Mystery of the Ivory Charm

by Carolyn Keene

  “As long as you keep ivory charm, Nancy, I do whatever you wish.” He smiled.

  “And if I should lose the charm?”

  “Then bad luck follow you and me.”

  Promptly at three o’clock, Ned and the professor called at the Drew residence. Dr. Stackpole was a white-haired gentleman with a kind face. He carried himself well and his gait was that of a much younger man.

  His bright-blue eyes glinted with interest as he shook Nancy’s hand. She noticed that his gaze rested for a long moment on the ivory charm she wore around her neck. But he did not mention the carved elephant immediately.

  At first the conversation was general, pertaining for the most part to Professor Stackpole’s adventures in India.

  “It is the most fascinating country in the world,” he told Nancy. “You would love the temples and the great bazaars where native wares are bartered.”

  “I wish I might go there some day,” Nancy said wistfully.

  “You might find that many customs and practices would horrify you,” Dr. Stackpole continued. “The old caste system has led to many social abuses. Then, too, in certain parts of the country the natives have no idea of sanitation. In the name of religion they bathe together in sacred rivers; some of the people are suffering from skin diseases.”

  “I’m glad I live in the United States,” Ned interposed. “I understand that in India several different languages are spoken, among them Hindi, Marathi, Urdu, and Gujarati. Many communities have their own local dialect.”

  “That could make communication between regions difficult, couldn’t it?” Nancy interjected.

  The professor nodded, then said, “Some religions believe in reincarnation—that they are to be born many times. In some places children still marry at an early age. A girl unmarried at sixteen would be considered a disgrace to her family.”

  “I suppose certain natives place great faith in charms and omens,” Nancy commented.

  “Indeed they do. You might say that many of them are very superstitious. They believe in all sorts of miracles and sacrifices. One religious group, the Hindus, hold the cow to be sacred, another, the Parsis, worship fire. Many wear amulets and charms to ward off disease, preferring such protection to the services of a doctor. And there are natives who claim to have skill in black magic.”

  “I’m particularly interested in the beliefs held in connection with elephants,” Nancy interposed.

  Again Professor Stackpole’s eyes wandered to the charm worn around the girl’s neck.

  He explained, “The cult of the white elephant, practiced by the kings of Siam, probably had its origin in India and was based on the Hindu worship of Airavat, the sacred elephant of India. Even today one finds many charms made in the form of the elephant. Some are carved from pure ivory.”

  “Then ivory charms are somewhat common,” Nancy observed.

  “It depends entirely upon the workmanship. Some are very rare indeed. If I am not mistaken, that charm you are wearing came from India.”

  “It was given to me,” Nancy said. “I’ve been very curious about its history.”

  “May I look at it?”

  Nancy removed the charm from her neck and handed it to the professor for his inspection. He gazed at it so long without speaking that she began to feel uneasy.

  “This is an unusual charm,” he said at last in a tone that was almost reverent. “I have never seen one of better workmanship or quality. The ivory is pure, and I should judge very old. It has been carved by an expert. Nancy, you have a treasure!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  Woman in a Trance

  “I HAD no idea the carving was so valuable,” Nancy said.

  “Unfortunately, I am not an ivory expert,” Professor Stackpole said with a frown. “Yet it is obvious even to one with my slight experience that this charm at one time must have belonged to a person of great wealth—probably a maharaja. At any rate, your charm is valuable and should be safeguarded.”

  “I’ll take good care of it,” Nancy promised.

  “The ancient ones are especially interesting,” Dr. Stackpole remarked. “Some of them are said to have contained precious jewels; others held a poison to be used against enemies; and some, a unique life-giving balm.”

  “How could one tell the difference in the nature of the fluid?” Nancy asked curiously.

  “The poison was dark in color, the life-giving balm of light hue. But, of course, such things belong to the past. The modern charms have no cavities.”

  Nancy had been fascinated by Professor Stackpole’s tales of India, but she did not forget the purpose of his visit. Rishi was summoned to meet the distinguished gentleman.

  The boy’s behavior was regal. Upon entering the room he joined his hands in front of him, palms together, fingers pointing upward, and bowed respectfully to the professor. Then, seating himself cross-legged upon a cushion, he conversed with the teacher in his own language. Professor Stackpole nodded approvingly from time to time.

  After the boy had been dismissed, the tutor said warmly to Nancy, “It will be a pleasure to instruct him. He is unusually bright for his years, and I feel confident that he will make quick progress with our language. His English may be faulty but in his native Hindi he speaks with poetic beauty.”

  While Hannah served tea and cakes, Nancy finally brought up the subject of payment for Professor Stackpole’s services. The gentleman named a sum so low that she felt inclined to protest.

  “I tutor only because I enjoy the work,” the professor explained. “If I had not thought Rishi could do it, I should have declined the task.”

  Before Dr. Stackpole left the house, arrangements were made for Rishi to begin his studies soon. The following day, after church, Nancy accompanied the boy to the professor’s home, where he secured a list of the books that would be required.

  “Rishi, you must study hard,” she told him earnestly. “Kind Professor Stackpole will not teach you otherwise.”

  “Rishi burn much midnight oil.” The boy smiled.

  “If you learn other things as quickly as you do American phrases, I’m sure the professor will be highly pleased.” Nancy laughed.

  In the days immediately following, Rishi delighted everyone by devoting himself to his studies with great zeal. When he was not working about the garden, he would retire to his room, where he could often be heard reciting his lessons aloud.

  The Drews were still worried about Rishi’s so-called father, Rai. Nothing had been heard from him, and the police had no inkling as to his whereabouts. Since the animal trainer had vanished, tracing him was proving to be very difficult.

  Nancy thought it might be wise in the meantime to visit the abandoned house again and see how Jasper Batt was. She also wanted to question the old caretaker about his knowledge of Mrs. Allison and Rai. Recalling her promise to Mr. Drew not to go alone, she phoned Bess and George. Bess agreed to go but she would not enter the house. George was game for any adventure.

  Early one afternoon the three girls drove to the Allison property. Nancy parked as close as possible to the empty house, then circled through the woods toward the building. They emerged from among the trees.

  Nancy, who was in the lead, halted abruptly. Directly in front of the house, engaged in earnest conversation, stood a man and a woman.

  “It’s Anita Allison,” Nancy whispered. “But I don’t recognize the man. I wonder who he is?”

  The three young detectives drew near the old house, making no secret of their presence, yet approaching quietly. Mrs. Allison and her companion were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not observe the girls.

  “Your price, Mrs. Allison, is far too high,” the man declared firmly. “We’re willing to pay a fair sum for the place, but the amount you ask is unreasonable. As it stands, the property is useless to you, and in its present untended condition it is an eyesore to the community. If you sell to our firm you’ll be doing River Heights a favor by making possible a fine new golf course, and at t
he same time you will assure yourself of a handsome profit.”

  “The stars are not in a favorable position for a sale at his time, Mr. Bruce,” Mrs Allison said.

  Nancy reflected that this was not the realtor who had been at her father’s office.

  “The stars?” the man repeated impatiently. “What do you mean?”

  “I must have an omen. A favorable omen,” the woman replied.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Bruce snapped. “I never heard of such talk. This is a straight business deal.”

  “Your price is too low,” Mrs. Allison insisted.

  “You’ll never receive a better offer. Ask anyone if it isn’t a fair price. Consult Carson Drew—he knows the value of real estate.”

  “I’d rather consult the stars,” Mrs. Allison said dreamily.

  Mr. Bruce shook his head, baffled. Apparently he was at his wits’ end in dealing with this woman.

  “I must confess I’m at a loss to understand your attitude, Mrs. Allison. For the last time, will you accept my offer?”

  “I am sorry. I cannot consider it at the moment.”

  “I warn you, Mrs. Allison, you may not have another opportunity. I will give you until tomorrow to change your mind. If you do, telephone me at my real estate office—you know the name —John Bruce.”

  The dealer turned and walked away indignantly. As Mrs. Allison stood staring indifferently after the man, the girls hurried forward. Nancy spoke to her, but realized instantly that the woman did not recall her face.

  “I don’t believe you remember me,” Nancy remarked. “I am Nancy Drew—Carson Drew’s daughter.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Allison exclaimed in a strained, tense voice. “Now I remember. I was interested in—”

  “A white ivory charm,” Nancy finished eagerly, hoping the woman would acknowledge her interest in it.

  She became aware that Mrs. Allison was no longer gazing at her. The misty brown eyes were fastened upon a faraway hillside, and a strange expression came over the woman’s face. As if in a trance she began to murmur, “The elephant—the sacred elephant. Yes, yes, we were speaking of it—Rai and I—the sacred elephant!”

  From a handsome white beaded bag, the woman removed a small gold-covered book. The girls could not take their eyes off it. They had never seen such a handsome volume. It was inlaid with semiprecious jewels spelling out the word “Sanskrit.”

  Nancy and her friends were further bewildered when Mrs. Allison began to chant sections from the tiny book in a musical voice. The passages she selected were elaborate, poetic translations.

  Bess plucked at Nancy’s sleeve, whispering nervously, “Let’s get away from here. That woman gives me the creeps.”

  “She has some sort of psychic obsession,” George added in an undertone.

  Nancy was equally disturbed by Mrs. Allison’s unexplained actions. The girl detective had never met anyone like her. Nancy had no intention, however, of leaving the scene. She believed that by listening intently to the passages she might pick up a valuable clue.

  “Do read on,” she urged Mrs. Allison as the woman paused.

  Bess and George were completely baffled and a trifle annoyed by their friend’s apparent absorption in the translations. They could make no sense of the passages, and after trying to listen for a time they became bored.

  “I think Nancy has gone into a trance, too,” Bess whispered to George. “Let’s go off by ourselves until she recovers!”

  The two girls slipped away quietly. Neither Nancy nor Mrs. Allison noticed their absence. The reading continued. Nancy was not bored. She listened, fascinated. The excerpts, which seemed to be taken from an ancient Hindu legend, related the tale of an Indian prince who had been spirited away from his parents. With her usual ability to make shrewd deductions, Nancy had gone directly to the heart of the situation.

  “This story Mrs. Allison is reading must have something to do with the ivory charm,” she reasoned. “And I believe it has a connection with Rai and Rishi.”

  Nancy had not forgotten Jasper Batt’s hint that Mrs. Allison and Rai were acquainted. The woman might even know about Rishi’s true parentage.

  In her mutterings, Mrs. Allison spoke frequently of a little-known province of India. Nancy asked the name of its governor.

  “lama Togara,” Mrs. Allison murmured dreamily. “He will rule with far more wisdom than his opponent. I have read it in the sands of time.”

  At this significant scrap of information Nancy turned to look at her friends. She was surprised to discover that they had gone.

  “Tell me, Mrs. Allison,” Nancy asked quickly, “is Rishi the son of a rajah?”

  Before the woman could reply, an irritating interruption stopped her. Jasper Batt emerged from the house, walking directly toward the pair. Observing the man, Mrs. Allison seemed to recover from her trancelike state. She closed the gold-covered book and hastily replaced it in her purse.

  “Is Rishi a rajah’s son?” Nancy repeated her question hurriedly.

  Mrs. Allison’s eyes had lost their faraway expression. Now she looked at the girl with a cold, impersonal stare.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Drew.”

  By this time the caretaker had approached close enough to recognize Nancy.

  “Oh, it’s you!” he exclaimed in a quarrelsome tone. “I suppose you’ve come to make trouble. Well, scram before you get hurt!”

  CHAPTER IX

  Trespassers

  UNAWARE of the reason for Nancy’s interest in the Sanskrit poetry, George and Bess wandered some distance from the abandoned house.

  “Suppose we take another look at that door in the rock,” George proposed suddenly. “It may open from the outside if we can figure out the secret of how to operate it.”

  “Nancy may want to return home before we get back,” Bess said doubtfully.

  “Oh, she’ll be listening to that woman for a long while yet. I never knew Nancy was so interested in psychic things.”

  The girls walked rapidly through the woods. Having selected a more direct route than the one that followed the road, they emerged at the high cliff. At close range the door in the rock was barely visible, but they knew its exact location and readily traced its indistinct outline.

  “There doesn’t seem to be a single thing to unlock,” George commented after running her hand over the entire door. “It just isn’t supposed to open from the outside, I guess.”

  Scarcely had she spoken, when the two girls were startled to hear a slight clicking sound. It seemed to come from within the rock. George and Bess fell back a step, staring in amazement. The door was slowly swinging outward.

  Before they could recover from their surprise, a tall, muscular man emerged from the opening. He stood framed against the dark interior of the tunnel, holding the door to prevent it from closing behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked the girls gruflly.

  “Why, nothing,” George stammered.

  “You must leave instantly.”

  As George and Bess turned to retrace their steps along the forest trail, the man commanded sharply, “Not that way!”

  After shutting the door in the rock, he indicated that the girls were to follow him. He led them directly to the road.

  “Follow this to the main highway,” he instructed, scowling. “And never come here again without permission from the owner.”

  Bess and George scurried down the road, but at the first bend they paused to glance back. The man had not moved from his position. He was still watching them.

  “Now how are we to find Nancy?” Bess asked when they were out of sight. “She’ll be waiting at the house for us.”

  “If she doesn’t return to the car we’ll have to double back and take a chance on being caught.”

  “I don’t want to meet that awful man a second time,” Bess said.

  By this time the girls had reached the parked automobile. They paused and were debating their next action w
hen a figure emerged from among the trees.

  “Nancy!” Bess exclaimed in relief. “We were frantic about you.”

  “And I’ve been worried about you,” Nancy replied. “What happened to you?”

  George quickly explained where they had gone and told Nancy about their unpleasant encounter. The cousins’ description of the unfriendly man they had met fit that of Steve Roach, Mrs. Allison’s escort.

  “I wish you’d been with us,” Bess said. “You would have found out something.”

  “I’d like to talk with Mr. Roach,” Nancy said. “Apparently he has taken it upon himself to protect her property,” Nancy concluded.

  “Perhaps he’s still at the cliff,” George suggested.

  Nancy glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s late now and we really should be getting back to River Heights.”

  “Did you see Jasper Batt?” Bess inquired as they climbed into the car.

  “Did you?” George chimed in.

  Nancy laughed ruefully. “I certainly did! And in a most unexpected way!”

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” George said. “What happened?”

  Briefly Nancy recounted the incident and noted that Mrs. Allison had been on the verge of revealing some important information.

  “What do you suppose it was?” Bess questioned eagerly as Nancy turned the car into the main highway.

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say another word after Mr. Batt appeared. It was provoking. I thought she was going to tell me something important about Rishi’s parents.”

  The car was speeding along an open country road. Nancy slowed down for a curve. Then, to the surprise of her companions, she quickly stepped on the foot brake.

  “Now what?” George demanded. “Don’t tell me we have a flat tire.”

  Nancy shook her head and pointed to a large signboard in a field to the left of the road. “See that poster, girls! An animal show is coming here.”

  “Not to River Heights, though,” Bess said in disappointment as she turned to read the sign. “It’s at Hanover on the twentieth of this month.”

  “And that’s tomorrow,” Nancy added. “But what else does it say?”