Chapter 10 The Bungalow Mystery by Carolyn Keene
The Danger Sign
Alert for possible danger, Nancy moved forward with the utmost caution. It occurred to her that possibly Aborn had become aware he was being followed and had hidden in the bushes to watch the pursuer.
“I’ll walk into a trap!” Nancy thought with alarm. “Mr. Aborn will learn I’m spying on him and everything will be ruined!”
With great caution she moved from one bush and tree to another. Laura’s guardian was not hiding behind any of them.
“That’s funny,” Nancy said to herself.
She examined the ground, almost expecting there would be a cave or secret tunnel in the vicinity. But the earth was firm and in many places very rocky.
Finally Nancy came to a tiny clearing. On the far side attached to a large oak was a crudely printed wooden sign which read:
Private Property. Keep out. Danger!
“I wonder if that’s where Mr. Aborn went and why?” the young detective asked herself.
She waited several minutes, then decided to cross the clearing. She was not stopped. Entering the woods again, she saw a dilapidated shack. The windows had been boarded up, and the roof sagged.
“One good gust of wind would blow the place over,” Nancy said to herself.
She stepped from among the bushes and stood in the shadow of the trees, curiously surveying the building. Was it possible that Jacob Aborn had entered it?
Nancy’s eyes searched the ground for footprints. Directly ahead, in the soft earth, she saw the fresh mark of a man’s shoe. Instantly her suspicions were confirmed.
Jacob Aborn had come this way!
“I’ll just have a look at this shack,” the young sleuth decided.
After quickly glancing about to make certain she was not being watched, Nancy hurried forward. Tiptoeing across the front porch, she quietly tried the door. It was locked. Nancy walked around to the rear door and found that it likewise was securely fastened.
Although disappointed, Nancy was unwilling to give up. Making a complete circuit of the shack, she saw a window from which several boards had fallen. It was too high for her to peer through. Nancy returned to the rear of the building to get an old box that she had seen. She set it beneath the window and mounted it.
Pressing her face against the glass, she gazed inside. The room, apparently a kitchen, was bare of furniture and covered with dust and cobwebs.
“I wish I could get inside,” Nancy thought.
She was about to climb down from the box when a strange feeling came over her. Though she had heard no sound, Nancy sensed that unfriendly eyes were watching her every move.
Before she could turn around and look over her shoulder, a coarse, angry voice barked into her ear:
“What are you doing here, young lady?”
Nancy wheeled and faced Jacob Aborn!
With as much dignity as she could muster, the girl detective stepped to the ground and regarded the man with composure. His eyes burned with rage.
“I was merely curious,” Nancy replied. “And may I ask why you are here?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you. I’m looking for my ward.”
“You mean Laura Pendleton?”
“Yes. Who else? I thought maybe she was hiding here. But nobody’s in the shack.”
“Why in the world would Laura hide in this ramshackle place?” Nancy asked, trying to show as much surprise as possible.
“Search me,” Mr. Aborn said, then added angrily, his eyes boring Nancy’s, “Laura has run away!”
“Run away?” Nancy repeated.
“Yes. Yesterday. I’ll tell you something about that ward of mine—” A crafty light came into Jacob Aborn’s eyes as he went on, “At times she acts unbalanced—thinks folks don’t treat her right.”
“Indeed?” said Nancy, pretending to be shocked.
By now Laura’s guardian had calmed down. When he spoke again he was once more the pleasant man Nancy had met at the Montewago Hotel.
“It’s for Laura’s own good that she ought to return home,” he said. “Mrs. Aborn is dreadfully upset. She loves Laura just like a mother. Miss Drew, have you heard from Laura by any chance?”
Nancy was on her guard. “Why should I hear from her?” she countered. “We never met until that accident on the lake and she came to rescue my friend Helen and me.”
Mr. Aborn did not pursue the subject. Instead, he said, “Laura’s a nervous, high-strung girl. Why, do you know she locked herself in her room the entire time she was with us—wouldn’t eat, or even let us try to help her?”
“Terrible!” Nancy said, pretending to be shocked. “Laura does need help.”
Secretly Nancy felt that Jacob Aborn was telling this version of the locked-door story to cover his own actions, in case they came to light.
“Have you notified the police, Mr. Aborn?” she asked, probing for further information.
“We have a private detective working on the matter,” the man stated. “We don’t want any bad publicity because of dear Marie Pendleton’s memory. She entrusted Laura to my care because she knew how much my wife and I would love the girl.”
Nancy suddenly was finding it hard to concentrate on what Mr. Aborn was saying. Was she wrong or had she heard a sound inside the shack?
“This is very strange,” she told herself. “But I don’t dare pursue the subject or Mr. Aborn will really become suspicious.” Aloud she said, “I certainly hope Laura is all right. Well, I must go now. I have some friends here at Melrose Lake I plan to call on.” She paused, then added lightly, “In fact, I believe you know them, Mr. Aborn—the Donnell family.”
The man looked startled, then recovered himself. “Oh, yes. Fine family. Say hello to them for me, please.”
Nancy promised that she would. Since Mr. Aborn made no move to accompany her, she said good-by and walked rapidly back to the spot where her convertible was parked.
As Nancy climbed into it, she cast a glance over her shoulder. There was no sign of Mr. Aborn. Had he gone into the shack? Was someone there? Had he been delivering packages to the person?
Nancy started the car’s motor and backed out to the main road. As she drove along, her thoughts were entirely on Mr. Aborn. She had no doubt but that the man had been lying about Laura’s behavior.
“I must find out more about that man,” Nancy decided.
Reaching the highway, she stopped at a service station, had the gas tank of her car filled, and asked directions to the Donnell home. The attendant told her how to reach the place, and a short while later Nancy drew up before a lovely redwood house located well off the road.
She got out and rang the front doorbell. There was no answer. Nancy walked around to the back of the house. A gardener was there, trimming the flower beds.
“Howdy, miss!” the elderly man hailed her. “Looking for the Donnells?”
“Yes. Are they away?” Nancy inquired.
“Yep. They’re visiting relatives in Crescent Gardens ’til tonight. Any message?”
Nancy said no, that she would call again, and thanked the man. As she drove away Nancy was disappointed that she had been unable to pick up any information regarding Mr. Aborn.
“I don’t want to leave Melrose Lake until I have learned something to help Laura,” she thought. “Mr. Aborn may trace her whereabouts to our home and force Laura to return with him before Dad gets back to town. I suppose he has a legal right to do it.”
At last an idea came to Nancy. “I’ll go to one of the hotels on the lake and engage a room. Then, after it gets dark, I’ll do a little more investigating.”
Fortunately, Nancy always carried an overnight case in her car trunk. It contained pajamas and robe, two changes of clothing, toilet articles, and, this time of year, a bathing suit.
Presently she saw a large white building ahead of her. Its green lawn sloped down to the sandy beach. On the stone pillar at the side of the driveway was the sign: Beach Cliff Hotel.
“I think I’ll stop here,” Nancy decided. She parked her car and entered the pleasant lobby. In a few minutes she had registered and been taken to a comfortable room overlooking the lake.
“I’ll telephone home,” Nancy said to herself, “and tell Hannah where I am.”
As Nancy placed the call, a chilling thought suddenly popped into her mind. Perhaps the detective whom Aborn had engaged had already traced the runaway girl, and knew Nancy had not told all she knew about Laura. If so, Nancy might find that her guest had already been whisked away from the Drew home!