white.”

  “Not now, but it was there!”

  “What did it look like?” Nancy asked.

  “I saw only a white blur. But then, ghosts aren’t supposed to have a regular form.”

  “You probably mistook a sea gull for a ghost.” George laughed.

  Bess’s lips drew into a thin, stubborn line. “It certainly was not a bird,” she insisted. “But forget it. Even if that cave were inhabited by twenty ghosts, I know I couldn’t talk you two out of exploring it!”

  Nancy had no intention of venturing farther in a reckless manner. As the boat drifted closer, she studied the entrance to the cave and listened intently.

  “Hear any warning bell?” George asked jokingly.

  Nancy shook her head. The only sound was the roar of the ocean in the distance.

  “What’s your plan?” George inquired.

  “The cave is quite wide and if the water is deep enough we can row the boat inside,” Nancy replied. From the bottom of the craft she picked up the lead line and began to take soundings at the entranceway. “The water is nearly two feet deep here,” she announced, measuring the wet section of the line. “Our boat can’t go aground.”

  Using the oars, the girls cautiously rowed through the cave entrance into the dark interior. Nancy, who always carried a flashlight with her, swept its beam over the jagged stone walls. There was a natural ledge on one side, etched in the rock by erosion. The walls were damp, and the temperature much lower than on the sunny bay.

  “It seems like a very ordinary cavern,” commented George, relaxing. “No ghost. No bell. No water pouring out.”

  Nancy maneuvered the boat to the ledge and fastened the painter securely to a jagged piece of rock.

  “What are you going to do?” Bess demanded.

  “I want to walk along the ledge for a short distance. This cave may have an inner room. It’s too dark to tell from here, and if we take the boat much farther, we may have difficulty getting out.”

  Bess was reluctant to leave the craft, but when she saw that George intended going with Nancy, she too climbed out on the ledge.

  Nancy’s roving flashlight cut dancing patterns on the water-stained walls as the three girls moved cautiously along the narrow ledge.

  “I’m not going on!” Bess announced suddenly, turning and hurrying back toward the boat.

  “Well, how about it, Nancy?” George inquired dubiously. “This place is—”

  Her gaze was fixed on a portion of the ledge far back in the cave.

  “The ghost!” she whispered tremulously. “I saw it just then—a figure in white!”

  Nancy had observed nothing, but George’s fear increased her own growing uneasiness.

  “We’ll go,” Nancy agreed.

  The two girls walked rapidly along the ledge toward the entrance. They had taken scarcely a dozen steps when a bell began to ring far back in the cave. Loud and full in tone, the pealing held a mournful note as if tolling for departed spirits.

  Electrified by the sound, Nancy and George stopped suddenly. The same terrifying thought came to each of them.

  “The warning bell Mrs. Chantrey told us about!” cried George. “It rings just befo
re water rushes through the cave!”

  Nancy seized her by the hand. “Come on!” she urged. “We must get out of here–fastl”

  “Listen!” George cried tensely. “That roaring sound! Hear it?”

  Both girls froze to the spot, for the sound they heard was the mad rush of a great wall of water plunging toward them with the speed of an express train.

  “Run!” screamed Nancy. “Run for your life!”

  CHAPTER IV

  Nancy Vanishes

  THE boat was still some distance away, tied to the jagged rock. Nancy knew that she and George never could reach it before the water struck them. But Bess, who stood on the ledge of the cave beside the craft, might escape.

  “Get in the boat! Cast off!” Nancy shouted frantically.

  It took Bess only a second to realize her great danger. She bent down to loosen the rope.

  The next instant the great wall of water rushed through the cave, sweeping everything before it. Nancy and George, struggling desperately, were engulfed.

  Instinctively Bess clung to the painter of the boat. As the water struck her, the rope snapped free of the rock. The craft raced toward the cave entrance.

  Bess, holding fast to the rope, was carried face downward through the torrent.

  Almost suffocated, Bess clung with all her strength to the rope as the boat shot from the mouth of the cave. Finally, when the speed of the craft lessened, she was able to raise her head to take a deep breath of air and grasp the gunwale.

  The motorboat was half-filled with water. Bess knew if she climbed aboard, it probably would sink. Swimming with one hand, the girl tried to tow the boat toward shore. It was difficult going.

  Frantically her eyes darted toward the cave entrance. Water still boiled from the cavern’s gaping mouth. What had happened to her friends?

  “Nancy! George!” she shouted.

  There was no answer. Bess did not try to call out again. She concentrated all her efforts upon reaching the rocky beach.

  Presently her feet struck bottom. Standing upright, she pulled the boat in so it could not float away, and began bailing water. As she worked, the distressed girl kept scanning the bay, hoping she might see Nancy or George.