The Bungalow Mystery

By Carolyn Keene.

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I

Racing the Storm

“Don’t you think we should turn back, Helen? It’s getting dreadfully dark out here on the lake and I don’t like the look of those big black clouds.”

As Nancy Drew addressed her chum, Helen Corning, she gazed anxiously up at the sky and then out across a long expanse of water to the distant shore.

The two girls were spending several days at a camp located on Moon Lake, and on this particular afternoon they had slipped away for a delightful motorboat outing. They had cruised aimlessly about for several hours, enjoying the lake scenery and, particularly, a cool, refreshing breeze which brought them relief from an unseasonably torrid day, for it was early summer.

Now, as Nancy studied the sky for the first time, she was alarmed to notice that it had become overcast.

“Helen, I’m afraid there’s going to be a storm,” she announced. “They come up so quickly on Moon Lake.”

“You’re right,” Helen agreed uneasily. “It does look threatening. I didn’t realize we were so far from shore. We’d better get back to camp as fast as we can.”

“I guess we were having too good a time to notice the weather,” Nancy said.

She gave the steering wheel a turn and headed the motorboat toward the eastern shore. Although it was not yet dusk, darkness seemed to be closing in upon the lake. It was with difficulty that the girls distinguished the shore line. The water, which only a few minutes before had been a smooth, clear blue, lashed about the little boat in angry, inky waves.

Helen studied the sky nervously.

“We’d better make full speed ahead, Nancy,” she advised. “We’re a long way from camp, and that big cloud is rolling up fast.”

Nancy Drew was of the same opinion. One hasty glance at the cloud in question had assured her that there was no time to be lost if they were to beat the storm. Even before Helen had made the suggestion, she had opened the throttle to the fullest extent. The motorboat fairly leaped through the water, dashing spray into the faces of the two girls.

“Why didn’t we start back a few minutes earlier?” Helen groaned. “We’ll be drenched to the skin before we reach shore!”

“I’m afraid we shall,” Nancy admitted. “I wonder if there are any oilskins aboard?”

“They may be under the seat. I’ll look and see if I can find them.”

A moment later Helen triumphantly brought out a mass of sticky yellow garments. She quickly slipped into a coat, and then relieved her chum at the wheel, giving her an opportunity to don the oilskins.

Hastily, Nancy pulled a southwester down over her curly, golden bob, and struggled into a coat several sizes too large for her. She was not an instant too soon, for suddenly a streak of forked lightning cut across the sky, momentarily disclosing a thick mass of ugly clouds. The lightning was followed by an ominous crack of thunder, which caused the girls to cower involuntarily.

“That was close,” Helen murmured uncomfortably.

“It’s just a taste of what’s coming!” Nancy cried. “The storm is almost on us!”

The wind, which had been steadily freshening, now began to blow in earnest. It struck the boat with a force which caused Nancy to grasp the railing for support. Huge waves swept down upon the little craft, threatening to bury it.