CHAPTER IX. Being Shadowed

CHAPTER IX

Being Shadowed

As Nancy listened eagerly, Ned told her how he had located the writer of the warning note. “I studied your tracing of the writing. First, like you, I was sure a woman had written the words. You may remember Professor Webster at Emerson. Along with teaching archaeology, he’s a handwriting expert. He and I have had many discussions about how the formation of letters is an indication of one’s character.”

“You mean,” said Nancy, “a bold, vertical handwriting usually belongs to a literary person and jerky, slanted-to-the-right letters are a sign of nervousness?”

“Exactly. After studying the note you received, I figured it had been written by a somewhat shy, motherly person, probably elderly. From the type of paper used, I deduced she lived in a middle-income area of town and might shop locally. So I hounded the markets and kept my eyes open.”

“And you found her that way?” Nancy asked.

Ned chuckled. “Sure did.” He had taken a young cousin of his along to the various stores. “We stayed near the check-out counter,” Ned went on. “Whenever an elderly woman came up to the cashier, we’d start talking about bombs and watch her reaction. Finally, in one supermarket, we saw a woman tremble violently, and asked her point-blank about the note. She admitted putting it in your mailbox.”

“You’re simply a genius!” Nancy exclaimed. “Go on!”

“This woman, Mrs. Morrison, runs a small rooming house. There are several within the block and many strangers come and go. But one day Mrs. Morrison was just about to close a window which opens onto an alleyway, when she heard two men talking below. One said he had had orders from Mr. Drew to use a bomb on the girl detective and her father.”

“What else did she hear?” Nancy asked excitedly.

“That was about all, except the words ‘He’s a lawyer.’ Mrs. Morrison looked out, but by this time the men had gone. She couldn’t make up her mind whether they were serious or not. She was tempted to call the police, but decided’ against it.”

“What did Mrs. Morrison do?”

“She casually inquired of the cashier in the supermarket if she knew of any girl detectives in town. When she heard there was one by the name of Nancy Drew, whose father was a lawyer, Mrs. Morrison became more puzzled than ever, and wondered if some family feud was being carried on between Drew and Drew.

“Finally,” Ned went on, “Mrs. Morrison decided to write the warning note anonymously. She put it in your mailbox, rang the bell, and hurried away.”

Nancy again praised Ned for his fine sleuthing. Then she told him about her own adventures in Scotland and of the man named Dewar.

“I’m sure now that what Mrs. Morrison overheard was the name Dewar,” Nancy added.

Bess and George, meanwhile, having caught snatches of Ned’s big news, could hardly wait for Nancy to finish the conversation. At last she put down the phone and told them.

“At dinner I’m going to ask Dad if we shouldn’t notify the police.”

“Well, I think it’s about time!” said George. “The idea of that horrid Mr. Dewar trying to injure you—maybe even kill you!”

“But why would anyone want to go to such lengths?” Bess queried.

Nancy shrugged. “I figure Mr. Dewar must be the head of a gang. He’s probably carrying on some kind of underhanded scheme that he doesn’t want my dad and me to investigate.” The young sleuth added that since one suspect, Petrie, had been in River Heights and now had met Dewar in Scotland, it was her guess that the whole affair had something to do with smuggling.

With a sigh, Bess said, “We started out with a nice little mystery. Now we’re mixed up with smugglers and bomb-planters and goodness knows what else!”

Nancy and George laughed. In a few minutes Mr. Drew knocked on the girls’ door and the group went downstairs to dinner. Nancy told him what she had learned from Ned. Mr. Drew agreed that the police should be notified, and Nancy did this directly after the meal. She included all aspects and possible clues in the mystery so far. The chief constable promised to try to apprehend Mr. Dewar for questioning.

The following morning the group went to church. On their return to the hotel, Nancy called headquarters once more. The superintendent on duty said, “We have no news of Mr. Dewar, but we did follow up your tip on the houseboat. I guess you were right about the occupants. By the time we got there last evening the men had left.

“Neighbors told us that earlier they had moved many large boxes and packages to a truck waiting on the road. Sounds suspicious to me. Evidently they wanted to make everything look honest, because they left money on a table with a printed note: ‘This is for the rent.’“

The officer went on, “Too bad we got there so late. All the police of Scotland have been alerted. I am sure Mr. Dewar will be picked up, as well as his friend Paul Petrie.”

The next day Mr. Drew had a business conference in connection with the Douglas estate, so the girls decided to visit Edinburgh Castle. They took a taxi up the steep hill leading to it.

At either side of the entrance stood a soldier. One wore a kilt, tight-buttoned jacket, and the narrow Glengarry cap with two ribbons hanging down the back. In front of the kilt hung a sporran, a slightly elongated white leather purse. The other soldier wore trousers of the regimental plaid. The men smiled at the girls as they passed through the great stone archway into the courtyard.

In the castle itself there were rooms and rooms of old armor and regimental coats. Nancy noticed an absence of kilts in the various showcases. A guard said that after the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745 when Bonnie Prince Charlie, the Young Pretender, fled from the Highlands to France, and the House of Hanover reigned over England and Scotland, the wearing of kilts was forbidden.

“This was done to keep the Highlanders from being reminded of Scottish clans and their taste for rebellion. The custom was not revived until George Ill’s reign.”

Bess, who had overheard the conversation, remarked, “I’m glad kilts were revived. Men look so picturesque wearing them!”

After Nancy and her friends had seen most of the stately castle, they went outside to look into tiny Saint Margaret’s Chapel. They learned that anyone in the armed forces of the United Kingdom, no matter what his religion, can be married there.

“Isn’t that sweet!” Bess said dreamily.

As the three visitors left the courtyard, George said, “Where to next?”

Nancy, looking straight down the hilly street which led to Holyrood Palace, said, “This is called the Royal Mile. There are many famous places on the way. Let’s walk down.”

On the way they came to St. Giles’ Cathedral and went straight to a square side room which was the Chapel of the Knights of the Thistle, the Highest Order of Chivalry.

Very tall, narrow seats, beautifully carved, were arranged side by side. Above them were the various family shields, topped by canopies and coats of arms.

Bess sighed. “Isn’t it romantic? Think of all those noblemen in full regalia seated here and discussing the destiny of Scotland!”

George grinned at her cousin. “Bess, you should have lived a couple of centuries ago and been carried off by a romantic knight and had him pin a corsage of thistles on you—that’s the national emblem.”

Nancy smiled as the girls walked into the main part of the cathedral. The pulpit proper stood in the center with rows of benches facing it from four sides. Nancy glanced at the guidebook she was carrying.

“It says a woman was responsible for starting the 1637 civil war here. There were no pews, so each member of the congregation brought his own stool. A woman named Jenny Geddes, angry at the Bishop for the views he was proclaiming, suddenly stood up and hurled her stool at him! At once there was a commotion, and soon religious riots broke out all over Scotland.”

“She was a courageous soul!” George commented.

As the trio left the fine old building, Nancy remarked, “Down the street a short way is the home of John Knox, the great reformer and preacher.”

The girls hurried toward the small three-story structure and went up an outside stairway. The residence contained only display cases of letters, books, sermons written by Knox, and pictures.

“Oh, look!” Bess cried suddenly. “See how John Knox signed his name!”

Her friends stared. In a bold scrawl was written Johannes Cnoxus!

George read bits of sermons and remarked, “He was a fiery preacher, all right. I wonder if anyone today would sit still for two hours and listen to such tirades!”

She and the others went out to the street again. Bess declared she was very hungry, so they found a small restaurant above St. Giles and had luncheon. Then they continued down the Royal Mile.

About two minutes later George suddenly remarked, “I have a hunch the man back there is following us on purpose.”

Nancy stole a glance at him. He had reddish hair, side whiskers, and a beard. He wore a kilt and a navy-blue balmoral.

“He looks vaguely familiar,” Nancy said, “but I can’t place him.”

George whispered, “Let’s turn and walk toward him to see what happens.”

The three friends did an about-face. As the man passed them, he averted his face and went on, but in a few moments he turned and once more followed the girls.

“Suppose we cross the street and head for Holyrood again,” Nancy suggested.

When the trio was on the opposite side, the red-bearded stranger soon crossed over and once more walked behind them.

“Oh, dear!” said Bess. “What’ll we do?” George grinned, and said she had a daring proposal to make. “If Nancy thinks she knows the man but doesn’t recognize him, it might be because he’s wearing a disguise. What say we find out if those side whiskers and beard are false!”

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