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

pipes are made of hard African blackwood. The ivory that trims the pipes comes from India, and the canes for the reeds that go into the pipes are from Spain. All the parts are screwed together.”
    The splitting of the pale-yellow reeds proved to be the most interesting part of the tour for Nancy. She learned that the cane was very carefully split partway down to give just the proper sound.
    A little later Nancy’s group thanked the guide for his informative talk. As they left the factory, Bess remarked, “It’s all too complicated for me. I’ll stick to the piano!”
    Donald drove to the shop where Nancy was to purchase her Douglas tartan outfit. She tried it on and was pleased. “I’d like to wear it, but I’d certainly attract attention,” Nancy said to the girls. She had not seen a single Scottish girl wearing tartans. Nancy mentioned this to Donald when she returned to the car.
    “Up in the Highlands,” he said, “ye will see the lassies in them. Don’t ye be afraid to wear yours there.”
    As they rode along, he suggested that they visit Stirling Castle. “’Tis a bit out o’ the way, but I think ye’ll feel well rewarded.”
    The girls and Mr. Drew said they would like to go. When they approached the castle, George exclaimed, “What a fabulous place!” A cluster of impressive stone buildings stood on a high hill.
    Two guards in colorful kilts were stationed at either side of the entrance. Just inside, a guide was waiting to escort the party. He led the way up a steep cobblestone driveway to a plaza around which were grouped the various buildings.
    “That smallest one used to be a mint,” the guide pointed out. “Silver from nearby hills was made into coin of the realm. Some people say that was the origin of sterling silver!”
    The visitors were fascinated by the elaborately furnished kings’ rooms, and the smaller apartment used by the famous Mary, Queen of Scots, before her imprisonment in England. But the guide told so many stories of loyal subjects, mixed with the gory details of intrigues and double-crossing deals of history, that the girls’ heads were swimming.
    Names which caught Nancy’s attention, however, were those of the great heroes of the country—William Wallace and Robert Bruce. “Scots, Wha Hae was composed in their honor!” she recalled.
    As the visitors went outside, Bess sighed.
    “Poor Mary, Queen of Scots! In prison for about twenty years! And then executed!”
    The guide led the group across the courtyard to a stone stairway leading downward. “Would you like to see the dungeon below?” he asked.
    “We may as well,” Mr. Drew replied.
    “You won’t need me,” said the guide. “I’ll wait here.”
    The four tourists descended, and immediately felt the damp chill of the underground prison. When they reached the far end, Bess shivered. “This is a horrible place! I can’t bear to think of the poor people who were thrown in here, when they hadn’t done anything wrong except to disagree with their ruler. Let’s go!”
    She turned and almost ran back outside. George and Mr. Drew followed. The guide chuckled. “A wee spooky, isn’t it?” Then he asked, “Where is the young lady detective? She is the one on the magazine cover?”
    The others suddenly realized that Nancy was not with them. “I’ll go get her,” Mr. Drew offered. “She has probably found something unusual.”
    He returned in a few minutes, a worried expression on his face. “Nancy isn’t down there!”
    “What!” the guide exclaimed. “She must be! She hasn’t come out!”
    In panic, Mr. Drew, Bess, and George hastened down the steps to make a search for the missing girl. What had happened to Nancy?

CHAPTER VIII
    A Confession
     
     
     
    BY this time the guide, too, had become worried. As Bess, George, and Mr. Drew reached the foot of the dungeon steps, he called down, “Wait! I’ll come along. I must tell you something. Another sightseer went into the dungeon right after you did.