Free The Bluebeard Room by Carolyn Keene

any idea how recently he was here?”
    “In Polpenny? Couldn’t say for sure, ma’am. He just camps out, like some of the tourists do, and he often goes back and forth to London.”
    Nancy explained what had happened to Ian Purcell and asked, “Could he have been here just before he turned up at his rooming house in London?”
    The policeman frowned thoughtfully. “Hard to say, ma’am. All I can tell you is I haven’t seen him around this past week.”
    “What about drugs?” Nancy asked. “Are theymuch of a problem locally? Does any dealing go on?”
    Kenyon shrugged. “It’s the tourists who give us headaches more than the locals. There was a pusher arrested in Penzance the other day. That’s the only recent case. Mind you, there are rumors that dealing goes on at the old tin-mine engine house.”
    “Where is that?”
    “West of the headland, out near the edge of the moor. You can see the smokestack from the castle. The mine’s closed, you see, so the engine house area is all deserted. I’ve staked it out once or twice at night but I never caught anyone.”
    Nancy pondered a bit before asking, “One last question, Constable. This may sound silly, but have you ever heard talk of a local witch cult?”
    Just for a moment she thought Kenyon’s glance flickered. Then his jaw clamped grimly. “There’s always gossip of that sort, I reckon, especially here in Cornwall, but there’s no such goings-on in Polpenny that I know of.”
    Nancy thanked him, rose and walked out thoughtfully into the summer sunshine. She was puzzled by the fact that he had known of her sleuthing. How had he found out? From a castle servant?
    She wandered about, gazing in shop windows and exploring the byways. The villagers smiled at her and their lilting accents were pleasant to hear. But everyone seemed to know that she was Lady Penvellyn’sAmerican friend, and her attempts at conversation were politely rebuffed.
    Nancy felt frustrated and annoyed. What on earth could they have against Lisa, and why should such resentment brush off on her?
    Finally she turned back toward the harbor. The breeze carried a refreshing tang of salt air. A young man in a tweed sports jacket was chatting with fishermen as they mended their nets. Seeing Nancy, he broke off and came walking toward her.
    “Excuse me. You’re Nancy Drew, aren’t you?”
    “Why, yes.” Nancy smiled, pleased that someone had finally spoken to her. “How did you know?”
    “It’s my business to know, you might say. I’m Alan Trevor, a reporter for the Western Sun.”
    Nancy recognized the name of one of England’s larger West Country newspapers, having seen it on railway newsstands. “But surely I’m not that well known on this side of the Atlantic.”
    “You are now.” The reporter, husky and clean-shaven, had a brash, smart-alecky manner that nettled Nancy. “In the States you may be a famous girl detective, but over here you’re Lance Warrick’s latest bird. Warrick’s scheduled a gig in Cornwall, so you’ve come to be near him, right? Officially, of course, you’re hunting drug pushers and a gold statuette.”
    Nancy was breathless with shock and outrage. “I b-b-beg your pardon!” she stuttered angrily.
    Trevor grinned. “If it’s the bit about LanceWarrick that upsets you, Miss Drew, don’t blame me. It’s all in the tabloids. All I want to know is whether you’ve dug up any mystery at the castle?”
    “Why not read your trashy tabloids and find out!” Nancy retorted, then turned and walked away.
    Angry as she was, Nancy simply had to find out if there was any truth in Alan Trevor’s remarks, so she bought a couple of London papers at a village sweet shop. It took only a moment of leafing through the pages to confirm her fears.
    Simmering, she trudged back up the road to Penvellyn Castle. Questions were rising in her mind, none of them pleasant to dwell on. Partly to distract herself, Nancy decided to look for the letter that Ethel Bosinny had