Read The Bungalow Mystery Online
Authors: Carolyn Keene
Tags: #Embezzlement Investigation, #Women Detectives, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #Girls & Women, #Children's Stories, #Adventure and Adventurers, #Guardian and Ward, #Juvenile Fiction, #Bungalows, #Detectives, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Inheritance and Succession, #False Personation, #New Books March 2002, #Mystery Fiction, #Adventure Stories, #Drew; Nancy (Fictitious Character), #Theft, #Orphans, #Mystery and Detective Stories
The Bungalow Mystery (10 page)
“Now I must get the police,” the girl detective thought.
She paused for several seconds, after coming from behind the couch, to stretch her cramped limbs. “I’d better go out the front door,” she decided. “The bedrooms don’t overlook that.”
Noiselessly Nancy slipped outside and started for her hidden car. Then a temptation came to her. “Why don’t I investigate that shack in the woods first? I may have an even bigger story to tell the police! I’ll do it!”
Taking a deep breath of air, Nancy hurried toward the path leading to the dilapidated building. Had she been right about having heard someone inside? Was he a friend or an enemy of Aborn’s? Were the packages being carried there and what did they contain? Loot?
“Maybe just food,” Nancy concluded. “But being taken to whom?”
Beaming her flashlight on the ground, the young detective soon picked up the trail she had taken earlier in the day. It was quiet and eerie as she stumbled along the uneven ground. Nancy became apprehensive once or twice as she heard scuffling noises of forest creatures in the underbrush, but went on.
“I wish Dad were here now,” she thought fervently.
Nancy reached the shack without mishap and paused in front of it. A sixth sense seemed to tell her there was someone inside who needed help. No person would stay in such a place unless forced to.
“This is no time for me to hesitate,” she told herself.
As Nancy moved toward the rear of the tumble-down building, she glanced at her flashlight and was alarmed to see that it was beginning to grow dim.
“Just my luck when I need it the most!”
In an attempt to save the battery, Nancy switched off the light. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she moved toward the window she had looked through earlier that day. Appraising it, the young sleuth realized that the window ledge was too high from the ground for her to climb through unassisted, even when standing on the box.
Undaunted, she began to examine the other windows. On the south side of the shack she found one which opened from the rickety porch. It was boarded up.
“This is my entry,” Nancy determined.
She began searching the yard for something with which to pry off the boards, and finally found a stout stick. Nancy began wedging it between the boards with all her might.
The first board offered stubborn resistance. Then, with a groan and a squeak, it gave way. The remaining boards were removed with less difficulty.
To Nancy’s joy, the window was unlocked! Pushing it up, she beamed her flashlight inside. The room beyond was bare and quiet as a tomb.
“Well, here comes Nancy Drew, housebreaker and spy!” Nancy thought with amused determination. “It’s certain now no one lives here.”
When she was halfway through the window the young sleuth hesitated without knowing just why. She glanced back over her shoulder. A queer sensation made Nancy quiver as she turned searching eyes toward the woods.
“How silly!” she scolded herself. “No one’s there. It’s just nerves.”
Bravely Nancy swung herself through the window. Hastily she moved toward an adjoining room, noting that her flashlight was growing dimmer. Soon she would be left in total darkness! She must hurry!
Her light revealed a small room, also empty, its walls and floor dusty from long lack of any occupant’s care. Nancy was disappointed to find nothing of interest.
“I’d better leave and drive to police headquarters,” she thought.
Just then Nancy’s flashlight revealed a trap door in the floor. Quickly she moved over toward it. But she had taken only a few steps when an unusual sound arrested her attention. Had she heard a board creak behind her, or was it a night sound from the woods?
After hesitating a second, Nancy again started for the trap door. As she reached down to grasp the ring in it, her body became tense.
This time there was no mistake. She had heard a peculiar sound which seemed to come from beneath the floor.
“It sounded like a groan!” Nancy decided. She felt cold all over.
Someone was imprisoned in the cellar!
Who? And why?
Who? And why?
As Nancy tugged at the ring, another idea came to her. This might be a trap laid for her!
“Oh, what should I do?” she thought, hesitating. There was still time to run away from danger.
But the fear that some person was in distress gave her the courage to open the trap door. As it swung upward, Nancy saw before her a flight of stone steps, leading down into complete darkness. A gust of damp, musty air struck her in the face and momentarily repulsed her.
Nancy glanced nervously at her flashlight. The battery could not last much longer. Already the light was so weak that she could barely see the steps in front of her. Did she dare investigate the cellar?
“It won’t take long,” she thought.
She descended the steps and came to a landing. The rest of the stairway went toward the left. Nancy peered anxiously into the black abyss below.
To her horror, she saw a man stretched out full length on a bench. His face was turned upward and Nancy caught a full glimpse of the countenance.
He was Jacob Aborn!
CHAPTER XIII
An Actor’s Ruse
SPELLBOUND, Nancy stood like a stone image, gazing down into the face of Jacob Aborn. How had the man reached the bungalow ahead of her? What was he doing sleeping in the musty cellar of the old shack?
As these thoughts flashed through Nancy’s mind, the beam of her flashlight flickered again. Then it went out, leaving her in total darkness,
Sheer panic took possession of the girl detective. Something very strange was going on! She must not be caught in a trap!
Turning, she gave a low cry and stumbled up the stairway and toward the window through which she had entered. Her flight was abruptly checked as she banged one foot on something metallic that moved ahead of her. In a second she smelled kerosene.
“A lantern!” she decided.
The thought of a light gave her hope. She felt around and discovered an old-time oil lantern,
Collecting her wits, she stopped and listened for any sounds of pursuit. There were none. The shack appeared as deserted and silent as before.
“I’m sure that was Jacob Aborn down in the cellar,” Nancy thought in perplexity. “I didn’t imagine it. But how did he get here so fast? After I left his house I didn’t waste much time.”
Suddenly an amazing thought came to Nancy. Was the man she had seen by chance a brother, even a twin, of Jacob Aborn? He might be honest and Jacob had found him in the way!
“I’m going to find out!” Nancy declared excitedly.
Eagerly she reached into the pocket of her dress, recalling that at dinner she had taken a pack of matches from the hotel dining table for her souvenir collection. Good! The pack was still there!
Striking a match she was pleased to discover that the lantern was half full of oil. Someone had used it recently, for the glass was clean. Nancy lighted the wick and a flame spurted up. Carrying the lantern, she returned to the trap door.
Suddenly, from below, Nancy heard a moan of pain. This was followed by a pitiful cry of “Help!”
“That settles it,” the worried girl thought.
As she descended the steps, the lantern’s flickering glow revealed that the cellar was dungeon-like, with solid stone walls and no windows.
From below came a pitiful cry of “Help!”
She held the light high above the figure on the bench. A man, deathly pale, was lying where she had first seen him.
But he was not Laura’s guardian!
“There’s certainly a startling resemblance, though,” Nancy thought, her heart filled with pity for this unfortunate stranger.
Dropping to her knees, she felt his pulse. It was faint but regular.
“He’s just unconscious,” she told herself in relief.
At the same time, Nancy saw with horror a large chain around the man’s waist. It was attached to the prisoner in such a way that it allowed him some freedom of motion and yet held him captive. Was Jacob Aborn responsible for this atrocity? Nancy wondered angrily.
“I must do something to revive this man,” she decided, “and get him away from here.”
Picking up the lantern, Nancy mounted the cellar steps two at a time. She headed for a small sink in one corner of the room above, where she had seen a pump.
After a search through the cupboard she at last found a battered tin cup. Quickly pumping water into it, she returned to the cellar.
Nancy wet her handkerchief and applied it gently to the prisoner’s forehead. Then she sprinkled a little of the water on his face and chafed his wrists. The man stirred slightly and moaned.
As she gazed anxiously into his face, Nancy wondered how she could have mistaken him for Jacob Aborn. Although the two men were of the same age, and had similar facial characteristics, the prisoner was gaunt and thin. His features, contrary to Mr. Aborn’s, were gentle and relaxed.
Now Nancy saw that the man was slowly regaining consciousness. As his eyes fluttered open he cried “Help!” feebly, then stared into Nancy’s face, amazed.
“Help has come,” Nancy said quietly.
The man attempted to raise himself to a sitting position with Nancy’s aid. “Didn’t—think—help —would—ever come,” he murmured. Then he saw the cup in Nancy’s hand and asked for water.
Nancy steadied the cup while he drank. Finally the man leaned against the wall. “First water I’ve had in twenty-four hours,” he said more clearly.
The young sleuth was horrified. She introduced herself, then asked, “Who are you—and who did this terrible thing to you?”
A bitter expression passed over the prisoner’s face. “I’m Jacob Aborn,” he said. “A crook by the name of Stumpy Dowd took over my house, imprisoned me here, and somehow or other arranged for my new ward, Laura Pendleton, to come to my home earlier than she was expected. Yesterday he told me that he had the girl’s inheritance in his possession—and showed bonds to prove it.”
“You’re Jacob Aborn!” Nancy repeated, as the prisoner, exhausted by these words, leaned against the wall.
Quickly Nancy’s mind flashed back to everything that had happened since she had met Laura. The puzzling questions that had bothered her about the girl’s guardian now became clear. Most of all, it was a relief to know that the person to whom Marie Pendleton had entrusted her daughter’s care was not a criminal.
Equally important, Nancy realized that Stephen Dowd—alias Stumpy—used his talent as an actor and skill with make-up to fool other people, and then probably swindled them. The young sleuth wondered if there was a tie-in between Laura’s inheritance and the Monroe National Bank thefts of stocks and bonds. She must find out from Jacob Aborn, but the police should be notified immediately, as well as her father.
Aloud Nancy said, “I want to hear the whole story of what has happened to you, Mr. Aborn, but first—”
Briefly, she told of having met the man who had impersonated him and of seeing Laura at Twin Lakes. Nancy was about to add that Laura was now at her home when Mr. Aborn said:
“If Stumpy caught you here once today we’d better get out right now!” He told Nancy that Dowd kept the key to the padlock on his chains on a hook near the stairway.
“This is a lucky break,” said Nancy. She snatched the lantern from the floor and started toward the stairs.
“Please hurry,” Mr. Aborn said faintly. “Stumpy Dowd is a dangerous criminal! He boasted to me that he and his accomplices have victimized several people besides Laura!”
Nancy anxiously moved the lantern up and down, illuminating the dingy walls. Just above her head to the left she finally saw the hook, with a key dangling from it.
“I have it!” she exclaimed triumphantly.
As Nancy hurried back to Mr. Aborn’s side she speculated on how the Dowds had found out about Mr. Aborn, his wife, and Laura.
“I’ll have you free in a minute, Mr. Aborn,” Nancy said, as she stooped over the bench.
While she worked on the rusty lock, Nancy asked if he had known the Dowds previously.
“Yes,” he replied. “Mrs. Dowd was hired by my wife as a maid to come when we arrived. Soon after I reached the house her husband came. He grew quite loud and abusive and when I objected he knocked me unconscious. When I came to, I was chained in this cellar.”
“How dreadful!” Nancy exclaimed. “But where is your wife?” she asked.
“She had to go to Florida unexpectedly. Her mother, who lives there, had an emergency operation. Marian went down to be with her and I moved into our new home.” Mr. Aborn sighed. “Of course I haven’t heard a word from her since I’ve been tied up here!”
“You’ll be able to find out about her now,” Nancy assured him. “Do you know how many people are working with Stumpy Dowd?”
“One or two others besides his wife, I believe. Stumpy Dowd is secretive about some things, although he boasted a lot. I did hear him mention the name Fred, but I don’t know who he is.”
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