The Clue in the Diary

by Carolyn G. Keene

  When the girls reached the end of the lane, Bess announced that she thought they should have lunch before doing any more sleuthing.

  “All right,” Nancy agreed. Laughing, she added, “How about the Mapleton Inn?”

  “And have Mrs. Raybolt bring the police to arrest you!” Bess protested with a giggle.

  Nancy had noticed an attractive roadside restaurant on the outskirts of town and drove to it. As the girls ate, they discussed their next move.

  “I’d like to call on Mr. Swenson,” said Nancy, “and ask him if there’s anything else in the diary that might be damaging evidence against Mr. Raybolt.”

  It was three o’clock before the girls arrived at headquarters. When Nancy made her request to the sergeant in charge of prisoners, she was told that Mr. Swenson had just been brought to one of the waiting rooms.

  “His kid came to see him,” the officer explained, “and we didn’t want her to see him behind bars. We told Honey that her dad had to stay with us a while. His wife’s there too. Are you special friends of theirs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then.” The sergeant called another officer, who took the girls into the waiting room. A policeman stood watching.

  At once Honey bounded into Nancy’s arms. “See, I have on all my new clothes!” she said proudly.

  Mr. and Mrs. Swenson seemed very glad to see the visitors. The couple smiled pathetically and it was evident that Mrs. Swenson had spent a good deal of time crying. Her eyes were swollen and red. She looked pale and weary, as though she had slept little.

  “Your kind friend Ned Nickerson brought Honey and me here. He will come back for us in an hour.”

  Joe Swenson looked haggard and worried. He brightened somewhat when Nancy told him that Baylor Weston was not only keeping his position at the factory for him, but that a promotion awaited the inventor.

  “You’re the only one who can help us,” Mrs. Swenson said tearfully to Nancy. “We haven’t enough money to engage a lawyer, and we have no well-to-do friends.”

  “If the case actually comes to trial, I know my father will defend Mr. Swenson without a fee,” Nancy assured her. “However, I’m hopeful that we’ll prove your husband’s innocence before that time.”

  “The book you have may help,” Mr. Swenson said guardedly.

  Nancy nodded. She knew he meant the diary. It was still in her purse. She told herself, “I’ll have the rest of it translated at once.”

  The girls remained a few minutes longer, then departed, realizing that the little family wished to be alone. When they reached the street, Nancy told her friends, “If Mr. Peterson’s well enough, I’m going to see if he will read the diary. Let’s go to a phone and find out.”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A Revealing Translation

  THERE was an outdoor telephone booth at the entrance to a parking lot next to police headquarters. Nancy entered it and dialed the number of the Peterson bakery. To her delight, she learned that her old friend was home from the hospital and would be glad to see her.

  When George heard this she said, “You’re running a shuttle service between River Heights and Mapleton.”

  Bess giggled. “With side trips to Stanford and Sandy Creek.”

  “Don’t plan on staying home long,” Nancy warned them. “I may need you tonight.”

  “Tonight!” Bess exclaimed. “I was counting on giving myself a shampoo and—”

  “Whatever it is,” George interrupted, “the Swenson-Raybolt mystery is more important. Well, I’ll stick by you, Nancy.”

  “And I will, of course,” Bess declared. “But please get this mystery solved soon, so I can catch up on a few things.”

  “Like what?” George asked.

  “Well, I’ve postponed a nice date three times already,” Bess said. “I was to go out with Jeff Allen tonight, but I’ll put it off again. Nancy, where will we be going?”

  Nancy said this would depend on what she learned from the diary.

  When the girls reached River Heights, Nancy dropped off Bess and George at their homes, then drove to the Peterson bakery. She learned from the counter clerk that the owner was upstairs in his apartment, and the woman showed Nancy the stairway to the second floor.

  The elderly convalescent was seated in an armchair and apologized for not rising to greet Nancy. She smiled, saying, “Mr. Peterson, it’s wonderful to see you again, and how glad I am you’re feeling better.”

  “Thank you, Nancy. Why, you’re a young lady now!” He laughed. “I remember you as a little girl, always objecting to the ribbons Mrs. Gruen put in your hair. You especially liked my Swedish fruit tarts.”

  “Mm,” said Nancy, smiling in recollection. “I can almost taste the lingonberry ones now. They were my favorite. Well, Mr. Peterson, I’ve come to ask a favor of you. Would you translate a Swedish diary for me?”

  “It would give me great pleasure. I am very much interested in diaries. Many secrets of history have been unraveled by diaries that were uncovered some time after the writers’ deaths.”

  “I never realized that,” said Nancy.

  “In many cases this is true of the personal journals the famous people kept,” the baker explained. “Take Queen Victoria of England, for instance. Pictures of her and the complicated politics she was forced to play make her seem like a very stern old lady. But she left a diary telling of her life as a young queen and mother of small children that gives a very different idea of her. She was gay—loved to dance and give very elegant parties.”

  “How interesting!”

  “Then of course there were other diaries set down by great men of history; for example, George Washington’s well-kept account of his life. One section tells of a journey from Washington to Philadelphia which took five days! He also told of a gift of mules to him from General Lafayette for his farm.

  “One of the most important diaries was that of Christopher Columbus, who kept a record of his entire journey from Palos in Spain to our continent. Did you know, Nancy, that when he saw the shores of Cuba he thought it was Japan?”

  Nancy laughed. “I guess the old mariners made some amazing mistakes.”

  “What is more amazing is how they managed to get back home,” said Mr. Peterson. “Some of the voyages must have seemed endless. I enjoyed reading about a schoolmaster who took a job as a private tutor with a family that was moving from Scotland to Virginia. It was a three-month voyage and all he received for tutoring the children was ‘bed, board, washing, and five pounds’ for the entire time!”

  “How things have changed!” Nancy remarked.

  She had listened in rapt attention to his recital of items in the old journals. Nancy wondered if Joe Swenson’s up-to-date diary would prove to be as revealing about the writer’s inner thoughts. A tingle of excitement came over her as she took the diary from her purse and handed it to Mr. Peterson.

  The baker glanced through it before starting to read aloud. “The writer of this journal is an inventor, I see,” he commented. “It’s not a day-by-day account. Apparently he put down only the most important events.”

  Mr. Peterson began to translate. Much of what had been written was delightful and informative, but had no bearing on the Raybolt case.

  After a while Nancy interrupted to say, “If you’re becoming tired, please stop. I’ll come back another time.”

  “Don’t you worry, Nancy. I feel fine.”

  He read on. “‘Today,’ ” the diarist had written, “‘I went to see a man who sells inventions to big companies and shares the royalties with the inventors. His name is Raybolt. Tomorrow I shall take him my drawings and typed instructions for the electrochemical process and machine which will put a special ceramic finish on steel to resist high temperatures.’ ”

  Mr. Peterson turned the page and translated a description of the meeting, during which Mr. Swenson had handed over everything to Felix Raybolt. He had been given a check for five hundred dollars and the verbal promise of a fifty-fifty royalty split in
the future.

  “‘Mr. Raybolt,’ ” Mr. Peterson translated, “‘is a very shrewd man. He confided to me that he didn’t keep all his important papers and money in bank safe-deposit boxes. He has a secret hiding place in his house known to no one but himself. The—’ ”

  “Just a minute!” Nancy cried out. “Please translate that part again about the secret hiding place!” To herself she added, “Maybe that’s what Mr. Swenson meant when he said ‘The book you have may help.’ ”

  Mr. Peterson complied with Nancy’s request, then looked up and smiled. “You see a mystery here?”

  “Indeed I do. And one that ought to be solved. Did you know that Mr. Raybolt’s house burned to the ground and he has disappeared?”

  “I had not heard,” the baker replied. “But then I do not know this Felix Raybolt. Shall I read further?”

  “Oh, please do.”

  Mr. Peterson went on. There were many references to the invention with some technical language about how the machine and the chemicals worked to produce the desired finish on metals.

  “This is proof without a doubt that the invention is Mr. Swenson’s,” Nancy thought excitedly.

  She listened carefully. The diary came to an end without any mention of a contract between the two men. Nancy was elated. Joe Swenson had a good case against Felix Raybolt! She was eager to talk over the whole matter with her father.

  “Mr. Peterson,” she said, taking the diary, “you’ve been a tremendous help in this mixed-up mystery. Thank you very much.”

  “I am glad to have been of assistance,” the baker replied. “The reading was most enjoyable. This writer of the diary is well educated and clever.” Mr. Peterson smiled. “But he does not sound like a very good businessman. I presume that is why he is in some kind of trouble.”

  “That’s exactly it,” Nancy answered.

  “Please translate that part again about the secret hiding place!” Nancy asked

  “And you will get him out of the trouble,” the baker said. He chuckled. “I just can’t believe the little girl who loved cookies is now a detective!”

  Nancy laughed, shook Mr. Peterson’s hand fervently, and took her departure.

  Wishing to see her father at once, she went directly to his office. Mr. Drew was about to leave, to be gone until later that evening.

  “I can see you for about five minutes, Nancy,” the lawyer said.

  His daughter told Mr. Drew as quickly as possible what she had learned, and he agreed that the inventor had a good chance of winning his case—if Mr. Raybolt could be found.

  “So far the police haven’t a clue to his whereabouts, Nancy. I believe you came nearer to capturing him than anyone else has. It’s too bad he moved out of that cabin.”

  “And worse that he has disappeared into thin air,” Nancy replied. “But I’m not giving up!”

  “That’s the spirit,” her father said affectionately. “Well, best of luck! And when you see Mr. Swenson, tell him not to worry.”

  Nancy drove home slowly as she tried to figure out the puzzle. When she reached the house, Hannah Gruen was taking a few minutes’ rest and sipping a cup of tea. Nancy joined her and told of the most recent happenings.

  “My goodness,” said the housekeeper, “you’ve done several days’ work in one! Now you must relax.”

  Nancy hardly touched her own cup of tea. She sat staring into space, and understanding Mrs. Gruen did not interrupt the young sleuth’s train of thought.

  Suddenly Nancy cried, “I’ve just figured it out!”

  “Figured what out?”

  “How to trap Felix Raybolt!”

  CHAPTER XIX

  Setting a Trap

  NANCY told Hannah Gruen her plan. She believed that Felix Raybolt was hiding somewhere near the ruined estate, perhaps in the dense woods which adjoined the property, and she proposed to watch the place for a return visit.

  “It’s said that a criminal always returns to the scene of his crime,” she declared. “And he has a special reason, besides—to get something out of the secret hiding place. Up till now, I understand, police guards have been stationed on the grounds day and night. The special investigators from out of town expected to finish their examination of the ruins today, and the guards would no longer be necessary.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Mrs. Gruen asked.

  “Bess and George and I will watch for him tonight. We may waste our time, but I have a feeling—I can’t explain it—that we’ll catch him near the burned house.”

  “It sounds risky, Nancy. How about taking a man with you?”

  “Dad won’t be home to supper. He’ll be out for the evening.” After a pause Nancy added, “Maybe I can get Ned Nickerson.”

  “Please do that.”

  Nancy telephoned Ned’s house but there was no answer. “I’ll stop there when I get to Mapleton,” she told Hannah.

  When George received Nancy’s call, she was intrigued to hear about the secret hiding place where Mr. Raybolt kept valuable papers.

  “Where do you suppose it is—or was?” George asked.

  “If it’s still intact,” Nancy replied, “there’s only one spot for a hiding place—behind the stones of the cellar wall. Even if Mr. Raybolt doesn’t show up, I’d like to try to find it. So come dressed for some digging!”

  Nancy made the same request of Bess and added that she would pick her up in forty-five minutes.

  “Fine,” said Bess. “That’ll give me time to eat and get dressed. I’ll be ready.”

  Finally the girls were on their way to Mapleton.

  “It’s going to be pretty dark tonight,” Bess commented. “There’ll be no moon.”

  “So much the better,” Nancy declared. “Mr. Raybolt probably wouldn’t venture to return if he thought there would be any danger of his being detected.”

  “Your plan sounds dangerous to me,” Bess remarked. “What if Mr. Raybolt should come and make trouble?”

  “We’d be three to one,” Nancy returned. “Of course it would be better if we had a man along. I’m going to stop at Ned’s house and see if he can come with us.”

  “Good!”

  The sun was sinking low when Nancy swung into Mapleton. The girls stopped at the Nickerson residence which was on their route, but were disappointed to learn that Ned had not returned home after driving Mrs. Swenson and Honey to Sandy Creek.

  “Who knows—maybe he’s off hunting for Foxy Felix,” Nancy said to her friends. “I’ll leave a note for him, and if he should get back in time, he might follow us to the estate.”

  She quickly wrote a message and gave it to Ned’s mother. Mrs. Nickerson promised to deliver it the moment her son came home.

  As they drove away from the Nickerson home, Bess said nervously, “I have a feeling something dreadful is going to happen tonight. It wouldn’t be so bad if there only were other houses close by, but they’re so far away, the neighbors wouldn’t hear us even if we screamed for help.”

  “Calm down,” Nancy advised. “Three strong, capable girls like ourselves shouldn’t need any help.”

  “I’d be a match for Foxy Felix myself,” George boasted. “Look at my arm muscles. I assure you I haven’t wasted all the time I spent in the gym.”

  Dusk was just settling when the girls came within sight of the burned mansion. The Raybolt estate looked unpleasantly lonely. Even George felt less inclined to joke as she realized that within a few moments it would be dark.

  Nancy drove past the estate and hid the convertible in a dense clump of trees.

  “We’ll leave the car here,” she said, “and go quietly up the driveway.”

  The girls armed themselves with flashlights, a pick, and two lightweight shovels. Then they went cautiously along the road and turned into the estate. No one came to challenge them as they reached the ruined house. A few charred beams which had not fallen to the ground stood like sentinels guarding the wreckage. In the dimness the girls could easily imagine that they were ghostly figures.<
br />
  “This is going to be spookier than I figured,” Bess chattered nervously. “Nancy, you do have the wildest ideas.”

  The girl detective did not reply to this. When she was fairly certain no one else was around, she turned on her flashlight and played it on the stone walls of the house’s foundation. Nancy realized it would be a herculean task to move the debris away to inspect them. Nevertheless, she set the light on a pile of rubble and began to shovel away a heap of plaster.

  “What do you expect to find?” George asked, turning on her flashlight and setting it down. “And tell me how I can help.”

  “A safe,” Nancy answered. “And how about you girls taking turns with the pick and shovel? The other one act as lookout.”

  Bess posted herself as guard while the others worked. Nancy and George uncovered several feet of wall but found no loose stones or anything indicating a section to open. The stones were tightly cemented.

  Suddenly Bess whispered hoarsely, “Put out the lights! I hear someone coming!”

  The flashes were clicked off and the three girls crouched down. They could hear nothing now.

  “I’m sure I wasn’t mistaken,” Bess said.

  “I believe we had better quit this work and hide,” said Nancy. “If Mr. Raybolt is coming, he’ll probably be here soon.”

  “Maybe he’s the person I heard,” Bess whispered.

  “All the more reason for us to pretend to be leaving in case he’s watching us,” George spoke up.

  The girls left the ruins without turning on their lights, stumbling and falling over the debris. They went down the driveway, but before reaching the end, Nancy said, “Let’s leave the tools here, go into the woods, and sneak back toward the ruins.”

  They hid the pick and shovels and retraced their steps. Nancy found a place behind a clump of bushes only a short distance from the ruins. The shrubs concealed the girls, yet disclosed a view of the driveway and the woods. Nancy and her friends settled themselves as comfortably as possible. But from the first, insects made it plain that they resented the intrusion.