The Haunted Bridge Part 1

The Haunted Bridge.

CHAPTER I.

Invitation to Mystery.

"SORRY, miss, but I wouldn't go near that bridge for a million dollars," said the young, freckle-faced caddy.

"Why, Chris?" Nancy Drew asked him.

She had just driven her golf ball over two hundred yards into a patch of woods bordering the sixteenth hole. A rustic footbridge stood at the far side of it.

"Because the place is haunted, that's why."

Nancy, a slender attractive girl of eighteen with reddish-blond hair, was intrigued. She requested more details. Before Chris could answer, the other girls who were in Nancy's threesome walked toward her with their caddies.

"What's up?" asked George Fayne, a trim-looking brunette with short hair and a boyish name.

"The bridge in there has a ghost guarding it," Chris replied. "Isn't that right, fellows?"

The other caddies nodded and cast wary glances among the trees.

The third girl, blond, pretty Bess Marvin, gasped. "A-a real ghost?"

"That's right, miss," Chris told her. "You'd better not hang around here."

Nancy smiled. "What will the ghost do to me?"

"Who knows?" Chris retorted, and started to move off. "He sure wouldn't let you take your ball, and he might strike you. Come on! Take a penalty stroke."

"I guess we'd better," Bess agreed. "There's a foursome right behind us. Shall I signal them to play through?"

"No, we may as well go on," Nancy decided.

Her caddy was obviously relieved. "You couldn't have played from behind all those trees, anyway," he said.

"It's a shame," George commented. "You had such a great score up to now, Nancy. I hate to see you lose a stroke."

Nancy's curiosity about the haunted bridge distracted her attention from the game, and she scored a disappointing double bogey for the hole.

"Oh, you should have had a par," George murmured sympathetically.

Nancy smiled. "I've learned never to count my score until the last hole is played."

Nancy smiled. "What will the ghost do to me?"

"You'll certainly qualify for the tournament," Bess insisted. "That is, if you don't let your mind wander off on the mystery."

The three girls were spending a few weeks at the Deer Mountain Hotel as guests of Nancy's father, Carson Drew. He had come there on legal business. The summer resort with its many sports activities was a contrast to the comparative quiet of River Heights, their hometown, and the girls were enjoying every minute of the vacation.

Before their arrival, Mr. Drew had hinted that he might ask Nancy to aid him with a puzzling case he was handling. As yet, he had not explained what the work involved. During the lawyer's lengthy absences from the hotel the girls had been swimming and playing tennis and golf.

George and Bess thoroughly enjoyed golf. Both played well, but it was Nancy's scores which had attracted the attention of the club's golf pro. He had urged her to enter the qualifying round of an important championship tournament for amateur golfers to be held shortly.

Nancy felt she could offer little compet.i.tion to the excellent women players at the hotel. But Bess and George had persuaded her to try out and finally she had consented.

"You'll bring home the trophy, Nancy!" George declared as the girls finished playing the seventeenth hole.

When they approached the eighteenth tee they noticed that another player was there ahead of them. He was a tall, thin man in his late twenties, immaculately dressed in white slacks. Bushy black hair and a beard partially covered his angular, hard face.

"Oh, he's Martin Bartescue," Nancy said in an undertone. "Let's slow up."

The warning was too late. Bartescue had seen the girls. He waved and waited for them to approach.

"We would have to run info him!" Bess commented in disgust.

Martin Bartescue had met the girls the previous evening and immediately he had tried to make a golfing date with Nancy. Although she had heard the man was a very good player, she had taken an instant dislike to him, and politely declined the invitation.

Obviously he liked to brag, and she doubted the truth of his many stories of being friends with famous people. Now, as the girls seated themselves on a bench directly behind the driving area, he did not tee off. Instead, Bartescue smiled and walked over to them.

"May I have the honor of playing in with you young ladies?" he asked engagingly.

"We may as well all walk together," Nancy replied politely but with no warmth in her voice.

She drove a long, straight ball, while Bess and George played somewhat shorter ones down the fairway. Bartescue's drive outdistanced Nancy's. As the group moved along, he walked beside her.

"You play a fine game, Nancy," he said. "I was just thinking that you might like to enter the mixed foursome tournament with me next week. Together we should win first place."

"I may not be here that long," Nancy replied.

Bartescue looked disappointed. "I've played golf courses all over the world," he boasted. "Once I played the Prince of Wales."

"And did you defeat him?" Nancy asked, trying to hide a smile.

"Well, yes, I did," Bartescue admitted. "But only by a couple of strokes. Oh, I've often played with royalty."

By this time Nancy had reached her ball. When she was about to hit it, Bartescue stepped closer. His movement distracted her as she took her backswing. As a result, she dubbed the shot.

"Too bad, too bad," he muttered sympathetically. "You pulled in your elbow just as you struck the ball. Here, let me show you."

He took the club from the girl's hand, and to the annoyance of the trio insisted upon giving a demonstration of what he considered to be Nancy's fault. Without commenting on his criticism, Nancy walked to her ball and, in her usual good form, hit a beautiful shot down the middle of the fairway.

"That's fine." Bartescue nodded. "You'll make a par five on this hole, the way the pros do."

Determined to play her best, Nancy approached the eighteenth green. Her ball was only five feet from the cup. Intensely annoyed because Bartescue was still offering advice, she stepped up to putt. The ball rolled in a straight line toward the cup and came to a stop at the very edge of it.

"Oh, Nancy! What a shame!" Bess wailed.