The Witchmaster's Key Read Free Page A

the light of the overhead bulb barely reached. The Hardys could just make out a number of masks that were more sinister than any they’d seen yet.
    A man’s mask peered at them through slitted eyes, the corners of the mouth turned up in a malevolent smirk. A woman’s face was wild-eyed, the nostrils flaring, the mouth open as if to bite.
    Frank and Joe shivered in spite of their long experience with criminals. They had never come across faces that exuded evil, as these masks did.
    â€œI thought you’d be impressed,” Burelli stated.
    â€œWhat are they?” Frank wondered.
    â€œWitch masks!”
    Joe shook his head as if he were coming out of a trance. “What are witch masks?”
    â€œFaces copied from woodcuts and pictures of witches in old books,” Burelli explained. “I make drawings of the witches and then design the masks. I read the old records of witch trials to get in the mood before I start work on a witch mask.”
    â€œThey’re enough to give anyone the willies,” Joe said.
    â€œWell,” the doctor answered, “you two are the only ones who have gotten the willies, if I may use your expression, because you’re the only ones who have seen my witch masks.”
    â€œWhy the secrecy?” Joe wanted to know.
    â€œYou’ll find out soon enough if you stay in Griffinmoor. Now then, we’d better go upstairs.Another patient may be waiting. I hope you’ll keep this under your hat. I don’t want word of what I’m doing to get around.”
    The Hardys assured him they’d keep his secret. Burelli revealed that he was hoping for a one-man exhibit of his masks in London.
    â€œThat show’ll scare the public,” Frank predicted.
    â€œThanks for the compliment,” Burelli said.
    They climbed back up the ladder and the dentist lowered the trap door into place. A faint smell hung in the atmosphere, reminding Joe of the Bayport riding stables.
    â€œDon’t tell me you have a horse in the waiting room,” he quipped.
    â€œNothing as spectacular as that,” Burelli said with a grin.
    â€œQuit the bloody jokes,” a voice called out. “I’ve been waiting for ages!”
    â€œThat’s Nip Hadley,” Burelli informed the Hardys. “He’s the groom of the Craighead estate. Cracked a tooth this afternoon, playing soccer. He made an appointment with me just after you called.”
    The dentist led the way into the waiting room. Nip Hadley was Joe’s age and height, but more stocky in his build and rough in his demeanor. His husky shoulders showed that he had the strength to handle a horse.
    Burelli introduced them. Joe offered his handbut the groom refused. He glared at the Hardys.
    â€œI heard about you Yanks. You been asking questions about old John Pickenbaugh. Pretty nosy, ain’t you?”
    â€œWe just stumbled on the funeral,” Frank protested.
    â€œSure,” Nip jeered. “You might get a bang on the snoot if you keep pushing it in where it ain’t wanted. And I’m the one who’ll do the banging!”
    The boy’s challenge was too much for Joe to take. He moved forward with his fists up, ready to swing at Nip.
    Burelli quickly stepped between them. “You fellows seem anxious to keep me in business. But I’m not looking for any more right now. There’s been enough dental damage for one day.” He and Nip went into the office, while the Hardys walked into the street and headed back toward the inn.
    â€œNip Hadley seems like a tough customer,” Joe remarked. “He’s about as friendly as a bear with a sore head.”
    â€œHe sure wouldn’t win any popularity contest,” Frank agreed. “But your remarks didn’t help. Maybe you wouldn’t feel friendly if you had a cracked tooth and somebody said you smelled like a horse.”
    â€œI guess you’re right,” Joe confessed. “I’ll