Mystery at Moorsea Manor

join them. Unlike the merry atmosphere that had

  bubbled among the guests after dinner the previous

  evening, a gloom hung over the group. Each guest took

  a seat in silence. Mrs. Macmillan-Brown's forehead was

  creased with worry, and even the normally cheerful

  Ashley was glum. Georgina Trevor seemed even more

  distracted than usual, pouring water into her already

  filled glass and taking no notice of the puddle that

  quickly formed below it.

  Everyone started as Nigel spoke. “I wonder what

  will befall the next unlucky guest, and who he or she

  will be,” he remarked.

  “Must you ruin my dinner by indulging in such

  morbid speculation?” Mr. Macmillan-Brown said

  irritably.

  “I beg your pardon,” Nigel said. “But that is the

  question on everyone's mind, isn't it?”

  Hugh appeared through the pantry door to serve the

  appetizer. As everyone began eating, occasional

  murmurs of delight filled the room.

  “It's lucky for the Petersons their food's so

  delicious,” Malcolm said, eyeing his food happily.

  “Good food makes up for a multitude of sins,” Nigel

  pronounced as he leaned toward the girls' table. “I'm

  delighted to say that my dinner seems to be exactly

  what the menu advertised.”

  Once Nigel turned back to his meal, Nancy's eyes

  darted toward Malcolm. She quickly cast about in her

  mind for a tactful way to question him about the road

  sign. After learning that he had first arrived at Moorsea

  Manor only an hour before she and George had, Nancy

  asked, “Did you have any trouble driving into Lower

  Tidwell on your way here, by any chance?”

  Malcolm's blue eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well,” Nancy said innocently, “it's just that when

  George and I approached the village, the sign for the B

  road was missing and the A road sign was in the wrong

  place.”

  Malcolm blanched. “It was?” he croaked.

  “Yes. You don't remember that?” Nancy asked.

  “No,” he whispered. “You must have been seeing

  things. I'm glad you're getting yourselves a holiday

  here—I'd say you both need a rest.”

  “We weren't seeing things, Malcolm,” Nancy

  declared. “That sign could have caused a really bad

  accident. George and I nearly rolled backward down

  the hill.”

  “Is that the honest truth?” Malcolm asked George

  suspiciously.

  George nodded reluctantly.

  Malcolm dropped his gaze, staring down at his half-

  eaten food as if he wished it would go away.

  Nancy sat back in her chair and studied Malcolm as

  he nervously picked up his fork. There was one thing

  she was sure of: no one had framed him. He must have

  taken that road sign, she concluded, or else he wouldn't

  be acting so guilty.

  After dinner Malcolm slipped upstairs, pleading a

  headache, while the other guests went into the living

  room. Georgina propped a book open on her lap and

  peered at it, birdlike, through tiny wire-rimmed

  reading glasses. The elder Macmillan-Browns and

  Nigel settled around the jigsaw puzzle, quarreling from

  time to time about where certain pieces fit. George,

  Nancy, and Ashley sat down to play hearts, but Nancy

  had a hard time focusing on her cards. Who could have

  taken Maisie? she wondered, glancing outside at the

  fog. I hope she's at least somewhere safe and warm on

  this damp, creepy night.

  Sunlight streamed across Nancy's bed, waking her

  early the next morning. She sat forward as George

  stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a terrycloth

  robe, toweling her short wet hair.

  “The fog's completely gone,” George commented,

  “so Malcolm and I can play tennis. What's up with you

  today, Nan?”

  Last night before bed, Nancy had briefly told her

  about the note on Maisie's collar. “I'm worried about

  Maisie,” she said, “so I want to talk to Annabel about

  her, just in case she knows something I didn't learn last

  night. Then I'd like to question the Singh brothers—

  the developers Annabel told me about—and maybe

  look around for clues in their office, like a sheet of

  Moorsea stationery for Maisie's note or something

  about the treasure hunt. I was hoping you'd come with

  me, George—I might need help.”

  George smiled. “Sure, I'll come. Malcolm and I can

  always play tennis later. But would the Singhs be in

  their office on a Saturday?”

  “Annabel told me they were realtors as well as

  developers,” Nancy said. “And since they're in the

  business of showing people houses to buy or rent, I'll

  bet they work on Saturday.”

  As soon as Nancy had showered and dressed, she

  and George headed downstairs to breakfast. Malcolm

  had entered the dining room a step ahead of them.

  “Hi, Malcolm,” George said. “Are you up for some

  tennis later today?”

  Malcolm's face fell when he saw the girls. “Oh . . .

  sure—but later,” he mumbled. Then before George

  could answer, he sidled away from her and sat down

  between Nigel and Ashley at the far end of the main

  table.

  The two girls sat down at the side table. “He's

  avoiding us,” Nancy whispered.

  “You're telling me,” George said, her dark eyes

  flashing with annoyance.

  “Maybe because we asked him about that sign,”

  Nancy said. “He's obviously uncomfortable about it—

  like a guilty person would be.”

  “Yeah,” George agreed in a defeated tone. Then she

  dug into her eggs in a brooding silence.

  After breakfast, Nancy and George found Annabel

  in her office, looking pale and unhappy but determined

  to perform her duties as hostess of Moorsea Manor.

  After questioning her gently about Maisie's

  disappearance, the girls assured her they'd do

  everything they could to find Maisie, expose the

  culprit, and bring life at Moorsea Manor back to

  normal.

  Annabel bit her lip and added, “That dog has known

  nothing but love all her life. I hate to think of her being

  at the mercy of someone who doesn't care about her—

  who might even mistreat her.”

  Nancy told Annabel they were going to check out

  the Singhs that morning. “Maybe we'll have a

  breakthrough and find Maisie,” Nancy said hopefully,

  although privately she felt the chances of that

  happening at the Singhs' offices were very slim.

  Fifteen minutes later, Nancy and George stepped

  out of their car in Lower Tidwell in front of the single,

  modern low-rise office building.

  “Yuck,” George commented as her eyes scanned the

  building. “This building could be in any American mall.

  It's hideous.”

  “That's for sure,” Nancy said.

  Inside the building, Nancy and George asked the

  receptionist whether the Singh
brothers were around.

  “Yes,” she answered, putting down her novel with a

  put-upon expression. “May I tell them who you are?”

  Nancy and George introduced themselves and said

  they were interested in buying a house in the area.

  “Really?” the receptionist asked, with a toss of her

  bleached blond hair. Then in a bored tone, she called

  Devendra Singh over her telephone intercom.

  Several minutes later, a tall slim man in a white

  turban appeared. He wore a dark business suit with a

  bright green necktie.

  After introducing himself, he led the girls down a

  corridor past several closed doors—offices, Nancy

  guessed. Entering a large corner office with a desk free

  of clutter, Nancy and George were introduced to

  another man who was the spitting image of Devendra,

  except that he wore a red necktie instead of a green

  one.

  “This is my brother, Rajiv,” Devendra explained as

  they all shook hands.

  “Dev and I are experts on real estate in different

  parts of the county,” Rajiv said, squaring his shoulders

  proudly, “so if you girls tell us exactly where you'd like

  to look for a house, one of us will surely be able to help

  you.”

  “Actually,” Nancy began, “my father, who's in the

  States, has been on the lookout for a large property to

  buy in England. George and I have been staying at

  Moorsea, and we heard a rumor that it might be for

  sale. If that's true, my dad might be interested in

  considering it.” Nancy was fudging to see the brothers'

  reaction, but only a hint of surprise showed in Rajiv's

  eyes.

  “That's odd,” Devendra said. “I haven't heard of any

  such rumor. How about you, Raj?”

  “No, and I must say I don't believe it,” Rajiv

  answered. Turning toward Nancy and George, he

  explained, “Dev and I have approached the owners

  several times about buying the place, and each time

  they've firmly refused. If they do decide to sell, I

  believe they'd approach us first—they know we'd give

  them the best deal. We've made them a couple of

  extremely tempting offers already.”

  “Did you hear that rumor from another guest at

  Moorsea?” Devendra asked. “Or from someone in

  town?”

  “Oh, from another guest,” Nancy said vaguely.

  “Someone has been playing these strange pranks at

  Moorsea lately, and I heard that the Petersons might

  be fed up with the responsibility of running an inn.”

  “Pranks?” Devendra asked. His eyes flickered for an

  moment, as if he knew more than he was saying, Nancy

  thought. “Like what kind?”

  “The Petersons' dog is missing, for one thing,”

  George offered.

  Rajiv studied the girls shrewdly for a moment, then

  said, “If you're so interested in the place, why not ask

  the Petersons about it directly? Why come to us?”

  “Because if the rumor isn't true, they might be upset

  by it,” Nancy explained. “Some people think that the

  prankster is harassing the Petersons so they'll lose

  business and be forced to sell.”

  “Ridiculous!” Devendra exclaimed.

  “No one would harass the Petersons just to get

  Moorsea Manor,” Devendra said scornfully. “That

  sounds like a Dartmoor ghost story—amusing to hear,

  but totally unfounded.”

  Nancy leaned forward on the desk, doing her best to

  scan it without seeming obvious. But other than a

  blotter, a notepad, and a quill pen, the desk was clear.

  Nancy sighed. There's no way I'll be able to search the

  desk drawers with these guys watching, she thought.

  Better to try to sneak in some time when they're not

  here.

  Nancy and George thanked the Singhs for their

  information. As the brothers led them back down the

  corridor toward the receptionist's desk, Nancy heard a

  noise coming from behind a closed door. It sounded

  like a dog whimpering. But what would a dog be doing

  in someone's office?

  A sudden sharp yap made Nancy jump. Maisie? she

  wondered. Curious, she turned the doorknob.

  10. Disaster on the Moor

  Nancy opened the door, and a furry golden blur

  streaked past her. A golden retriever, Nancy saw.

  Catching up to the brothers, the dog leaped on them,

  whining excitedly.

  The Singhs whirled around. “Why did you let Doone

  out?” Rajiv asked Nancy, his eyebrows drawing

  together in a single black line. “He's a total disruption

  to our office unless he's confined.”

  “You two have no business opening a closed door in

  our office,” Devendra snapped. “I'm caring for my

  wife's dog today, and I don't want him to get all riled

  up. He's a nuisance as it is.”

  “I'm so sorry,” Nancy said, trying her best to come

  up with an excuse on the spur of the moment. “I . . .

  heard a dog in there. It sounded like he wanted to

  come out.”

  “It's not your business to let him out,” Devendra

  said, glaring at her. His dark eyes narrowed with

  suspicion. “You thought Doone might be the Petersons'

  dog.”

  “No, I didn't, I promise,” Nancy insisted. “It's just

  that I like dogs and he was whining. I should have

  asked your permission first.”

  “You certainly should have,” Devendra said coldly.

  “We'll escort you to your car now, if you don't mind.”

  Once outside, Nancy and George made a bee-line

  for their car. As Nancy was putting her key in the

  ignition, the brothers circled the car, one at Nancy's

  window and one at George's. Leaning against Nancy's

  door, Rajiv glared down at her. “We don't take kindly

  to being suspected of a crime, young lady. Never set

  foot on this property again or we'll call the police.” He

  held his fist to her window, shaking it threateningly.

  On their way back to Moorsea Manor, George put

  her hand to her forehead as if nursing a headache.

  “Whew, those guys were something,” she exclaimed.

  “They kind of flew off the handle in a major way. And

  just because you let their dog out.”

  Nancy frowned. “They guessed we were there under

  false pretenses, and they were right. Still, I'm

  convinced they're hiding something.”

  “How can you tell?” George asked.

  “Well, when we mentioned the pranks, Devendra's

  expression changed for a moment. It was as if he knew

  about them already and was worried we might find out.

  I was disappointed about one thing, though,” Nancy

  added. “Those guys are too neat. There were no papers

  on their desk except for a notepad. Any clues would

  have been hidden away in the desk.”

  “And they sure weren't going to let you go through

  it,” George said dryly. “I was racking my brain for a way

  to get them out of there for a minute, but I couldn't

  think of any excuse.”

&n
bsp; “Impossible. Those guys were guarding that office as

  if they were hoarding treasure in it.” Nancy pulled the

  car into Moorsea's long drive. “By the way, George,

  how would you like to take a picnic lunch and ride out

  to the moors to look for Maisie?”

  “Ride?” George said, perking up. “You mean, as in

  horses?”

  “That's right,” Nancy said with a grin. “The

  Petersons have those horses for guests to ride. Since

  Maisie doesn't seem to be inside the house or in any of

  the barns, my bet is she's off the property. The moors

  are huge, and Annabel said there are some high jagged

  rocks on them called tors. Someone could be hiding

  her in a cave in the tors.” Nancy paused, then added,

  “Also, I'd like to check out Billy Tremain's house on

  the moor.”

  Once George and Nancy arrived at the house, they

  quickly changed into jodhpurs and boots. Then they

  headed downstairs to Annabel's office to tell her their

  plans. After giving the girls exact directions to Billy's

  cottage, Annabel warned them to stay on the path.

  “Otherwise, the moors can be dangerous,” she

  explained. “There are marshes and peat bogs that look

  exactly like solid ground—as George knows only too

  well. In fact, some people walked onto the moors and

  were never heard from again. And don't forget, even

  though it's a beautiful day now, fog can roll in without

  warning. And then you've really got to watch your

  step.”

  “What do we do if that happens?” George asked,

  glancing uneasily out the front window at the sparkling

  sunshine.

  “Just stay where you are and wait for it to lift,”

  Annabel said. “If you continue, you could easily lose

  sight of the path in the fog. And the horses are happy

  to stay still. They're smart animals, and they sense

  when there's danger.”

  “Could you do me a favor when I'm gone?” Nancy

  asked.

  “Of course,” Annabel said. “I'll do anything to help

  you find Maisie and solve this mischief.”

  Nancy smiled. “Could you, or the maid, bring me

  the small message pad that's in Malcolm's room? You

  know, the one with Moorsea Manor printed on it that

  comes with the room? I want to check the top sheet for

  indentations that the pen might have made in case he

  wrote Maisie's note.”

  “I'll take care of that straightaway,” Annabel

  promised. “I hope you girls have a productive ride—