The Witchmaster's Key (5 page)

“Look here,” he said, using his flashlight for extra illumination. He pointed to a hole in the wall. It seemed to have been gouged out with some kind of tool, leaving a residue of fine dust.

Joe rubbed some between his fingers. “Frank, this is dry, not damp like the rest of the room.”

“That means the hole was dug out recently!”

“Righto. You know, I believe something might have been hidden here! This could be the clue that breaks the case!” Joe said, excited.

“We'll make a cast of the hole even though it is very rough,” Frank said, “and try to figure out what it was! Maybe Nip Hadley can get us the stuff we need for the job.”

“Good idea. We can kill two birds with one stone by talking to Nip about his troubles.”

They went upstairs, turned out the lights, and left the building. The next day they walked past Eagleton Green on their way to the sprawling Craighead estate, stopping momentarily to look into the windows to see the artisans at work.

Finally the turrets of Craighead Castle loomed ahead. They towered over medieval battlements,
with embrasures for shooting arrows at enemies beyond the drawbridge.

Before they reached the castle, they noticed the stables and corral in a field beyond. Nip, wearing a jaunty striped cap, was exercising a lively black horse.

Holding the reins in one hand, he pulled the animal up on its hind legs. Then he let it have its head in a canter. Finally he spurred into a gallop, took his mount over a couple of hedges, wheeled in a wide arc, and hurtled toward the Hardys. He pulled to a stop and jumped to the ground beside them.

“Nice ride, Nip,” Frank said.

“Better than Buffalo Bill,” Joe added.

Nip grinned. “Let me introduce Midnight, a skittish horse and a smart one.”

“Smart?” Joe wondered.

Nip slapped the animal's neck. “He knows how to get the corral gate open. Sometimes he does a disappearing act and we have to chase after him. What brings you to Griffinmoor?”

Joe explained the clue at the Witch Museum and asked Nip if he could collect the ingredients for a cast.

“What do you need?” the groom asked.

“Two half-gallon cans, one containing plaster of Paris, the other empty. A can of clear plastic spray, and a wooden stick for stirring.”

“Sure, I can get all that,” Nip said. He offered to show them the grounds. “First, though, I'll have to dispose of Midnight.”

He led the black horse to a corral. After opening the gate, he slapped the animal on the rump, urging it to amble in, then closed the gate.

He escorted the Hardys past the main hall of Craighead Castle and along a winding path to the stables.

“Those are my quarters,” Nip said, pointing to a window under the eaves above the stables.

“Do you like being a groom?” Frank inquired.

“Rather! I was born in East Anglia. Went to school in Griffinmoor. Raised with horses. So, I was lucky to be appointed groom when I asked Mr. Craighead for a job.”

The three strolled up a small hill overlooking the tilled farmland. Beyond lay an orchard. On the other side of the hill stood a stone wall.

“This wall,” Nip said, “divides the land belonging to the Craighead estate from that of Eagleton Green. Some awfully strange things are going on over there.”

“Like what?” Frank asked.

Nip cocked his head to one side and squinted at them as if making up his mind.

“I suppose I can trust you blokes,” he said. “You know those robberies and fires in the artisan shops? Well, I think it's sabotage!”

Frank looked incredulous. “You mean somebody's trying to put the craftsmen out of business?”

Nip came hurtling toward the Hardys
.

Nip shrugged. “Looks that way.”

“But why?”

“I haven't any idea.”

The three boys walked along a path leading to the rear of Craighead Castle. The sheer wall towered above them. Nip said the main windows belonged to the kitchen and dining room.

“What's up there?” Joe asked, pointing to a tiny window that glinted in the sun high up in one turret.

“Don't really know,” Nip confessed, whereupon Frank brought the conversation back to the Eagleton Green mystery.

He asked about the charge that Nip had fire-bombed the saddle shop. The boy was about to answer when they turned a corner of the castle and saw a man approaching them. He wore a riding outfit and held a whip in one hand.

Nip introduced him to the Hardys as Milton Craighead, owner of the Craighead estate.

Milton was about thirty years old. He was stiff and formal, barely shaking hands with Frank and Joe as if it went against the grain. While saying a few words to them, he cracked his whip against his boot

All at once loud cries interrupted him. A gardener was shouting, “Midnight is loose! Catch him! Catch him!”

“He escaped from the corral again!” Nip exclaimed.

Milton scowled. “How could that possibly have happened? Maybe we've had visitors who left the gate open!”

“He means Frank and me,” Joe thought. “Not a very friendly fellow.”

Milton and Nip raced to the stables and leaped on horses. They set out in pursuit of the runaway, which was galloping around the pasture. Frank and Joe followed on foot. There was a wild chase in which Midnight dodged several times.

Frank stood still for a moment in the middle of the pasture, shielding his eyes as he watched the black horse.

Suddenly he heard the thunder of hoofbeats in his ears. Turning sideways, he saw Milton's mount coming at him full tilt!

N
IP
galloped up, grabbed the bridle of Milton's mount, and forced it to swing wide, brushing Frank and knocking him over. Both horses halted.

Milton Craighead mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “I lost control,” he said in a shaky voice. “I hope you're not hurt.”

Frank scrambled to his feet. “Only a few bruises,” he reported.

“That's fortunate.” Craighead seemed relieved. “Nip, let's get after Midnight.”

The pursuers cornered the runaway in an angle of the stone wall. Nip threw a rope over its neck and led it back to the corral. While Milton made sure the gate was fastened, Frank and Joe had a quick conversation with Nip Hadley.

“Thanks for the assist,” Frank said.

Joe stressed the point. “You probably saved Frank's life, Nip. We'll do anything we can to
help you. Just tell us what you know about the fire-bombing in Eagleton Green.”

“I can't talk now,” Nip replied uneasily. “I'll see you later and bring those things you need.”

Milton finished with the gate and walked toward them. “It's securely fastened now,” he said. “If that horse escapes again, I'll want to know the reason why. Nip, keep an eye on all strangers.”

Frank and Joe inferred that this was an invitation for them to leave the Craighead estate. They went back to the professor's, where they discussed their visit.

Why was Milton Craighead hostile toward them? Had he really lost control of his mount? Or was he trying to run Frank down?

The Hardys wondered. The case was becoming more and more mysterious.

Nip rode up later with the ingredients for the plaster cast in his saddle bags. Saying he couldn't wait because Craighead wanted him to break in a new horse, he emptied the bags quickly and rode off.

Frank and Joe went to the Witch Museum, made their way to the sub-basement with a container of water and got ready to make a cast of the hollowed-out part of the wall. They had often lifted impressions of footprints and tire tracks. In fact, they had devised the Hardy Plaster-Cast Kit, made up of the items they had asked Nip to bring.

Joe covered the break in the wall with plastic
spray to firm up the dust and broken particles. He poured some water into the plaster of Paris, and stirred the paste to the proper consistency.

Then he pressed some into the depression with the stick. When it became firm enough, Frank inserted small bits of wood to fortify the cast as it solidified. Then he added the remaining plaster.

When it had dried sufficiently, Frank pried out the cast with his pocketknife and laid it on the floor. They now had an impression of the object that had been concealed in the wall. It seemed to be a straight cylindrical object about eight inches long and half an inch wide.

“Could have been an iron bar,” Frank said. “But there's a loop at one end and a wedge at the other. Professor Rowbotham might be able to identify it.”

They took the plaster cast to the house. Rowbotham inspected it carefully.

“Ah–ah, this appears to be the impression of a key. A very old, very ornate, very large key.”

“A key to what?” Joe asked.

“As to that, I cannot say. But such keys were used in English castles long ago.”

“Craighead Castle!” Frank blurted. “It may open a door in Craighead Castle!”

“Possibly,” Rowbotham agreed. “However, you cannot get in there. Milton Craighead does not like strangers.”

“We know,” Joe said with a dry chuckle.

“Ah–ah, besides, a mystery hangs over the place.”

“What mystery, Professor?” Joe asked.

“The mystery of the missing marquis!”

Frank and Joe each felt tingles of excitement. Eagerly they urged Rowbotham to go on.

The professor said that the missing marquis, Lord Craighead, had been a distinguished soldier.

“Five years ago he announced his intention of visiting his old mates in Dublin. His servants helped him pack. His son, Milton, bade him farewell and he rode away in his car.”

Rowbotham paused for breath. The Hardys sat motionless, waiting for him to continue.

“The marquis hasn't been seen since!”

“Not a sign of him?” Joe asked.

“In five years?” Frank exclaimed.

“Just so,” the professor assured them.

A shuffling sound outside the door broke into their thoughts. Frank put his finger to his lips. Getting up, he tiptoed across the room, silently turned the knob, and jerked the door open.

A tall, stooped man with white hair stood outside. He was Sears, Rowbotham's butler.

“Were you listening at the door?” Frank demanded.

“Not at all, sir. I was bringing in the tea.” He lifted a large pot from a tea wagon and placed it on the table.

Joe, suspicious, questioned Sears closely. “Did
you let the thieves into the Witch Museum?”

“No sir. The robbery took place on my night off.”

“That's why I went out to dinner with an old friend,” Rowbotham confirmed.

After Sears had left, Frank said, “He could have doubled back and met a gang of confederates.”

“Impossible!” the professor said forcefully. “I trust Sears implicitly.”

They broke up after tea and the Hardys devised a new strategy. Frank had the first idea.

“We must have a key made from our plaster cast.”

“Let's try Eagleton Green,” Joe suggested. “There must be a locksmith among the artisans.”

In the village, they walked along the main street and stopped at a gunsmith's for information.

He told them to go to the shop of Lance McKnight, the locksmith.

McKnight was a rough-looking character with a heavy growth of beard. His shop was cluttered and dusty. Swords, daggers, and other weapons hung on the walls and a pile of keys lay on the counter.

McKnight claimed he could make keys from plaster casts. But when the boys produced theirs, his demeanor changed. He became evasive. “That's a tough job,” he grumbled.

“You do tough jobs, don't you?” Frank asked.

“Sure. But not that tough. The plaster isn't right.”

“It's the best East Anglia plaster.”

“Well, the cast is too big.”

“Why is it too big?” Joe pressured him.

The keymaker became surly. “Because I say it is. I don't want the job.”

They asked if he knew someone else who could do the job.

“Not here,” McKnight replied. “Possibly in London. See Matthew Hopkins at the East Anglia Inn. He's a wealthy, well-informed man who knows just about everyone in the city.”

As they walked back through Eagleton Green, Frank said, “McKnight wasn't very friendly.”

“He sure changed his tune when he saw our plaster cast. I can't figure out why.”

At the East Anglia Inn, Matthew Hopkins was having dinner. His greeting was friendly, and he listened with interest to the story of how they had made their cast.

“Yes,” he said, fingering the watch chain across his vest. “I know just the place in London where you can have a key made. It's in Soho Square. Here, let me write the address on my card.”

Joe took the card, and the boys thanked him.

“Don't mention it,” Hopkins replied in a hearty tone. “I'm always glad to be of any service to our American friends.” He went back to his dinner.

Frank and Joe returned to the lobby. They saw that one side of the card bore the printed legend:
Matthew Hopkins, Real Estate, Berkeley Square, London
. On the other side, Hopkins had written: “
Marshall Street, Soho, opposite the Medmenham Book Store
.”