The Clue of the Whistling Bagpipes Read Free

and eggs, and muffins.
    Not long after Mr. Drew had left the house, the postman arrived with a handful of letters. One, which was printed and bore no return address, was for Nancy. Curious, she opened it quickly. As she read the note inside, she gave a gasp of amazement.
    “Bad news, Nancy?” Mrs. Gruen asked.
    “Yes, in a way. This is a threat!”
    “Oh, my goodness!” the woman exclaimed, and took the letter. Aloud she read: “‘Your wrecked convertible is just the first of a series of accidents that will befall you and any car you ride in.”’
    The note was unsigned.
    Nancy, fingering the envelope, thought she felt something inside it. She reached in and drew out a tiny square of plaid cloth.
    “It’s a piece of Douglas tartan!” she cried out.
    Hannah Gruen looked perturbed. “What does this all mean?” she asked worriedly.
    Nancy was silent for several seconds. Finally she said, “My guess is that the writer of this note is warning me that the accident is connected with my trip to Scotland. I wonder if it could have anything to do with the missing heirloom. Hannah, maybe whoever wrote this message is the thief and he doesn’t want me to try finding it.”
    “But this letter was postmarked here in River Heights!” the housekeeper objected.
    Nancy’s forehead wrinkled in deep thought. “Maybe the valuable heirloom was shipped to this country. Anyway, I’m going to turn the note over to the police.”
    Nancy went off to do this, then spent the rest of the day shopping and talking to the garage repairman and to an agent of her automobile insurance company. Nancy was thankful that the convertible could be repaired, although the job would take some time. So far, the police had uncovered nothing regarding the owner of the truck or the person who had caused the wreck.
    That evening Nancy and Hannah decided to take their terrier, Togo, for a little run. Mr. Drew was working in his study.
    Half an hour later Nancy, after a long sprint, said, “Togo, you have me out of breath! I think you’ve had enough fresh air for tonight. Home we go!”
    With the peppy terrier pulling on the leash, Nancy and Mrs. Gruen hurried home. Just as they started up the driveway, they saw a figure slip furtively away from the front of the house and go off toward the rear of the property. At once Nancy and the dog went after him, but by the time they reached the backyard, the man had disappeared.
    At last they returned to the housekeeper, who declared, “Whoever that person is, his business wasn’t honest or he wouldn’t have sneaked away.”
    “I agree,” said Nancy. “Let’s see if we can find any clues to his identity.”
    She put Togo in the house, then took a flashlight from a drawer in the hall table. Nancy began looking for footprints and found some faint dirty marks coming up the steps to the front porch. Another set led away. Before Nancy had a chance to try following them, Hannah cried out, “Something just started ticking in the mailbox!”
    Nancy turned quickly and looked at the wrought-iron mailbox which was fastened to a hook alongside the front door. An expression of horror came over her face.
    “It’s a bomb!” she cried out.

CHAPTER III
    Unwanted Publicity
     
     
     
    As NANCY dashed forward to yank the mailbox from the hook, Hannah Gruen warned, “Don’t touch it!”
    “The ticking just started,” Nancy replied quickly.
    In a split second the box was in her hands. She flung it far out onto the lawn. Nancy and Hannah waited breathlessly. So far there had been only five ticks. Six—seven—eight—nine—
    BOOM!
    The explosion ripped the box apart, dug a deep hole in the ground, and scattered dirt, stones, and debris in all directions.
    The noise brought Mr. Drew outside on the run. “What happened?” he asked.
    By this time Hannah, her knees trembling, had dropped into a porch chair. As Nancy began to speak, the housekeeper rocked back and forth furiously.
    “It’s terrible!” she said