Chapter 13 The Haunted Bridge by Carolyn Keene
Unexpected Plunge
“HAVE you learned something about Margaret Judson?” Nancy inquired as she led Mrs. Sutter to a secluded corner in the hotel lobby. “Do you know where she’s living now?”
“No, Miss Drew. That’s what I want to talk with you about.”
Nancy looked puzzled, and Mrs. Sutter hastened to explain. She had learned from the village postmistress that several letters addressed to Margaret Judson were being held for lack of a forwarding address.
“I thought you might have found out where she lives,” the woman added.
“No, I haven’t,” Nancy answered.
It was clear to her now that Mrs. Sutter had come, not just to impart information, but to learn why Nancy was interested in Margaret Judson. The young detective cleverly avoided Mrs. Sutter’s questions, but could not help feeling provoked because so much time had been wasted. She ended the conversation by explaining that her friends were waiting for her at the breakfast table.
Bess and George had just finished their meal. Since it was so late, Nancy ordered only orange juice and breakfast rolls.
“You can’t win a golf tournament on a diet like that,” protested Bess, who loved to eat.
“I must hurry. I was with Mrs. Sutter longer than I expected and learned nothing except that Margaret Judson hasn’t picked up her mail for a long while.”
The girls hastened to the hotel’s golf office. They found the tournament chairman talking earnestly with a group of players who were to compete in the day’s finals.
Betsy Howard, Nancy’s opponent, explained to her, “There seems to be some mix-up. Our match has been postponed until one o’clock.”
“I’m glad,” said Nancy. “I really prefer to play this afternoon.” Actually the young detective was delighted; she could do some more sleuthing.
Bess and George suggested that their friend rest in her hotel room while they played tennis, but Nancy told them she had other plans. After they had gone, she drove to the village to interview the postmistress. The woman consented to show her the letters she was holding for Margaret Judson.
Nancy studied them and thought, “There’s no return address on any of them and they were mailed rather recently from Carrollton.” Nancy knew this was a town not far from the hotel. She noted that much of the handwriting resembled Bartescue’s autograph on her golf ball. “I’m sure he wrote all these letters,” Nancy concluded.
Nancy’s second stop was at the nearby college town of Andover. At the campus bookstore she asked to see the directory of instructors.
Rapidly Nancy searched through the list of professors for one whose first name was Mark. She felt highly elated when she came upon an instructor of philosophy named Mark Hilburn. Had she located Miss Judson’s former fiancé? In scanning the rest of the list she discovered another Mark, His last name was Wardell. Was he the one?
“I guess I’ll have to call on both men,” Nancy decided.
Professor Hilburn was not in his office. She got his home address but wasted precious minutes trying to find the street.
Even before she rapped on the door of the neat little brick house Nancy suspected she was at the wrong place. An upset toy wagon on the front lawn gave mute evidence that Mark Hilburn was married. Mrs. Hilburn answered the bell. She proved to be a charming, middle-aged woman with three children.
“I shouldn’t have troubled you,” Nancy apologized. “The professor for whom I’m searching is single, and I know only his first name, which is Mark.”
“Then the man you’re looking for is Professor Mark Wardell,” the woman suggested. “He’s single and not more than thirty years old, I judge. He’s the head of our zoology and botany departments.”
“Can you tell me where he lives?” Nancy asked eagerly.
“His home is at 16 Hyman Street, and he has a housekeeper.”
Ten minutes later Nancy rang the bell at the Wardell house. She was admitted by a pleasant woman.
“Professor Wardell isn’t here just now,” she replied to Nancy’s inquiry. “Sometimes he comes home to lunch, but I never can be certain. He usually takes a hike in the woods. The professor is deeply interested in nature lore.”
Nancy was disappointed but decided to take the woman into her confidence. She mentioned that she was trying to locate a man who was an acquaintance of Margaret Judson.
“Oh, dear me, they were more than mere acquaintances!” the housekeeper replied quickly. “Professor Wardell and Miss Judson were engaged. But no wedding took place. He hasn’t seemed himself since.”
Nancy was now convinced that Mark Wardell was the person with whom she must talk if she expected to solve the mystery surrounding Margaret Judson.
“Will you please give Professor Wardell an important message,” she requested and took a piece of paper from her purse. After writing her name and the address of her hotel on it, she handed over the notation.
“Ask him to see me at this address as soon as he can. It’s extremely urgent.”
“I’ll be glad to. Are you a student here?” the woman asked.
“No.”
On the way back to Deer Mountain Hotel, Nancy reflected that her morning had certainly been profitable. She thought, “It’s rather a coincidence that both Professor Wardell and Mr. Haley are interested in botany and zoology. Is there a connection between the men?”
By the time she arrived at the hotel, Nancy barely had time to snatch a sandwich before she was due to appear at the first tee. Bess, George, Ned, and Mr. Drew were on hand to witness the start of the match, and smiled encouragingly as Nancy stood quietly awaiting her turn to drive off.
“Bring home the silver loving cup!” George urged in a whisper. “We’ll be pulling for you!”
Betsy Howard, a well-known golfer, had turned in a score of seventy for her semifinal match, which was better than Nancy had ever made. The young detective knew that if she expected to win, she would have to turn in the best score of her life. Nancy feared that with her hand paining her, she might not even be able to play as well as usual.
“I’ll do the best I can,” she determined. “Win or lose, I’ll accept the decision gracefully.”
Miss Howard made a long drive from the tee. Nancy’s ball did not go as far, but ended up in perfect position. When they reached the green, both putted well and the score was even.
The second and third holes were tied also. At the fourth hole Nancy gained the advantage when Miss Howard’s ball lodged in a bunker, but the fifth hole found them even again. They played through the sixth and seventh, fighting for the lead.
So absorbed were both girls in their game that they scarcely noticed how overcast the sky had become. Black clouds rolled swiftly up from the west, blotting out the sun.
The ninth hole, marking the halfway point of the match, left the girls still even. Betsy Howard seemed as fresh as ever, and on the tenth tee drove out a ball which easily went two hundred and twenty yards.
“A beautiful drive,” Nancy praised her as she stepped forward to take her turn.
She swung with all her strength, connecting squarely with the ball, but at the same instant a severe pain shot through her injured hand. Nancy was suffering intensely, and it was all she could do to grip the club. As a result, her next shot was a dismal failure.
Quick to seize an advantage, Betsy Howard took the hole easily. The eleventh also fell to her. Nancy, two down, feared the match was lost.
“I can’t give up,” she said to herself grimly.
As the girls teed off at the twelfth hole, a few drops of rain spattered their faces. Betsy Howard glanced anxiously at the sky.
“It looks like a hard rain coming,” she declared nervously. “I’m afraid of thunderstorms.”
By the time the two reached the twelfth green, it was raining steadily. In trying to hurry, Betsy Howard missed her putt and the hole went to Nancy, leaving her now only one down. She must make up that point!
The thirteenth and fourteenth, played in a drenching downpour, were halved, leaving the score the same as before. By this time a rough wind had sprung up.
“This is terrible!” Betsy exclaimed. “Surely the committee can’t expect us to finish our match in this kind of weather.”
She hesitated a moment, then abruptly handed her driver to the caddy.
“I’m going back to the hotel,” she announced. “If the committee says we may continue the match tomorrow, fine. If not, then I’ll default.”
“No, we’ll stop play by mutual agreement,” Nancy replied. “No one would blame us for failing to finish under these conditions.”
The rain began to fall in torrents. Betsy Howard, followed by the two caddies, ran as fast as she could toward the hotel. Nancy darted into the woods, and there, partly protected by the trees, made up her mind that the Haley cabin was closer than any other shelter.
The wind was rising steadily. As she ran through the woods, the tree boughs crashed together overhead. Near the haunted bridge, Nancy was startled to hear the same moaning and groaning sounds which the girls had noticed on their other visits. Then came a scream.
“That scream is from Mr. Haley’s lion,” she thought, “but what can be causing the other noises?”
Nancy approached the sagging bridge where the old scarecrow, wet and tattered, was dancing wildly in the wind. It seemed more ghostlike than ever. As the young sleuth hurried past, the spindly “arms” entwined themselves about her. But she shook herself free.
The bridge swayed in the wind. As Nancy reached midstream, it suddenly creaked. The underpinning had been torn awayl
As the structure swung around, Nancy clutched the railing for support, but the decayed wood gave way. She was plunged forward into the turbulent waters of the swollen creek!
The current was swift. Before Nancy could battle her way to shore she found herself carried far beyond the place where the haunted bridge had stood. Her clothes were muddy and torn. She pulled herself out onto the slippery bank and sat there for a moment in the rain, trying to regain her breath.
“Bess warned me I’d get into trouble if I insisted upon coming here,” she said to herself. “The old bridge had the last laugh.”
Nancy’s clothes were thoroughly soaked and her hair was plastered tightly against her head. She scrambled up the bank and followed the ravine trail to the cabin. Her firm knock brought Ned to the door.
“Why, Nancy, what happened to you?” he cried in astonishment. “I thought you were playing your golf match—”
Nancy grinned. “I was, but I decided to drop in for a moment and borrow an umbrella. Did you hear a loud crash a few minutes ago?”
“Yes, it sounded as if the bridge went down.”
“It did. And I went with it. You should have seen me sailing down the ravine!”
An expression of concern remained on Ned’s face in spite of the girl’s bantering tone. “Your hand, Nancy!” he exclaimed. ”You’ve hurt it again!”
Nancy was plunged into the turbulent stream!
“It is swollen,” she admitted. “But it’ll be all right to finish the golf match tomorrow. We stopped because of the heavy rain.”
Suddenly a thought came to Nancy. “Ned, I’m surprised to find you here. I thought you intended to stay at the hotel until the end of the golf match.”
“I meant to, but just after you teed off, Burt came to tell me I was needed here again.”
“Is Mr. Haley worse?” Nancy asked anxiously.