The Secret in the Old Lace

by Carolyn Keene

  Reluctantly Madame Chambray gave permission for the girls to open the panel on the third floor. “I suppose I ought to put new wallpaper up there anyway,” she said.

  “I’m sorry I won’t be able to stay and help you,” Hilda spoke up. “But Joseph is taking me to a concert this evening. Perhaps all of you would like to join us ... if this is to be your last evening in Brugge.”

  “We would love to,” Bess said, “but it sounds as if Nancy has other plans for us.”

  The girls thanked Hilda for her invitation but said they expected to spend every minute left on the mystery. After saying good-bye, they hurried upstairs, and in less than half an hour slid the double panel fully open.

  Beyond, drenched in sunlight streaming through a skylight, was a strange-looking room framed by high beams. It was cluttered with antique furniture, china, pictures, knickknacks of all kinds, and an old trunk thick with dust like everything else.

  “What should we tackle first?” George asked, spying a pile of boxes in a corner.

  “That’s exactly what I was going to ask,” her cousin replied. “Maybe we ought to split up our investigation.”

  Bess headed toward a delicate silk screen that stood near the center of the room, and peered behind it. On the floor lay an old tarnished birdcage which she set upright.

  “Find anything of interest?” George called out from her corner of the room.

  “Uh-uh, just a birdcage without a bird.”

  Nancy, in the meantime, was drawn to the big trunk. She raised the lid, revealing bundles of newspapers and letters.

  “These are all addressed to François!” Bess observed excitedly. She opened one of them. “Here’s an invitation to a ball in Brussels! Oh, I wish I could’ve gone too. It must’ve been fabulous!”

  “And this is an invitation to a big party,” George said, pulling out another letter. “I’d say François had a terrific social life!”

  As the girls continued to sift through the papers, Nancy suddenly discovered a leather-bound book beneath them.

  “Look, I’ve just found his diary!” she exclaimed and read several passages aloud, translating them from French into English.

  Bess hung on every word, gazing moonstruck toward the skylight where a face pulled suddenly out of sight!

  “Oh!” the girl gasped, causing her friends to look at the window.

  “What is it?” Nancy asked.

  “A-a man—” Bess stuttered.

  “You’re imagining things,” her cousin said. “There’s no one—”

  “But I saw him—”

  Nancy laid the diary on the pile of papers in the trunk and slid a chair under the skylight. “I don’t see anybody,” she said, after climbing on the chair. “But the skylight isn’t locked. I wonder if someone’s been using it as his access to the attic. He could have made the noise Bess heard.”

  “We should report this to the police,” George suggested, and left to make the call.

  Meanwhile, Nancy read more of the diary. It revealed that François was in love with an actress. “And guess who she was?” Nancy asked.

  “Elaine Warrington, of course,” Bess said.

  “Uh-uh. It was Antoinette Tissot!”

  “What! But I thought he married Elaine Warrington.”

  “He did,” Nancy said. “Originally her name was Antoinette. It seems that her family disapproved not only of her interest in François but also of her desire to become an actress. I guess they thought François was a playboy and insisted Antoinette not see him. She refused to obey.”

  Nancy read and translated one of the passages. “‘I cannot permit her to be disowned. I can’t do it. I’m going to disappear and change my name. François Lefèvre will be no more.’ ”

  “Amazing,” George broke in. She had overheard the girls’ conversation as she climbed the stairs. “I gather Antoinette followed François to Brugge—”

  “And changed her name to Elaine Warrington when she joined an acting troupe,” Nancy said, “since she did not wish to disgrace her family name.”

  “But if she and François got married,” Bess went on, “why didn’t Antoinette simply work under his new name?”

  “Because they didn’t get together right away,” Nancy answered. “According to this diary, François tried to send her back to her family—”

  “But she was in love with him,” Bess sighed. “Isn’t it wonderful? ”

  Meanwhile, Nancy continued to flip through the book and settled on another long passage. “Joseph Stolk was right,” she said. “Antoinette did ask Dirk Gelder to paint that picture of François. It symbolized the end of Monsieur Lefevre. From then on, he would be known as Friedrich Vonderlicht.”

  Bess opened a fair-sized box near the trunk. “Look, everybody!” she exclaimed, holding up a red velvet cavalier suit with a lace jabot and detachable lace cuffs. “This must have been François’s!”

  Excited, Nancy dashed to Bess and took the cuffs, examining them inch by inch. They were intricately woven, but to the girls’ chagrin, there was no message in either of them.

  “They are beautiful nonetheless,” Nancy said, dropping the cuffs back in the box.

  Now she picked up the diary once again, wondering if she had overlooked anything else of interest. A few pages from the end she discovered a description of a beautiful statue in a tiny walled-in garden, and tied to the last page with pale blue ribbon was a painting of a man with a golden face and hair. He was wearing a close-fitting gold suit. One hand rested on a low pedestal fountain in the garden.

  “Maybe this is where the treasure is hidden!” Nancy exclaimed. “The will mentioned it was protected by something golden!”

  When she told Madame Chambray about her discovery, the woman said, “I know where that statue is. It’s right here on the grounds!”

  She led the way to a small garden behind the house. In the center stood a gold statue!

  “May we move it to see if anything is buried underneath?” Bess asked Madame Chambray.

  The woman nodded slowly. “I will get some tools,” she said as the girls loosened the base by hand. Within moments the marble figure and pedestal had been pushed carefully aside and the girls had started digging.

  “It’s such an unlikely place to hide a treasure,” Madame Chambray insisted. “After so many years, it would be ruined by now.”

  But the diggers continued, filled with anticipation. They failed to see a man peering over the garden wall. His snakelike eyes glistened eagerly as George’s spade struck something hard.

  “Hold everything!” she cried out.

  All work stopped while George’s fingers probed the dirt. She yanked on something, prying it free.

  “A stone!” she exclaimed in disgust and threw it aside.

  The work went on for several minutes until Nancy jabbed the soil hard with her shovel. Almost instantly water began to seep through the soil. She pulled the shovel out and a needle-sharp geyser shot up toward her face!

  18

  The Spy

  Quickly Nancy dodged the geyser of water. As she did, she happened to glance at the top of the garden wall. A man with shiny black hair was staring ominously at her. Was he the same person Bess had seen through the skylight? Before Nancy could attract her friend’s attention, the spy slithered out of sight. Meanwhile, the groundwater continued to gush.

  “I must have punctured a water pipe with my shovel,” Nancy said to Madame Chambray. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “I’ll go and call the water department. I’m sure they can fix it.” She went inside and returned shortly. “Someone is coming right away. But what should we do in the meantime?”

  Instantly George jumped down into the hole and tried to hold her hand over the opening in the pipe.

  “It won’t work,” she said, disappointed. “Bess, why don’t you sit on it?”

  “Very funny,” her cousin replied.

  Less jovial, Nancy watched the slow buildup of water. If this keeps up, she thought, it
will saturate the entire garden and prevent us from unearthing the hidden treasure!

  Within fifteen minutes, however, a repairman arrived, carrying a bag of tools. He turned the water off, then worked rapidly to replace the damaged section of pipe.

  “That ought to do it,” he said at last, shaking mud off his feet as he stepped on the stone path that circled the statue.

  “How long do you think it will take the ground to dry?” Nancy asked.

  “We’re looking for buried treasure,” Bess cut in.

  The man looked surprised but did not inquire further. “Well, it will take a day or so for all the water to drain,” he replied.

  “Gracious!” George said. “We can’t wait that long!”

  After the repairman left, Nancy told the others about the spy whom she had noticed by the garden wall. “He may have been Frieden or Bergère. I’m pretty sure I’d recognize him if I saw him again.”

  “Maybe he wanted to steal my beautiful statue!” Madame Chambray declared.

  “Well, we are going to catch him before he pulls a stunt like that,” Bess said bravely.

  Nancy grinned at her friend. “You always come through in a pinch!” she said.

  The girls figured the suspect must have approached the garden from the back steps that led down to the canal. They followed the towpath, hoping to find evidence of the stranger. Was he hiding among trees or had he left in a boat?

  Chugging some distance away was a small craft. The man at the wheel had sleek black hair. For an instant he shot a glance back at the house.

  “That’s the spy!” Nancy exclaimed, squinting to read the name painted on the boat. It was Wit Bloem.

  “I wonder what it means,” George said.

  “Madame Chambray can tell us,” Bess declared, following her friends back to the house.

  When asked, the woman told the girls that Wit Bloem meant white flower. “But why do you wish to know?” she added.

  Nancy explained about the man in the boat, prompting her hostess to call the police. She reported the incident and at Nancy’s suggestion, requested the name and address of the boat’s owner. It seemed like hours before the politie telephoned back.

  “The craft belongs to a man named Theo Schlinger,” the voice said and gave the man’s address.

  Nancy suggested they ask Hilda to go with them to meet the man. “We may need a translator,” she said.

  “You mean we may need the police! Besides, Hilda’s going to a concert with Joseph,” Bess reminded Nancy.

  “Well, maybe she can squeeze in one more favor beforehand, and anyway, I think we can handle Mr. Schlinger. We don’t have to accuse him of anything.” Hopeful, the young sleuth telephoned the girl and after several minutes of conversation put down the receiver, beaming.

  “She can go with us if we don’t stay long!” Nancy exclaimed.

  An hour later the girls arrived at Mr. Schlinger’s home, and, exchanging nervous smiles, knocked on the door. A moment later an elegant gentleman, not the thief, appeared. He proved to be as delightful as his home, which was filled with nautical souvenirs, pictures of old sailing ships, and a photograph of Mr. Schlinger in a boatman’s cap.

  “Do you speak English?” Nancy asked him.

  “A little,” he replied. “Why, are you interested in finding a tour guide?”

  “Oh, no,” Nancy laughed. “Miss Permeke has already taken us sightseeing. It was wonderful.”

  Hilda blushed at the compliment and said she would translate any of Nancy’s questions that Mr. Schlinger did not understand.

  “Sounds like you mean serious business,” Mr. Schlinger said. “Perhaps you would like to rent my boat?”

  “N-no,” Nancy said. “But we’d like to know who was using it today.”

  “His name was Bergère,” Mr. Schlinger said. “He took the boat for an hour or so, then brought it back.”

  “Bergère!” Nancy cried out. “That’s the man we’re looking for!”

  “You are? Is there a problem?” Mr. Schlinger asked

  “Yes,” Nancy replied. “We believe that man is a thief!”

  “Oh, dear,” Mr. Schlinger said, running his hand through his hair. “If I had known that, I would never have permitted him to—”

  “Did he by any chance give you his address?” Bess interrupted.

  The boatman shook his head. “No. But he did tell me that this was his last day in Brugge, and that he was flying back to New York tonight.”

  Mr. Schlinger did not know anything else about Bergère’s plans, so the girls thanked him and left. On the way home they discussed their next move.

  “Now I’m convinced that Matey Johnson showed Bergère the letter Madame Chambray wrote to Mrs. Marvin,” Nancy said. “That’s why he came here. ”

  “But it wouldn’t make sense for him to leave Brugge before finding the treasure, would it?” George spoke up.

  “Unless he stole the diamond cross and figures that’s enough to bring home for now,” Bess suggested.

  “True,” Nancy said. “He could even be planning to return to Brugge after we leave.” But her mind took another turn. “Still, I don’t believe he would return to America and then fly all the way back to Belgium. He probably lied because he figured we saw the name on his boat and would trace it to Mr. Schlinger. Perhaps he had already given Mr. Schlinger his name and was afraid we would find out. ”

  “Good thinking!” George praised her friend. “So he told the fib about returning to New York hoping we’d stop looking for him.”

  Hilda was glancing worriedly at her watch. “I really ought to be on my way,” she said finally. “Where are you going now?”

  “That’s the big question,” Bess said. “The airport or home?”

  “Home,” Nancy said decisively. “I want to meet that impostor when he shows up.”

  On the way, they passed by a series of shops, including a quaint bookshop. “I guess this will be our only chance to buy gifts to take home,” Bess pointed out, ducking inside.

  The girls selected beautiful books about Belgium for each of their boyfriends.

  “Maybe this will get them to come with us next time,” George said.

  As they paid for their purchases, Nancy glanced at a glass display case. In the reflection was a large cowboy hat.

  It was the young man from Texas who fit Mr. Drew’s description of François’s great-grandson!

  19

  The Capture

  Nancy whirled around to face the young Texan. “Cody Vaughan?” she asked, smiling broadly.

  He flashed a grin at her and the other girls. “Mighty nice to see you all again,” he said, “but how do you know my name? I never told you what it is.”

  Nancy introduced herself and her friends, then explained briefly, adding, “We’ve been hoping to run into you again. We’re staying at a house that belonged to your great-grandparents.”

  “No kidding,” the cowboy said. “I knew my family was originally from Belgium. That’s one reason I decided to make this trip. It’s my first time here, you know.” He breathed in deeply. “Gee, I’d love to see that place.”

  “You will.” Nancy sparkled. “Just wait until Madame Chambray meets you. She’ll be so excited. She’s been searching for a descendant of the Vonderlicht family.”

  “Who is Madame Chambray?” the fellow asked, puzzled. “And why on earth would she want to meet me?”

  “She owns the Vonderlicht house now,” Bess pointed out. “Shortly after she moved in, she found a beautiful antique cross wrapped in a piece of cloth that bore the name Antoinette Tissot—your great-grandmother.”

  “I think you folks have me mixed up with somebody. My great-grandmother’s name wasn’t Tissot. It was Warrington—Elaine Warrington.”

  Prompted to reveal the romantic story of Antoinette and François, George told how they moved to Brugge and changed their names.

  “And they lived happily ever after,” Bess finished.

  “There’s one small problem,
” Nancy put in soberly. “The diamond cross was stolen. But I have a hunch you can help us get it back!”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Nancy. I’m not much on catching crooks,” Cody said. “On second thought, though, maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all. I might get an acting part someday as a detective.”

  “Then you’ll go to the house with us?” Nancy asked. “It’s not very far from here.”

  She noticed that the young woman with whom she had seen him on the previous occasion was not in the store.

  “Okay,” Cody said, “but I’d like to call my hotel first. I have a date with somebody. Can she come along?”

  Nancy hesitated, uncertain of the danger that might lay ahead of them. “Why don’t you suggest meeting your friend a little later? You can call her from the house,” Nancy said.

  “I don’t know how that’ll set with her,” the man said, “but I’ll tell her.”

  By now, a haze of twilight covered the town, and there was a forbidding stillness in the air as the group reached the old stone house. To their surprise only one or two of the lamps were lit.

  “Somebody’s inside,” Nancy said, seeing the outline of a man’s head in the window.

  “Should we knock?” Bess asked fearfully.

  “No,” Nancy replied, “we might scare off Madame Chambray’s visitor.”

  She turned the door handle slowly, hoping it was not locked. The door clicked open. Signaling everyone to remain quiet, Nancy tiptoed inside. A murmur of words and laughter drifted into the hallway.

  “Oh, Monsieur, I am so pleased to meet you at last,” Madame Chambray was saying. “But, to tell the truth, I am very troubled.”

  “How could such a lovely lady be so troubled?” The man’s voice oozed sweetly. It sounded vaguely familiar. “You know my grandfather had terrible troubles—romantic ones mostly. Women pursued him constantly. One girl from Brussels in particular literally forced him to move here to Brugge. She was simply too ardent.”

  “But,” Madame Chambray said, “didn’t he marry her?”

  “Oh, no. He met somebody else.”