The Clue in the Old Stagecoach (2 page)

“An unfinished letter to my grandmother was discovered and in it Abner Langstreet said that he was sorry he had run away and hoped it had caused the family no embarrassment. But he had not been able to face the bankruptcy he saw confronting him. The railroad which came here in 1852 had ruined his business. The tracks are gone now, but you can see the embankment here and there.”

As Mrs. Strook paused again, Bess asked, “What was your great-uncle’s business?”

“He was a stagecoach driver—owned his own coach and horses.”

The three girls sat up very straight in their chairs. Twice, within an hour, they were hearing about an ancient stagecoach!

“You see,” Mrs. Strook went on, “everyone began to use the railroad and there were no more passengers for my great-uncle. He was heartbroken and left Francisville in the old stagecoach without telling anyone. It was thought that he had gone out West to drive it or at least to sell it. You know, stagecoaches were used in the western part of our country long after they went out of vogue in the East.

“Lately,” the elderly woman went on, “I have begun to think that Great-uncle Abner might not have taken his stagecoach so far away. If it was hidden around here, the old vehicle should be found and donated to the Bridgeford restoration.”

“And you want me to find it?” Nancy asked.

“Yes, but not just for that reason. I have a more important motive—one that was written in the letter to my grandmother,” Mrs. Strook replied quickly. “The letter said:

Mrs. Strook wiped away a tear which was trickling down one cheek. “The letter ended there,” she said. “Apparently Mr. Langstreet was never able to write any more.” She gazed at Nancy. “Do you think my story sounds too farfetched? I have been afraid of being laughed at if I go to the authorities with it. But I thought maybe you—”

Nancy had already risen from her chair. Now she sat down on the floor in front of the elderly woman and took both her hands in her own.

“I don’t think your story is farfetched at all,” she said. “I’d love to solve the mystery for you if I can. Now I’m going to tell you a strange coincidence. Bess and George and I saw an old stagecoach not far from here.”

“What!” Mrs. Strook exclaimed.

When Nancy finished the story, Mrs. Strook stared in amazement. “You say this stagecoach was found hidden on a farm near here? Then it may very well have been my great-uncle’s!”

“And contains the clue!” Bess cried out.

“Oh, I hope you’re right!” Mrs. Strook said, her cheeks glowing and her eyes glistening with tears. “Could you find out for me?”

“Indeed we can,” Nancy replied. “Bess and George and I will go back to the lodge and get my car. We’ll drive to Bridgeford at once and examine the old stagecoach.”

BEFORE leaving, Nancy asked Mrs. Strook if she had a photograph of Abner Langstreet’s stagecoach.

“Yes, I have,” she answered. “It’s upstairs. I’ll get it.”

Nancy’s mind was leaping ahead; she might solve the mystery that very day!

The young sleuth had already figured out the answers to several mysteries, some of them for her father, Carson Drew. He practiced law in River Heights where Nancy, Bess, and George lived. Among the cases on which Nancy had helped him were
The Secret in the Old Clock
and
The Golden Pavilion,
the latter in the Hawaiian Islands.

Presently George said in a low tone to the other two girls, “Suppose Mr. Langstreet went a bit zany in his seclusion and imagined the whole thing.”

“Oh, George,” Bess scolded, “you’re so practical. Why don’t you look at the romantic side of it? I’m sure the story is true. What do you think, Nancy?”

“I have a strong hunch there’s something to it,” the young sleuth answered.

“You see, George, you’re outvoted,” her cousin said. “Just for that, if you lose, you’ll have to pay us a forfeit.”

Nancy’s eyes twinkled. “You certainly will, George. Bess, let’s make it something good. I’ll tell you what. George, if we win, you’ll have to knit each of us a lovely sweater!”

George groaned. The other two girls knew she hated to knit. “Oh, please not that!” she begged.

Bess winked at Nancy. “Sweaters or nothing,” she answered.

Before George could object any further, Mrs. Strook came down the stairs holding a faded photograph. It showed four proud-looking, coal-black horses hitched to an attractive stagecoach. Nancy asked if she might take the picture along to compare it with the stagecoach at Bridgeford.

“Yes, indeed, my dear,” Mrs. Strook answered. “And I shall be eagerly awaiting your answer.”

The girls said good-by and started for the front door. Nancy opened it and almost ran full tilt into a man and a woman who were standing on the other side. They were Mr. and Mrs. Ross Monteith, who were staying at Camp Merriweather. Ross and Audrey were in their early thirties. They were not popular with the younger set who considered them too aggressive and overeager to be included where they were not welcome.

Ross was tall and slender, with dark hair and piercing black eyes. His manner of speaking was very affected. Audrey, blond and blue-eyed, was a braggart. She attempted by her speech and mannerisms to appear more sophisticated than she actually was.

“Why, Nancy Drew, fancy meeting you here!” said Ross. “Audrey and I were out for a hike. Isn’t this place utterly charming—best-looking house in town. We’re thirsty and we thought we’d step in for some water.”

“Do you know the owner?” Nancy asked.

“No, but we hope to meet him or her.”

Mrs. Strook, who had followed the girls to the door, stepped forward. She was frowning and it was evident that she was annoyed by the intrusion. “If you will take seats out in the garden, I will bring you some ice water,” she said.

“Oh, I’ll take it to them,” Bess offered.

Ross and Audrey Monteith went to sit in chairs under a large shade tree. In a few minutes Bess carried out two tall glasses of ice water.

“Thanks,” said Ross. “Are you girls going back to the lodge?”

“I really don’t know,” Bess replied and walked away.

In the house George whispered to Mrs. Strook, “I’m glad that you didn’t invite the Monteiths in. They’re staying at our camp and are very inquisitive people.”

Mrs. Strook smiled knowingly. Then she said, “By the way, please don’t tell my little secret about the stagecoach to anyone, will you?”

The three girls promised to keep the matter in strictest confidence, then they said good-by and hurried off. As they reached the hillside trail and began climbing toward the summit, George remarked, “I think Ross and Audrey deliberately followed us and I’m afraid they were eavesdropping near the open window.”

“I agree,” said Bess.

Nancy was inclined to think so too. “Anything they missed I’m sure they won’t learn from Mrs. Strook!” she said with a grin.

After the arduous climb the three girls reached the extensive plateau on which Camp Merriweather stood. The main building was a large, rambling log cabin with pine-paneled interior walls. In front of it was an immense swimming pool with sun umbrellas and tables set around the edge. At once the three girls were besieged by a group of young people who invited them to go swimming.

“We can’t just now,” Nancy called. “Have a job to do.”

“A mystery to solve?” asked one of the young men, coming to her side. He was Rick Larrabee, tall, very blond, and an excellent dancer. Nancy had enjoyed having dates with him during her stay at camp.

“A detective never tells her secrets,” she said, laughing. “But I promise we’ll all join you later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Rick replied.

Nancy, Bess, and George quickly showered and changed their clothes. Then they set off in Nancy’s convertible for Bridgeford. The old town, situated about a mile from the main road, was a beehive of activity.

“Oh, this is simply wonderful!” Bess cried out in delight, gazing around at the quaint buildings, some of which had been restored.

“I like that covered bridge,” George spoke up. “I suppose it led to what was the main road in olden days.”

“This rushing stream was used to turn the water wheel in that old mill,” Nancy remarked. Some distance up the stream stood the miller’s vine-covered cottage. The great wheel and the grinder were in a wing of the house.

The girls walked around for a while, inspecting the ancient bakery which as yet held no food; the blacksmith’s shop with its fire pit, anvil, and smoke-stained walls; and finally what a workman told them had been the “artillery house.”

“What does that mean?” Bess asked.

The man explained that it had once contained firearms—rifles, pistols, cannon, together with bullets, gunpowder, and other weapons for helping ward off unexpected attacks from enemies.”

“You mean like Indians?” Bess inquired. The workman nodded.

As the girls walked off, Nancy said, “Perhaps we’ve done enough sight-seeing and should find the old stagecoach.” She was about to ask another workman where it was when the girls saw John O’Brien coming toward them.

He smiled broadly. “I thought I saw you here,” he said. “Let me show you around.”

Nancy thanked him but said, “We’re eager to look at the stagecoach.”

John O’Brien told the visitors to follow him, and led the way to an old barn which had not yet been repaired. As he opened the creaking door, the man said, “There she is. I detached the horses. They’re in another barn.”

“May we inspect the stagecoach?” Nancy asked.

“Sure. Go ahead. But don’t damage anything.”

John O’Brien said he had an errand to do in another part of the village. When he finished he would be back. The young man strode off and instantly the girls began to investigate the ancient vehicle.

Nancy took the photograph of old Mr. Langstreet’s stagecoach from her purse to compare it with this coach. She stood off at a short distance and surveyed the one in the barn, then stared at the picture. The design and size were identical!

A pleased smile came over her face. “Girls, it looks as if this might have been Great-uncle Abner’s stagecoach!”

“Super!” said George. “Now let’s find that clue!”

After a short conference, it was decided that George would search the driver’s seat and the box under it. Nancy would examine the interior, while Bess investigated the “boot” at the rear. This was a great triangular leather sack attached to the back of the stagecoach to hold baggage.

There was complete silence for many minutes as the girls worked. George went over every inch of the driver’s seat, removing the cushion and looking thoroughly in the leather-lined box beneath. She found nothing.

Nancy had no better luck inside. She had turned up and thoroughly examined under and around the cushions on the front and rear seats, and the one in the center. She had felt the padded walls and looked for any opening. Then she had dropped to her hands and knees for an examination of the floor. Finally she came to the conclusion that no clue was going to be found easily.

Just then Bess gave a loud squeal. George and Nancy jumped to the ground and ran to her side.

“Have you found the clue?” Nancy asked excitedly.

Bess had unbuckled the cover of the “boot” and inside had found a newspaper dated 1860. Quickly she laid it on the ground and carefully turned the pages, skimming through the various items and advertisements which might yield the clue for which they were hunting.

Finding nothing, she turned back to the first page and this time all the girls went over each article minutely. Still they found nothing to help them.

“Oh dear!” said Bess. “I thought sure I had solved the mystery!”

The newspaper was put back into the “boot” and the fastenings closed.

“If the clue is in this stagecoach, it’s well concealed,” Nancy remarked. “I wonder if we could possibly look inside the cushions and other hiding places.”

At that moment John O’Brien returned. He seemed to be excited. “Come on with me, quick!” he exclaimed. “They’re going to put the water wheel into operation. It hasn’t turned in a hundred years!”

The three girls hurried along beside him up the towpath which led to the miller’s home. There were a few sight-seers present, but the bulk of the audience was comprised of people working on the restoration.