“This lovely dress must have belonged to Susan’s grandmother,” she thought.
Alongside the gown lay half a dozen old-fashioned pictures. One of them instantly struck Nancy as familiar.
“I believe this is a Currier and Ives! Yes, here’s the name to prove it!”
Her heart leaped, for she knew how eager collectors were to buy these old prints.
“What luck this is!” She smiled. “Wonder what else I can find here that could be sold.”
Nancy had been so busy she had failed to notice a lowering thunderstorm which had been coming nearer and nearer. Now it broke over the old house in all its fury.
“Guess I’d better close this window and then help shut the ones downstairs,” she thought, stepping across several boxes to reach the dormer.
After securing it firmly, she went toward the stairs and started down. Just then she heard a splintering sound, followed by a crash which shook the old March mansion convulsively.
Below was pandemonium. Susan was crying loudly, Effie was shrieking, and Mr. March was shouting:
“Nancy! Nancy, are you all right?”
The girl hurried down and assured him she was unharmed. She in turn was relieved to find the others safe, but Susan was trembling with fright. The little girl had gotten out of bed and scampered into the hall. Now she clung piteously to Nancy.
“I don’t want to stay alone!” she wailed. “Something fell on the house by my window.”
Nancy stroked the child’s head soothingly. She asked what had happened. Mr. March, already on his way down the broad staircase to the first floor, replied that he thought one of the big pine trees had blown over and struck the house.
“The—the lightning did it!” declared Effie, terror in her voice.
“Chin up, Effie,” said Nancy. “Let’s all of us go downstairs and see what happened.”
She got Susan’s bathrobe and slippers, then together they followed Mr. March. He called to them to come into the music room. Out of a window they could see one of the tall pines leaning against the mansion. As soon as the rain stopped, Nancy and the elderly man went outside to see what damage the fallen tree had caused.
“Very little harm done,” said Mr. March. “This house is well-built. That’s a heavy tree. I’m glad it didn’t fall on your car, Nancy.”
“I am, too,” she replied. “If you’d like me to, I’ll go to a garage and get some men to bring a wrecker up here and pull the tree away from the house.”
“That would be a good idea, but the expense—”
“I know a man who won’t charge much,” said Nancy. “And that reminds me, I found some more things up in the attic to sell—a dozen or so pictures.”
She hurried to the attic and gathered up the old prints.
“Do you recall these?” Nancy asked Mr. March. “They were stored in the horsehide trunk. They’ll bring a good price.”
“You mean they’re worth money?”
“Indeed they are. Mr. Faber will be glad to get them. I’ve only begun my search of the attic. Let’s hope there are many more salable treasures up there.”
“I take it you didn’t find any of Fipp’s music?”
“Not yet. I’ll have another look tomorrow,” Nancy promised.
As she was about to leave the house, Effie came running toward her.
“Oh, Miss Nancy, you’re not going to be away long, are you?” she cried out. “I won’t draw a comfortable breath till you return!”
“I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Morning!” Effie shrieked. “I can’t stand it here without you. Creaking sounds, men prowling about at night—Oh, Miss Nancy, please come back and sleep here.”
“I’m afraid if it’s as bad as you say, I won’t be able to sleep.” The young detective grinned. “Well, I’ll try to get back,” she said and went to her car.
Her first stop was Leonard’s Garage. The owner had equipment for removing fallen trees and promised to go out to Pleasant Hedges at once. Then Nancy went on to Faber’s Antique Shop and received a sizable check for Mr. March. Finally she dropped into her father’s office to tell him her plans and also to report what had happened at the March mansion.
“You say Effie saw a man prowling about?” Mr. Drew asked.
“Yes,” Nancy replied. “And I found footprints going around the house.”
“I don’t like that,” said Mr. Drew. “If you go back to the mansion, Nancy, I don’t want you to take any unnecessary chances.”
“I won’t.”
Nancy hugged her father and left his office. Before going home she bought a few toys for Susan. Later she packed them, together with some groceries, the portable radio and her clothes, in a suitcase. After an early supper she drove back to Pleasant Hedges.
“Oh, I’m so relieved to see you!” Effie cried.
Presently Nancy turned on her radio to a station which was broadcasting popular music. She asked Mr. March to listen carefully.
“Perhaps you’ll hear the song you recognized the other night,” she suggested. “If you should, please jot down the station, the orchestra, and if it is announced, the name of the composer.”
“Nothing would please me more than to expose the impostor!” Mr. March declared. “I want the world to know Fipp wrote that song!”
The elderly man carried the radio upstairs. Meanwhile Nancy decided to do some more hunting in the attic. Unfortunately her flashlight battery was dead, so she went to the kitchen for a candle.
Effie began to chatter. “This house ain’t so bad in the daytime, but when it starts gettin’ dark, the shadows just sort of leer at you!”
Nancy laughed. “Nonsense!”
She opened a cupboard and took out a long white candle.
Effie looked at her questioningly. “What are you planning to do now?”
“There’s no light in the attic,” explained Nancy, “and my flashlight battery is dead.”
“You’re not going up there tonight!” Effie exclaimed, aghast.
“I’m sure nothing will happen to me, Effie, and I want to help Mr. March if I can.”
The maid shrugged her shoulders in resignation as Nancy set the candle in a holder. She left the kitchen, went to the second floor, and stopped at the foot of the attic stairway. There she touched a match to the wick and held the candle high in her hand as she ascended cautiously. Just as she reached the top of the steps, the light went out.
Nancy’s heart began to pound. Was someone up there? She shook off her momentary fear.
“It was only a draft from that leaky window,” Nancy told herself. She struck an extra match and relighted the wick.
Nancy stepped into the attic. The candle flickered again and nearly went out. Something moved.
“My own shadow, of course,” she reasoned. “But how grotesque I look!”
Nancy’s eyes focused on a massive wardrobe which stood against the far wall.
“I’ll search that first,” she decided, crossing the attic.
Setting the candle on the floor, she grasped the knob of the door and pulled.
“Wonder what I’ll find?” she asked herself.
The door did not give. At the same moment there was a creaking sound. Nancy could not tell where it had come from. She picked up the candle and looked around.
“It’s nothing, I’m sure,” Nancy told herself, but she could not shake off the uneasy feeling that had come over her.
Once more she put down the candle and tugged at the door. It gave suddenly, swinging outward on a squeaky hinge.
From within, a long bony arm reached out toward Nancy’s throat!
CHAPTER V
A Suspected Thief
IT was impossible for Nancy to stifle a scream as the long bony fingers brushed against her throat. She staggered backward. The candlelight flick ered wildly.
“Come away! Come away before that—that thing gets you!” shrieked someone behind her.
The voice was Effie’s. The maid, worried about Na
ncy, had followed her to the attic.
“It’s nothing. Nothing but a skeleton,” said Nancy, her own voice a trifle unsteady.
“It struck you with its bony hand!” quavered Effie. “Oh, I’m getting out of this house tonight, and I’m never coming back!” she announced, starting down the steps.
“Please don’t go downstairs and frighten Susan,” Nancy pleaded, her own momentary fear gone. “Surely you see what happened?”
“You were attacked by a skeleton!”
“No, Effie. The thing is hanging inside the wardrobe. One hand seems to be attached to a nail on the door. When I jerked it open, the arm swung out and the fingers brushed me.”
Nancy reached into the closet and touched the chalk-colored bones.
“What’s a thing like that doing here, anyway?” Effie asked in a voice less shaky than before. “I don’t like it!”
Before Nancy could reply, they heard footsteps on the attic stairs. Mr. March called, “Anything wrong up there? I heard someone scream.”
“We found a skeleton in the wardrobe,” Nancy explained. “It startled us.”
Mr. March slowly climbed to the attic and went toward the open wardrobe.
“Oh that!” he said in relief. “I’d forgotten all about it. Fact is, I didn’t know Fipp had put it in the closet.”
The elderly man then explained that the skeleton originally had been brought there by a young medical student, a cousin of Fipp’s.
“You know how boys are,” he added with a chuckle. “They used this skeleton on Halloween, and never did take it away.”
“You’re sure your son put it here?” Nancy asked thoughtfully.
“Who else could have done it?”
Nancy did not reply. Instead she began an investigation of the wardrobe. She figured it was just possible Fipp March had rigged the strange figure to frighten away all but members of his own family.
Perhaps this was his hiding place for the missing music!
Excited, Nancy held up the candle in order to examine every inch of the old piece of furniture. When a hasty glance revealed nothing but dust and cobwebs, she tapped the sides, top, and bottom for sliding panels. None came to light.
Effie, tired of waiting, coaxed Nancy to go downstairs. Mr. March, concerned about Susan during their long absence, said he thought they should all go below. Nancy did not want to give up the search, but out of deference to the elderly man’s wishes, she reluctantly followed the others to the second floor.
“I’m going to look at that old wardrobe again soon,” she said to herself. “I have a hunch it holds a strange secret.”
For two hours she and Mr. March talked and listened to the radio she had brought. Nancy was disappointed that they had not heard the song which he thought was his son’s. Finally at ten o’clock the elderly man arose and smiled at his guest.
“I believe I will go to bed now. Thank you very much for everything.”
“I wish the mystery were nearer to being solved,” Nancy said, rising also.
Nancy went to the room assigned to her, but could not sleep. She kept thinking about the skeleton and the man Effie had seen outside the house. Time and again she roused at unfamiliar sounds on the grounds and in the house. Then the next time she opened her eyes it was morning.
“Nearly eight o’clock!” she said in astonishment, looking at her watch. “I did get some sleep after all. I believe I’ll hurry home and have breakfast with Dad before he goes to his office.”
Explaining to Mr. March that she would return later, Nancy drove to her own house. There she found her father in his study examining something under a microscope.
“Oh, hello,” he greeted her, looking up from his work and kissing her. “I thought maybe you’d come and eat with your old dad. Any adventures last night?”
“None, except that a skeleton and I got a little chummy.”
“What!”
She related all that had happened at Pleasant Hedges, adding that she planned to investigate the wardrobe further.
“That attic is a strange place indeed,” Mr. Drew commented. Then he turned to a problem of his own. “I’m glad you came back, Nancy, or I believe I would have driven out to get you.”
“Something wrong?”
“Not exactly. But I’m puzzled. See these?”
He pointed toward his desk. On it lay two white silk women’s scarves, which appeared to be identical.
“What in the world are you doing with those?” Nancy asked.
“Another case.” Her father smiled. Then he added, “Take a look at these two scarves. Does the material appear exactly the same to you?”
Nancy examined them carefully. “I can see no difference.”
“Nor can I, even under a microscope,” declared her father.
Nancy fingered the material as Mr. Drew paused. He stared into space, as if puzzled about something.
“What’s the problem?” Nancy asked.
“The scarves were manufactured by separate concerns,” Mr. Drew explained. “My client Mr. Booker—president of the Booker Manufacturing Company—contends that another company has stolen his formula for making the special material used in them, and could ruin his business.”
“What’s the name of the other company?”
“The Lucius Dight Corporation.”
“I know the place!” Nancy exclaimed. “Mr. Dight’s daughter Diane was in one of my classes in school. She’s a little older than I am. You say her father has stolen something?”
Mr. Drew looked concerned. “Is Diane your friend, Nancy?” he asked.
“No, Dad, I wouldn’t call her that. She goes around with an entirely different crowd. Diane’s an attractive-looking girl, but she’s spoiled and willful.”
“It’s fortunate she’s not a particular friend,” Mr. Drew said, much relieved, “because I’d like you to do a little sleuthing for me on this case.”
“I’d love to!”
“I thought so. While you and I eat breakfast, I’ll tell you what I heard from Mr. Booker yesterday afternoon.”
Father and daughter took their places at the breakfast table. Then Mr. Drew began his story.
“My client Mr. Booker suspects that a former workman of his, named Bushy Trott, was in reality a spy from the Dight factory.”
“What a curious name—Bushy Trott!”
“His nickname, I assume. I’ve seen a photograph of the man. A coarse-looking fellow with wild, bushy black hair.”
“So Mr. Booker believes that Bushy worked at the plant only to learn the secret process for making the silk material?”
“Yes, his contention is that the man was sent as a spy by Mr. Dight. Until recently the Dight plant manufactured only synthetic materials, not silk.”
“How can I help on the case?” Nancy inquired eagerly.
“I was wondering that myself, until you mentioned knowing Diane Dight. Do you suppose that through her you might be able to look around her father’s plant? As a rule, visitors are barred. If I, a lawyer, should go, the owner might become suspicious of my motives.”
“I’ll be glad to try,” Nancy offered. “If I get into the factory, what am I supposed to do? Locate Bushy Trott?”
“Mainly that, yes. And if you can observe the process used to make the silk material like the one used in these scarves, we’ll have something to work on,” Mr. Drew declared.
“It’s a stiff assignment,” his daughter mused. “But no harder than the case of the missing music.”
“Perhaps if you work on my new project for a while, and then go back to the other one, you’ll approach it with a fresh perspective,” Mr. Drew suggested.
After her father had gone to his office Nancy pondered how she might get in touch with Diane Dight without arousing the girl’s suspicions about her sudden show of friendship. While she was studying the problem, George Fayne dropped in.
“Why the furrowed brow?” George asked.
“I was thinking about how I’m going to cultivate a frie
ndship with Diane Dight,” Nancy replied.
“Diane Dight! How you could like that girl is a puzzle to me!” George protested.
“Did I say I like her?” Nancy countered, her eyes twinkling.
“I might have known.” George grinned. “You think she’s involved in some mystery. Don’t tell me she stole Fipp March’s music!”
“No, not that. I’d just like to get her to take me through her father’s factory.”
“She’d never bother,” George predicted. “Always too busy talking about herself and the latest dress she’s having made at Madame Paray’s.”
“I don’t know that dressmaker.”
“Mother’s having one made there to wear to a wedding. It’s funny you should mention Diane, because she was there the other day when Mother was, and raised a real storm. Diane wanted Madame Paray to stop all her other work and finish a dress so that she could take it away with her.”
“So she isn’t in town,” said Nancy, disappointed.
“I don’t know how long Diane is going to be away. Why don’t you phone her house and find out?”
“It would be better if I could get the information some other way.”
“How about the dressmaker?” George suggested. “Mother has a fitting there at eleven this morning. Suppose you and I go with her.”
“A grand idea.”
The two girls hurried off to join Mrs. Fayne. They caught her just leaving the house. A little later Nancy was introduced to Madame Paray. Nancy complimented the dressmaker on Diane Dight’s clothes.
“Her figaire ees slim and easy to fit,” said the dressmaker modestly. “But I’m afraid she diet too much—and ze diet, eet keep you happy or else eet make you cross when you do not eat enough.”
“Diane is out of town, isn’t she?” Nancy asked.
“She return today on ze two-o’clock train. I am afraid zere will be anozzer scene when she come here to get her gown. Eet ees not finish.”
Quickly Nancy saw an opportunity to get in touch with Diane. She offered to meet the girl at the station and tell her that the dress was not ready.
“Oh, would you? Zat would be most kind. And please to tell Miss Diane also her papa wishes to hear from her as soon as she arrive.”
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