“Hannah!” Nancy exclaimed. The housekeeper was descending the steps, a bunch of peacock feathers in one hand!
By this time Bess and George had reached the hall. They looked at Hannah in amazement.
“Where did you find those feathers?” Bess asked.
“After talking with Nancy, I remembered these in the attic,” Hannah explained. “They belonged to her grandmother.”
Mrs. Gruen laid the peacock feathers on a table in the living room and the girls examined them closely.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Nancy remarked. “I understand the formation of the eyes in the feathers is one of the most unusual things in nature.”
“Indeed it is,” said Hannah, “and the bird is very proud of its feathers. Remember that old expression ‘proud as a peacock’?”
When the girls nodded, the housekeeper continued, “It comes from the fact that a peacock greatly values his fan. It’s said that when his tail feathers are plucked to be sold, the bird is so ashamed he hides for days. He won’t eat and sometimes mourns his loss until he dies of starvation.”
“Oh, how awful!” Bess remarked.
Just then the girls heard a key in the front door, and Mr. Drew came inside. A tall, handsome man, Nancy’s father practiced law in River Heights.
“Hi, Dad,” the young detective said, hurrying to kiss him.
He greeted the others, then asked Nancy, “Do I detect a gleam in those blue eyes that means you’re involved in another mystery?”
Nancy smiled and told her father about Mr. Ritter’s accident and Mrs. Dondo’s accusation.
“That’s too bad,” the lawyer commented.
When Mr. Drew had settled in his favorite chair, Nancy recounted the story of the missing stained-glass window.
“That’s very interesting,” said Mr. Drew when she finished, “but tracing a window lost since eighteen fifty will require considerable investigation.”
“But it’ll be fun,” Nancy added.
“I have a client who is an authority on stained-glass windows. He may be able to help you,” the lawyer continued. “Mr. Atwater is retired now and not in the best of health, but he loves to talk about his art. Perhaps I can make an appointment for you to see him tomorrow. It’s Saturday and he may not be busy.”
“I’d like to go along,” George suggested.
“Me, too,” Bess added. “Does your friend still make stained-glass windows, Mr. Drew?”
“Yes, but only as a hobby. He has a very complete studio in his home.”
Mr. Drew went to the telephone. A few minutes later he returned to say that the girls had an appointment at ten o’clock the next morning.
The following day Nancy picked up Bess and George in her convertible. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at Mr. Atwater’s home. As Nancy parked, a tall, slender man with white hair came out of the small house.
“How do you do,” said Nancy, smiling. “Are you Mr. Atwater?”
“I certainly am,” the man replied. “You’re right on time, Miss Drew. I recognized you from the picture on your dad’s desk.”
Nancy introduced her friends, and then the artist led the way inside his studio. The place was extremely neat. Rows of tools hung above a workbench. A drawing table and a cutting bench were arranged along another wall.
Mr. Atwater invited the girls to sit down. “Your father mentioned a mystery in connection with your visit here, Nancy.”
“Yes, there is one I’d like to solve.” She told him about the window Sir Richard Greystone was eager to find.
The artist smiled. “I’ll do everything I can to help you locate it.”
Nancy thanked him and said, “I presume that if the window is still in existence, its colors are very lovely. I understand that modern stained-glass windows don’t have the same striking effect as those of the middle ages.”
Mr. Atwater nodded. “That is true. The old-time glass had many imperfections—for example, there were bubbles in it. But these very weaknesses have given the windows their lovely satiny appearance.”
“How are modern stained-glass windows made?” George asked.
“Well,” said Mr. Atwater, “I’ll try to give you a brief description. First, I would take measurements and ascertain the direction of the light and the amount that would fall on the window in its future setting.”
“Is that so you would know how much depth of color to use?” Nancy questioned.
“Exactly,” Mr. Atwater said. “Next, I’d make a small-sized sketch of the picture I would color and enlarge into a working drawing, called a cartoon. Then it would be marked up to show the actual size, shape, and color of each piece of glass.
“Transparent paper would be laid over the drawing and the design copied exactly. Then I’d cut this paper along the dividing lines, and I’d have a pattern for each piece of glass.”
“When do you cut the glass?” Bess asked.
“That’s the next step. I lay the pattern pieces on sheets of glass in the colors I want and cut them out. When they’re ready, I assemble my colored-glass picture on a large plain sheet of glass and fasten it down with molten beeswax.”
He glanced at a saucepan on top of the stove. “I was just melting some before you came. My picture is now fitted into a frame, and black lines, representing the leading between the pieces of glass, are painted on. Then, by holding the picture up to the light, I can get the over-all effect of color and design before adding the details of the picture, which I paint in by hand.”
“My,” said Bess, “it certainly is complicated.”
“Yes,” Nancy agreed. She noticed that the elderly man’s face showed signs of weariness. “I’m afraid we’ve been so interested that we didn’t realize how much time had passed. Perhaps we can come back again.”
The man admitted he was tired, but urged the girls to pay him another visit soon. They thanked Mr. Atwater and got up to leave.
As George went toward the door, one foot skidded. In trying to keep her balance, she clutched wildly at a table on which there was a sharp piece of plate glass.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, as blood spurted from a deep cut on the palm of her right hand.
Mr. Atwater sprang to George’s side. “I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said. “It’s my fault. I must have spilled some beeswax on the floor.”
The artist hurried to a first-aid kit hanging on the wall and opened it. After thoroughly cleansing the wound on George’s hand, he deftly bandaged it. During the treatment he apologized profusely.
“It’s nothing,” George insisted. “The cut will soon heal.”
Nancy remembered what her father had said about the elderly man’s health. “Perhaps you should rest now,” she suggested.
“I will,” he promised, “but first let me give you a catalog. It contains a list of all the prominent firms and individuals who make stained-glass windows,” he added, handing her the booklet.
Nancy thanked him and the three girls returned to their homes. After lunch the young detective studied the catalog. She turned page after page. None yielded a clue to the missing window.
Just as Nancy reached the W’s in the alphabetical list, Hannah asked, “Have you had any luck?”
“Not until this very minute,” the girl replied.
“You brought it to me.”
The housekeeper looked over Nancy’s shoulder and read:WAVERLY STUDIO
Mark Bradshaw, Owner
Charlottesville, Va.
“Charlottesville!” Nancy exclaimed. “That whole area was settled by English people. It’s a perfect place to look for the Greystones’ stained-glass window.”
“Do you think Mr. Brawshaw might know something about it?” Hannah queried.
“I hope so,” Nancy replied. “What’s more, Charlottesville is where my cousin Susan Carr lives. She’s often invited Bess, George, and me to visit her.”
“I know Susan and her husband Cliff would love to have you. Why don’t you call them?” Hannah suggested.
“A good idea,” Nancy agreed. She dialed the number, and Susan answered. She said she would be delighted to have the girls stay with them.
“You’ll just adore it, Nance. Our garden is perfectly beautiful now. It’s going to be open to the public during Garden Week.”
“How wonderful, Sue!” said Nancy. Then she told her cousin about the stained-glass-window mystery.
“Sounds as if you’re coming to the right place to look for it,” Susan agreed. She wanted them to meet the new friends that the Carrs had made during the two years they had lived in Virginia.
“Fine,” Nancy replied. “Good-by for now.”
She called Bess and George and told them her plans. They agreed enthusiastically. She had just put the phone down when it rang. She answered.
“Nancy, this is Mr. Ritter.” The letter carrier’s voice was strained. “Something terrible has happened. I need your help at once!”
CHAPTER IV
A Puzzling Telegram
“I’LL be glad to help you if I can,” Nancy told Mr. Ritter.
“When I went to Mrs. Dondo’s this morning,” the letter carrier explained, “she showed me a special-delivery letter from her brother. He said he had sent her a hundred-dollar bill that she should have received by now. Mrs. Dondo is still accusing me of stealing it and insists she is going to discuss the matter with the postal authorities!”
Nancy was alarmed. Even if Mrs. Dondo could not prove her case, she could make it so unpleasant for Mr. Ritter that other people on his route might lose confidence in him.
“I’ll certainly do what I can for you,” Nancy promised. “Let’s call on her right away.”
“I’ll come over to your house.”
Mr. Ritter arrived in a short time, and together they walked to the Dondo home. The disagreeable woman opened the door.
“So you’ve brought your detective with you, I see,” she said acidly. “Well, that’s okay with me. Come in and I’ll show her the letter from my brother.”
Nancy and Mr. Ritter followed Mrs. Dondo into the living room. She opened a desk drawer and took out a letter that she handed to the young girl.
Nancy glanced at the postmark. It was stamped Charlottesville, Virginia, the day before! In the left-hand corner was the sender’s name—Alonzo Rugby. But there was no return address.
The contents of the letter confirmed Mrs. Dondo’s story. Short and to the point, it read:Dear Sis,
Like you asked me on the phone
I am writing this to tell you that
I did send you a hundred-dollar
bill in a letter a few days ago.
You should have received it on
Friday.
Your loving brother,
Alonzo
Nancy glanced up. Mrs. Dondo was staring at her with narrowed eyes. “Now I guess you’re convinced,” she said. “But if you think I’m going to let Mr. Ritter get away with my hundred-dollar bill, you’re very much mistaken.”
“I want to tell you something, Mrs. Dondo. I have known Mr. Ritter a long time. He is an honest man. It is most unfortunate that the letter was lost, but as I said yesterday, your brother should never have sent cash through the mail. It’s illegal.”
Mrs. Dondo’s eyes flashed. “I don’t want your advice, young lady! Maybe you’re right after all about Mr. Ritter. You’re the one who went around picking up the letters. I’m beginning to think you kept the money!”
Nancy was furious. “Mrs. Dondo, your statements are ridiculous and you know it. You haven’t lived here long. But you’ll find people in this neighborhood are friendly and honest. They’re not suspicious of one another. I suggest that you drop this whole matter at once or you may find living here very unpleasant.”
Mrs. Dondo was taken aback for a moment but quickly recovered. “I’ve got a good family too. My brother is a talented artist. Neighbors or no neighbors, I don’t intend to be talked out of getting my hundred dollars back.” She went to the front door and opened it. “Good-by.”
Outside, Nancy told the letter carrier, “I’ll tell my father about this latest development and he can take care of everything. Incidentally, I’m going away on a short trip.”
When she told him that her destination was Charlottesville and that she would look up Alonzo Rugby, Mr. Ritter smiled for the first time. “You’re a good friend, Nancy,” he said. “Thanks a lot.”
As soon as Nancy reached home, she telephoned her father and gave him all the details. He promised to watch out for Mr. Ritter’s interest should the need arise.
Nancy now packed her clothes for the upcoming trip. As she closed the suitcase, she decided to write a letter to Ned Nickerson at Emerson College. They had been friends for several years.
“It would be nice if Ned could come down to Charlottesville while I’m there,” Nancy thought, as she picked up her pen.
After telling Ned the news and how she hoped to find the missing stained-glass window, Nancy gave him Susan Carr’s address. When she finished the letter, she posted it at the corner mailbox.
As Nancy walked back to her house, Togo came bounding down the street toward his mistress. In his mouth was a small piece of paper. Nancy leaned over and tried to take it from him.
“So you’re not going to give it up.” She laughed as the terrier pranced around.
The game went on for several minutes. Then Togo, apparently deciding to do something else, let Nancy take the paper. It was part of an envelope. On it was a canceled stamp and the postmark was Charlottesville, Virginia, three days before!
“Togo, where did you get this?”
The dog barked excitedly but made no move to show her. A frightening thought occurred to Nancy. Suppose, when Togo had been looking for the missing letters the previous day, he had found the one with the hundred-dollar bill and torn it to pieces!
Worried, she took the dog into the house and told Hannah her fears. “Now I’ll really have to solve that mystery,” she said. “Maybe the Drew family does owe Mrs. Dondo a hundred dollars!”
“I might believe that if you hadn’t overheard what Mr. Dondo said to his wife,” Hannah replied. “I’m inclined to think that woman is faking the whole thing.
When Mr. Drew returned that evening, he handed Nancy three plane tickets. “You’ll fly to Richmond tomorrow morning and then go from there by car to Charlottesville.”
Nancy called Bess and George. “Dad and I will pick you up right after church,” she said.
The next morning, shortly after breakfast, the telephone rang. Nancy answered it.
“Miss Nancy Drew?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Western Union. I have a telegram for you from Charlottesville, Virginia. It’s signed Susan Carr. The message reads: ‘Postpone your trip. Will write when convenient for you to visit.’ ”
Nancy could not believe that Susan would send such an ungracious message! She repeated the telegram to her father.
“Maybe something unexpected happened,” Mr. Drew said.
“I suppose I could start to hunt for the stained-glass window somewhere else,” Nancy declared.
“But I would still like to talk to Mr. Bradshaw, who makes stained-glass windows in Charlottesville.”
“Why don’t you go anyway and stay at a hotel,” Mr. Drew suggested.
“I’ll call Bess and George and see if that will be all right with them,” Nancy replied.
The cousins agreed to the new arrangements and Nancy reminded them, “Dad and I will pick you up as scheduled.”
Mr. Drew drove the girls to the airport and they had a smooth flight to Richmond. The threesome claimed their luggage and taxied to the Hotel Richmond.
“What a lovely city!” Bess remarked, as they drove through the tree-lined streets and saw one charming colonial house after another, each with a beautiful garden.
When the travelers were settled in their spacious room, George turned on the television for the latest news. The local station was broadcasting. Suddenly the girls
were electrified by an announcement.
“While driving to the Richmond airport, Mrs. Clifford Carr of Charlottesville was sideswiped by another car, and she overturned in a ditch. She was taken to Johnston Willis Hospital. There is no trace of the driver who caused the accident.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Nancy cried out. “That’s Sue! We must get to the hospital at once. I hope she’s not seriously hurt.”
The girls put on their coats and hurried outside, where they hailed a taxi. The driver’s slow pace taxed their patience but finally they arrived at the hospital.
Nancy led the way inside to the desk and said to the woman in charge, “We’d like to see Mrs. Susan Carr.”
The woman gave the room number and the girls went upstairs. They found Susan, pale and wan, lying with her eyes closed. A second later the girl awoke.
“Nancy!” she cried out. “I’m so glad you’re here. But how did you learn about the accident?’”
Nancy told her about the news broadcast. “You’re probably surprised that we came after you sent the telegram.”
“I didn’t send you a telegram!”
Nancy glanced at Bess and George. All three knew now that someone had tried to keep Nancy from coming to Charlottesville.
Another thought occurred to Nancy. Perhaps the same person, knowing the telegram ruse had failed, had also sideswiped Susan’s car, hoping to keep Susan from meeting the girls! But what was the reason for keeping them apart?
Nancy hoped to learn more details. She said, “Sue, your accident might have some bearing on the telegram. Do you think the person who sideswiped you did it on purpose?”
“Oh, yes,” Susan replied. “There was no one on the road and the man had lots of room to pass. He came up alongside me so close that I was forced to the side of the road. The next thing I knew I went into the ditch and turned over. And the man never stopped to help me.”
“Did you get a good look at the driver?” Nancy asked her cousin.
Susan shuddered. “He had a horrible and unnatural face. He probably wore a stocking over his head.”
“Have the police been notified?”
The Hidden Window Mystery Page 2