The Bluebeard Room (12 page)

Nancy had hoped to find Mrs. Roscoe alone and in a mood to explain her cryptic remark the night of the dinner party. Since there was no chance of that, she soon made an excuse to leave.

Ambling through the steep, cobbled streets of the village, Nancy pondered the puzzle of the seacliff grotto. Why had the nocturnal boatman gone there? A connecting tunnel to the mine might have provided an answer, but now it seemed the—

“Nancy, luv!”

The titian-haired teen came out of her pensive trance to find herself face to face with Alan Trevor. “Alan!” she gasped, then burst out laughing. “I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I never even saw you coming.”

“So I gathered from that frown on your face.”

Together they strolled toward Polpenny Harbor.

“Alan,” Nancy said, “does much smuggling still go on around here nowadays?”

The reporter shrugged. “Some. Dope from the Caribbean, for example, and there’s always the odd case of French wine or brandy being sneaked in across the Channel.”

“Brandy!”
Nancy stopped abruptly as a wild thought flashed through her mind. “Alan, are you game to take me out to that sea cavern again?”

“Love to. Just say when.”

“I’ll have to go back first and change into something
more practical. Make it after lunch—say, 2:00!”

At the castle, Nancy had just finished chatting with Hugh and Lisa and was about to rise from the lunch table, when the butler summoned her to the phone. The London barrister, Mr. Dawlish, was calling to report what he had learned about a sailing ship called
Undine.

“My friend at Lloyd’s says the brig
Undine
sailed from Boston in 1702, bound for Bristol. But it stopped at Cork, Ireland, to pick up an archeological treasure—”

“What sort of treasure?” Nancy put in tensely.

“A recently unearthed figurine. It was being sent to Cambridge University for study. Unfortunately
Undine
never reached Bristol. She was believed to have foundered in a storm, somewhere off the western coast of England.”

“Then both crew and cargo were lost?” Despite her excitement, Nancy tried to keep her voice even.

“Yes, but a passenger survived—a young American girl named Phoebe Harwood.”

Phoebe! . . .
Phoebe
Harwood!
Nancy’s heart was thumping. “That’s a tremendous help, Mr. Dawlish! Thank you ever so much!”

Nancy could hardly wait to get back to the cavern. Alan was waiting on the dock, and their dinghy was soon gliding seaward. They moored the boat to the rocks as before, then clambered into the cliffside grotto. Both had brought flashlights.

“Are you going to tell me now about this sudden brilliant inspiration you had?” said Alan.

Nancy shone her beam at the snouty pig face on the wall. “Liquids like brandy or rum used to be shipped in large casks, right?”

He nodded. “So?”

“Do you know what those casks were called?”

“Sure, Hogsh—” Alan broke off as his jaw dropped open.
“Hogsheads!”

“Correct. So let’s check on those hogsheads right over there.”

“We already did when we came here before. They’re empty.”

“Then let’s find out what’s underneath them.”

The casks were standing on an old tarpaulin. When both were cleared away, a narrow crevice was revealed in the rocky floor of the cave. It appeared to slope downward at an angle.

“I’ll go first,” said Alan. He tied some of the ancient rope around his waist and Nancy let it out as he squirmed down through the hole.

Presently he shouted back up. “Come on, it’s safe! I’ll catch you!”

Nancy slid out of the narrow passageway into his arms. When he set her down, she saw that they were standing on the narrow bank of an underground stream which flowed off into darkness.

“Let’s explore it, Alan!”

He shook his head. “Not now. Wouldn’t be safe.
The tide’s starting to come in. We might be trapped without scuba gear.”

“When’s the next low tide?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Nancy grinned. “Meet you at 9:00 sharp then, on the dock!”

Nancy spent the rest of the afternoon in a fever of impatience. Lisa sensed her overcharged mood.

“You haven’t made up with your rock-star boyfriend by any chance?” she probed.

Nancy smiled. “No, and you mustn’t draw any conclusions from the fact that I attended the Crowned Heads concert last night, either.”

“Then what goes on, Nan? Or shouldn’t I pry?”

“It’s no secret. I’ve a date to go scuba diving tomorrow morning with Alan Trevor—and something tells me it could be very exciting!”

Lady Penvellyn stretched luxuriously and stifled a yawn. “The most exciting thing around here will be a tour group that’s coming to the castle before noon. I’ll have to try and coax Hugh out of working so hard on his book!”

Her friend was looking better, Nancy thought happily. Lisa’s color had improved and her long blond hair was brushed to a glossy sheen. Suddenly Nancy slapped her forehead. “What an idiot! If I’m going diving, I’ll have to rent some scuba gear before all the shops close. Where would be the best place to go, Lisa?”

“Penzance probably. Take the car.”

Scuba diving is a popular sport along the Cornish coast, and Nancy had no difficulty in outfitting herself with equipment. She was loading everything into Hugh’s vintage roadster when she looked up to meet the curious gaze of Mrs. Roscoe.

“Why, hello, Diane! Imagine meeting you here!”

“It
is
a surprise, but what a pleasant one! Are you planning some underwater sightseeing?”

“You could call it that, I guess.” Nancy had an odd feeling that the other woman might not have spoken at all if she hadn’t been caught staring. “Can I offer you a lift back to Polpenny?”

“No, thanks. I have my car.”

Before returning to the castle, Nancy stopped off at Polpenny Harbor to stow her scuba gear aboard the rented dinghy.

Lisa greeted her as she arrived back at the castle. “Get everything you need?”

“Yes, I think so. I saw Diane Roscoe, by the way.”

“I know. She called just a few minutes ago and told me. She sounded very interested in your scuba expedition tomorrow morning.”

Shortly before 9:00 the next morning, Nancy bicycled into the village. Alan was nowhere in sight, so she strolled back and forth on the shingle, watching the fishermen at work.

By 9:30 the reporter still had not appeared. Nancy was growing restless. There was a telephone call box nearby on a corner of the high street. She decided to try his number in Penzance. She heard the phone ringing for a long time at the other end of the line without answer.

On the off chance that she might have dialed incorrectly, she tried again. Still no answer. Nancy figured that if Alan wasn’t at home, he must have overslept and was probably driving to Polpenny at this very moment, with one foot jammed on the gas.

But half an hour later, Nancy was fuming. Surely Alan hadn’t chickened out! Or had he?

Once again she tried Alan’s number. She let the ringing go on and on, determined to make him answer.

But at last Nancy reasoned, All right, so Alan isn’t coming; no sense throwing a tantrum. She decided to sail out to the cavern and explore the underground stream by herself.

Squaring her shoulders, she started back to the dock, then stopped. A sleek red sports car had just driven up, with a man and a girl in it. The girl was Jane Royce, and the driver, Lance Warrick, was getting out to speak to Nancy. “Nancy!”

She faced him, unable to find her voice.

“I—I just wanted to apologize for . . . for what happened the other night.” For once the rock king seemed to have lost his cool self-assurance. “Where are you going?” he added lamely.

“Out in a boat.”

“May I come?” Nancy shot a quizzical glance at his honey-haired companion, and he added quickly, “Never mind her! May I come?”

“I’m going scuba diving.”

Lance’s lean, high-cheekboned face brightened to a smile. “Terrific! That’s my favorite sport. I have full kit in the boot of my car. I always come prepared when I’m anywhere near the coast.”

Nancy shrugged and tried to sound indifferent. “Suit yourself, then.”

He turned back hastily to his car. As she walked away, she heard Jane Royce exclaim angrily to Lance, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s it look like, duckie? I’m going diving.”

“And what am
I
supposed to do?”

“You really want a suggestion?”

Nancy stifled a smile. Lance joined her on the dock with his gear. As they shoved off in the dinghy, he began speaking urgently. “I must’ve been out of my mind to take you for granted, Nancy luv, and to let Jane Royce talk me into that stupid publicity campaign! I reckon I’m so used to that rock scene groupie mentality, I can’t even recognize a nice girl when I meet one!”

He took Nancy’s shoulder to make her turn and face him. “I found out, darling, just how much you do mean to me! Will you take me back,” he pleaded, “and let me try to make things between us the way they were before?”

“Maybe,” Nancy said, her own eyes twinkling. “But you’d better watch the tiller and haul in the main sheet, or you’ll run us right into the breakwater!”

Lance gasped and swung the helm hard aport!

On their way to the headland, she filled him in quickly on her detective work so far. Lance responded to the adventure with high spirits.

“Blimey, this could be the most fun I’ve had since that night we all got carried away at the Hammersmith Palace, and Bobo rammed his foot clear through his bass drum!”

It was a tricky chore getting their scuba gear from the boat into the grotto. Nancy had a brief, uneasy feeling that the hogsheads had been moved slightly from where she and Alan had left them. But she dismissed her suspicions in the excitement of their subterranean adventure.

Lance slithered down the crevice first. After lowering the scuba gear, she joined him.

“What now?” he grinned. “Dive in?”

“Let’s check things out a bit first.”

Following Nancy’s flashlight beam, they made their way along the narrow bank of the underground river. Gradually the walls of the stream bed
converged until they could explore no farther on foot.

“Okay, swim we must, I guess,” said Nancy.

She had on a bikini under her tank top and jeans. While she was doffing her outer clothing, Lance changed into his wet suit behind her back. Then both strapped on their scuba gear and plunged into the water.

“Fairly warm,” Nancy remarked gratefully. “Must be the effect of the Gulf current.”

The warmth indicated that the underground stream they were exploring was definitely fed from outside, which in turn confirmed Alan’s belief that the level might rise considerably at high tide.

Nancy had brought a small but powerful undersea lantern which served to light their way. After they had swum on the surface a fair distance, the roof of the underground passage began to slope downward until at last there was no air clearance left, and they had to don their scuba masks.

But presently both were able to raise their heads again above water. They removed their mouthpieces so they could talk. “Wonder where we are now.” Lance said.

“Quite far under the headland, I should think.”

Minutes later, Nancy gasped in surprise. Just ahead, a cylindrical iron cage appeared out of the darkness. “What on earth is that?!”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, luv.”

She played her lamp beam over the strange
contraption. It seemed to be suspended from the solid rock overhead. Its massive iron bars were rusted and slimed with moss. They could make out what looked like a hinged door.

Lance grasped one of the bars and heaved himself up out of the water. When he tried the latch handle, the door opened easily. Both were amazed.

“Somebody must keep it oiled,” said Nancy, reminded of the locked door of the Bluebeard Room.

Lance entered the cage and pulled her up to join him. A short flight of ladderlike metal steps ran upward around the inside of the cage to a small trapdoor in its solid metal roof.

“Any idea where it leads?” Lance asked her.

“I can only guess. One thing’s for sure—we must be underneath Penvellyn Castle!”

As they took off their scuba gear to explore further, Nancy shivered with excitement. It was almost uncanny, she thought, how closely events seemed to be bearing out her suspicions!

She felt confident that her “connecting link” theory would also prove correct. A musical trap had been laid for her which almost ended fatally in a quicksand bog—but first she had had to be lured to the engine house by that gleam of light. And what better place to see the gleam than up on the castle tower at night!

Assuming there was, indeed, a connection between the two incidents, the plotters must have
known
she would go up on the tower, and maybe even when, which meant that Lisa had been programmed to decoy her up there!

But if so, Lisa must surely have been acting under hypnotic influence—and only one person, Nancy theorized, was best able to exert such influence.

As these thoughts were passing through her head, Lance was mounting the iron ladder treads. He reached up to push against the small trapdoor. It opened with a creak, and he climbed through the opening. Nancy followed.

They found themselves in a dank stone stairwell.

“Game to go on, luv?”

“Try and stop me!”

The stone steps, grooved by centuries of use, wound endlessly upward. At last they found their way to the top, only to be blocked by a plain wooden panel.

Again Lance pushed, and the panel opened outward. Both caught their breaths at the sight that met their eyes. They were in a beamed and vaulted stone room, richly furnished in antique style.

“If this don’t beat all!” Lance tried to sound joking, but his voice was husky with awe.

Nancy swung her lamp around, revealing tapes-tried walls with gilt sconces, heavy oak and walnut furniture that was medieval in appearance—and before a huge fireplace at one end of the room, what looked like a low stone altar.