Chapter 4 The Clue in the Old Stagecoach by Carolyn Keene
Hard-fought Games
Too amazed to reply again, Nancy stared at the truculent stranger. As he burst into a second tirade, the two police dogs suddenly raced around the corner of the house and growled.
“Good boys!” Nancy cried out.
The intruder did not wait to find out whether the dogs were friendly or not. Turning on his heel, he ran with long strides and disappeared among the trees. The dogs raced after him, giving deep-throated barks.
Nancy waited. Within three minutes the dogs were back. Turning to step into her car, she saw Mrs. Pauling in the doorway. The thought occurred to Nancy that perhaps the woman might know the intruder. She asked her.
“No, I never saw him before,” Mrs. Pauling replied. “What a dreadful creature! I arrived too late to hear all he was saying to you. At the end, though, it sounded like a threat.”
Nancy admitted that it was. “I think I’ll hurry down to the main road and see if I can find out who he is. He’s probably running off in a car. I’ll follow him.”
The young sleuth jumped into her convertible and sped off. But when she reached the main road, there was no car in sight and no sign of the strange man.
“If he lives around here,” Nancy told herself, “shopkeepers in town probably know him. I’ll go into Francisville and make some inquiries.”
As she drove along the tree-shaded main street, Nancy noted that all the buildings were old-fashioned, with the exception of a new large, brightly lighted supermarket. Seeing a quaint-looking drugstore, Nancy decided that the proprietor might be a good person to interview. The drugstore owner, a short, plump, jolly person, smiled at Nancy and asked what she would like.
“First some information,” she said, returning the smile. “Then a few cosmetics.”
She described the intruder at the Pauling estate, and without revealing the warning he had given her, told of his dislike for newcomers in the area. “Have you any idea who he might be?”
The druggist, Mr. Benfield, did not hesitate in his answer. “That sounds exactly like Judd Hillary. He’s a bachelor and dislikes children. Furthermore, he has no use for city people and especially the ones who have moved into this community recently. He declares they’re causing too many changes in our quiet little village.”
“Would you call him a dangerous individual?” Nancy asked, chuckling.
“Oh, no, I’d just say queer—very queer.”
Despite this reassurance, Nancy still felt a little worried. She could not forget Judd Hillary’s glare of hate or his angry warning. She asked Mr. Benfield if there were many people in the community who felt the same as Mr. Hillary did.
“There are some. He’s sort of a self-appointed chairman of the group. All of them complain about the raising of our taxes and the fact that the town will be bankrupt if we try to build a new school. It is true that we cannot afford the school, yet we badly need one. To accommodate all the children this fall it will be necessary to run classes from eight in the morning until six at night, and frankly I don’t know how long our teachers are going to be able to stand this. And our money will certainly run out by spring.”
“That’s a shame,” said Nancy and added with a smile, “I suppose your only solution is to have some good fairy leave a lot of money here.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Mr. Benfield agreed.
To herself Nancy said, “Oh, I hope I can be the one to bring that windfall to Francisville!”
She bought a new compact, two tiny bottles of perfume for Bess and George, and some paper handkerchiefs. Then, thanking the druggist for his information, she left the shop.
Nancy drove directly to Camp Merriweather. When she reached her room, the young sleuth noticed that Bess and George were seated glumly in the adjoining bedroom. Quickly she went in and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Bess heaved a tremendous sigh and George said, her words clipped and showing deep annoyance, “The sports director had drawings this morning for the tennis tournament. Bess and I decided to go into the doubles. We picked two names out of the grab bag. One guess.”
“Not Ross and Audrey Monteith!” Nancy exclaimed.
“Nobody else,” George replied. “Can you imagine such luck!”
“I’m so mad I don’t even want to talk about it,” Bess spoke up. “Nancy, tell us what you found out.”
She and George listened attentively to the whole story. When Nancy reached the part about Judd Hillary’s warning, both girls frowned.
“Oh, Nancy, maybe you’d better give up this mystery,” Bess said fearfully. “At first it was fun. Now it sounds positively sinister.”
“Mr. Benfield, the druggist in Francisville, thinks Judd Hillary is just queer, not dangerous. I see no reason why he and I should ever meet again.”
“Why, Nancy,” said George admonishingly, “don’t you realize that Judd Hillary somehow found out about your interest in helping the town of Francisville and followed you to Mrs. Pauling’s?”
Nancy looked startled. “George, believe it or not, I didn’t think of that. And you’re absolutely right. Well, I promise you both I’ll watch my step. If I forget, you two just reach out and grab me.”
She went on to say that the following morning she and the cousins ought to be on hand to see the old stagecoach dissected. “If we find the clue, then we shan’t have to worry any more about Judd Hillary, anyway.”
The three girls had an early lunch, then a little later Nancy went to play tennis with Rick Larrabee, who had pulled her name out of the grab bag, he said. She looked at him, her eyes twinkling merrily; she had not put her own name in! Realizing Nancy had guessed the truth, Rick told her that he had not entered the tournament either.
“Just for that little joke I’ll beat you!” Nancy said. “Then later we’ll watch the doubles match between Bess and George and the Monteiths.”
Nancy and Rick were pretty evenly matched. He won the first game. She took the second and third, he the next two. Points were hard fought, and every game went to deuce until the score was six all. Then Nancy crawled ahead and finally won eight to six.
“Congrats!” Rick said, coming to the net and shaking hands with her.
The doubles match between Bess and George and the Monteiths was just about to start. A good-sized crowd had gathered to watch it, knowing that all the players were excellent. There were cheers and groans from the side lines as the match progressed. Few people at the lodge liked the Monteiths and most of the onlookers were secretly hoping that they would be badly trounced.
But Ross and Audrey were skillful players. Game after game went forty all. George and Bess found themselves using every type of strategy they knew to win. Each side took a set and the third started as a real battle. Then Ross and Audrey began to tighten up. This proved to be their undoing. Bess and George won the set by a score of six to two!
The hand clapping was loud. The special friends whom the girls had made at Camp Merriweather rushed up to hug or congratulate the winners. Ross and Audrey Monteiths’ faces were flushed and angry. They shook hands listlessly with the winners. Finding they were receiving no attention, the two finally left the court.
As Nancy, Bess, and George walked back together toward the lodge, Nancy said, “I’m terribly thrilled about the outcome and I wouldn’t want you to miss the rest of the tournament for anything. But this may mean that you won’t be able to help me solve the mystery.”
George looked at her chum accusingly. “Why, Nancy Drew, do you think we’d walk out on you? The athletic director who is running this tournament will certainly understand and let us play when you don’t need us. If he won’t—why, we’ll default if necessary!”
Nancy was thrilled by her friends’ loyalty and said she hoped the schedules could be arranged so the girls could go on to win the tournament.
“You asked us to be with you tomorrow morning,” George said. “And I want to be there myself when that old stagecoach is taken apart. You girls go ahead upstairs. I’m going to try to set up things. See you in a few minutes.”
When she arrived upstairs, George told them, “Everything’s fine with the committee. Bess and I will play again tomorrow afternoon.”
The three girls started off early the next morning in Nancy’s convertible. Instead of going directly to Mrs. Pauling’s home, Nancy decided to take a narrow lane leading to the road on which John O’Brien probably would be towing the old stagecoach, and join him. Reaching it, they waited a little while for the trucker to come along. When he did not arrive, Bess suggested that probably he had been ahead of them.
“No doubt you’re right,” said Nancy. “We’d better go on.”
When they reached the estate, they found Mrs. Pauling standing in front of the house. Nancy introduced her friends, then asked if the stagecoach had arrived.
“Not yet,” Mrs. Pauling answered. “And I can’t understand it. John O’Brien is usually very prompt. He’s already an hour late.”
She took her callers out to the garden patio and they sat down on the porch to chat. Half an hour went by and still the trucker did not come.
Mrs. Pauling, nervous about the delay, called the office of the Bridgeford restoration project and learned that John O’Brien had left the place hours before with the old stagecoach.
“Something has happened!” Bess said nervously when she heard the report.
Just then the telephone rang and Mrs. Pauling answered it. The girls could plainly hear a man’s deep voice at the other end of the wire.
“Mrs. Pauling, this is John O’Brien. I—I have bad news for you. The old stagecoach has been hijacked!”