Chapter 16 The Password to Larkspur Lane by Carolyn Keene
On the Trail
As the powerful motor hummed almost noiselessly along, Nancy explained her quest to Helen, who was thrilled beyond words to be associated once more with her clever chum in unraveling a mystery.
Nancy also told her why she believed the sanatorium, in which Mrs. Mary Eldridge was believed to be a prisoner, was located northwest of the Drew home.
“The Tooker estate, whatever its connection with the scheme of things, lies southeast of River Heights, and the pigeon and airplane both flew over our house. Therefore, the location of the other headquarters must be at a point of the compass opposite the southeast,” she explained.
In accordance with that scheme, Nancy now chose roads which led north of River Heights. After about an hour’s drive they came out onto a highway where the Blenheim homestead was located. The girls could see the lawns crowded with visitors, while in a meadow scores of automobiles were parked.
“What’s going on there?” Helen asked.
“The annual charity flower show,” Nancy replied. “I should like to see how my exhibit is taking—but I guess our search is more important.”
Resolutely she headed the car in the opposite direction, and after driving about fifteen miles reached a section where the road narrowed and habitation ceased. The countryside was generously sprinkled with patches of woodland, with here and there open fields too stony to be tilled. After another three miles Nancy pulled the car up to the side of the road and stopped.
“As I figure it out,” she said, “we are now on the enemy’s border. I wish we had an airplane to get a bird’s-eye view of the territory, but we shall have to do the best we can by poking around back roads.”
“How could anyone live in such a place—even a crook!” exclaimed Helen. “One couldn’t grow a thing to eat, and it’s so far from any cities!”
“People who are dishonest always manage such things,” said Nancy wisely. “This kind of woodland would be an ideal place in which to conceal someone.”
She started the car again, and for an hour explored every side road. Most of these were merely lumber trails which ended a short distance from the highway. At other times she would find a cabin and inquire of the inhabitants whether there was a sanatorium in the neighborhood. The answer was always “No,” and again Nancy would go on with the search.
“It is ten minutes past five,” she observed presently, looking at the clock on the dashboard.
Both girls were tired out from the quest, their nerves tense with the strain of being constantly on the alert. Time and again a patch of blue in a distant garden raised their hopes that here was the clue of the larkspur. Yet on every occasion the house attached was so obviously the summer home of respectable people that the girls did not trouble themselves to make any inquiries in the neighborhood.
“The establishment we’re looking for is well hidden,” Nancy sighed, as the car came to the end of another narrow road. “Home we must go, Helen, to try again another day.”
She turned the auto about, retraced her route to the main highway, and started in the direction where the Corning cottage was located. Helen leaned back and allowed the breeze to sweep through her hair.
“It was a good start, though, Nancy,” the latter girl remarked. “Probably next time we hunt you’ll be able—oh!”
Nancy had pressed her right foot down hard upon the brake. The powerful hydraulic clamps had gripped the wheels so forcibly that the automobile had stopped in its tracks.
“Sorry to bump you,” Nancy said, “but we just passed a sign that I didn’t see when we drove past here before.”
She backed the car expertly a dozen feet, and brought it to a halt opposite a very narrow dirt road.
“This looks like all the rest of the trails,” Helen remarked. “You aren’t going to try it, are you?”
“Look at the sign,” Nancy pointed out.
Helen saw a crude, hand-lettered board nailed to a tree, which proclaimed, “L. S. Lane.”
“What about it?” Helen asked. “Evidently this leads to the cabin of a lumberman named Lane—L. S. Lane.”
“And on the other hand, perhaps this was put here to mean Larkspur Lane,” Nancy announced. “It is worth investigating, anyhow.”
With that she turned the auto into the narrow roadway. The lane proved to be wide enough for only one car, but as she drove on she found places where the side bank had been cut into to allow a vehicle to park while another passed it. Proceeding cautiously over the ruts and bumps, Nancy presently pulled into one of the wider places, stopping the machine close to the trees. The car was concealed from view except to someone who might be within twenty-five feet of it on the lane.
“If this is the right place, we had better not make our entrance in too obvious a manner,” she announced.
“What do you intend to do?” Helen asked.
“To walk from here—for a distance, at any rate.”
Pocketing the keys to the car, Nancy led the way through the trees paralleling the road. Helen followed silently. For nearly a quarter of a mile they trudged through the underbrush without seeing or hearing anything more than the crackle of broken twigs and the hum of disturbed insects. Suddenly Nancy halted.
“Look!” she cried. “It’s the place! I’m sure of it!”
Helen followed Nancy’s outthrust finger. A dozen yards ahead the trees ended at a high mesh fence. A small brown lodge stood at the entrance next to a barred gate. Inside the fence the ground rose steeply, with woods on one side and a large field on the other. A gravel roadway led to the top of the hill, where the roof of a large dwelling was barely visible.
“Why, the whole hillside is a mass of flowers,” Helen whispered. “How beautiful!”
“And the flowers are larkspurs!” Nancy said, a note of triumph in her voice. “Let us get a closer view.”
Cautiously as stalking Indians the girls advanced, taking advantage of every tree trunk and bush for concealment. They worked their way to the edge of the woods, where they crouched behind a clump of sumac and studied the scene.
There was no sign of any living thing. If any person were within the gatehouse, he was not to be seen at the moment.
Then suddenly there appeared for an instant in the distance near the brow of the hill a flash of white. Nancy grabbed Helen’s hand.
“Did you see it?” she whispered tensely. “I’m sure it was a nurse’s costume.”
“This is the place you have been looking for,” Helen answered excitedly. “Oh, isn’t this thrilling! Now what shall we do, Nancy?”
“I was just wondering,” her chum answered thoughtfully. “It’s dangerous business, I know. Listen! Do you hear an airplane?”
“Yes, plainly now,” Helen agreed. “Is it coming here?”
“Let’s wait a minute and find out.”
The aircraft was approaching from behind them. Several minutes passed before it became visible. Then it shot overhead, flying low.
“It is the same type of plane that wounded the bird,” she whispered quickly. “And it is like the one that flew into the Tooker estate, I am pretty sure,” she added. “Yes, there is that funny design on the side—an animal of some sort.”
“He is going past the place, though,” Helen said. “Now he is turning round—perhaps we aren’t at the right house after all.”
“I think he is heading into the wind to make a landing,” Nancy explained. “Sure enough. Down he goes. The landing field must be behind the house.”
The plane dipped low, side-slipped to lose altitude rapidly, and then vanished behind the roof of the mansion.
“Now what shall we do?” Helen asked.
“There is only one thing left for us to do,” Nancy observed.
“And that—?” inquired Helen.
“We must get inside somehow!”