The Witchmaster's Key (9 page)

Frank and Joe each braced one of his elbows and escorted him out of Stonehenge, along the Avenue, and back to the car. They carefully deposited him in the rear seat.

“Thank you,” the professor said in a grateful tone. “I think I will take a nap. You can keep the appointment in Stonehenge, and I will wait for you to return. By the way, ah–Stonehenge means Hanging Stones.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“He's still woozy,” Frank said.

“Well, there's nothing more we can do for him,” Joe pointed out. “Come on!”

They retraced their steps along the Avenue and back to Stonehenge.

A fog was rising from Salisbury Plain, and a full moon hung in the night sky. The titanic monuments loomed stark, black, and sinister in its white glow. Narrow shafts of light filtered between
them in eerie patterns. The only sound was the sobbing of the wind.

“I hope this guy doesn't stand us up,” Frank said.

Suddenly they heard a musical note on the Avenue. It came closer, and the boys recognized it as the high register of a recorder, a flutelike instrument. They quickly ducked behind one of the Horseshoe stones and peered out.

“Holy cow!” Frank whispered. “Look at that!”

A long line of people came into view. Men and women were dressed alike in white robes and flowing white headdresses. Each carried a single flower in one hand.

“Who on earth are those people?” Joe asked.

“Druids, I guess!”

The marchers filed up to the Altar Stone and placed their flowers on it. Then they turned to face the full moon and began to chant.

Joe shuddered as he listened to the strange chant. Frank, feeling his foot going to sleep, gave it a twist and accidentally kicked the stone.

“What was that?” one of the Druids called in a strident voice.

The leader, a burly man with a white beard, gazed around. The Hardys crouched low behind the stone. Their hearts thumped.

“An owl, no doubt,” the leader said. “The bird of wisdom. It is fortunate that he takes note of our rite. Now, let us go.”

The weird column filed out of Stonehenge and the sound of the recorder died away.

“Wow!” Frank said. “I'm glad they didn't notice us.”

“They might not have taken kindly to intruders,” Joe agreed.

“This is a good hiding place,” Frank said. “We might as well stay here. When the guy arrives, I'll go out. You stay as a backup. Okay?”

“Roger.”

They settled down to wait. The moon climbed higher in the sky. The wind blew harder. The fog grew denser.

“I can't see the altar any more,” Frank said after a while. “Let me find a good spot closer to it. When I do, I'll come for you.”

“Right.”

Frank slipped away into the mist. Five minutes passed. Joe became apprehensive. Had anything happened to his brother? He waited five minutes more, then he could stand it no longer. He crept out of his hiding place in the direction of the altar. There was no sign of Frank. Joe searched all around it.

“Frank,” he called in a low voice. “Frank, where are you?”

He heard a rustle behind him and whirled around. “Frank—?”

A white-hooded figure aimed a punch at his neck. He ducked in time. The man attacked him again, and the two wrestled in the dark. Joe's adversary was powerful and agile. He gave Joe a punch to the jaw that jarred him back against the Altar Stone. The boy dodged a second swing, and the man's fist hit the stone with a crunch. He groaned and backed off, breathing heavily through his mask.

Suddenly a second hooded figure appeared out of the fog. He forced Joe back onto the stone and began to choke him. With a superhuman effort, Joe struck back with a chop under the man's chin. He gulped and let go.

Joe sat up groggily. He noticed the man clutching his jaw, and tried to figure out a way to escape. There was none. The other fellow, who had hurt his hand, now closed in on him. Joe raised his arms in self-defense; then an eerie sound pierced the night air. Was it a note on the recorder of the Druids?

It made the boy shiver. The two men looked at each other, and one motioned to the other to run. They raced past the monuments and vanished into the fog of Salisbury Plain.

“Wow!” Joe said to himself. “Whatever that
sound was, it certainly saved me!” He stood up, still breathing hard. If only he could find his brother!

“Frank,” he called in a low voice. “Frank, where are you?”

No answer. Joe cautiously moved in the dense fog. “Frank!” he repeated.

Suddenly he heard a low moan. “Hey, Frank?”

“Here,” came the faint reply.

Joe felt his way in the darkness until he reached his brother's prone figure. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “What happened?”

Frank sat up and shook his head. “I got kayoed by an apparition in a hood.”

“I almost did, too. It was a trap after all.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No. Two men. They disappeared this way,” Joe said, pointing.

“No sense in following them in this fog,” Frank said. “We might as well go to the car.” He got to his feet.

As they turned to go back to the professor's compact, Joe tripped over something soft. “Hey, what's this?” he said. He picked up a striped cap and handed it to Frank.

“This looks like the cap Nip Hadley wears,” Frank exclaimed.

“Right. I wonder if he was one of that gruesome twosome.”

Frank turned the cap inside out. In the moonlight
he read the label. The cap came from a store on the Isle of Man. They decided this was a clue they would investigate when they got the chance.

“Perhaps we should go there,” Frank said.

They trotted back to the parking area where they had left Rowbotham in his car. It was deserted. There was no sign of the auto. The professor was gone!

J
OE
scratched his head. “I wonder where the prof is!”

“Search me. Looks like he vamoosed on us,” Frank said. “Think he's a phony? Maybe he knew those guys were waiting for us. That would explain why he was so dead set on getting us to Stonehenge.”

“Could be. But why? Perhaps that bump on his head was acting up and he went to a doctor. Let's check.”

They jogged into town, where they went to police headquarters. The officer on duty shook his head when they described Rowbotham. No such person had been reported injured.

The Hardys next tried the Salisbury hospital. The reply was negative there, too. No patient had come in to have a bump over his eye treated.

Frank and Joe walked to Salisbury's main street.

“Lost–one professor!” Joe said, worried.

Frank, too, was solemn. “We'd better get back to Griffinmoor as soon as possible, if there's a train at this time of night.”

The station was dark and deserted when they arrived. A schedule told them the next train to Griffinmoor did not leave until the following noon.

“Too bad we don't have a broomstick to ride back to the witch museum!” Joe grumbled.

“We could try our thumbs,” Frank suggested.

Glumly they walked to the highway, trying to hitch a ride. Finally a car stopped. The driver was about their age. He said he was a student and would give them a lift as far as Oxford.

“Fine,” Frank told him. “It's on the route to Griffinmoor. That's where we're going.”

As they drove along, the three discussed the differences between England and America. The sun had risen by the time the spires of Oxford came into view. The Hardys got out, thanked their driver, and began thumbing again.

At Bedford, a large Lincoln Continental pulled to the side of the highway to wait for them. Eagerly they ran to it.

The driver was a stout motherly woman, who wore an enormous hat that resembled a bowl of
fruit. Around her neck was a large fox fur. She invited them to get in and started up again. Frank and Joe explained they were traveling from Salisbury to Griffinmoor.

“All the way from Salisbury!” the woman said sympathetically. “And all night on the road! You poor boys must be tired!”

“I could be more lively,” Frank admitted.

“And I'm not about to do any handstands either,” Joe said. Then he added, “Where are you going, ma'am?”

“Home!”

“Home?” the Hardys queried in unison.

“Yes. You boys need a bath, a meal, and a nap. My house is just the place. When you feel fit, you can resume your journey.”

Frank and Joe were alarmed at the thought of any delay in their investigation.

“Where's home, ma'am?” Frank inquired.

“Johnshire. Only about twenty-five miles out of your way. We should be there in an hour.”

“Well, that's very kind of you, but you see, we have to be in Griffinmoor at a certain time and—”

“Nonsense! Wherever you have to be, you won't be any good if you're tired out. Nothing's as important as a good rest.”

“We've been resting in the car,” Frank protested weakly. “Right now, I feel like a million dollars!”

“And I'm ready to do handsprings like crazy!” Joe boasted.

“You're just saying that,” the woman objected. “I know. I have three sons of my own. I understand what boys need. You're coming home with me. I won't take no for an answer.”

The Hardys became desperate. They urged her to drop them off. She repeated that they had to be spruced up after being awake all night. They insisted they did not want to be any trouble. The smiling woman replied that they would not be any trouble at all.

She kept on driving, and they wondered how to escape from the motherly grip of their good Samaritan. They were beginning to give up hope when she slowed her car to turn off the main road. Frank made a split-second decision. He nudged Joe with his elbow, a signal to get ready for action.

As the nose of the car began to turn the corner, Frank wrenched the door open and flung himself out. Joe piled out after him. They hit the turf alongside the highway, tumbled over, and scrambled to their feet.

“Whew! That was a close call!” Joe gasped.

They saw the car stop halfway up the side street. It began to back toward them!

“She thinks we fell out!” Frank cried. “Make tracks before she corrals us again!”

They raced up the highway and caught another
ride in the nick of time. This driver took them into Cambridge and left them standing on the sidewalk in front of a grilled gateway. A plaque read:
DOWNING COLLEGE
.

“I'd like to see the Cambridge colleges,” Joe remarked.

“So would I,” Frank answered. “But we don't have time.”

A lorry rattled down the road. The driver said he could take them as far as Griffinmoor.

“Great!” Joe said as they climbed up.

They reached the Rowbotham house, feeling tired, dirty, and discouraged. Joe punched the doorbell, and Sears gasped when he opened up.

“What's the matter?” Frank asked him. “Did you expect us to stay in Stonehenge permanently?”

“Oh, no sir,” the butler responded. “It is simply that Professor Rowbotham has been wondering where you were.”

It was the Hardys' turn to stare. “You mean the professor is here?” Joe exclaimed.

“Yes sir. He is waiting for you.”

“How long has he been back?” Frank wanted to know.

“Long enough to become angry with you, I'm afraid.”

They found Rowbotham sitting in an easy chair in the study. He had his hands cupped over
the handle of his cane. The bump on his head was still there.

They hit the turf alongside the highway!

“What did you mean, leaving me alone at Stonehenge?” he scowled.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Frank said. “You were the one who did the leaving! Why did you drive home without us?”

“But you sent me a message saying that you weren't coming back with me!”

“What?”

“Oh dear, now I see. It must have been a deception. Tell me, what happened to you?”

After hearing them out, the professor looked embarrassed. “Ah–ah, I must apologize for blaming you,” he said. “The fact is that a man came along while I was asleep in the car. He woke me up.”

“What did he look like?” Frank asked.

“He had a heavy shock of ah–gray hair. Also a bushy beard.”

Frank and Joe looked at each other. The description fitted the leader of the witch mourners at the funeral of John Pickenbaugh!

“The man,” Rowbotham went on, “told me he had a message from you boys.”

“What was it?” Joe asked.

“He said you had picked up an important clue, and had gone off to investigate it. He said you wanted me to drive back to Griffinmoor alone.”

“That was a lie!” Joe informed him. “We would never have told you to drive over a hundred miles when you were woozy from that blow on the head!”