The Clue of the Whistling Bagpipes by Carolyn Keene Read Free Book Online Page A

again as she told of the near accident on the road. Mr. Drew frowned. “It certainly looks as if the fellow deliberately tried to give you a bad scare—if not to injure you. I wish we could find out who is behind these car episodes.”
    “I’m sure the missing heirloom has something to do with it,” she replied. “Dad, do you think we should notify the police?”
    After a few moments’ thought, the lawyer decided against it. “We really have nothing to go on,” he said. “You didn’t get the full license number of the car, and you can’t identify the driver. I do have one suggestion. Let’s not eat in the hotel dining room. There’s a French restaurant next door. Suppose we go there about seven and find a secluded table.”
    “That sounds great, Dad,” said Nancy.
    Mr. Drew and the girls found the restaurant to be delightful. At the lawyer’s request the attentive headwaiter seated them in an alcove. No one bothered them, but Nancy did notice that their waiter, and also the bus boy, stared intently at her several times.
    She began to suspect that they had recognized her. As they were eating dessert, the bus boy handed her a piece of paper and a pencil.
    “Monsieur, at the second table from here, would like the autograph of the girl detective.”
    It took Nancy only a split second to decide not to accede to the request. She was remembering the man called Pete in River Heights who had paid a dollar for her signature. She was not going to give anybody else a chance to use her autograph in some unsavory scheme.
    Nancy looked over at “Monsieur.” She smiled graciously, shook her head, and with her lips formed the word “Sorry.”
    Mr. Drew paid the check and the foursome left hurriedly. They went back to the hotel and up to their rooms. At the girls’ door Nancy’s father said, “Be ready to leave for Edinburgh early in the morning. I’ve engaged the driver we had yesterday—Donald Clark. The hotel will prepare a lunch for us to take along.”
    Before leaving next morning, Nancy went to the desk and asked if Mr. Dewar were still registered.
    “No, he checked out very early this morning.” As Nancy joined the others in the taxi she thought, “I have a strong hunch Mr. Dewar’s path and mine will cross again.”
    Donald was his same cheery self, and asked if his passengers had any errands in town before they set off for Edinburgh.
    Nancy spoke up. “If we have time, I’d like to go to a bagpipe factory and see how the instruments are made.” She chuckled. “Perhaps if I find out, I can learn to play better!”
    Mr. Drew said there was plenty of time, so Donald took them into the heart of Glasgow’s business district, where the factory was located. It manufactured not only bagpipes but the proper costumes for men to wear while marching and playing. The visitors were astounded to learn that every tartan used by any Scottish clan could be purchased here.
    “Girls rarely play bagpipes,” said the factory guide who was taking them around. “Instead, they get all decked out in their blouses and plaid skirts to do our native dances.”
    “Where could I purchase a girl’s outfit?” Nancy asked. The man gave her the name of a shop in the city. Nancy turned to her father. “I’d love to have a Douglas tartan,” she said.
    Mr. Drew grinned. “We’ll get you a costume right after we leave here.”
    The guide led the visitors from room to room. He showed them the sheepskin bag which the piper filled with air to be used as needed while he was playing. The bag was covered with cloth made of the player’s tartan.
    Next, the group was shown the various wooden parts of the bagpipes. The chanter, which produced the tune, had a reed at the top. At the lower end was a rubber valve, which closed when necessary to prevent air escaping from the bag.
    Besides the chanter there were three pipes for accompaniment. They were called drones. Two of these were tenor and one bass.
    The guide explained, “All the