“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.”
“Of course,” Nancy agreed. “But I had hoped you’d be able to tell me about a pit of China clay in this region. It’s supposed to be near Masonville.”
Professor Monroe rubbed his nose. “Don’t know much about the land around Masonville,” he replied. “Had to give up my field trips when I injured my leg in a fall six years ago. That’s when I retired. Before that, I lived in Philadelphia.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Nancy said, rising.
“Say, wait a minute!” Miles Monroe burst out suddenly. “There’s one section I had an interest in and was always going to get to. It’s a stretch of woods several miles out of River Heights toward Masonville.”
He gave her directions for reaching it.
“There’s an abandoned Civil War iron mine and smelter out there, I was told. It may have a leaning chimney. If you find a China clay pit, I would like to know about it.”
Nancy thanked him for the information. She was glad to have the lead, slim as it was.
Professor Monroe walked to the door with her, and she went down to her car. Then she drove to George’s home.
Her friend was mowing the front lawn. Seated on the ground was Bess, clipping a hedge.
Nancy tooted her horn. The two girls looked up and ran to the car.
“I’m going for a short drive in the country. Just got a new lead on the leaning chimney,” Nancy told them. “Want to come along?”
Bess eyed her friend suspiciously. “What do we have to do?” she asked.
“What difference does it make as long as it’s fun!” scoffed George. She slid into the seat beside Nancy.
“Okay. I’ll go tell your mother where we’re going, George.”
Bess returned in a moment and hopped into the convertible. Nancy headed for Three Bridges Road.
“Oh, my goodness!” Bess exclaimed as they neared Hunter’s Bridge. “This awful place again!”
“But this time we’re not stopping,” Nancy reassured her, and Bess sighed in relief.
Shortly after crossing Hunter’s Bridge they came to a narrow gravel road which veered to the right. Nancy turned the car onto it.
After traveling about eight miles from River Heights, she pulled up under a tree and stopped. The three girls got out and started through the woods to search for the abandoned mine.
They walked for nearly an hour among trees and through stony pastures, climbing old, rotted fences and slapping at insects. Bess’s enthusiasm began to wane.
“I’m tired,” she moaned. “Let’s go back. I’ll bet Professor Monroe doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Even George and Nancy wondered whether the old mine really existed.
“Just a little farther,” Nancy urged.
“We’ll be in the next state,” joked George. “But I’m willing.”
The three trudged on, when suddenly a barrier loomed up ahead. It was a high, board fence, topped by strands of rusty barbed wire. The three girls stopped and stared in amazement.
“Why would anyone put up such a thing in this wilderness?” Bess asked.
The girls inspected the fence closely. It was about ten feet high. The boards adjoined one another so snugly that only the narrowest of cracks appeared between them. Nancy tried to peer through one to see what lay on the other side, but she could make out nothing.
“Hypers!” exclaimed George. “The fence must be five hundred feet long!”
“Come on,” Nancy urged. “Let’s try to find an opening we can see through.”
The girls walked along the fence, their eyes probing for a gate or a wide crack.
“Here’s the end of the fence,” announced Nancy, who was in the lead.
Indeed, it looked like the end, but it was only the end of one side. The board barrier turned sharply at a right angle and continued another two hundred and fifty feet.
When the girls arrived at the middle of the second stretch of fence, Nancy’s alert eyes spotted a small knothole.
“At last!” she exclaimed.
Stepping up eagerly, she closed one eye and peeked through the hole with the other. At first she was unable to see much because of a growth of trees and bushes. Then, shifting her gaze, Nancy saw an old, battered brick wall running parallel to the fence, a short distance back from it. The wall was about eight feet high and was topped by a sloping roof. Obviously it was part of a building. But within the range of her vision Nancy could see no windows.
“Find anything?” George asked impatiently.
“Only an old—” Nancy stopped speaking as she caught sight of something jutting from the roof of the building. Then she cried excitedly:
“Girls, it’s a leaning chimney!”
CHAPTER VIII
Mystery in Manhattan
“LET me see!” George exclaimed excitedly.
Nancy stepped aside so the dark-haired girl could look through the knothole.
“Maybe it’s the abandoned iron mine and smelter!” put in Bess.
“There are so many trees, it’s hard to see just what’s inside,” George said.
“If this is the leaning chimney we’re looking for,” Nancy reasoned, “the China clay pit must be somewhere nearby. Possibly inside the fence.”
“Let’s go,” she suggested, starting along the enclosure. “There must be an opening somewhere.”
“You lose,” retorted George as the trio rounded the edge of the fence.
No opening was in sight. Instead, the unbroken expanse of boards extended another five hundred feet.
When the girls reached the end of this, the fence took another right angle turn. This time it stretched two hundred and fifty feet.
Bess groaned. “Oh, I’m so tired—and hungry.”
“Perhaps,” teased George, “there’s a baseball park inside. If there is, we’ll stop at the frankfurter stand.”
“Think we’ll need a helicopter to get inside,” Nancy joked, examining the boards closely. “These planks are certainly fitted tight together.”
As they walked on, she kept turning over in her mind several things that mystified her: the air of secrecy about the enclosure, the seeming lack of doors, and the apparent lack of activity.
“Since we can’t get in,” Nancy said, “I’m going to try looking inside to see if I can spot any clay pit.”
Making her way to a nearby tree, she shinned up to the first branch, then swung herself into the crotch of the tree.
“Find anything?” George asked.
“I can’t see much better from here,” Nancy reported. “Too many trees inside.”
Suddenly she was struck by something near the top of the leaning chimney. It was a rusted iron ornament fastened to the bricks.
“What does it look like?” asked George when Nancy reported her discovery.
“A lot of crisscross bars,” Nancy replied. “Maybe the coat of arms of the old mine owner.”
As she climbed down, Bess called from a distance, where she was standing on a little knoll. “I’ve got a good view of it from here.”
George started for the spot when suddenly Bess let out a terrifying scream. Her two friends ran toward her. When they reached the knoll, Bess was trembling with fear.
“What happened?” Nancy demanded.
“Oh, N-Nancy,” Bess said, pointing, “I saw a bony hand reach out of the chimney!”
Nancy and George looked. There was no sign of a hand. Bess said she had closed her eyes a moment to shut out the weird sight. When she had opened them again, the hand was gone.
“I think you’re goofy,” George scoffed. “A person sees things when he gets tired.”
“I’m not that tired,” Bess retorted. “I saw it. I know I did.”
In panic she d
ashed through the woods toward Nancy’s car. There was nothing for the other girls to do but follow her.
Nancy started the motor. Soon they were a good distance from the eerie spot.
“I never want to go there again,” Bess declared.
“Not even to help your cousin Dick?” Nancy asked with a grin.
Bess finally conceded maybe she would get over her fright, and she did want Dick to acquire the special clay if possible.
After Nancy drove the girls to their homes, she decided to drop into Dick’s shop and tell him of her latest discovery. She found a high school boy, who clerked for the young pottery maker after school, behind the counter.
“Would you like something, miss?” he asked.
“I’d like to see Mr. Milton.”
“He’s busy in the back of the shop right now,” the boy answered. “But he’ll be through in a minute. Will you wait?”
Nancy smiled. “He’s a friend of mine,” she said. “I’ll go back and see him.”
In the rear room Dick was engrossed at the potter’s wheel, his sandy hair tumbling over his forehead. He was so busy he did not notice his caller.
Nancy watched while Dick deftly pressed a lump of clay on the center of the wheel, then allowed it to rise between his fingers in a spiral column before depressing it.
Once more the column spiraled. The young man again pushed it down, at the same time centering and truing the clay. Then he pressed his thumbs into the soft clay, rapidly forming a cylinder.
With one hand inside the cylinder and the other outside, Dick molded the clay into the thickness he desired. Nancy now saw the cylinder shape like magic into a large jar.
Dick snapped off a switch and the whirring wheel slowly stopped. As he turned around, a look of pleased surprise spread over his face.
“Nancy Drew! How did you get here?”
“Simple. That jar you just made is Aladdin’s lamp. You rubbed it ... and I appeared!”
Dick laughed, then grew sober. “I wish we could conjure up a genie to find that China clay pit,” he said a bit ruefully.
“Maybe we don’t need a genie,” said Nancy.
“What do you mean?”
“We may have found the leaning chimney!” Nancy beamed.
Dick gasped. “Honestly?”
“I don’t know yet.” Nancy told Dick what she and her friends had discovered. “I’m going back soon to look more thoroughly.”
A boyish smile of hope lit Dick’s face as he escorted Nancy to the door.
“I’ll keep you posted on further developments,” Nancy promised.
After dinner that evening she accompanied her father to his study on the second floor.
“You’re up to something, young lady,” he said shrewdly. “What is it?”
Nancy told him of her visit to the strange enclosure. Mr. Drew frowned.
“I don’t like the sound of it,” he said. “Strikes me as a good place to stay away from.”
“But, Dad!” Nancy protested, her blue eyes growing large with emphasis. “There may be a valuable pit of China clay around there. And if I don’t go back, I’ll never find out!”
“If it’s inside the fence, the owner probably won’t want to sell the clay, anyway,” Mr. Drew reminded his daughter. “Well, look around if you wish. But be careful. Don’t go there alone.”
“All right,” she promised.
Carson Drew took a paper from his pocket and said, “I have a clue, too. It’s about the Engs.”
“What is it?” Nancy asked eagerly.
“I received a phone call from San Francisco this afternoon,” Mr. Drew explained, “and my secretary wrote down this report.” He settled back in his chair and continued:
“It says that when the Engs arrived in San Francisco, on their trip to the United States, they were met at the dock by a man named David Carr.
“Carr was sales representative for the West Coast Trading Company, a San Francisco importing house,” Mr. Drew went on. “He and Eng Moy apparently were acquainted as the result of business dealings. When the Engs left San Francisco on their tour of United States pottery plants, Carr went with them.”
“Does the report mention what David Carr looks like?” Nancy asked.
“No. The report says there doesn’t appear to be any photograph or description of him available. Even the officials of the importing company can’t furnish any clues. It seems that Carr did practically all his work for them in China; contacted them by mail. Then, about the time he met the Engs in San Francisco, he dropped out of sight.”
“Maybe Carr has something to do with the Engs’ disappearance,” Nancy speculated.
“Could be,” her father agreed. He put the report away. “Anyway, it’s a clue to work on.”
As Nancy pondered, she glanced idly at a New York City newspaper which lay on her father’s desk. Suddenly a small black headline caught her eye. She picked up the paper and scanned the story, then read it to her father.
It described a robbery that had taken place in New York. An ancient Chinese tea jar, dating from the Sung dynasty, had been stolen from the delivery truck of the Sen-yung Oriental Gift Shop on Madison Avenue.
“That’s the place where Mr. Townsend bought the vase for his wife; the one stolen during the party!” Nancy exclaimed. “I’ll bet there’s some connection between the two robberies!”
She decided to put in a long-distance call to the gift shop the following morning and find out if the thief had been arrested.
“He may be the same person who stole Mrs. Townsend’s vase!” Nancy cried excitedly.
Mr. Drew smiled. “Why not call the New York police tonight?” he suggested. “I’ll do it for you if you like.”
In a few minutes he had the desired information. The thief was still at large.
“How would you like to go to New York and talk to the owner of the gift shop yourself?” Mr. Drew suggested. “You’ll get more information that way. Besides, you’ll be able to spend a few days with Aunt Eloise.”
“It’s a deal!” exclaimed Nancy as she hugged her father. She had put off visiting her father’s sister, Miss Eloise Drew, for far too long. “I’ll catch the morning plane if I can get a reservation,” she decided.
Fortunately, when she telephoned the airport, she was able to get a seat. Then she wired her aunt, telling of her time of arrival.
She slipped into bed with her head full of anticipation. New York always held a thrill for her!
Nancy was awakened the next morning by a small, cold nose sniffing her hand. She sat up to see Togo, her little fox terrier, squatting on her suitcase, his eyes fixed on her anxiously. His stubby tail began to wag while he whimpered pleadingly.
“No, Togo.” Nancy yawned. “You can’t come.”
She rose and dressed quickly. Two hours later Nancy boarded the plane to New York. The trip was smooth and pleasant. A moment after the plane landed, Nancy saw her aunt, a tall, attractive woman of middle age.
Miss Drew, whom Nancy strikingly resembled, possessed a charming grace which marked her as a woman of unusual intelligence.
Eloise Drew knew that Nancy was a lot like her, and secretly this gave her a thrill. Years before, when Nancy had lost her mother, Miss Drew had considered coming to live with her brother. But the private school where she taught, and in which she had a financial interest, needed her, too. When Hannah Gruen had proved so satisfactory, Miss Drew had decided to remain in New York. But she enjoyed her niece’s visits immensely.
“You look wonderful, Nancy!” she said as they embraced. “And how’s your father?”
“He’s fine,” Nancy replied, squeezing her aunt’s hand.
The luncheon hour was made particularly exciting by the young detective’s tale of the stolen potteries. At the end of the meal, Miss Drew readily agreed to Nancy’s suggestion that they taxi to Sen-yung’s Oriental Gift Shop.
Some time later their cab swung out of the heavy traffic on Madison Avenue and pulled up before the store. Nancy
and her aunt stood outside a moment to admire the exotic and colorful Chinese potteries and jewelry, and odd pieces of Oriental bric-a-brac displayed in a large plate-glass window. Then they entered the shop.
Three men, one in deliveryman’s uniform, were talking at the rear of the store. One of them came forward as Nancy and her aunt entered.
Nancy hesitated. The name of the proprietor painted on the display window was Chinese, but the man who confronted her was not an Oriental.
“Is Mr. Sen-yung here?” she inquired.
The man shook his head regretfully. “Mr. Sen-yung has been at home ill for the past six weeks,” he informed her. “Is there anything I can do for you? I’m John Tallow, Mr. Sen-yung’s partner.”
“I’m sure you can help.” Nancy smiled. “Some time ago Mr. Townsend of River Heights purchased a lovely Ming vase here. I’d like to find out who sold you the vase.”
“Mr. Townsend?” the man repeated slowly. “Just a moment. I’ll look up the sale in my books.”
He went into an office at the rear of the store. As Nancy and her aunt wandered about, examining the beautiful jewelry and porcelain, Nancy could plainly hear the other two men talking. She realized at once that one was a detective. It was evident from their conversation that the deliveryman was the driver of the truck from which the Sung tea jar had been stolen.
“I didn’t get a good look at him,” she heard the deliveryman say. “I’d just lifted the jar out of the truck to deliver it when I felt a gun at my back. Then a voice told me to get in the truck and drive away.”
Nancy stepped forward. She apologized for the interruption and explained her interest in the case. The detective told her to ask as many questions as she wished, but there was little that the deliveryman could add to his story.
“The thief’s hat was pulled down and his coat collar turned up,” he said flatly. “I was too busy worrying about what he was going to do with the gun to look at him much. I did what he told me to do—left the jar on the sidewalk and scrammed!”
Nancy was disappointed not to learn more. At that moment she felt her aunt’s hand on her sleeve.
“Do come and look at this vase,” Miss Drew urged. “It sounds like the one you were talking about.”
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