The Quest of the Missing Map

by Carolyn Keene

Nancy was silent a moment, then asked her father what she should tell Ellen.

  “Advise her to stall,” Carson Drew answered promptly.

  Nancy decided that instead of telephoning Ellen, she would drive to Blackstone College the next afternoon. Ellen was to be in a recital and Nancy was eager to hear her sing.

  She invited her friends Bess Marvin and George Fayne to go with her and they accepted. The two girls, who were cousins, often shared Nancy’s adventures. Bess, blond and slightly plump, was a bit more timid than slim, tomboyish George.

  “Oh, oh,” Bess remarked as the three entered the college auditorium. “Nearly all the seats are taken.”

  “We’ll squeeze in somewhere,” Nancy declared cheerfully. “I see two places down front where the performers are seated.”

  She suggested that Bess and George go forward and take them. “I’ll sit somewhere else. Introduce yourselves to Ellen Smith after the recital and tell her I’m here. We’ll meet in the lobby.”

  As Nancy looked for a seat, she saw Mrs. Chatham, half hidden beneath an enormous hat, near the rear of the auditorium. There was an empty chair beside the woman. Nancy made her way to it.

  “Are you saving this seat, Mrs. Chatham?” she asked, smiling.

  The woman shook her head. The next moment, recognizing the newcomer, she beamed at Nancy as if they were old friends. Thus encouraged, Nancy began a conversation which she adroitly steered to a discussion of Rocky Edge. The widow mentioned its previous owner, Silas Norse.

  “He must have been an interesting person. We’ve found several ingenious gadgets of his in the house,” she said lightly.

  Nancy casually mentioned her visit to Ship Cottage but did not refer to the secret panel or the man she had seen. She merely inquired if Mr. Chatham had collected the ship models.

  “Oh dear no! They belonged to my first husband,” Mrs. Chatham said with a pensive sigh. “He was such a good, kind man. It made me so sad to see those darling little boats in the house that I asked Mr. Chatham to move them to the studio.”

  “Do you go out there frequently?” Nancy queried. “To the studio, I mean.”

  “Almost never.”

  “I suppose it was built by your late husband?”

  “No,” the widow replied. “It was on the property when we took over the place. I judge it has been there for some time.”

  Nancy would have asked additional questions but just then the orchestra began to play. For an hour and a half she enjoyed the recital and was proud of Ellen Smith, whose vocal solos were the best numbers on the program and received the most applause.

  “Do come and see me some time,” Mrs. Chatham invited Nancy as she rose to leave.

  “I’d love to,” Nancy answered. “I’ll try to drive to Rocky Edge within the next few days.”

  Just then Bess, George, and Ellen came up the aisle of the auditorium.

  “Oh, Nancy!” Ellen exclaimed. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  She paused, slightly embarrassed to find herself face to face with Mrs. Chatham.

  “My dear, your singing was marvelous,” the widow gushed. “I had no idea you were so talented. I’ll be happy to have you teach music to my Trixie. You art accepting the position?”

  Ellen glanced at Nancy, seeking a cue to the proper response.

  “I-I don’t know what to say,” she stammered nervously. “I want to think it over.”

  “I must know at once!” Mrs. Chatham insisted.

  CHAPTER III

  Fantastic Story

  NANCY was afraid that since Ellen needed the money so badly she would accept the position immediately. She was greatly relieved, therefore, when the girl replied:

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Chatham, but I can’t possibly give you my answer for at least a week!”

  “Why, that’s ridiculous!” the widow protested haughtily. “You can’t expect me to keep the position open indefinitely.”

  The situation had become an exceedingly awk ward one. Nancy spoke up.

  “Mrs. Chatham, don’t you think it would be difficult to find someone else who knows as much about music and who would be kind to Trixie?” she asked, hoping to gain time for Ellen.

  Mrs. Chatham admitted that this might be true. She turned again to Ellen. “All right, I’ll wait a week, but no longer.”

  “Thank you. I promise I’ll give you my answer by that time,” Ellen replied.

  Without waiting to be introduced to Nancy’s other friends, the widow left the auditorium.

  “She’s a pain,” George remarked with a grimace.

  “I certainly wouldn’t want to work for her,” Bess stated.

  As the girls were about to say good-by to Ellen, she said, “Nancy, if you haven’t any special plans, would you like to drive to my home and hear about the mysterious story Hannah Gruen spoke of? And I’d love to have Bess and George come too.”

  Nothing could have pleased Nancy more, and the other girls accepted eagerly.

  “You mean you’ll tell us on the way there?” Nancy asked.

  “Not exactly. The secret really isn’t mine to tell. It’s my dad’s.”

  Soon the group was on its way to the Smith home in Wayland. The three girls were very curious about the secret, but Ellen did not refer to the matter again.

  “Do you commute to Blackstone College every day?” Bess asked Ellen presently.

  “Oh, no,” she replied. “I board at Blackstone.”

  When they reached Wayland, Ellen directed Nancy to the Smiths’ small, old-fashioned house. As the car slowed to a stop, the girls saw a heavy-set man in his thirties, wearing a brown suit, hurriedly leaving the dwelling. His jaw was set and his eyes blazed. Without looking to left or right he jumped into a blue sedan at the curb, slammed the door, and shot away.

  Ellen frowned. “I—I hope nothing has happened,” she stammered, quickly getting out of the convertible.

  Nancy, Bess, and George watched the rapidly disappearing car. Then they followed Ellen into the house and met Mrs. Smith. She was a pretty, white-haired woman in her late fifties.

  “Mother, who was that man?” Ellen asked.

  “His name is Rorke,” Mrs. Smith replied, a note of suppressed excitement in her voice. “He came to see your father about a very important matter.”

  “Not the map?”

  “Yes, but ask your father about the visitor.”

  The girls crossed the hall to a room which had been made into a combination studio and bedroom. Mr. Smith lay in bed, still recuperating from his accident. His eyes lighted with pleasure as Ellen introduced her friends.

  “So glad to meet you all,” he said. “Please sit down.”

  “What a charming room!” Bess exclaimed, her gaze wandering from the shelves of travel books to a large map of the world on one wall. “Are you interested in geography, Mr. Smith?”

  “He’s interested in finding a treasure island!” Ellen answered eagerly. “Hannah Gruen thinks Nancy may be able to help us, Dad. She has solved lots of mysteries.”

  “Are you an expert at finding lost maps, young lady?” Mr. Smith asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “I’ve had some success with them,” Nancy answered, matching his teasing tone. “But I must say, all these hints of Ellen’s about a treasure are intriguing.”

  “Do tell your story, Dad,” Ellen pleaded. The rugged-faced man brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, then began.

  “First of all, I must tell you my true name. I’m known as Tomlin Smith, although Tomlin is really my last name. Years ago I added Smith, the name of the people who adopted me after my father’s death.

  “My mother died when I was fourteen. Father was captain of an ocean-going freighter, the Sea Hawk. He had followed the sea his entire life, and his father had too. After Mother’s death he was determined to take care of my twin brother and me by himself, so he took the two of us aboard the freighter. We slept in his cabin and had the run of the ship.”

  “You must have visited many i
nteresting places,” George remarked.

  “Only half a dozen ports,” Mr. Smith said.

  “Except for a turn of luck, I’d have gone down to Davy Jones’s locker along with my father.”

  “The ship sank?” Nancy asked, leaning forward in her chair.

  “Yes, she went down in a hurricane. One of the worst on record. The seams of the old freighter cracked wide open. Every pump was manned by the crew but the ship was doomed. No one knew that better than my father.”

  “What did you do then?” Bess queried. “Take to the lifeboats?”

  “I’m coming to that part in a minute. When my father realized that the old ship wouldn’t hold together much longer, he called my twin brother John Abner and me into his cabin. Knowing he might never see his sons again, he told us our grandfather once had hidden a treasure on a small uncharted island in the Atlantic. He had left a map showing its location. My father tried to find it but never could.

  “He took a parchment map from the safe,” Mr. Smith went on, “but instead of giving it to either of us, he tore it diagonally from corner to corner into two pieces. ‘You’re to share the treasure equally,’ he said, ‘and to make sure of that I am dividing the map in such a way that no one can find the buried chest without both sections.’ ”

  “Then what happened?” George asked as Mr. Smith paused.

  “John Abner and I were put into separate lifeboats, and I never saw him again. A sudden explosion ripped the ship from bow to stern before Father was ready to leave. He went down with it.

  “Along with six sailors I landed on a small island. We lived there a year before we were picked up and brought to the United States. I tried without success to learn what had become of my brother, or where any relatives were, and finally I was adopted by a family named Smith.”

  “What became of your section of the map?” Nancy inquired. “Was it lost?”

  “No,” replied Mr. Smith. “All these years I’ve kept it, always hoping to find my brother and hunt for the buried treasure. For a long time I had plenty of money and thought little about ever needing any. But now—”

  The man looked wistfully from a window, while there was an awkward pause.

  “Even if we should find the other half of the map,” Mrs. Smith said with a sigh, “we wouldn’t have any money to look for the treasure.”

  “It would give me more satisfaction,” her husband remarked, “to learn what became of my twin brother. As for the treasure, he or his heirs would be entitled to half of it.”

  “We won’t worry about them just yet,” said Ellen, trying to cheer her parents. “You see, Nancy, my father looked up every Tomlin he could find. Maybe his brother changed his name, and since he didn’t look like Dad, nobody would think of the two being related. The map would be the only clue.”

  “May I see your half?” Nancy asked.

  Mr. Smith requested his daughter to bring the paper from the top drawer of a desk on the second floor. Presently she returned with a piece of yellow parchment. Eagerly Nancy bent to examine the curious markings.

  “Right here is our treasure island, as I call it,” Tomlin Smith indicated, “but as you see, the name has been torn off. All that appears on my half is ‘lm Island,’ which isn’t much help.”

  Nancy studied the parchment half map for a few moments, then asked Mr. Smith, “Would you mind if I make a copy of it?”

  “Not at all,” he answered. “Only I’m sure you can’t make much out of it. As I told Mr. Rorke today, it’s not worth a nickel without my brother’s half.”

  “Was he the man who drove away in the blue car?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes, he left the house just as you girls arrived.”

  “Mother said he came to see you about the map,” Ellen declared. “How did he learn about it?”

  “Mr. Rorke claimed he’d heard the story from the son of a man who was first mate on my father’s sunken freighter—an officer by the name of Tom Gambrell. Rorke offered to buy my section of the map. Said he wanted it as a souvenir.”

  “You didn’t agree to sell your half?” Nancy asked, afraid the answer might be yes.

  “No, I told Rorke I wouldn’t sell at any price,” Mr. Smith said. “Even if the parchment is worthless, it was my father’s last gift. I’ll always keep it.”

  “I’m glad,” Nancy said in relief. “Of course I know nothing about Mr. Rorke, but I didn’t like his looks. Also, since you changed your name, how did he find you?”

  “That’s a good question,” said Ellen’s father. “I never thought to ask him. But he’ll probably be back and I’ll put that up to him.”

  “Did you show him your piece of the map?” Nancy inquired.

  “Yes, I had Mrs. Smith bring it downstairs,” Ellen’s father replied. “But Rorke saw it only for a second; not long enough to remember what was on it, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  Nancy said no more and busied herself copying the torn map while the others talked about the recital. Bess and George spoke glowingly of Ellen’s singing and her parents smiled proudly. Presently Mrs. Smith appeared with a tray of refreshments.

  Soon afterward the callers rose to leave. Nancy carefully folded the copy of the treasure map and put it into her purse.

  She smiled at Mr. Smith. “I don’t promise to figure this out, but it will be good mental exercise and I’m eager to start working on some way to find your brother.”

  The callers said good-by and left. Nancy drove toward River Heights. Presently they stopped for a crossroads traffic light. Directly ahead, waiting at the same intersection, was a blue sedan.

  “That looks like the car we saw at the Smith place!” George exclaimed.

  “It is the same one! The driver is that Mr. Rorke!” Nancy cried.

  The traffic light turned green, and the blue sedan was away in a flash. Nancy’s car was equally fast and kept directly behind Mr. Rorke.

  “You’re going to follow him?” Bess asked nervously.

  “I’d like to find out more about him,” Nancy replied. “It’s my hunch he has a special interest in the Smiths’ treasure map that he’s not telling.”

  Bess and George were inclined to agree. As the man’s car raced ahead and turned corners recklessly it was very evident that he was trying to lose Nancy. Twice Rorke glanced uneasily over his shoulder.

  “He’s knows we’re trailing him,” George commented. “But why should it worry him?”

  “Nancy, do be careful,” Bess cautioned, gripping the edge of the seat. “We’re coming to a railroad crossing.”

  Signals warned of an approaching train. Knowing that it would be dangerous to attempt a crossing, Nancy stopped. The blue sedan, however, shot ahead onto the track.

  CHAPTER IV

  A Strange Lawsuit

  Bess closed her eyes, expecting a crash. But the driver ahead crossed the tracks with only seconds to spare.

  “He drives that bus of his as if the police were after him,” George commented.

  As the long freight train thundered past, Nancy looked between the cars to see if Mr. Rorke were in sight. But there was no sign of the blue car.

  “We’ve lost him now,” she declared gloomily. “I may as well turn back.”

  Nancy drove to River Heights and dropped George and Bess at their homes. In a few minutes she reached her own brick colonial house, which set back from the street and was reached by a curving driveway. Mr. Drew’s sporty sedan rolled in right behind her.

  “Hello, Nancy,” the lawyer greeted his daughter fondly. “I came home early today—had a rather hard session in court.”

  Nancy and her father strolled through the garden.

  “Dad, let’s sit down here,” she suggested after a few moments, indicating a stone bench. “I have something to show you.”

  “A letter from Ned Nickerson?” he teased. “Or is it from a new admirer?”

  Nancy laughed. “Neither. It’s something I copied today from part of a map of a treasure island!”

  �
�Treasure island?” Mr. Drew repeated in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

  “No, it’s genuine, Dad.”

  Nancy handed the paper to him, then related everything she had learned at the Tomlin Smith home. Anxiously she awaited her father’s comment.

  “I don’t like the sound of this Rorke fellow,” the lawyer said. “He could be dangerous. I’d much rather help the Smith family in a financial way than have you concerned with a lost treasure that Rorke’s also after.”

  “There’s more than a map and treasure involved,” Nancy told him. “Mr. Smith wants me to find his long-lost twin brother, John Abner Tomlin. He’s heir to half the treasure their grandfather buried, and Mr. Smith insists they must share equally, as his father wished.”

  “That difficulty could be solved easily by putting half the money in a trust fund,” Mr. Drew remarked. “But locating the treasure is a remote possibility.”

  “The half map Mr. Smith possesses appears to be authentic, Dad. My copy probably isn’t good enough to convince you.”

  “I can’t tell much from this,” he admitted. “The parchment was torn in such a way that one can’t figure out what any of the names or directions mean. Have you tried comparing it with an atlas?”

  “Not yet, Dad. Let’s do it now.”

  Carson Drew accompanied Nancy to his study and for some time they pored over several maps. When Hannah Gruen announced dinner, the lawyer was so engrossed that he was reluctant to give up the search.

  “Old Captain Tomlin was a clever fellow,” he conceded. “By tearing the map as he did, the shape of the island is destroyed, so now it’s practically impossible to determine its location without the missing section.”

  “I’m glad you said ‘practically.’ ” Nancy chuckled and led the way to the dining room. “You see, Dad, I mean to attempt the impossible. Monday I’ll do some sleuthing at the public library.”

  Sunday morning the Drews went to church service, then spent the afternoon relaxing at home. Nancy kept thinking about the mystery and remarked to her father, “If the treasure is so hard to find, it could mean no one has dug it up yet!”

  “Right!” Mr. Drew chuckled.