The Bluebeard Room by Carolyn Keene Read Free Book Online

of its Oxford accent and reverted to that of a Midland factory town. It also took on a slight edge.
    “I’m not sure I believe that,” Nancy said quietly.
    “You’d better, luv. It’s the truth. Beethoven was a rare old hand at crankin’ out symphonies, but he’d have a rough time gettin’ one played today, especially if he came from Leeds or Birmingham.”
    “Symphonies aren’t the only kind of music worthhearing. I’ll admit I’m no expert, but I’ve been listening to your group ever since you first began making records. You started out as a mix of punk and heavy metal, and then got more and more new wave and progressive. But right now there isn’t any label that fits. Your music is different from anything else on the rock scene today. What makes you so sure the London Symphony or New York Philharmonic won’t be playing it some day?”
    Lance Warrick looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he murmured, “You’re quite an interesting woman, aren’t you, Nancy Drew?”
    A feminine figure was coming across the garden. The spell that had woven itself around her and Lance was suddenly broken as Nancy recognized Jane Royce.
    “I do hate to interrupt this cozy little twosome,” the English girl said, “but I’m afraid we have an urgent problem with Ian Purcell, Lance.”
    “Ian?” The rock star frowned at her irritably. “He’s still sunning himself in Polpenny, isn’t he?”
    “Not any more. He’s back in London, and acting very oddly, it appears.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Jane Royce shrugged a shapely shoulder. “Dunno, darling. I couldn’t quite make it all out over the phone, but his landlady’s threatening to call the police unless you come round straightaway.”
    Lance flung down his napkin angrily. “What a freaking bore!” To Nancy he added, “Could you possibly forgive me if I—”
    She smiled. “Don’t apologize, I understand. Ian Purcell used to be your bass player, didn’t he?”
    “That’s right, till he got on drugs.”
    “And he’s just back from Polpenny, in Cornwall?”
    Lance nodded, intrigued by her question.
    “Then if I may,” said Nancy, “I’ll come with you.”

8
An Unexpected Visitor
    “What, may one ask, is so important about Polpenny?” asked Jane Royce as they drove back into London.
    Her taxi to the pub had been dismissed, and she was crammed, none too happily, into the tiny back seat of Lance’s red sports car.
    “I’ve been invited to visit there,” said Nancy. She told how her friend had married Lord Penvellyn.
    “I’m not sure I get the connection, darling. I mean, what does the fact that Ian’s been loafing around Polpenny while he gets his head together, have to do with your friend in Penvellyn Castle?”
    Nancy chose to shrug lightly. “If he knows Polpenny, perhaps he can tell me what it’s like.”
    “From the way his landlady sounded, I doubt if Ian’s in any state to tell anybody anything.”
    Nancy made no reply. The notion that Ian Purcell’s strange behavior might be related to Lisa Penvellyn’s mysterious trouble seemed far-fetched. Nevertheless, the double connection with Polpenny seemed an odd coincidence, and Nancy was determined to find out more.
    Purcell, it turned out, had rooms in a part of the city called Holland Park, which he used on trips back to London while recovering from his drug addiction in Cornwall.
    His lodging house, not far off Kensington High Street, was a once imposing stucco villa with a pillared porch that lent it a touch of faded grandeur. Now grimy with age, it looked like a dignified old woman who had sunk into genteel poverty.
    “Oh, Mr. Warrick!” the landlady clucked. “I’ve been trying to reach you ever since I heard on the telly that you were back. A girl at one of the record studios finally told me where to call, after I explained it was about Mr. Purcell.”
    “What exactly is wrong with him, Mrs. Roby?”
    “Oh dear, it’ll break your heart when you see him,