The Witchmaster's Key Read Free Page B

apologize if we meet Nip again.”
    â€œChances are, in this little town you will,” Frank replied.
    â€œYou know, there’s something eerie about this place,” Joe went on. “No one wants to talk about John Pickenbaugh or the witch business; and all we get are cryptic warnings about finding out about it if we stay in Griffinmoor long enough.”
    Frank nodded thoughtfully. “I didn’t expect anything like this. Everyone is a little strange. Did you ever hear of a dentist whose hobby is making witch masks?”
    Joe laughed. “No, but why not? I like Dr. Burelli. He seems to be a good dentist and a jolly good fellow, too. Maybe all the jaws he sees day after day inspire him to make those crazy masks.”
    The rain began to fall harder. As the Hardys turned a corner, they stepped into a gooey mud puddle and had to scramble out.
    â€œMy shoes are a mess!” Joe complained.
    â€œMine, too.”
    They hastened back to the inn and went to bed. They were sleeping soundly when they became dimly aware of a commotion going on downstairs.
    Joe opened one eye and looked at his watch. “Six o’clock!” He groaned. “You’d think they’d hold their karate exercises later in the day!”
    â€œSomething must be up,” Frank said.
    Heavy feet pounded up the stairs. A fist banged loudly on their door. Frank jumped out of bed and opened it. Joe joined him.
    A tall police constable stood there.
    â€œAre you Frank and Joe Hardy?” he asked.
    â€œYes, we are. What’s the matter?” Frank inquired.
    The constable glowered at them. “John Pickenbaugh’s grave was robbed during the night! I’d like to ask you a few questions. Anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you!”

CHAPTER III
Graveyard Surprise!
    â€œW HAT ? You mean we’re being arrested for grave robbery?” Joe exploded.
    â€œCool it, Joe,” Frank urged his brother. “We haven’t been charged with any crime.”
    â€œNot yet,” the constable explained. “But you’ll have to come with me for questioning.”
    At headquarters the constable grilled them about their stay in Griffinmoor.
    â€œHow did your shoes get muddy?” he asked.
    â€œWe blundered into a mud puddle last night,” Frank said.
    â€œPerhaps you were digging up the body of John Pickenbaugh,” the constable contended.
    Joe got hot under the collar. “What would we want with a corpse? We didn’t even know the guy!”
    â€œThat’s what you say,” the constable noted.Suddenly he fired a question at them. “What do you know about witchcraft?”
    Frank coolly fielded the question. “Not a thing, constable. America had witch trials in Salem. But this was long before our time.”
    â€œWe have an alibi,” Joe said. “We weren’t there.”
    The constable cleared his throat. “Where were you last night at ten o’clock?”
    â€œThat’s easy,” Frank told him. “In bed at the Marquis of Granby Inn. Why don’t you check with the desk clerk?”
    The constable picked up the phone and put a call through. After a brief conversation, he hung up.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “Your alibi checks out. The manager tells me you came in long before that and did not leave again.”
    â€œDoes that mean we can go?” Frank asked.
    â€œNot quite. I’ll need a character reference. Will anyone in Griffinmoor vouch for you?”
    Frank scratched his head. “I guess the only one is Professor Chauncey Rowbotham.”
    â€œYeah,” Joe put in. “He knows who we are.”
    The constable called the professor, who just had arrived at his home. Rowbotham said he would be right over. While they waited, Frank and Joe talked to the men at headquarters about British methods of crime fighting. They gathered a few tips to add to their criminology files in