The Ghost of Blackwood Hall

  “Hello,” Nancy called out.

  The old man jumped.

  “You scairt the livin’ daylights outta me,” he growled.

  “I’m sorry,” Nancy apologized. “You must be George Habab. Ranger Lane told me you compose your own songs.”

  “Ranger Lane considers me a historic landmark of sorts,” he commented, pleased that Nancy had heard of him. “Made up that song I was just singing,” he admitted. “I felt powerful sorry for those English boys who kept washin’ up in ’42.”

  Nancy asked Mr. Habab about her British friend, but the banjoist could not recall seeing him.

  “Reckon dinner just slipped his mind,” he said.

  Nancy doubted that but thanked the islander and secured a promise that he would play her his Blackbeard song before she left for home.

  Nancy hurried over to the Coast Guard station. A young man sat at the night desk. He could supply no information about Mr. Hudson. As Nancy walked out the door, however, the coast guardsman called her back.

  “Have you talked to Gerald Curran?” he asked. “He’s a World War II buff who’s always scuba diving around wrecks. Curran owns that big catamaran moored in the harbor, but he spends nights in a cottage he rented.”

  Nancy thanked the young man and got directions to Curran’s cottage, which was not far from her own. He also insisted that Nancy borrow his large flashlight.

  “It gets awfully dark and a little scary here at night,” he said. “You can bring the flashlight back tomorrow.”

  Guided by the powerful beam, Nancy hurried back to her cottage.

  “Nancy, where were you?” Bess called out as her friend neared the cottage, “Did you find Mr. Hudson?”

  “No,” Nancy reported ruefully, “but I have one more lead to investigate.”

  “Mr. Hudson must have forgotten he was to eat dinner with us,” George suggested. “Maybe he fell asleep.”

  “He seemed so excited about coming I can’t believe he could have,” Nancy replied, frowning. Secretly, she was beginning to think he had had an accident.

  “I wish we knew where he was staying,” kindhearted Bess sighed.

  “Well, I might be able to find out,” Nancy said hopefully. Quickly she told her two friends about Gerald Curran.

  “If I don’t learn anything from him, we can start to check hotels and cottages in the morning,” she said.

  George offered to accompany Nancy to the scuba diver’s cottage, but Nancy, knowing that Bess would be afraid if left alone, insisted on going by herself.

  Nancy strode toward the diver’s cottage. The sandy lane was as dark as the coast guardsmen had warned her it would be. The flashlight she carried was the only light besides those in the cottages. Reaching what she thought was the right cottage, she walked up to it shining her flashlight in front of her. A light shone from the back porch.

  “Hello. Anyone home?” Nancy called out.

  “Who is that snooping around here?” an unfriendly male voice demanded.

  Taken aback, Nancy identified herself and explained why she had come.

  “I’m sorry,” the voice apologized. “I thought you were some nosy kid or tourist. I’m Gerald Curran. I’ll let you in. Just a minute.”

  Nancy heard metal objects being pushed around. Then Gerald Curran opened the screen door. He was a blond, heavy-set, muscular man. Nancy guessed that he was in his late thirties. Rusty pieces of naval equipment cluttered the porch. Nancy almost banged her shin on an old propeller blade.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Nancy said, “but I hoped you might have seen Mr. Hudson.”

  “No,” the scuba diver replied, shaking his head. “I can’t think of anyone like that.”

  “He might have been out at the Lancaster,” Nancy remarked.

  The skin diver seemed startled but quickly collected himself.

  “I’m sure I would have seen him if he had been,” he said firmly. “I pass the Lancaster every day. As a matter of fact I was near it most of the day today. Hudson couldn’t have visited it … Why are you looking for him?” Curran concluded.

  “He’s a friend,” Nancy replied simply. “He was supposed to come over to dinner tonight at our cottage.”

  “Is he a close friend?” Curran asked sharply.

  “Close enough that I keep an eye on him,” Nancy announced curtly, annoyed by the man’s manner.

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about him,” Curran advised smoothly. “Most people like to wander around on their own when they visit this island. He’s probably asleep. Or maybe he saw all he wanted to and took the ferry back to the mainland.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Nancy said, but was unconvinced. “How did you become interested in World War II?” she asked in a friendly way.

  “Hobby,” Curran answered. “Also, I’m an expert scuba diver and it seemed like a good way to combine both interests.”

  “I noticed your catamaran out in the harbor,” Nancy continued. “It’s a beauty. Does it have living quarters?”

  “Yes,” Curran replied, “but too cramped for my tastes. I prefer the conveniences of a cottage.”

  Nancy nodded. “I’m sure the cottage is more comfortable, but I’d love to see your boat sometime.”

  Curran seemed somewhat irritated.

  “It’s not very interesting,” he muttered, “but perhaps I’ll show it to you sometime when I’m not busy. Where are you staying?”

  “In the Monroe cottage on the harbor,” Nancy informed him.

  “Are you here alone?” Curran asked her.

  “No, with friends,” Nancy replied. “But I could easily be diverted for a look at your catamaran or at a World War II wreck.” The girl felt that Curran knew more than he was volunteering, and she wanted an opportunity to interrogate him further.

  “If I find time, I’ll come by,” Curran said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Nancy called as she walked out the screen door. Curran muttered something in reply.

  That night Nancy had troubled dreams. She was glad to be out of bed at dawn and decided to take the motorboat they had rented with the cottage and visit the wreck of the Lancaster. She left a note for the sleeping Bess and George and quietly put her scuba-diving equipment in the boat in case she needed it. Navigating by a map of wrecks which Ranger Lane had given her, Nancy motored out to the Lancaster.

  To her surprise, she found Gerald Curran already at the wreck despite the early hour. He wore scuba-diving equipment and seemed not at all pleased to see Nancy. After barely waving at her, he jumped into the water. Nancy decided to go after him.

  She dropped the anchor, set up the ladder, and put on her scuba gear. She jumped in next to the anchor line and climbed down it to the Lancaster.

  The wreck looked blurred and ghostly in the dark gray water. Nancy saw no sign of Curran. As Mr. Hudson had explained, the Lancaster was not a real ship, just a small, converted trawler. Nancy thought admiringly of the British sailors who chased U-boats in these makeshift warships. Swimming around the trawler, the girl sleuth discovered a large hole in the hull where the submarine torpedo must have hit. Cautiously, she eased her way in. Then suddenly, without warning, something sharp fell on her head. It was a headless skeleton!

  Never losing her composure, Nancy surfaced along the anchor line quickly and deliberately. Curran had not returned to his boat. Nancy was convinced that the unpleasant man had something to do with the skeleton. She wondered why he was so determined to scare her away.

  Nancy swam to her ladder, took off her fins and climbed up. She lifted the heavy air tank off her shoulders, then motored back into the harbor. The boat slapped up and down on the choppy early morning waves.

  Bess and George stood on the dock of the cottage.

  “Nancy!” Bess greeted her friend with relief. “I was afraid you might have bumped into a ghost at the wreck.”

  “Actually, a ghost bumped into me,” Nancy reported wryly. She told her friend about the
skeleton.

  Bess flopped down weakly in a chair on the dock, but George spoke up angrily. “That man Curran is no good,” she declared. “I’ll bet he was responsible for this ’ghost.’ ”

  Nancy agreed. She sat down in a chair next to Bess and looked thoughtful for a moment. Suddenly she jumped to her feet.

  “I think our detective has a hunch,” George said knowingly.

  Nancy smiled at her friend. “You’re right, George, but before I follow it, I think we should ask for Mr. Hudson at the hotels and cottages.”

  “That will take a lot of asking,” George commented. “This island is packed with places to stay.”

  “Let’s get started,” Nancy urged.

  “Wait a minute,” Bess interjected. “How about a little breakfast before we turn into ghosts ourselves?”

  George and Nancy laughed and admitted they were ravenous. Bess scrambled eggs, baked delicious corn-bread, and fried some bacon by the time Nancy had showered and changed out of her swimsuit.

  “Smells heavenly,” Nancy grinned when she entered the cozy kitchen.

  After breakfast, Bess insisted upon washing the dishes despite the other girls’ protests.

  “I love the view of the harbor through the kitchen window,” she declared. “It makes me enjoy doing the dishes.”

  “I’m eager to look for Mr. Hudson,” Nancy conceded, “but I claim cleaning up after dinner tonight.”

  Nancy and George divided the hotels and cottages for their hunt.

  “I’ll take the ones on the other side of the harbor,” Nancy suggested. “Maybe you can get a look at Gerald Curran without his recognizing you.”

  “I’d like to punch him in the nose,” George announced stoutly. “Dropping skeletons on people! The nerve of him!”

  The girls’ thorough investigation took Nancy and George most of the day and netted nothing.

  “Mr. Hudson seems to have vanished into thin air,” George complained when they met back at the cottage late that afternoon.

  Nancy remembered the list of names in the British cemetery that had included that of the missing Mr. Colin Hudson, but she kept it to herself. Nancy certainly didn’t believe in ghosts, and felt there was no point in alarming her friends.

  Bess reported that Gerald Curran had dropped by the cottage during their absence.

  “He said you had been curious about his catamaran and his diving, Nancy, but I thought he was the one who was curious. He kept asking me questions about where you were and what you were doing, but I just said I wasn’t sure and that I didn’t know when you would be back.”

  Nancy praised Bess for her careful answers and the plump blond beamed. Then Bess exclaimed, “My goodness, it’s almost dinner time and you two haven’t even had lunch.”

  “Your breakfast lasted me all day,” Nancy teased her friend. Actually she had had little appetite because of her concern about Mr. Hudson.

  Nancy offered to pick up some fresh fish from Mr. Habab’s store.

  “That’s a marvelous idea,” Bess agreed. “I leafed through a local cookbook while you were out sleuthing and found some great recipes.”

  The cottage was equipped with bikes as well as a motorboat. Nancy chose one with a large wire basket in front. She started along the road circling the harbor at a leisurely pace. Musing on the stolen gold and Mr. Hudson’s mysterious disappearance, she occasionally turned her head and glanced at the boats rocking gently in the harbor.

  Suddenly a truck swerved by Nancy and forced her into the soft sand off the side of the road. Struggling to keep her bike from falling, Nancy barely had a chance to glance at the vehicle moving away from her. She did notice, however, that the truck was the light green of the Park Service!

  Furious, Nancy pedaled to Ranger Lane’s house. He was seated in a rocking chair on his front porch. Upset when Nancy told him of the incident, he promised to find out who had been driving.

  “I’m sure you will,” Nancy mollified the agitated man. “Fortunately I wasn’t harmed.”

  “I can’t think of anyone in the service who behaves like that.” The ranger shook his head. “First the theft and now this.”

  When the ranger mentioned the theft Nancy remembered something she had wanted to ask him.

  “May I borrow the key to the ranger station tonight?” she asked. “I’d like to take another look around.”

  “Of course,” Lane replied. “I’d be happy to come with you.”

  “Thank you very much, but I think it would be better if I went alone,” Nancy said. “I’d like to keep this trip secret and that’s easier with one person,” she explained tactfully. “Could you do me another favor and not tell anyone that I have the key?”

  “Not a word,” the ranger promised, “but I must admit you’re making me very curious. I suppose you’ll be safe.”

  “I’ll give you a detailed report in the morning when I return the key,” Nancy assured him. “I’d better hurry and buy the fish I promised to get for dinner.” She took the key and rushed to Mr. Habab’s store.

  “I was just about to close,” he announced as Nancy walked in. “Did you ever find your friend?”

  Nancy informed him of her unsuccessful search.

  “Well, don’t worry, little lady, I’m sure he’ll turn up,” the warm-hearted storekeeper soothed her. “Now, can I interest you in some fresh bluefish?”

  Nancy bought some of the fish, which he wrapped in newspaper. He refused to let her pay for it. “I’ll make you do a little singing for me sometime in payment,” he declared. Nancy decided to buy him a gift before leaving the island and loaded the fish into the basket on her bike.

  “Hope you don’t get followed home by a parade of cats,” Mr. Habab quipped as she set out. “They love my fish.”

  After a delicious dinner prepared by Bess, Nancy pondered Mr. Hudson and the doubloons as she washed the dishes. The young detective decided to wait until the middle of the night before going to the ranger station.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right, Nancy?” Bess asked anxiously before going to bed.

  “I’ll be fine,” Nancy reassured her friend. “No one knows I’ll be in the ranger station tonight.”

  George offered to accompany Nancy, but the young sleuth preferred to go alone, as she believed it would be less conspicuous.

  When Nancy left the cottage a few hours later, a thick layer of clouds covered the night sky. Without stars, the moon, or street lamps, the harbor was pitch black. Nancy chose not to shine her flashlight so as to avoid being noticed. She listened to the musical clanking of sailboat rigging as she stole around the harbor. None of the cottages had lights on. Everyone seemed to be asleep.

  As she neared the ranger station, Nancy thought she heard footsteps behind her. She stopped and listened intently. A boat was rubbing gently against the dock, and Nancy decided that was what she must have heard. The ranger station looked black and spooky. She was glad there were no windows in the building so that no one could see her flashlight.

  Nancy slipped the heavy iron key into the door and silently swung it open. After shutting the door behind her, the young sleuth shone her flashlight on the floor of the station. Squatting on the rough wood, she examined the area under the chest, but found nothing. Nancy inspected the entire floor with no more luck.

  Then she went directly to Arthur Huber’s desk. Peering intently at the boards beneath it, Nancy discovered a latch cleverly hidden in the wood. She pressed it and a trapdoor opened to reveal water below. Suddenly a spooky shadow seemed to dance before her. “Blackbeard,” she murmured softly, trembling despite her disbelief.

  Moments later, something hit Nancy on the head from behind and pushed her into the water!

  About an hour later, she awoke to find herself bound, gagged, and suffering from a terrible headache. The girl detective glanced around and guessed she was in the cabin of a catamaran, probably Gerald Curran’s, no doubt!

  On the bunk across from her lay Colin Hudson! He smiled as best he co
uld although his mouth, like hers, was gagged. Nancy winked back, determined that they both keep up their spirits. The elderly British gentleman looked pale and Nancy wondered angrily if Curran had bothered to give him any food.

  Nancy felt the catamaran start to move. After a while it began rocking up and down and she knew they were out of the small waves in the protected harbor. The large hatch was shut and the cabin was stuffy and uncomfortable.

  All I need now is to get seasick for the first time in my life, Nancy thought ruefully.

  The sound of two voices came through a small open porthole, which was the only source of fresh air. Nancy recognized the voices of Gerald Curran and Arthur Huber.

  “That blasted girl!” Huber hissed. “The old man was bad enough. But then, after our months of planning, she has to butt in.”

  “Cut it out,” Curran said harshly. “No one knows she ever even went into the station, and they won’t be able to get in until they break down the door. Remember, the only key is down at the bottom of the harbor where we dropped it.”

  “But her friends will raise the alarm and the whole Coast Guard will be out looking for her,” Huber argued.

  “They won’t know she’s gone until morning,” Curran replied. “By that time she and the old man will be on a tiny island miles away. You’ll be at work in the morning as if nothing had happened. I’ll have the gold hidden in my World War II junk. By the time they find the girl and the old guy—if they do find them— I’ll have gone home on the ferry with my loot and you’ll have left too if you know what’s good for you.”

  “They’ll search the country for me,” Huber whined.

  “Oh, shut up,” Curran barked rudely. “You’re in it up to your neck now. So let’s see if you can help me.”

  The men were quiet for some time as the boat sailed on. Then again Nancy heard their voices.

  “The dawn’s coming up,” Huber said anxiously.

  Nancy heard the sound of the anchor being dropped.

  “And we’re at the wreck just as I planned,” Curran snarled back. “I’ll have the gold up here in about fifteen minutes and then we can dump the girl and the old man. I hope it’s not too hard for you to guard a tied-up teenage girl and an old man while I’m gone,” Curran called out sarcastically. Nancy heard a splash as Curran jumped into the water.