The stranger made no attempt to buy any of the French woman’s cosmetics or perfumes. Apparently he was well acquainted with her, for they conversed freely. The man gestured angrily, and Ned and Nancy guessed he was trying to force the woman to agree to something against her will. Once Madame pointed toward the young people. Wrathfully the man pulled down her arm.
“What do you make of it?” Ned asked curiously.
Nancy had no answer. She continued to stare as Madame and her companion hurriedly walked away together and disappeared in the direction of the beach.
CHAPTER VIII
The Collector
SOON after Nancy and Ned returned to Mrs. Chantrey’s, Ned said good-by. Early that evening, before their hostess came in, Bess and George went to the movies. Nancy and her father sat alone on the porch.
“It’s wonderful to be here with you, Dad,” Nancy said affectionately. “But I’m getting a bit restless. You hinted at my being able to help you on Mrs. Chantrey’s case. You haven’t given me my job yet.”
“That’s right, Nancy. But you must admit I was delayed in carrying on my own work. Thanks to you, though, I got out of that awful hotel. Now I can continue where I left off.
“A New York broker named Harry Tyrox,” Mr. Drew went on grimly, “sold Mrs. Chantrey a lot of bad stock. He and his gang of sharp operators must be prosecuted. I’m afraid, though,” the lawyer added, “that Mrs. Chantrey will never get her money back.”
“Have you told her?” Nancy asked.
“No, but I think she suspects it. The job I had for you, Nancy, concerns Mrs. Chantrey herself. I’m afraid if someone doesn’t bolster her morale, she may break down.”
“Oh!” Nancy exclaimed, then whispered, “Sh, Dad, here she comes.”
Mrs. Chantrey walked up the porch steps, looking very tired. Nancy asked about her day at the Salsandee Shop, and she admitted she was having trouble again with her employees. A waitress had given up her job without notice, and one of the shop’s most reliable cooks had had an accident and was unable to work.
“I don’t know what I’ll do.” The tearoom owner gave a deep sigh.
“Why not use me again?” Nancy volunteered. “I’d love to help. I’m sure Bess and George would too.”
“It isn’t fair to you girls,” their hostess protested. “I invited you here for a vacation.”
“And we’re having a grand one!” Nancy declared. “Why, it’s fun working at the Salsandee Shop. And I have another reason for wanting to be there,” the girl added. “I’m especially interested in one of your customers.”
“Do you mean the man who dropped the paper telling about the XXX bell with the jewels in it?” Mrs. Chantrey asked.
“That’s right. Did he ever come to claim it?”
“No, he never returned. The paper is still in the drawer at the shop.”
Early the next morning Bess, George, and Nancy donned uniforms and once more took up their duties at the tearoom.
Nancy wondered if she would ever meet “the bell man” again. She was very much pleased, therefore, when she saw him come in at three o’clock. He paused at the cashier’s desk, and Nancy heard him say in an agitated voice:
“My name is Hendrick—Amos Hendrick. Only this morning I discovered the loss of a certain paper. It’s valuable, and I’ll pay a good reward to get it back. I’m not certain I lost it here, but there’s a chance it dropped from my pocket when I paid my bill.”
“I’ll ask the owner, Mr. Hendrick,” the cashier replied.
“A. H., if you please,” the man said firmly. “I don’t like to be called Hendrick.”
There was no need for the cashier to ask Mrs. Chantrey about the paper. Nancy identified the man as the person who had sat at the table where she had found the strange message.
“And you’re the pretty little waitress who served me so nicely,” Mr. Hendrick said with a smile.
Nancy searched the desk drawer where the envelope with the mysterious message had been placed. She went through its contents carefully. Satisfied that the paper was not there, she searched the other drawers. The secret message could not be found. Neither Mrs. Chantrey nor any of the employees was able to throw light on its disappearance.
Mr. Hendrick plainly was distressed. “That paper is very old and valuable,” he declared.
Equally troubled by the loss, Nancy did not know what to say.
“Don’t you remember the contents of the message?” she inquired.
“ ‘Course I do. That paper was found in my father’s safe when he died and I know the contents by heart. But I don’t want it to fall into the hands of a stranger!”
“Then you believe that some other person may be interested in searching for one of those XXX bells?”
A. H. gave her a quick, guarded look. George, who had joined the group with Bess, exclaimed impulsively, “You’re making a mistake if you don’t tell Nancy all about your paper and get her to help you! Why, she’s solved more mysteries than you could count on your fingers and toes together!”
The man paused. His eyes sparkled as he said, “Ganging up on me, eh? You girls are three peas in a pod. Now why are you so interested in that paper?”
“Because we like adventure,” Bess replied.
Mr. Hendrick’s interest was aroused. He asked several questions about the detective work Nancy had done. She was uncertain whether he was joking or serious when he inquired:
“Well, how much will you charge to take my case? It’s a tough one, I warn you.”
“I solve mysteries for the fun of it,” Nancy replied. “Suppose you tell me about your case, Mr. Hendrick.”
“Not here.”
“We might go for a walk along the beach. My friends and I have an hour off before the tearoom gets busy again.”
“Fine,” Mr. Hendrick agreed with enthusiasm. “Come along, all of you.”
They walked a short distance down the shore, then the girls led the elderly man to a half-rotted log on which he could sit.
“To make a long story short, I’ve been interested in bells all my life,” he began. “So was my father and his father before him. Know anything about bells?”
“Only that they ring.” Bess giggled.
“No two ring alike. Some are high-pitched, some low, some have beautiful tone quality, and others are so harsh they insult your ears. Bells are with us from the cradle to the grave; they rejoice in our victories and toll our sorrows. They have enriched historical moments, colored romance, and struck terror in the hearts of the superstitious!
“My father was a bell maker and so was my grandfather,” A. H. resumed proudly. “They learned the art in Europe where they had their foundry. Know how to make a big bell?”
Nancy replied that she had only a vague idea.
“First you make a mold, and that takes a good many weeks if the bell is to be a perfect one. Then you pour in the hot, liquid metal. You have to be very careful. If the mold is not properly constructed, or you don’t wait until the metal sets properly, the bell will crack when you take it out. A large bell must be cooled for a week or two before it can be removed.”
“Tell us about American bells,” Nancy urged, wishing to draw Mr. Hendrick into revealing more about the mystery.
“The first bell foundry in this country was established by the Hanks family, ancestors of Abraham Lincoln on his mother’s side,” Mr. Hendrick related. “Then there was Paul Revere. After the Revolution, he built a furnace in Boston and cast small bells. He also made large ones for churches. During his lifetime he cast nigh up to two hundred bells.”
“What became of them?” Nancy asked.
“Ah! There lies the story. Fifty were destroyed by fire, one hangs in King’s Chapel, Boston, but most of them are scattered over the country, and the folks that own ’em probably don’t realize what a treasure they possess.”
“Do you collect bells?” Bess inquired.
“Yes, I do. I’ve toured the country up and down looking for them. Own maybe f
ifty bells of all types and construction. I’m always searching for Paul Revere bells but right now I’m also hoping to locate another type.”
“The XXX bell with embedded jewels?” Nancy asked softly.
A. H. nodded. “That paper I lost was found in my father’s effects and was written by my grandfather. The bell was stolen from his foundry. I’ve spent eight years searching for that bell.”
“And you haven’t discovered any clues?” asked George.
“I found some, but nothing came of them. My search has been interesting, though. I’ve collected other valuable bells, and I’ve met a lot of nice folks. To get them to talk, I tell them about my hunt for Paul Revere bells. Then they usually show me all the bells on the premises, most of which are worthless.”
“There’s one bell I wonder if you have seen,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “According to some people around here, it hangs somewhere deep within Bald Head Cave.”
“Oh, I heard that story when I first came here,” the man answered. “Nothing to it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I went there and looked around.”
“And you didn’t hear the bell?”
“No bell rang and no ghost appeared to warn me.” A. H. chuckled. “It’s just one of those superstitious tales.”
“I can’t understand why you didn’t hear the bell,” Nancy said, puzzled. “When my friends and I went there, we not only heard the warning bell, but we barely escaped with our lives.”
Instantly Mr. Hendrick became curious, asking many questions.
“I must go there again!” he exclaimed. “Tomorrow, perhaps.”
“Take us with you,” Nancy suggested. “After our experience I’m sure you shouldn’t go there alone.”
A. H. chuckled. “I can’t swim a stroke, I admit. Maybe I could use the help of three athletic girls if I should get in a tight spot with that ghost!”
Arrangements were made to meet him the following afternoon at a boat rental dock. The girls arrived ten minutes ahead of time. Amos Hendrick soon ambled along.
“I want it thoroughly understood before we start,” Bess announced as she climbed into the boat, “that we’re not setting foot inside the cave. It’s too dangerous! We can hear the bell without going inside!”
“Agreed,” said A. H. “But I warn you, if I should hear a bell ringing, no telling what I’d do.”
Nancy took the helm of the motorboat and they made a speedy trip to the foot of Bald Head Cliff. No fishermen were nearby, and the entire shore appeared to be deserted. Nancy idled the motor, allowing the boat to drift close to the shore.
“Don’t go any nearer the cave,” Bess warned.
A. H. said nothing, but from the way he smiled the girls knew he considered them overcautious. For half an hour Nancy kept the boat hovering near the cave entrance. Nothing happened.
“I’m getting tired of waiting,” Mr. Hendrick complained. “Why don’t we go ashore and—?”
He broke off, listening intently. Nancy and her friends also had heard the sound. Deep within the cave a bell tolled mournfully.
“You girls were right. There is a bell!” the old man cried excitedly. “A mighty good bell, too, with fine resonance and tone quality!”
Forgetting the girls’ warning, he seized an oar and started paddling the motorboat into the cave.
“No! No!” exclaimed Nancy, grabbing his arm.
“Let me go!” A. H. insisted. “I must get that bell!”
CHAPTER IX
Cobweb Cottage
WITH a mighty jerk Nancy pulled the oar from Mr. Hendrick, pushed the throttle, and backed the boat away from the cave. A moment later a great flood of water rushed from the entrance. The boat was buffeted wildly by the waves.
“The ghost must have seen us!” Bess exclaimed dramatically, gripping the sides of the boat to keep from being tossed into the water.
Amos Hendrick, who had scoffed at the ghost tale earlier, was now trembling like a leaf. As Nancy steered the craft into less turbulent water, he said with an attempt at composure:
“This brings to mind a story told me as a child. According to it, a worker in a bell foundry near the ocean set sail in a small dory equipped with a tolling bell. It was said he joined some pirates who hid their loot in a cave. Nothing was ever heard about him again.”
“Perhaps he was drowned at sea,” Nancy remarked.
“So it was assumed, because for many years on moonlight nights other workers reported seeing his ghost walking on the water not far from the foundry.”
“And you believe the story?” George asked.
“Many persons vouched for the tale. The ghost finally disappeared, and it was said he went back to the cave.”
A. H. then added with a quick change back to the present, “I’d like to get my hands on that bell inside Bald Head Cave!”
“Please don’t try,” Nancy requested. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Let’s go home,” Bess proposed. “This place makes me feel uneasy.”
“I have something I want to do first,” said Nancy, staring speculatively at the cliff. “Who wants to go exploring?”
“I for one,” George replied promptly.
Mr. Hendrick declined. “I haven’t enough of the goat in me to climb around rocks. You girls go along. I’ll stay and watch the boat.”
Bess was glad of an excuse to avoid the expedition and remained with A. H.
“Don’t let the ghost get you,” George said jokingly as she and Nancy stripped off shoes and socks before wading ashore.
Soon the two girls reached the rocky beach. There they put on their shoes again, and started up the cliff. Reaching the top they admired the view and waved to Bess and A. H. in the boat.
“I climbed up here a much easier way the day we nearly drowned in the cave,” Nancy said. “Want to see where I had that remarkable dream?”
“So that’s why we came,” George needled.
“I’m curious to find out how the place looks, now that I have my wits about me.”
Without difficulty Nancy spotted the general location where she had slept.
“I can’t figure out how you reached the road from here,” George commented. “If you walked in your sleep you were lucky you didn’t fall off the cliff and kill yourself.”
“I think so, too,” Nancy said soberly.
The girls looked about, seeking a trail which would lead to the road. Suddenly George stumbled into a crevice between the rocks, severely twisting her ankle. Though she tried to walk, it was evident she could go no farther without great pain.
“I’ll wait here,” she decided. “You go on by yourself, Nancy.”
Nancy hesitated, but George, who knew her friend wanted to do some exploring, would not permit her to give up the expedition.
Nancy went on alone, directing her steps toward a weather-beaten cottage nestled against high rocks. She did not recall seeing it the first time she was on the cliff, probably because of the drowsy state she was in that day.
“Some tragedy must have occurred here!” Nancy thought.
“What a lonesome place for anyone to live!” she reflected. “No trees. No garden. And it must be cold and windy in the winter.”
Impulsively Nancy decided to call on the occupants. It was not until she was quite near the cottage that it suddenly occurred to her the men whose voices she had heard might live there.
But Nancy could not resist the temptation to investigate the house. It was so neglected looking that she decided the place was deserted. The curtains at the windows looked very soiled. A painted rocker stood on the porch, dust-covered and faded. It swayed gently to and fro in the wind.
Nancy went to the door and knocked several times. No one answered. Convinced that the house was vacant, she tried the door. Finding it had no lock, she lifted the latch and went inside.
What Nancy saw caused her to draw in her breath sharply. Chills raced down her spine.
A dining table which stood in t
he center of the room was set with two places. Food lay on the plates. But the food was moldy and covered with cobwebs. A chair stood precisely at each place, as though the occupants had gone away suddenly just before sitting down to the meal. “Some tragedy must have occurred here!” Nancy thought. “And not recently, either. The owners evidently left the cottage in a hurry and never returned. But why?”
The young detective peered into the other rooms and saw further evidence that the former tenants had fled quickly.
“It’s strange they never came back to remove the furniture,” she mused.
Deeply impressed, Nancy left quietly, carefully closing the outside door so that it would not bang back and forth in the wind. Reflecting upon the strange appearance of the house inside, she made her way slowly across the cliff. Midway to the spot where she had left George, Nancy was startled to hear a shout from below.
“That was Bess!” Nancy said to herself. “What has happened?”
She started to run. Out of breath and thoroughly frightened, Nancy reached the spot where George was standing.
“What is it?” she cried. “What’s wrong?”
George answered by pointing toward the bay. The motorboat, with only A. H. aboard, was chugging off rapidly toward Candletonl
CHAPTER X
A Puzzling Disappearance
“WHAT’S the matter with A. H.?” George cried furiously. “He can’t go off and leave us stranded here!”
“Maybe he can’t, but that’s exactly what he’s doing!” Nancy replied.
She cupped her hands and called to the elderly man. If he heard her, he gave no sign.
From some distance below, Bess also was shouting and waving. It seemed incredible that A. H. could not hear them.
“He’s going off and leaving us on purposel” George said bitterly.
Both girls knew that to be left alone on the cliff was a serious matter. There were no boats, and the nearest inhabited house was a long distance down the road. George, with an injured ankle, could not walk very far.
They watched, hopeful that the motorboat would turn and come back for them. Instead, it kept on steadily toward Candleton. Soon it was a mere speck on the water.
Mystery of the Tolling Bell Page 5
