The Witchmaster's Key by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101657324
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 1975-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Joe shuddered as he listened to the strange chant. Frank, feeling his foot going to sleep, gave it a twist and accidentally kicked the stone.

“What was that?” one of the Druids called in a strident voice.

The leader, a burly man with a white beard, gazed around. The Hardys crouched low behind the stone. Their hearts thumped.

“An owl, no doubt,” the leader said. “The bird of wisdom. It is fortunate that he takes note of our rite. Now, let us go.”

The weird column filed out of Stonehenge and the sound of the recorder died away.

“Wow!” Frank said. “I’m glad they didn’t notice us.”

“They might not have taken kindly to intruders,” Joe agreed.

“This is a good hiding place,” Frank said. “We might as well stay here. When the guy arrives, I’ll go out. You stay as a backup. Okay?”

“Roger.”

They settled down to wait. The moon climbed higher in the sky. The wind blew harder. The fog grew denser.

“I can’t see the altar any more,” Frank said after a while. “Let me find a good spot closer to it. When I do, I’ll come for you.”

“Right.”

Frank slipped away into the mist. Five minutes passed. Joe became apprehensive. Had anything happened to his brother? He waited five minutes more, then he could stand it no longer. He crept out of his hiding place in the direction of the altar. There was no sign of Frank. Joe searched all around it.

“Frank,” he called in a low voice. “Frank, where are you?”

He heard a rustle behind him and whirled around. “Frank—?”

A white-hooded figure aimed a punch at his neck. He ducked in time. The man attacked him again, and the two wrestled in the dark. Joe’s adversary was powerful and agile. He gave Joe a punch to the jaw that jarred him back against the Altar Stone. The boy dodged a second swing, and the man’s fist hit the stone with a crunch. He groaned and backed off, breathing heavily through his mask.

Suddenly a second hooded figure appeared out of the fog. He forced Joe back onto the stone and began to choke him. With a superhuman effort, Joe struck back with a chop under the man’s chin. He gulped and let go.

Joe sat up groggily. He noticed the man clutching his jaw, and tried to figure out a way to escape. There was none. The other fellow, who had hurt his hand, now closed in on him. Joe raised his arms in self-defense; then an eerie sound pierced the night air. Was it a note on the recorder of the Druids?

It made the boy shiver. The two men looked at each other, and one motioned to the other to run. They raced past the monuments and vanished into the fog of Salisbury Plain.

“Wow!” Joe said to himself. “Whatever that sound was, it certainly saved me!” He stood up, still breathing hard. If only he could find his brother!

“Frank,” he called in a low voice. “Frank, where are you?”

No answer. Joe cautiously moved in the dense fog.

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