The Clue in the Old Album

by Carolyn G. Keene

  “I don’t!” Nancy said, and hung up. She leaned against the side of the telephone booth and laughed. “Whew! I’m glad that’s over! The clue didn’t get me anywhere, but I’ll see that Miss Euphemia Struthers’ album is returned to her. I wonder what Nanny Dew did with the photographs?”

  Nancy pushed the door of the booth open and went direct to the taxi stand. Ten minutes later she rang the bell of her aunt’s apartment. Miss Drew, an attractive middle-aged schoolteacher, greeted Nancy with open arms.

  “This is the nicest thing that’s happened to me this vacation,” Aunt Eloise said, as she helped her niece unpack the few clothes she had brought along.

  “Either you don’t intend to stay long or you left home in a hurry,” Miss Drew teased.

  “Neither. Guess again.” Nancy laughed. “I’m going shopping.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you, Nancy. Are you sure there isn’t some other reason for this visit?”

  “I see I can’t keep secrets from you, Aunt Lou!”

  Nancy described her new mystery and her hope of tracing Romano Pepito through Alfred Blackwell by questioning him after the concert the next evening.

  “I’ll get tickets for us,” Aunt Eloise offered.

  Nancy spent a happy evening with her aunt and the next day they shopped for several hours. Nancy purchased a dress to wear to the concert. She and Miss Drew arrived early, and Nancy handed the usher a note to take to the violinist.

  Nancy thought Blackwell’s playing was even more wonderful than it had been when she heard him in River Heights. Just before the second half of the program began, the usher gave Nancy an answer to her note. It invited the girl and her aunt to go backstage to see the artist immediately after the concert.

  “Now if he can only give me a clue to the Struthers’ mystery!” she thought, excited.

  When they met Alfred Blackwell he not only remembered having met Nancy in River Heights but expressed great pleasure that she and her aunt had come to hear him. They in turn told the violinist how much they had enjoyed his performance. Then Nancy explained the purpose of her request to see him.

  “Romano Pepito?” Mr. Blackwell repeated. “Ah, yes, I know him. I’ve heard him play many times. He is a fine violinist. His music expresses the depths of gloom and the heights of joy so well known to gypsies.”

  “Where is he now?” Nancy asked.

  “That I could not say. I haven’t seen him for over three years. You know him?”

  “No, but I’d like to meet Mr. Pepito.”

  “Perhaps I can help you. Can you and your aunt come to my hotel tomorrow morning?”

  Nancy looked at her aunt, who nodded assent. At eleven o’clock the following day they went to the violinist’s suite. He greeted them cordially but said he had disappointing news.

  “I couldn’t find out anything about Romano Pepito,” he said. “The man seems to have vanished from the music world, though there has been no report of his death.”

  Mr. Blackwell picked up a photograph and handed it to Nancy. “A very good picture of Romano,” he explained. “Isn’t he handsome?”

  “He certainly is. It’s important that I find him.”

  “If this picture will help you, please take it,” Alfred Blackwell offered. “Is Romano in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not that I know of,” Nancy answered evasively. “I’m interested in all talented gypsies.”

  Alfred Blackwell nodded as if satisfied with the explanation. “In that case you must meet my friend Marquita,” he said.

  “You mean the movie actress?” Nancy’s aunt inquired. “She was very good in her latest film.”

  “Yes, her new picture is to open here this week. Marquita is a Spanish gypsy, and one of the most unselfish, beautiful women I have ever known.”

  “Is she in New York now?” Nancy asked.

  “I believe so. Wait, I’ll find out.”

  The violinist called the theatrical agent who arranged all Marquita’s engagements. From him Mr. Blackwell learned that the actress had arrived the day before.

  “We’ll go to her apartment,” Alfred Blackwell decided impulsively. “She refuses to have a phone, or I’d call her.”

  He and the two Drews taxied to the actress’s apartment. To Nancy’s amazement Marquita did not reside in an exclusive neighborhood.

  “Marquita makes a large salary but spends little of it on herself,” the violinist explained. “I sometimes wonder if it isn’t because she’s compelled to turn over the major part of her earnings to the Gypsy group of which she remains a member.”

  The woman, dark, beautiful, and exotic looking, opened the door. She wore plain, inexpensive clothes. Her apartment also was sparsely furnished. Marquita greeted them cordially.

  Before she had a chance to ask her callers to be seated, Mr. Blackwell said, “Suppose we all go to lunch to that famous Hungarian restaurant on the next block.”

  Marquita offered no protest, and the Drews’ objections were quickly overridden. At the restaurant Alfred Blackwell ordered a full-course meal for each one.

  Nancy sought to draw Marquita into a discussion of gypsy customs and superstitions. The actress answered the questions politely but reluctantly. She could give no information about Romano Pepito and seemed disinterested in the subject of dolls or albums.

  “Gypsies do not have albums,” she said.

  Nancy made a final attempt to get a clue from Marquita by asking whether gypsies who had been banished from a tribe could be reinstated.

  “The old tribal law is becoming more liberal,” Marquita admitted. “It depends on the tribe, though. Some leaders allow certain members to go out into the world. Others are not allowed to leave.”

  Out of consideration for her host, Nancy did not pursue the subject. The rest of the lunch hour was gay, and the guests were profuse in their thanks to Alfred Blackwell for his kindness.

  The next morning Nancy and her aunt went to the doll sale. Several fine ones were on display. Many duplicated those already in Mrs. Struthers’ collection, but one caught Nancy’s attention. She listened carefully to a description of it when the auctioneer put the doll up for sale.

  He explained that it dated back to Civil War days and had been used to carry messages and even quinine medicine through enemy lines. He demonstrated how the head could be removed by a sudden quick turn. Beneath it was a cavity where the precious drug and notes had been secreted.

  “There’s a story that children were allowed to visit their fathers who were war prisoners of the enemy. They carried the dolls through the lines, and no one suspected that they were helping their parents trick the enemy,” he continued. “A guaranteed authentic collector’s item! Now what am I offered?”

  “I believe I’ll buy that for Mrs. Struthers’ collection if the bidding doesn’t go too high,” Nancy whispered to her aunt.

  Several persons made bids. As the price rose, everyone dropped out except Nancy and a woman at the rear of the room.

  “She sounds like Nitaka!” Nancy thought, turning around.

  The woman wore a large hat and scarf that covered the side of her face. “Maybe she wants that doll because it has something to do with the Struthers’ case,” Nancy reasoned.

  Quickly the girl made another bid for the doll. The woman topped her offer by a large amount. Nancy raised the bid, but this time her competitor said nothing.

  The auctioneer called, “Sold to the young lady down front!”

  The woman at the rear of the room muttered angrily and departed.

  “She is Nitaka!” Nancy decided, as the gypsy’s scarf blew aside and revealed her carrot-colored hair.

  Nancy decided to follow the woman. Quickly she explained her plan to her aunt and asked Miss Drew to pay for the doll and take it home with her.

  “Please be careful,” Aunt Eloise pleaded.

  “I will. Meet you at the apartment.”

  Nancy trailed the gypsy to a subway station, where she nearly lost Nitaka as the woman boarded a
train. The young sleuth dashed in just as the door closed. When Nitaka left the train, fifteen minutes later, Nancy climbed the stairs to the street a short distance behind her.

  The woman turned into a large but shabby-looking apartment house. Nancy reached the building a few seconds later, but could find no trace of Nitaka in the dimly lighted halL

  Annoyed and puzzled, she questioned a group of children who were playing on the sidewalk. They had not noticed the woman. On a sudden hunch Nancy asked them if any gypsies lived in the building.

  “Are you a policewoman?” one of the boys demanded, his eyes showing fright.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Did you come to have your fortune told?”

  “If I can find a gypsy to read my palm, I will,” Nancy answered. She hoped the boy could lead her to Nitaka.

  “My grandmother tells fortunes,” the lad declared.

  “You’re not a gypsy, are you?”

  “Sure I am, and so’s my grandmother. She tells swell fortunes, only the police won’t let her charge anything. ’Course if you like the fortune you can give her a gift. The police wouldn’t care about that.”

  “I see,” Nancy said. “Where is your grandmother?”

  “Upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  The dark-eyed boy motioned for Nancy to follow him inside. Excited, she started across the sidewalk after him. Then she paused. Would she run into danger if Nitaka should catch sight of her?

  “Come on!” the boy urged. “My grandmother won’t see anybody after twelve o’clock and it’s five minutes to twelve now!”

  Nancy felt that there might possibly be some connection between Nitaka and the old gypsy woman. If she did not follow this very minute, she would miss her chance!

  CHAPTER VIII

  The Fortuneteller’s Trick

  AS NANCY hesitated another moment and debated what to do, someone called her name. She turned and saw a young woman in a blue suit.

  “Why, Alice, where in the world did you come from?” she cried.

  “Nancy Drew! It’s good to see you again. What a wonderful surprise!” Alice Crosby exclaimed. She was the friend whom Nancy had intended to look up. The young woman said she was investigating a social-service case in the neighborhood.

  “And what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I was just going to have my fortune told by a gypsy,” Nancy replied with a significant wink. “Want to join me?”

  “You bet I will. I’d love to have my fortune told, too.” She winked back.

  The friends followed the boy up the stuffy, dirty stairway to the third floor. From behind a closed door came the voices of two women quarreling. They spoke partly in Romany, partly in English.

  “We need money for the Cause, I tell you! No excuses!” one of them said.

  Nitaka!

  “You are behind in your payments! I must have at least one hundred dollars!” she cried.

  “Oh, we are poor. We have no money,” the other woman said with a whine. “The police stopped me from working. We can’t even get enough money for food!”

  “Food! Is not salvation for all of us more important? Give me the money!”

  As Nancy listened, her pulses quickened. Why was Nitaka demanding money? What was the Cause?

  “Wait here,” the gypsy boy said. “I’ll tell Grandmother you want your fortune told.”

  Before Nancy could restrain him, the boy burst through the door, shouting, “Customers!”

  Instantly there was a hubbub inside. Chairs were pushed about and a door slammed. It was a few minutes before anyone appeared to greet the callers. Then a bent old woman hobbled into the outer room where Alice and Nancy stood. She had on a red flared skirt, and a yellow silk scarf draped completely over her head, face, and blouse.

  “Hello, my pretties,” she cackled in a high-pitched voice.

  “We’ve come to have our fortunes told,” Nancy said.

  “You come too late,” the gypsy croaked. “No longer do I take money for telling fortunes. The police will not allow it.”

  “But you could accept a gift?”

  “What do you offer?”

  Nancy took an attractive gold chain from her purse. The gypsy’s dark eyes gleamed.

  “Sit down!” she ordered and pushed Nancy into a chair. “I will tell only one fortune—yours. Give me your gift.”

  Nancy handed over the chain. The gypsy took the girl’s hand in her own and stared fixedly at the lines. Nancy in turn gazed down at the fortuneteller’s hands. She was surprised to note that the flesh was as firm and hard as that of a young person.

  “You do not live in New York,” the gypsy said rapidly in her raspy voice. “I see you come here on a special mission to find someone. Am I right?”

  “Possibly.”

  “You seek to find that which never will come to you,” the woman continued. “If you value your life, you will return quickly to your home and stay there. Good times lie ahead of you. I see much money, but only if you give up your present search and cease meddling in the affairs of others!”

  “Interesting,” Nancy commented. She decided upon a bold move. “As it happens, I came to this very house to find a woman named Nitaka. I wish to talk to her.”

  The gypsy’s hand jerked away from hers.

  “Nitaka has gone!” she muttered. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “She has not been here for a long time.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Nancy replied, “because I heard her voice a few minutes ago. She must be in this apartment!”

  “Nitaka is not here!” the gypsy repeated. “You do not believe me? Then look around and let your eyes tell you so.”

  Nancy needed no second invitation. She opened a door to an adjoining room and walked in. Alice followed her. Huddled in a dark corner was an old gypsy woman. She was fully dressed except for a skirt.

  Instantly Nancy realized that a trick had been played on her. The fortuneteller outside was not the gypsy lad’s grandmother, but Nitaka! She had put on the older woman’s skirt, and had hidden her face under the scarf!

  Too late Nancy wheeled. Already Nitaka had disappeared into the hall. She had stripped off the skirt and scarf, which lay on the floor.

  “Stop her, Alice!” Nancy urged.

  The two girls rushed to the door but Nitaka was almost at the foot of the lowest stairway. All they could see was the top of her head. A moment later the carrot-haired woman reached the street.

  “No use following her,” Alice advised. “And I must leave soon.”

  She and Nancy went back to the apartment to find out what they could about Nitaka from the old gypsy and the little boy. After persistent questioning, they learned that Nitaka had been there several times. She tried to force them to pay tribute.

  “Why do you give her money?” Nancy asked.

  “We are afraid not to.” The old grandmother sighed. “Nitaka says the king of all gypsies will harm us if we do not obey her,”

  “I don’t think you need worry any more,” Nancy said kindly. “Surely Nitaka will not come back here to bother you now that we’ve found her out.” She turned to Alice and whispered, “I think we’d better report Nitaka to the authorities.”

  The girls left the apartment and hurried down the creaking stairs to the street.

  “My, it’s good to breathe fresh air again!” Alice remarked. “It was terribly smelly up there. I’ll bet those rooms haven’t been cleaned and aired in a long time. I must look into that situation. Those people probably need help.”

  “Do you know where the nearest police station is?” Nancy asked.

  Alice, familiar with this part of the city, led Nancy to one a few blocks away. A pleasant lieutenant at the desk greeted them. The girls told him about Nitaka and suggested that the police watch for her on the chance she might return.

  “I’ll send a plainclothesman over there at once,” he promised.

  Nancy and Alice thanked him and left. The girls chatted for a while. Then, after
making a date to meet for lunch the next day, they parted.

  As Nancy walked toward the subway station, she found herself intrigued by the stores. In the window of a small antique shop several plush-covered albums were on display. “I’ll go inside and ask about them,” she decided.

  The old storekeeper was not pleasant. “It’s a nuisance to get things out of the window!” he complained. “Folks always want to look, and never buy! I’m getting plumb tired of it!”

  “I’ll buy one if I find the kind I’m looking for,” Nancy told him.

  Grudgingly the man got them out one by one. He observed Nancy’s disappointed expression as she fingered through the albums. He offered her several others, which he took from beneath the counter. One had a red morocco-leather cover, trimmed in bands of gold leaf, with a gilt fastener. Another was of faded-blue satin with an ivory clasp and tiny yellow rosebuds painted on it.

  “This old blue one contains verses,” the man said. “Silly stuff. But you could tear out the pages and put in new ones,” he suggested.

  The shopkeeper thumbed through the album to a passage, which he read, “ ‘For if kith and kin and all had sworn, I’ll follow the gypsy laddie.’ Now does that make sense?”

  “I think it does,” Nancy said, excited. “A person who had decided to take up his lot with the gypsies might have written it. May I see the album, please?”

  Unable to hide her eagerness, Nancy scanned the pages. On the very last one she was astounded to come across a familiar quotation. Written in bold black ink was the sentence:

  The source of light will heal all ills,

  but a curse will follow him who takes

  it from the gypsies.

  Henrietta Bostwick

  It was the same quotation that Mrs. Struthers had found in her album!

  Thrilled by the discovery, Nancy turned back to the first page. A name, probably that of the original owner, had been written there, but the ink had faded and she could not decipher it.

  “This album must have an interesting history,” Nancy remarked to the shopkeeper. “Where did you get it?”