The Haunted Bridge Part 2

"Speaking of the mystery," said George, "did you learn anything about the haunted bridge?"

"Not yet," Nancy answered, glancing at her wrist watch. "But I'm to meet Chris at five."

Nancy found him waiting for her at the caddy house. He made no comment as she led him to a bench at the rear of the hotel.

"Please tell me everything you know about that bridge," she urged him. "Why do you say it's haunted?"

"Because it is," the boy insisted. "All the caddies will tell you the same. Sometimes you can see the ghost walking over it."

"At night?"

"Daytime, too. It waves its arms slowly back and forth. And sometimes the ghost screams as if it's in pain."

"Have you actually seen and heard this yourself ?"

"Sure. That's why I know better than to go into that woods."

"You mean you've never been up close to the ghost?" Nancy inquired, smiling.

The boy frowned and said, "You couldn't hire any of the guys to go near the place."

"Chris, are the bridge and surrounding property owned by the hotel?" Nancy asked.

Before Chris could reply, the caddy master appeared to inform the boy he was wanted immediately in the caddy house.

"I'll have to go now," Chris told Nancy.

"Thank you for telling me about the ghost," she said. "And by the way, if I qualify, would you like to caddy for me in the tournament?"

"Sure. But I won't promise to look for any b.a.l.l.s in the woods."

Nancy leisurely walked back to the hotel. As she went through the lobby a sudden thought occurred to her. After giving a brief explanation, she asked the desk clerk if she might look at the registration cards of recent guests.

"Certainly, Miss Drew. Glad to be of help at any time."

Nancy flicked through the file until she came to the name Martin Bartescue and studied the man's handwriting.

"It's not a bit like his signature on my scorecard," she reflected.

Nancy was so absorbed in looking at it that she failed to observe the man himself. He had come up directly behind her. Pausing, he regarded her intently for a moment, then dodged into a telephone booth. Nancy, unaware of his presence, went upstairs.

Bess and George were dressing for dinner. They were not too occupied, though, to bombard Nancy with questions concerning the haunted bridge.

"I didn't learn much more except that the ghost walks across the bridge, not only at night, but also in the daytime."

Bess gave a nervous giggle. "I'll never let my ball go into that woods, even if I have to take ten iron shots on the fairway."

Nancy and George laughed. Then Nancy said, "Here's a new mystery. Bartescue uses at least two different styles of handwriting." She told about the registration cards.

"And probably several aliases," George commented with a look of disgust. "Anyway, hereafter I'm going to call him Barty."

"Barty the Barge-In!" Bess said.

That evening Mr. Drew had dinner with the girls. Nancy noticed that her tall, handsome father seemed a bit preoccupied.

"Isn't your case progressing well, Dad?" she asked.

"Not so far," he replied. "I'll probably need your help soon, Nancy."

"I'll be ready."

After dinner Mr. Drew told the girls that he must leave the hotel for a few hours.

"We'll manage to amuse ourselves," Bess said, chuckling.

The hotel orchestra was an excellent one. The girls met many attractive young men who were vacationing at Deer Mountain. Nancy, Bess, and George were never at a loss for partners. Bartescue was persistent and danced with Nancy several times. Though he was an excellent dancer, Nancy did not enjoy being with him.

At the end of one number he firmly steered her toward the terrace. She was annoyed, but told herself, "This might be a chance to find out more about the man."

He launched into a story of his adventures in England. But at the first opportunity Nancy led him on to the subject that was uppermost in her mind.

"Obviously golf is one of your main interests, Mr. Bartescue. Do you also have other interests?"

"Oh, yes," he replied. "I enjoy tennis-But what are some of yours?"

"Well, for one thing, graphology intrigues me. Some people profess to be able to tell a person's character by means of his handwriting."

In the semidarkness she did not notice her companion regard her shrewdly as he answered, "What an interesting story could be built up around mine! The way I write varies with my moods. Today your charm had me so baffled I could hardly sign my name at all. I doubt that I would even recognize it on your scorecard."

Nancy glanced quickly at the man but his face was a mask. Unexpectedly he began to move closer.

"Nancy, you are very attractive. In all my life, I've never met anyone that I-"

Nancy took a step backward. She did not realize that she had been standing near the edge of the terrace. Suddenly her heels were no longer on solid cement and she felt herself falling. She gave a cry of alarm. Before Bartescue could extend a hand to save her she toppled into a flower bed!

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, springing down to a.s.sist her.

Nancy slowly rose from the ground, trying to brush the dirt from her long dress.

"I think I've sprained my hand," she admitted.

"Shall I call a doctor?" Bartescue asked.

"No, no. I'll be all right. Just leave me here."

Nancy's outcry had brought several dancers running from the hotel ballroom. The situation was intensely embarra.s.sing to her. She did not wish to explain that her fall from the terrace had been caused by trying to avoid Bartescue's unwelcome attentions.

"Let me see your hand," Bartescue urged. "I don't believe the sprain is a bad one."