The Clue of the Leaning Chimney

by Carolyn G. Keene

  He translated the first set of symbols on the sheet, pointing his finger at each character as he spoke. “Made in the studio of deep peace.”

  Nancy looked at him, perplexed, but he went on to the second group of characters. “Made for the hall of fragrant virtue,” he translated.

  Mr. Soong smiled at Nancy’s puzzled expression. “Each set of symbols is a sort of Chinese hallmark,” he explained. ”That is to say, they’re like the little mark an American manufacturer sometimes stamps on his products.”

  “It is no mystery what the symbols mean,”

  Mr. Soong replied

  “I know what you mean,” Nancy interposed. “I’ve seen such marks on silver and gold.”

  Mr. Soong nodded in quick agreement. “Such symbols have been used for centuries by the Chinese to designate an article as authentic and of fine workmanship,” he said. “They go back centuries to the great Sung, Ming, and Ch’in dynasties.”

  “How interesting!” said Nancy.

  Mr. Soong peered again at the symbols. “These particular sets of markings are very old and famous,” he said. “They are from the Ming dynasty and are well known to all experts on porcelains.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Nancy. “I’m learning more than I had hoped!” Her brow knit in a frown. “But what use would Manning have for copies of the markings?” she persisted. “And why should he take such pains to conceal them?”

  Mr. Soong gave a gentle shrug and smiled. “That I do not know.”

  Nancy showed him the Chinese newspaper she had taken from the attic in Masonville. It was a Chinese daily published in New York, Mr. Soong told her.

  “This Mr. Manning may work with Chinese in New York,” he suggested.

  Next, Nancy opened the wrinkled newspaper which held the fragments of the broken bowl. The paper, Nancy saw, was the same as the other.

  Mr. Soong examined the pieces with interest, but they were so small he could tell only that the bowl had been made of excellent clay. He looked at Nancy inquiringly, as if to ask for more information. But she shook her head with a sigh.

  “They’re all the leads I have—this time!” she replied.

  Mr. Soong stepped from the car and gravely shook Nancy’s hand.

  “You have done very well, Miss Drew,” he said softly. “With the help of both members of your illustrious family, I am confident that my unworthy problems will soon be solved.”

  The Chinese bowed slightly, then turned and went up the walk to his front door. Nancy looked after him, puzzled. “Now, what did he mean by that?” she asked herself.

  Nancy hurried back to her father’s office building. While she was trying to squeeze into a parking space, a familiar voice said:

  “Mind if I take you home?”

  Nancy looked around swiftly. “Dad!” she cried.

  She planted a kiss on his cheek as he got in. Carson Drew was a tall, handsome man of middle age, with alert blue eyes like those of his daughter, Like Nancy’s, too, they twinkled when his sense of humor was aroused.

  The relationship between Nancy and her father was warm and companionable. No matter how busy Mr. Drew was with his own criminal cases, he always found time to discuss Nancy’s cases.

  Now, driving home, the distinguished-looking attorney and his attractive daughter talked about her latest adventures. As Nancy swung the convertible into the driveway of the Drew home, she suddenly remembered Mr. Soong’s parting words. Nancy repeated them to her father and asked if he knew what they meant.

  “You bet I do. Mr. Soong paid me a visit today. He wants you and me to undertake a search.”

  “A search?”

  “That’s right. A Chinese puzzle that goes back five years!”

  He got out of the car and Nancy quickly followed him.

  “Dad, stop keeping me in suspensel” she begged. “What’s it all about?”

  “I’ll tell when we get inside,” he promised, mounting the steps to the porch. “It’s the story of the missing Engs!”

  CHAPTER VI

  The Vanishing Vase

  “WHAT are the missing Engs?” Nancy inquired when she and her father were seated in his study. “Some valuable jewels?”

  Mr. Drew laughed. “You’re not even warm! The Engs are Chinese friends of Mr. Soong’s; Eng Moy and his daughter Eng Lei. As you know,” he added, “Chinese last names come first!”

  Carson Drew paused for a moment.

  “Go on, Dad,” Nancy begged impatiently.

  “Five years ago Eng Moy wrote to Mr. Soong from China. He said he and his daughter were leaving on a trip to the United States and hoped to visit him. According to Mr. Soong, Eng Moy was a well-known maker of porcelains in China. The purpose of his trip was to study American pottery methods.”

  “Did Eng Lei make pottery, too?” Nancy asked.

  Her father shook his head. “Not at the time the Engs left China, at any rate. She was only twelve years old then. That means she’s about seventeen now.”

  “When did they disappear?” Nancy asked, interested at once in hearing about a girl so close to her own age.

  “That’s coming. Eng Moy continued to write to Mr. Soong,” Mr. Drew explained. “Eng described tours they had taken through pottery plants in several cities in the United States. Each succeeding letter was postmarked a little closer to River Heights. Finally Mr. Soong received a letter saying they would visit him the following week.”

  The lawyer paused.

  “And they didn’t come?” Nancy asked.

  “No. That was four and a half years ago. Mr. Soong hasn’t heard from the Engs since!”

  “Maybe something happened so they couldn’t write.”

  “That’s what Mr. Soong would like to find out,” Mr. Drew replied. “He came to my office today because he had received a letter from a relative in China. Mr. Soong supposed the Engs had returned to the Orient without paying him the promised visit. He had been a bit perplexed when his letters to China were never acknowledged.”

  “Sounds very strange,” said Nancy.

  “He learned something from the letter he received today,” said Mr. Drew. “The relative wrote that the Engs never had returned to China and the United States immigration authorities could not account for it.”

  “Then the Engs are probably still in this country,” Nancy reasoned.

  “Seems that way,” her father agreed. “Mr. Soong fears his friends have met with—well, let’s call it foul play.”

  “What do you suspect happened to them?” Nancy asked.

  “I don’t suspect anything yet,” Mr. Drew replied. “But there are several reasons why some aliens want United States authorities to lose track of them. Espionage is one. Receiving and selling smuggled goods is another.”

  “Not a friend of Mr. Soong’s!” said Nancy, shocked.

  Her father smiled dryly, “You’re probably right, but that doesn’t solve the mystery.”

  Nancy looked at her father searchingly, then asked how she might help on the case.

  Mr. Drew smiled affectionately. “As soon as I get a clue, I’ll put you to work on it.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Nancy looked at her watch and gave a start. “My goodness, I must run or I’ll be late for Helen’s birthday dinner!”

  She dashed upstairs to dress. A few minutes later Nancy hurried down, blew a kiss to her father, and waved good-by to Mrs. Gruen.

  “Wait a moment,” the housekeeper said. “You worry me, Nancy,” she said. “It will be late when you leave the Townsend house and I don’t like your coming home alone.”

  “I’ll soon settle this,” Mr. Drew declared. “Hannah, I’ll drive my daughter and her friends to Helen’s and go back for them.”

  Twenty minutes later he dropped Bess, George, and Nancy across town. Mr. Townsend teased the girls with a “Glad you made it. I’d begun to think I’d have to eat four pieces of birthday cake!”

  Helen smiled and said, “If I know Nancy, she probably was tracking down some villain.”

 
“That’s right.” Nancy laughed. “A new way to say ‘Happy Birthday.’ ”

  Helen took the girls’ coats and handbags upstairs to her room.

  In a few minutes Mrs. Townsend called everyone into the dining room. As Nancy was about to follow, she noticed an exquisite vase on the desk near a window. She lifted the vase carefully and examined the porcelain.

  It was in a lovely shade of brown, showing a peach tree at the edge of a sparkling blue lake. An ancient Chinese, attired in a richly brocaded robe, sat under the tree beside a deer.

  Nancy studied the bottom of the base. Painted with small, black brush strokes were several Chinese symbols. They seemed to be the same as one set of characters she had copied from the sheets in Manning’s room!

  Nancy ran upstairs and got her clutch bag. Then, seating herself at the living-room desk, she took a pen from its ornate holder and quickly copied the symbols. She dried the ink on a small blotter which lay on the desk and slipped the paper into her bag.

  She was about to go into the dining room when she spotted two strange marks cunningly worked into the leaves of the peach tree. Nancy stared at the small, barely visible markings. The more she looked the more puzzled she became. Before she could copy the little symbols, Mrs. Townsend hurried into the room.

  “Nancy, come on!” she coaxed.

  “I’m sorry,” Nancy apologized. “This vase—”

  “Like it?” Helen’s mother asked.

  “Love it!” Nancy replied. “It’s one of the finest I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s a Ming vase. My husband gave it to me for an anniversary present,” Mrs. Townsend said, leading the way into the dining room.

  Nancy followed. As she ate, the young detective kept thinking about what she had just discovered. After the birthday cake had been served, Helen began to unwrap her gifts. “Ohs” and “Ahs” greeted each gaily wrapped package. Besides several pieces of beautiful lingerie, she received an attractive figurine Bess had made in Dick Milton’s pottery class.

  “Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed. “Thanks heaps, Bess.”

  There was a roar of laughter as a baseball glove from George was opened. But this was something Helen had said she wanted, months before, and no one would give it to her!

  Nancy’s gift was the surprise of the evening. She had prearranged with Mrs. Townsend that it would be brought in last. Cuddled on a cushion in a little pink basket was a fluffy white kitten.

  “Nancy, you darling!” Helen burst out. “You remembered I’ve been meaning to get one.”

  The girls gathered around to admire the kitten. Then, as the hands of the clock moved toward ten-thirty, the guests said they must leave.

  Nancy, Bess, and George went upstairs for their coats. When Nancy came down carrying her coat, she went to the desk to get her bag. She stopped short in surprise. The bag was gone!

  When Mrs. Townsend and the others came downstairs Nancy asked them if they had seen her bag. But none of them knew anything about it.

  “What could have become of it?” Mr. Townsend asked, joining the search.

  Nancy noticed that the window near the desk was partly open. Could someone have reached in and taken the bag?

  “May I have a flashlight?” she asked.

  Obtaining one from Mr. Townsend, she dashed out the front door and went around to the side of the house, followed by the others. Under the partly opened window was a flower bed. In it were footprints!

  At that moment she heard Mrs. Townsend call, “Isn’t this yours, Nancy?”

  Nancy turned. Helen’s mother was holding out the familiar blue bag.

  “Yes, that’s mine,” Nancy said. “Thank you. Where did you find it?”

  “It was lying here in the grass,” Mrs. Townsend explained.

  “Oh, I hope nothing’s gone,” said Helen.

  Nancy opened the bag, feeling sure all the contents would be missing. At first glance it seemed as if only the money in it was gone. Then she realized that the paper on which she had copied the Chinese symbols from the vase was also missing.

  Suddenly Nancy was struck by a dismaying thought. Without a word, she darted into the house. Her worst fears were confirmed.

  The Townsends’ beautiful, rare vase had vanished!

  CHAPTER VII

  Three on a Clue

  NANCY stared in dismay at the vacant spot on the desk. Then she ran into the kitchen, snapped on the back-yard light, and dashed outside. Nobody was there.

  By then Mr. and Mrs. Townsend and the girls had caught up to her. “What’s the matter now, Nancy?” asked Mr. Townsend.

  As she told them about the stolen vase, Nancy experienced a sudden twinge of guilt. If the thief had not observed her copying the symbols on the bottom, he might never have stolen the vase. But why was her copy of the symbols so important to him?

  Suddenly Nancy thought she knew. She ran to the side of the house, fully expecting to see the same identifying footprints she had spotted at Hunter’s Bridge; prints she believed were Manning’s. But she was disappointed. These marks were short and wide.

  When she told Bess and George the idea she had had about the footprints, George was inclined to think the thief was some pal of Manning’s.

  “He’s probably one of those men in the woods,” she added.

  “And has been told to trail you, Nancy,” Bess said fearfully.

  “Hypers!” said George. “This puts such a damper on everything.”

  The other girls murmured in agreement. The Townsends insisted upon hearing about the case. Nancy told what she deemed necessary, then Mr. Townsend went to telephone the police. Two officers arrived, made a routine check indoors and out, then queried Nancy.

  After they had gone, a thought suddenly flashed through Nancy’s mind. She went to the desk and picked up the small blotter she had used to dry the ink on her notation of the Chinese characters. They were clearly reproduced in reverse.

  “I’ll take this home and compare the symbols with those on the paper there,” she decided.

  Nancy slipped the blotter into her bag and turned back to speak to Mr. Townsend. “Where did you buy the vase?”

  “Why, let me see,” he replied, reaching into his inside coat pocket. “I think I have the name of the shop right here in my wallet. Yes, here it is. Sen-yung’s Oriental Gift Shop, Madison Avenue, New York.”

  Nancy made a mental note of the name.

  Mr. Drew arrived shortly to take the girls home. Upon hearing of the theft, and the possibility that Nancy had been spied upon, he was glad he had escorted the girls to the party and back. Nancy, Bess, and George thanked their hostess for the lovely party, then left.

  When the Drews reached home, they sat down for a few minutes to discuss the strange turn of events. Nancy took the blotter from her bag and handed it to her father. Then she went to her room to get a hand mirror and the sheet of paper containing the Chinese symbols found in Manning’s room. Holding the blotter up to the mirror, she saw at a glance that the writing was the same as one set of characters on the sheet. It read:

  “Made for the hall of fragrant virtue.”

  Nancy was thrilled at the new clue. But she was still puzzled over the thief’s motive for stealing her copy of the symbols.

  In the morning Nancy telephoned the Townsends to say again how lovely the birthday party had been, and to ask if there was any news of the thief.

  “Not a speck,” Helen replied. “Say, Nancy, maybe you could find the thief for us.”

  “If I get any clues, I’ll let you know,” Nancy promised, and hung up.

  Since she could think of no way at the moment to trace the thief, Nancy decided to concentrate on finding the China clay pit. She went to the River Heights Public Library to scan books on local geology. But after poring over several volumes and maps, Nancy had found nothing.

  She closed the books with a sigh and put them back on the shelf. Miss Carter, the librarian, had noticed Nancy’s disappointed expression.

  “Couldn’t you
find what you’re looking for?” she inquired pleasantly.

  Nancy shook her head and told the librarian the nature of her quest.

  “Why don’t you ask Miles Monroe?” Miss Carter suggested. “He’s a retired professor of geology. If anyone knows of a clay deposit, he should. I’ll give you his address.”

  “Thank you,” Nancy said, smiling. “I’ll go to see him at once.”

  The geologist lived in a small apartment. She pushed the buzzer under Miles Monroe’s name card and in a moment a small peephole flew open. An eye stared at Nancy.

  “If you’re selling something,” boomed a voice, “I don’t want any of it!”

  Nancy stifled a laugh. “I’m not a saleswoman. I came to see you about a geology problem!”

  The eye stared a moment longer. Then the peephole snapped shut and the door flew open. A man stood in the doorway, looking Nancy up and down. He was tall and slightly stoop-shouldered, with a sharp, inquisitive face and a thatch of bristling red hair.

  “Geology problem!” he snorted. “You’re too pretty for such heavy thoughts. But come in!”

  As Nancy followed the professor into the living room she noticed that he walked with a limp.

  “Have a chair!” he said. Mr. Monroe seated himself, looking straight at Nancy. “Well, young lady,” he asked, “what’s on your mind?”

  After Nancy introduced herself, she told of her search for a deposit of China clay. Monroe said he knew of none in the state.

  “I’ve heard,” Nancy went on, “that it may be identified in some way with a leaning chimney.”

  Miles Monroe scoffed. “First time I ever heard of using a chimney to find a vein of kaolin!”

  “Kaolin?” repeated Nancy.

  The professor replied, “That’s what geologists call the fine white clay used in the manufacture of china and porcelain. The name comes from the Chinese Kaoling. It’s a mountain in China which yielded the first kaolin.”

  Nancy eagerly absorbed this new knowledge as Miles Monroe added:

  “Kaolin is formed by the weathering of granite and other rocks. Then the clay is washed free of the quartz and mixed with feldspar, flint, and so forth to make porcelain.” He smiled wryly. “You may as well know what it’s all about if you’re looking for the stuff.”