The Clue of the Whistling Bagpipes (11 page)

Her great-grandmother nodded. “The brooch was given to an ancestor of mine by Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

“Oh!” Bess exclaimed. “The handsome, romantic young man who got away in a maid’s disguise?”

Lady Douglas smiled. “He is the one.” Then her face took on a serious expression. “Nancy, I have spent many sleepless nights since losing the pin. I last remember taking it from the safe to see if it were in proper condition to give you. The brooch appeared to be all right, and I pinned it to my dress to see how it looked.

“At that moment the room seemed a little stuffy, so I decided to go outdoors and take a walk in the garden. When I returned, it was my bedtime. I took off the dress and hung it in my wardrobe. It was not until the next morning that I thought of the brooch and decided to put it back in the safe. The pin was gone!”

“How very unfortunate!” Fiona said. “Indeed it was,” Lady Douglas agreed. “At first I thought the brooch had become unclasped and dropped off during my walk. But every part of the house and garden where I had been was thoroughly searched, and the pin was not found.”

“You are sure you lost it?” Nancy asked.

Her relative asked wryly, “You think I might have absent-mindedly misplaced it?”

“No, Great-Grandmother dear,” Nancy answered. “I wondered if it might have been stolen.”

Lady Douglas looked somewhat startled. “But there was no one here except Tweedie and Morag. They are my only two servants, and both are strictly honest.”

“I wasn’t thinking of them,” Nancy said quickly. “Perhaps your brooch did drop off outdoors, and some outsider who came here found the jewel and took it.”

“That is a possibility, of course,” Lady Douglas replied. “But not many people come to this lonely spot. I had a fine watchdog, but the dear creature died the very night I lost the brooch.”

All this time, Nancy had been thinking of the newspaper article in the River Heights Graphic. She had never given up the idea that a thief or thieves had the heirloom and he had given out misleading information concerning it. But she said nothing about it.

After the tea hour was over, the visitors were shown to their rooms. Bess and George began to unpack, but Nancy and Fiona decided to go outdoors and make a search of their own. There was not a sign of the brooch, but the two girls spotted deep boot prints leading from a field at the rear of Douglas House, and back across it.

“These were certainly made by a bigger, heavier man than Tweedie,” Nancy remarked.

Seeing him at work pruning some bushes, she walked over to speak to him. He assured her that he had not made the prints and that to his knowledge no other man had been on the grounds.

“Then some stranger was here very recently, perhaps even last night, no doubt spying on the house,” said Nancy. “Tweedie, do you realize that these boot marks might belong to someone who was here the night Lady Douglas lost the brooch, and that the same person might have killed your watchdog?”

The man looked startled. “Champion didn’t look as if he had been hurt and we couldn’t figure out what had caused his death.”

Suddenly Nancy recalled her theory about the sheep thieves anesthetizing the stolen animals. Could the same method have been used on the dog, Champion, so that he could not alert those in the house?”

Another disturbing possibility occurred to Nancy. “So far the thief has taken only the brooch,” she thought. “He may have come the second time to do a really big theft job!”

Nancy turned to the servant. “Tweedie,” she said,
“maybe
there was a thief in the house last night. Let’s find out if anything has been stolen.”

 

 

 

TWEEDIE raised himself proudly to his full height. “Miss Nancy, nothing could be stolen from Douglas House. Every door and window is wired to a burglar alarm. If anyone should try to sneak in, the bell would sound and the thief would soon be caught.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Nancy replied, “because there are certainly some valuable pieces of furniture and silver. It is wonderful to think that sightseers from all over the world will come here and enjoy looking at the beautiful old house and grounds and the treasures inside it.”

“From the first families of Scotland!” Tweedie added with pride, and walked off to continue pruning the bushes.

A few minutes later George and Bess joined the two girls. They all strolled around the grounds, at the same time reviewing the various points in the mystery. Nancy said she was convinced the brooch had been stolen.

“But by whom?” Bess asked. No one could venture a guess.

“One thing puzzles me,” George declared. “If the thief who took the brooch got away safely, why would he or any of his gang try so hard to keep you from coming to Scotland, Nancy?”

“Yes, why?” Bess echoed. “Don’t forget, George and I might have been killed along with you near Loch Lomond. And in the last accident—Fiona, too.”

Nancy said it indicated one thing to her. “There is something bigger involved. My heirloom may be only an incidental aspect. I believe that whatever is going on actually has nothing to do with Douglas House.

“This may be a wild theory on my part, but I believe now that the same men who are stealing sheep took my brooch. They feared that if I were able to track them down, I would also uncover clues to their racket.”

Fiona looked at the young sleuth admiringly. “I can see why you are an internationally known girl detective.”

Bess was thoughtful. “In other words, Paul Petrie from River Heights, the mysterious Mr. Dewar, and the red-bearded man are in the sheep racket together!” Nancy nodded.

George had another thought. “Nancy, you suspected the men who moved out of that houseboat. Do you suppose the stolen brooch might have been there?”

“Maybe,” said Bess, “but you couldn’t hide a whole flock of sheep!” The girls laughed.

Nancy was not ready to stop talking about the mystery. “Since we suspect smuggling, wool and hides could have been hidden in the houseboat until it was time for shipment, maybe to the United States. That’s where Paul Petrie might come into the picture.”

“That’s right!” said Fiona. “If the authorities are looking for missing live sheep, perhaps they wouldn’t be looking for wool or hides.”

The four girls walked along in silence for fully a minute. Then Nancy said, “Tomorrow let’s take a ride to that road where I heard the bleating inside the truck.”

“You mean go back to the area near Mrs. Drummond’s croft?” Bess asked.

Nancy nodded and turned to Fiona. “Where could that truck have been coming from? If we go in that direction, we might pick up a clue.”

Fiona said that the truck would be coming from the glen at the foot of Ben Nevis. Her face brightened in anticipation. “I have an idea. Why don’t we camp out overnight? The glen is a lovely spot, popular with many mountain climbers. They even have running races up and down Ben Nevis.”

George was intrigued. “How high is the mountain?”

“About forty-four hundred feet.”

Bess looked aghast. “You say they run up?”

“That’s right.”

George grinned. “I want to see that place, mystery or no mystery!”

The American girls were thrilled by the idea of camping out, and later Nancy asked Lady Douglas about equipment they could use. After dinner, Nancy’s great-grandmother took the girls on a tour of the mansion.

“We’ll end our trip in the attic,” she added, “and you girls can look there for proper hiking and camping clothes.”

As the tour went on, Bess thought she had never seen such an assortment of armor and so many oil portraits in one place. There was even a knight’s armor standing in a corner!

The attic was not in the least what Nancy had expected. It was very large and handsomely finished. Lady Douglas said it had once been a game room, where the men of Douglas House and their guests played billiards. Now there was the usual collection of old furniture, books, and trunks.

“You will find all sorts of clothes and blankets in the trunks,” said Nancy’s great-grandmother. “Help yourself to anything appropriate you can find.”

The visitors were intrigued by the contents of the trunks. There were many kilt skirts, white blouses, long black socks, and various kinds of caps worn by Scottish girls.

Nancy had a sudden idea. “These would make good disguises,” she said, then stopped speaking, not wishing to worry Lady Douglas with what was going through her mind. But the other girls immediately got her message.

“Let’s try some on!” George urged.

To Nancy’s surprise, the tartan outfits belonged to several clans, and she asked her great-grandmother about this. The elderly woman smiled. “Various relatives in our family came from different clans and brought these costumes with them.”

After trying on a few combinations, Fiona chose the Ogilvy tartan of small red-and-pale-blue checks with lines of white. George’s black hair was set off by the yellow-and-black plaid of the McLeods of Lewis.

Bess looked very pretty in the Stewart dress, a combination of large white squares interspersed with stripes of pale green and red.

“Nancy, I’m glad that you chose the Cameron tartan of my mother,” said Lady Douglas. “It is very becoming.” Nancy did look attractive in the flashy tartan of large bright-red squares edged with stripes of dark green.

“You’re sure you don’t mind our borrowing these?” she asked her great-grandmother. “They may become soiled or torn on our camping trip.”

Lady Douglas assured her that the costumes were not valuable and had been worn many, many times before. “I am sorry that I do not have sleeping bags or bedrolls, but in one of these trunks you will find knapsacks and warm blankets.”

After the necessary equipment had been collected, the group went downstairs. Morag was told about the trip, and by the time the girls were ready to leave the following morning she had packed enough food for three good meals.

Morag admired the girls as they started off. “Aye, and ye be lookin’ like bonnie Highland lassies for sure!”

The girls smilingly thanked her and said good-by. Fiona directed Nancy to drive by a shortcut to the road which went past Mrs. Drummond’s croft and on to Ben Nevis. The foursome looked for any possible clues to the sheep rustlers—an encampment, or a place where a truck might have pulled off the road. They found nothing of significance.

When the girls reached the glen, they crossed a bridge over a waterfall that cascaded from a rushing, boulder-filled mountain stream.

“This scenery is gorgeous!” Bess exclaimed.

On either side mountains rose sharply but not too steeply for climbing. Rocks were interspersed with trees and bushes. Here and there grew patches of heather, its colorful purple tint giving the slope a friendly look.

The road ran alongside the water. Here and there were protected areas that Fiona said were for campers. Presently they met a group of hikers, who were about to start a race up Ben Nevis.

Nancy pulled to the side of the road and the girls got out to watch. There were four boys dressed in white trunks and jerseys with their school insigne. One boy, seeing Fiona, hailed her.

“Wish me luck!” he called. “We will run to the big pine tree. The fastest time up and back is twenty minutes.”

She nodded and told the girls he was distantly related to her. The Americans were amazed at the agility and swiftness of the boys as they literally ran up the mountainside. As they neared the tree, Fiona said, “Aye, that is good. My cousin Ian is ahead!”

Ian was the first to start down the slope. This feat seemed far more dangerous than going up. By now all four girls were looking at their wrist-watches. Fiona exclaimed, “I think my cousin will equal the record!”

Ian did. His time was exactly twenty minutes, while his companions were clocked at twenty-five, twenty-eight, and thirty minutes.

The Scottish girl introduced her cousin and the other boys, who immediately invited Fiona and her friends to join a group of campers up the river.

“Fiona, you know several of the girls,” said Ian.

The offer was readily accepted and soon Nancy, Bess, and George were meeting Fiona’s other attractive Scottish friends, most of them wearing kilts. Some campers were from the Isle of Skye and others from the town of Inverness. The Americans were made to feel at home at once.

There was a lot of chatter and laughter among the young people while they unpacked food kits. Soon everyone was eating luncheon.

Above the hum of conversation Nancy became aware of distant music. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. A few bars were being played over and over on a bagpipe, apparently somewhere far up on the mountain. The melody was
Scots, Wha Hae!

Nancy strained her eyes to see the player, but no one was in sight. Was he just over a ridge? The young detective began to recall various incidents and finally a startling thought entered her mind. Was that particular tune, by any chance, played whenever she was around? “And could it possibly be piped by Mr. Dewar to let his partners know I’m in the area?” Nancy mused.

Her three friends had not noticed the bagpipe music, which ended abruptly. She quickly told them about it. “I’d like to climb the mountain and look for clues to that mysterious piper!”