The Witchmaster's Key (13 page)

“We cycled all over Ireland,” he boasted. “You guys should have been here. I could have given you some lessons.”

He chugalugged his root beer and patted his stomach. The other three sipped theirs slowly. Finally Frank placed his bottle on the floor beside his chair.

“You should have been with us,” he countered. “We could have used a couple of backstops when the going got rough.”

Phil pursed his lips. “As I surmised, you and Joe are on another case.”

“Right,” Joe confessed. He described their sudden departure from Bayport after Professor Rowbotham asked their father to help solve the burglary at the Witch Museum. He mentioned their adventures in East Anglia, London, and Stonehenge.

“Hey, we'd like a piece of the action,” Chet said. “Bring on the witches! But don't expect me to ride a broomstick!”

“You couldn't get airborne on a broomstick anyway, Chet.” Joe needled him. “You'd need to lose another twenty pounds.”

“Well, we'd like an assist,” Frank said. “We haven't gotten too far with the witch case. He explained the problem of the Stonehenge cap and the black witch known as He Goat.

“Harry Burk says there's a feud between black and white witches on the Isle of Man,” Frank concluded.

“I've got news for you,” Phil revealed. “Chet and I have been to Black Magic Hall. It's owned by a couple of black witches!”

Frank became excited. “Is it a good exhibition? We were planning to go.”

Chet shrugged. “It's okay. But we didn't see the Super Exhibit. We would have had to pay an extra pound.”

A sound on the landing made the four sit up and listen intently. Footsteps stealthily approached the door and stopped. Joe crossed the room silently and pulled the door open. A slatternly woman almost fell against him before regaining her balance.

“I'm the landlady,” she declared. “I was just about to knock. Four in a room means you pay twice as much.”

“Then we want two extra cots,” Phil said.

The landlady told them to take the cots from a hall closet. They paid her and she went back downstairs.

“Was she eavesdropping?” Chet wondered.

“She may become the next suspect,” Frank replied. “What say we all go to Black Magic Hall and see the special exhibit?”

“Okay,” Chet said, and they left the inn.

The museum was located in a rundown area of
Douglas. The man and woman who ran it were brother and sister, who admitted they were black witches.

“Why shouldn't we be?” the woman demanded defiantly. “Witches have rights, too!”

“Suppose,” Frank replied, “you let us have tickets to the museum.”

The man took their money and handed them the tickets. His eyes followed the boys as they went inside.

The regular exhibition was good. They looked over witch dolls, masks, bells, and candles. They stopped before a black table covered with velvet cloth on which lay a wand, a crystal ball, two daggers that pointed in opposite directions, an astrology chart, and a sprig of mistletoe.

“Interesting but not suspicious,” Frank judged when they had circled the room. “I don't see any of Professor Rowbotham's things here.”

An arrow directed them up a flight of narrow stairs to a door with a sign reading:
SUPER EXHIBIT
. They entered a small dark room and closed the door behind them. Dim lighting illuminated the items on display.

The first was a witch's cauldron.

Joe whispered, “Frank, that's from the Griffinmoor collection! I remember the illustration in the catalog. The dent in the side is a dead giveaway!”

“And here's a skull and crossbones exactly like
Professor Rowbotham's!” Frank murmured. “And this mask! And this dagger!”

The Hardys told their friends that the Super Exhibit appeared to be made up of stolen pieces from the Griffinmoor Witch Museum.

“We ought to make those crooks confess!” Chet said.

“No good,” Frank countered. “They'd only deny everything.”

“But we must do something!” Joe urged.

Phil thought for a moment. “How about visiting a witch's coven? We might find some more proof that way.”

The Hardys agreed to try Phil's idea. The four laid their plans and descended to the ground floor, where the two witches were talking in guarded whispers in a corner. They fell silent when they saw the boys approaching.

“I have a secret to tell you,” Frank said mysteriously.

“Oh, is that so?” the woman sniffed.

“Yes, you see we're apprentice witches ourselves.”

“Where from?” the man snapped.

The unexpected question caught Frank off guard. As he fumbled for an answer, Chet came to his assistance.

“Bayport, U.S.A.”

“Witchmaster?” the man snarled.

“Chief Collig!” Joe said quickly.

Frank, Phil, and Chet had a hard time keeping their faces straight. Chief Collig was the head of the Bayport Police Department!

“Never heard of him,” the woman said. “But then, we never heard of Bayport, either.”

“You can find it on the map of the United States,” Joe assured her.

Frank intervened. “We'd like to visit a coven while we're on the Isle of Man. Can you set it up for us?”

The black witches exchanged glances. Then the sister nodded. “Maybe we can arrange it for you.”

“It will cost you ten pounds each,” the man added. “Come back at nine o'clock tomorrow night. We'll be waiting for you.”

Strolling back through Douglas, the Hardys discussed the situation with their pals. Phil and Chet agreed that forty pounds was a lot of money to invest in their adventure. They decided to cut the sum in half.

Frank and Joe would pay twenty pounds to visit the coven. Phil and Chet would tag along as backups in case of trouble.

“It will be worth twenty pounds if we discover any clues,” Frank pointed out.

“But now that we've found the stolen items from Griffinmoor,” Phil said, “shouldn't we notify the police immediately?”

“Not yet,” Joe replied. “We don't have proof.
It would be our word against theirs. The Douglas police wouldn't have any reason to believe us. We'll have to get in touch with Griffinmoor first.”

Frank turned his head slightly and looked out of the corner of his eye. “Keep walking and don't look back,” he said in an undertone. “We've got a tail behind us.”

Following his directions, Joe, Phil, and Chet strolled nonchalantly along as if they hadn't a care in the world.

Phil also spoke in an undertone. “Do you recognize him, Frank?”

“I sure do. He's the guy who threw the dart at Harry Burk in the pub!”

They turned a corner. So did their shadow. He pretended to be looking in the shop windows.

Frank said, “We'll go to the inn as if nothing were happening. If he follows us, he may tip his hand.”

There seemed to be nothing better to do. When they arrived, the landlady was inspecting a batch of receipts at the desk. She ignored them.

Frank peered covertly out the lobby window. “Our shadow's headed this way. He's coming in!”

“What'll we do now?” Chet asked.

“You three go up to the room,” Frank said. “I'll stay on the second-floor landing and keep watch.”

Scuffing their feet, the boys made a lot of noise as they climbed the three flights of stairs. Frank
silently remained on the second-floor landing. Then he tiptoed down as far as he could and peered over the bannister into the lobby.

Their shadow came through the door and advanced to the desk. The landlady leaned toward him and he whispered something into her ear. Then, furtively, he hastened out.

The landlady picked up the telephone and dialed a number!

F
RANK
strained to hear what the landlady was saying, but she spoke in a voice too low for him to understand.

When she hung up, Frank tiptoed up the stairs to their room. Silently he opened the door, slipped inside, and told the others what had happened.

“I don't know what we're up against now,” he concluded. “But we're sitting ducks. Maybe two of us should stand guard while two sleep.”

His companions agreed, and Phil and Joe took the first shift. But the night passed without incident.

In the morning they held a council of war to plan their strategy for the day.

“We don't have anything on tap until nine o'clock tonight,” Phil observed. “What say we spend the day at the beach?”

“Great!” Chet said, and his eyebrows waggled. “Maybe we can meet some girls!”

“Take it easy, Romeo,” said Joe.

After breakfast they strolled to a bath house near the promenade, donned swimming trunks, and ran into the deep water. They swam around like seals for half an hour. Then they went to the beach and sprawled on the sand beside some other bathers. They began to chat.

Phil lowered his voice and said, “Why are these people smiling at us?”

“I noticed that, too,” Frank said. “Maybe they're just friendly.”

A woman heard him. “I'll tell you why,” she said. “It's because you're very brave boys!”

“What do you mean, ma'am?” Frank was puzzled.

“Aren't two of you the Hardy boys?”

“Yes, we are. I'm Frank. This is Joe.”

“Well, then, you'd want to read this.”

The woman handed Frank a newspaper. Phil, Chet, and Joe gathered around him and read over his shoulder.

The London paper described the sinking of the ferryboat. Frank and Joe Hardy were named as the two American passengers who did not abandon ship until just before she sank, and were picked up by a rescue boat.

The captain was quoted. “They were very courageous,” he said, “to take their chances in the
Irish Sea instead of trying to climb aboard a crowded lifeboat.”

“Wow!” Chet exclaimed. “A couple of heroes.”

“Indeed they are,” the woman said, as Frank returned the paper and thanked her.

But he looked unhappy. “No wonder our cover is blown,” he muttered. “Our enemies know where we are for sure.”

“Sorry,” Joe said sheepishly. “It's all my fault for talking too much.”

“Nothing you can do about it now,” Chet said. “You're big shots and you might as well enjoy it.”

“Oh, I hope you do!” the voice came from a girl behind Joe.

Startled, he turned around to look at the speaker, a willowy blond with a big smile.

“I mean, I hope you enjoy your stay on Man,” she said. “My name's Shirley Evans. I live here.”

After introductions, Shirley asked Chet and Phil if they had been on the ferry boat too, and when she heard about their bicycle trip, she listened politely to their experiences for a few minutes.

But it was obvious that she had her eye on Joe. After a while, she directed all her attention to him. Joe did not mind at all. They chatted gaily for a while, then moved away from the others, discussing foreign politics of their respective countries.

Chet shook his head. “What do you know? Joe's
being swept off his feet right before our eyes!”

“Obviously he's in love,” Phil added. “Just look at him. His face is one big grin!”

Frank chuckled. “Shirley's very pretty. I would be grinning too if she'd picked me.”

Phil laughed. “Some talk for a hard-boiled detective! I thought you only had work on your mind!”

“There's a place and time for everything. Hey look, we're in again!”

Shirley had stood up and was addressing all the boys. “Why don't you come and have lunch at my house? It's just on the other side of the promenade. Mum and Dad would be glad to meet you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Joe said, and he sprang to his feet.

But the others were reluctant. “We want another dip. Join you later.”

Shirley gave her address, took Joe's arm, and left. At home, she introduced her new American friend to her parents. Mrs. Evans, a charming woman with close-cut hair, was involved in social work. Mr. Evans, a tall, stout man, was a lawyer. They welcomed Joe, served lunch, and plied him with questions about himself.

“Frank and I have just been to Dublin,” Joe revealed. “We visited Colonel Stewart at Tara Lodge.”

“That's quite a coincidence,” Evans said. “I served under Colonel Stewart in the Army.”

“Then you may have known the Marquis of Craighead! The one who disappeared five years ago. We're trying to find out what happened to him.”

“Sorry, I didn't know Lord Craighead,” the lawyer said. “But I remember when he vanished. It caused quite a stir in military circles. All kinds of rumors were about. One even placed him here on the Isle of Man!”

“How was that, sir?”

“A serving girl who had once worked in the kitchen at Craighead Castle took the ferry from Liverpool to the Isle of Man. During the voyage she saw a ragged, unkempt man who looked like Lord Craighead. She couldn't be sure. I tried to find him without success.”

A ring of the doorbell announced the arrival of Frank, Phil, and Chet. They, too, had lunch while Evans repeated what he had told Joe.

“I couldn't believe the ragged man really was Craighead,” the lawyer went on. “He was an aristocrat, who always dressed well.”

“He could have been disguising himself to fool everybody,” Phil commented.

Evans admitted the possibility.

Frank changed the subject. “Have you lived here long, Mr. Evans?”

“All my life. I was born here. This house belonged to my grandfather.”

“Then you must know about the feud between the black and the white witches.”

Their host nodded. “I've heard about it.”

“These black witches,” Chet asked, “where do they hold their big powwow?”

Evans laughed. “You mean, where does the coven meet? I've been told it's in an ancient moldering castle on the west coast of the island. That's all I can tell you about black witchcraft. The white witches are something else. Their headquarters are at the Witches Mill in Castletown.”