The Clue of the Whistling Bagpipes (6 page)

The child looked up at Nancy. “Did you come to wake my mama up?” she asked.

Nancy gazed at the tear-stained face. She fervently hoped that the little girl’s mother was only unconscious.

“I’m coming, honey,” Nancy replied. Calling to her friends, she quickly described the scene below, then said, “Give me a hand so I can drop gently.”

The cousins crawled over. Each held one of Nancy’s hands as she eased her body downward.

“Okay. Let go!” she said.

Nancy hastened to the woman. After a quick examination she reported that the little girl’s mother apparently had not suffered any broken bones. Probably she had struck her head when the boat tipped over.

“I’ll put this table under the window,” Nancy said to Bess and George. “Then you won’t have so far to jump.” She righted the sturdy pine table and helped steady George when she dropped. Then both girls assisted Bess down.

The child was crying and trying to hide behind an upended overstuffed chair. Bess went to her at once. “What’s your name?”

“Isa Arden. Pl-please make my mama wake up!”

“We will,” Bess promised. “Do come out and see me.”

The little girl’s shyness vanished. She ran to Bess. “Everything’s upside down!” she wailed.

“It will be all right soon,” Bess assured her.

Meanwhile, Nancy and George had been trying to revive Mrs. Arden. Nancy chafed the woman’s wrists and massaged the back of her neck, while George hunted for a stimulant. Finally she found a bottle of camphor, which she waved under Mrs. Arden’s nose until the woman regained consciousness.

She rubbed her head, then in a weak voice asked, “Who are you? Where am I?”

“Mama! Mama!” Isa cried joyfully, and rushed over to hug her mother.

In a few seconds the whole catastrophe came back to Mrs. Arden. “You came to help us?” she asked the girls. “You saw the accident?”

“Yes,” said Nancy. She introduced herself and Bess and George. “The wind and rain have died down. Can we take you to some neighbor?”

At that moment a man poked his head through the window and called down, “Mrs. Arden, be ye all right?”

“Aye. These kind lassies have offered to help Isa and me get out.”

The man put his arms through the opening and said, “Hand Isa up. My wife is with me. She’ll take care of her.”

As soon as the child had been lifted out, the girls boosted Mrs. Arden to the opening, where the man helped her climb through it.

The three girls then scrambled outside. The neighbors introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Scott. When they saw the bedraggled condition of the Americans, they invited them to come into their houseboat and dry off.

“We’d be glad to accept,” Nancy said quickly.

The Scotts’ houseboat was neat and cozy, with everything in its proper place. The girls’ clothing soon dried from the warmth of a stove. After the three had washed their faces and hands and combed their hair, Mrs. Scott suddenly looked intently at Nancy.

“Why, your picture is on the cover of
Photographie Internationale!”
she exclaimed. “I thought your name seemed familiar when you introduced yourself. You’re the American girl detective!”

Nancy blushed, not because of the praise, but because she knew the news of her presence had been broadcast in Scotland. “I’ll probably be recognized almost everywhere!” she groaned inwardly. “Whoever my enemy is, he will be alerted as to where I am and keep out of my way! How can I ever catch him!”

“If you’re looking for mysteries, we have one right here,” Mrs. Scott went on. “Did you notice that the last houseboat is some distance away from the others?”

“No, I didn’t,” Nancy admitted.

Mrs. Scott lowered her voice. “Some very strange-acting men live on it now. The couple who stay there summers don’t arrive until later. They must have rented their houseboat to these men. But nobody around here has even found out what their names are. They mostly come and go at night, and don’t seem to have a car.”

Nancy was intrigued. She said, “Unless we can do something else for Mrs. Arden and Isa, I think we’d better leave. First, though, I’ll walk up and take a look at that houseboat.”

Nancy would have liked to ask more questions, but a group of neighbors arrived and there was no chance. The three girls exchanged farewells with the Scotts and Ardens, then made their way to the last houseboat. They stepped from the dock onto a narrow deck which circled the craft. The windows were heavily curtained and there was no answer to their knock. The trio walked around the deck, but found no clues to cast suspicion on the occupants.

“Let’s go!” Bess pleaded. “I can’t wait to have a hot bath and put on clean clothes.”

“Bess,” Nancy said sympathetically, “you must have been horribly uncomfortable all this time. I’ll get you to Glasgow in a jiffy!”

When they arrived at the hotel, Nancy changed into a fresh dress, then decided to tell her father of their afternoon’s experience and her suspicions. Bess and George declared they would rest for a while. As Nancy passed the room to which she and her friends had first been assigned, she heard a bagpipe being played. The tune was
Scots, Wha Hae!

She paused to listen. The piper was apparently a beginner, for he was going over and over the first phrase and not playing it very well.

“I wonder if that’s Mr. Dewar!” Nancy walked on, recalling the message in the bureau drawer. One of the sketches on it was that of a bagpipe! Was there a connection between the two circumstances?

Nancy knocked on the door of her father’s room and was delighted to find him there. Mr. Drew was reading an evening paper. “Here’s something you’re not going to like, I’m afraid,” he told his daughter. On the front page was a picture of Nancy taken from the cover of
Photographie Internationale,
and a story which called her “the girl detective tourist.” Seeing it, she groaned. “This is horrible, Dad! I don’t want to be recognized!”

She told him of the houseboat episode and how Mrs. Scott had identified her. “Soon I won’t be able to do any sleuthing in secret.”

Her father expressed his concern, and then, to lighten Nancy’s spirits, he said with a grin, “It’s almost like wearing a uniform and a badge. I think I’ll get you one marked ‘Detective’!”

Nancy laughed but in a moment became sober again as she told of the near accident on the road. Mr. Drew frowned. “It certainly looks as if the fellow deliberately tried to give you a bad scare—if not to injure you. I wish we could find out who is behind these car episodes.”

“I’m sure the missing heirloom has something to do with it,” she replied. “Dad, do you think we should notify the police?”

After a few moments’ thought, the lawyer decided against it. “We really have nothing to go on,” he said. “You didn’t get the full license number of the car, and you can’t identify the driver. I do have one suggestion. Let’s not eat in the hotel dining room. There’s a French restaurant next door. Suppose we go there about seven and find a secluded table.”

“That sounds great, Dad,” said Nancy.

Mr. Drew and the girls found the restaurant to be delightful. At the lawyer’s request the attentive headwaiter seated them in an alcove. No one bothered them, but Nancy did notice that their waiter, and also the bus boy, stared intently at her several times.

She began to suspect that they had recognized her. As they were eating dessert, the bus boy handed her a piece of paper and a pencil.

“Monsieur, at the second table from here, would like the autograph of the girl detective.”

It took Nancy only a split second to decide not to accede to the request. She was remembering the man called Pete in River Heights who had paid a dollar for her signature. She was not going to give anybody else a chance to use her autograph in some unsavory scheme.

Nancy looked over at “Monsieur.” She smiled graciously, shook her head, and with her lips formed the word “Sorry.”

Mr. Drew paid the check and the foursome left hurriedly. They went back to the hotel and up to their rooms. At the girls’ door Nancy’s father said, “Be ready to leave for Edinburgh early in the morning. I’ve engaged the driver we had yesterday—Donald Clark. The hotel will prepare a lunch for us to take along.”

Before leaving next morning, Nancy went to the desk and asked if Mr. Dewar were still registered.

“No, he checked out very early this morning.” As Nancy joined the others in the taxi she thought, “I have a strong hunch Mr. Dewar’s path and mine will cross again.”

Donald was his same cheery self, and asked if his passengers had any errands in town before they set off for Edinburgh.

Nancy spoke up. “If we have time, I’d like to go to a bagpipe factory and see how the instruments are made.” She chuckled. “Perhaps if I find out, I can learn to play better!”

Mr. Drew said there was plenty of time, so Donald took them into the heart of Glasgow’s business district, where the factory was located. It manufactured not only bagpipes but the proper costumes for men to wear while marching and playing. The visitors were astounded to learn that every tartan used by any Scottish clan could be purchased here.

“Girls rarely play bagpipes,” said the factory guide who was taking them around. “Instead, they get all decked out in their blouses and plaid skirts to do our native dances.”

“Where could I purchase a girl’s outfit?” Nancy asked. The man gave her the name of a shop in the city. Nancy turned to her father. “I’d love to have a Douglas tartan,” she said.

Mr. Drew grinned. “We’ll get you a costume right after we leave here.”

The guide led the visitors from room to room. He showed them the sheepskin bag which the piper filled with air to be used as needed while he was playing. The bag was covered with cloth made of the player’s tartan.

Next, the group was shown the various wooden parts of the bagpipes. The chanter, which produced the tune, had a reed at the top. At the lower end was a rubber valve, which closed when necessary to prevent air escaping from the bag.

Besides the chanter there were three pipes for accompaniment. They were called drones. Two of these were tenor and one bass.

The guide explained, “All the pipes are made of hard African blackwood. The ivory that trims the pipes comes from India, and the canes for the reeds that go into the pipes are from Spain. All the parts are screwed together.”

The splitting of the pale-yellow reeds proved to be the most interesting part of the tour for Nancy. She learned that the cane was very carefully split partway down to give just the proper sound.

A little later Nancy’s group thanked the guide for his informative talk. As they left the factory, Bess remarked, “It’s all too complicated for me. I’ll stick to the piano!”

Donald drove to the shop where Nancy was to purchase her Douglas tartan outfit. She tried it on and was pleased. “I’d like to wear it, but I’d certainly attract attention,” Nancy said to the girls. She had not seen a single Scottish girl wearing tartans. Nancy mentioned this to Donald when she returned to the car.

“Up in the Highlands,” he said, “ye will see the lassies in them. Don’t ye be afraid to wear yours there.”

As they rode along, he suggested that they visit Stirling Castle. “’Tis a bit out o’ the way, but I think ye’ll feel well rewarded.”

The girls and Mr. Drew said they would like to go. When they approached the castle, George exclaimed, “What a fabulous place!” A cluster of impressive stone buildings stood on a high hill.

Two guards in colorful kilts were stationed at either side of the entrance. Just inside, a guide was waiting to escort the party. He led the way up a steep cobblestone driveway to a plaza around which were grouped the various buildings.

“That smallest one used to be a mint,” the guide pointed out. “Silver from nearby hills was made into coin of the realm. Some people say that was the origin of sterling silver!”

The visitors were fascinated by the elaborately furnished kings’ rooms, and the smaller apartment used by the famous Mary, Queen of Scots, before her imprisonment in England. But the guide told so many stories of loyal subjects, mixed with the gory details of intrigues and double-crossing deals of history, that the girls’ heads were swimming.

Names which caught Nancy’s attention, however, were those of the great heroes of the country—William Wallace and Robert Bruce. “Scots, Wha Hae was composed in their honor!” she recalled.

As the visitors went outside, Bess sighed.

“Poor Mary, Queen of Scots! In prison for about twenty years! And then executed!”

The guide led the group across the courtyard to a stone stairway leading downward. “Would you like to see the dungeon below?” he asked.

“We may as well,” Mr. Drew replied.

“You won’t need me,” said the guide. “I’ll wait here.”

The four tourists descended, and immediately felt the damp chill of the underground prison. When they reached the far end, Bess shivered. “This is a horrible place! I can’t bear to think of the poor people who were thrown in here, when they hadn’t done anything wrong except to disagree with their ruler. Let’s go!”

She turned and almost ran back outside. George and Mr. Drew followed. The guide chuckled. “A wee spooky, isn’t it?” Then he asked, “Where is the young lady detective? She is the one on the magazine cover?”

The others suddenly realized that Nancy was not with them. “I’ll go get her,” Mr. Drew offered. “She has probably found something unusual.”

He returned in a few minutes, a worried expression on his face. “Nancy isn’t down there!”

“What!” the guide exclaimed. “She must be! She hasn’t come out!”

In panic, Mr. Drew, Bess, and George hastened down the steps to make a search for the missing girl. What had happened to Nancy?

 

 

 

BY this time the guide, too, had become worried. As Bess, George, and Mr. Drew reached the foot of the dungeon steps, he called down, “Wait! I’ll come along. I must tell you something. Another sightseer went into the dungeon right after you did. He was mumbling something that sounded like ‘I’ll get her!’ Maybe—maybe he meant Miss Drew, and has put her in the suffocation chamber!”