The conversation was abruptly cut short as an officer took the prisoner by the arm and led him away.
When they entered the outside room, Nancy and her friends found Mrs. Raybolt, slumped on a bench, sobbing. Nancy, provoked that the woman had testified unfairly against Joe Swenson, started to pass her without a word. Then pity surmounted indignation and she paused.
“Don’t grieve about your husband,” Nancy pleaded. “He’ll be found alive—I feel confident of it.”
Mrs. Raybolt wiped her eyes and stood up. She glared at Nancy with an almost insane look in her eyes.
“You dare to tell me that!” she cried out. “You’re an accomplice of Joe Swenson! My husband is gone! You probably helped plot his death!”
Mrs. Raybolt slapped Nancy’s face, then began to shake the girl by her shoulders.
“Captain,” she screamed, “come here! I demand that you arrest this—this accomplice!”
CHAPTER XVI
A New Assignment
SHOCKED by Mrs. Raybolt’s angry outburst, Nancy stepped back to dodge the blows.
Bess and George had jumped forward to her defense. But just then a sergeant burst into the room and interceded. Mrs. Raybolt stopped fighting with her fists but not with her tongue.
“I demand the arrest of this girl! She’s in league with Joe Swenson and helped to kill my husband!” she screamed.
At this point Captain Johnson appeared. “Mrs. Raybolt,” he said sternly, “the law will handle this case. I advise you to calm down or you may find yourself in a hospital under the care of a psychiatrist.”
The distraught woman started to reply to this, but apparently thought better of it.
Nancy said calmly, “Mrs. Raybolt, I don’t blame you for being upset. But please try to believe that people are trying to help find your husband. The fire investigators are sure no one was in your home at the time of the explosion and fire. Therefore, Mr. Raybolt must be alive.”
“Then where is he?” Mrs. Raybolt demanded.
“No one knows.” Nancy looked directly at the woman. “Unless you do,” she added disarmingly.
Mrs. Raybolt gave a startled quiver. Then she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. The others in the room looked at one another. Was the answer going to be yes or no?
Nancy had a strong hunch that it should be yes, but that as soon as Mrs. Raybolt recovered from the shock of Nancy’s unexpected question, she would say no. Finally the woman raised her head. She did not have the look of a grief-stricken widow. Instead, she glared balefully at Nancy.
“This girl is crazy,” she said. “Another one of those meddling teen-agers. Why doesn’t she stay out of other people’s business? Of course I haven’t heard from Felix. How could I? He’s dead! I tell you he’s dead!” Mrs. Raybolt’s voice had risen to a high pitch.
Captain Johnson asked a sergeant to take Mrs. Raybolt to her car, but requested that the girls remain. After the woman had gone, the officer asked Nancy what had prompted her question.
The girl detective smiled. “I’m sure that many other people think Mr. Raybolt is alive. He has the reputation of having cheated people, including poor Mr. Swenson. Talk is going around that he felt it best to disappear. But wouldn’t he get in touch with his wife?”
The police captain looked at Nancy in astonishment. “You are a very clear thinker,” he said. “The theory that Mr. Raybolt is alive is being worked on. Hospitals, airlines, railroad companies, steamship companies—all have been questioned. No clues have come up yet.”
Nancy thanked the officer for the information, then said, “I hope Mr. Raybolt will be found, and when he is, that he will clear Mr. Swenson of any blame in connection with the fire.”
The officer did not reply. Nancy turned to Bess and George. “I think we’d better leave now.”
When they reached the sidewalk, George said, “Wow! What a session! Where do we go from here?”
“Home,” Bess replied. “What a day this has been!”
“Do you insist?” Nancy asked.
Bess eyed her chum intently. “What’s on your mind?”
“I was wondering if Mr. Weston could help us clear Joe Swenson,” Nancy replied. “Do you mind driving back to Stanford with me so I can talk to him?”
“Let’s do it,” Bess urged. “Anything to help dear little Honey’s father.”
“I agree,” said George.
Nancy slid into the driver’s seat and took the main street which led toward the highway to Stanford. As the car passed one Mapleton store after another, Bess kept gazing at the window displays. Finally she asked Nancy to stop.
“I want to run in and buy a new dress for Honey,” she said.
“I’ll come with you and get her some underwear,” George spoke up.
Nancy chuckled. “I’ll follow and pick up some shoes for her. First I’ll phone Mr. Weston. If he can see us, I’ll call home and tell Hannah to notify your families.”
The friends alighted and Nancy hastened into a drug store to make the telephone calls. Then she went to a children’s shoe store. When she rejoined the cousins back at the car, the girls showed one another their purchases.
“They’re lovely,” said Nancy. “These things should make Honey very happy. Glad you thought of it, Bess. Mr. Weston will see us, so let’s go!”
They reached the impressive Weston home about six-thirty. Both the manufacturer and his wife were amazed to hear of the arrest of Joe Swenson, known as Joe Dahl.
“Even in the short time Dahl has been working for us, he has become a very valuable man in our organization,” the plant owner said. “On my desk is a recommendation from the manager for a promotion.”
“Then if he’s cleared of this charge against him,” said Nancy, “you’ll take him back?”
“Yes, indeed.”
The young sleuth gave Mr. Weston a warm smile in appreciation, then said, “I wonder if you or your factory manager can give us any information that might help to exonerate Mr. Swenson?”
The manufacturer thought for several seconds, then shook his head. He arose, went to the telephone, and called his plant manager. There was a lengthy conversation, then Mr. Weston came back to report:
“I’m afraid we haven’t any clues to help you, but my manager feels certain Mr. Dahl—that is, Swenson—would never resort to seeking revenge on an enemy. He is a highly ethical person. I’d be glad to defend him in this way.”
“I’ll pass the word along,” Nancy said. “Thank you so much.” She arose to leave.
At once Mrs. Weston insisted that the girls remain to dinner, an invitation which her husband heartily seconded.
“We wouldn’t think of your driving back to River Heights without first having something to eat,” he declared.
The girls were persuaded to stay. A four-course dinner was perfectly served by a butler. Mr. and Mrs. Weston were charmingly informal and conversation took on a less serious tone.
Soon after dinner the girls said good-by to the manufacturer and his wife and headed for River Heights. After taking her friends to their homes, Nancy continued to her own residence. She was surprised to see a familiar car standing at the curb.
“Ned must be here!” she thought. “I wonder if he has any news for me?”
She met the young man on the porch as he was leaving the house.
“Nancy, what luck!” he exclaimed with evident pleasure. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
“Any news?” Nancy inquired hopefully.
Ned shook his head regretfully. “I guess I’m not very good as a detective. I haven’t been able to learn anything of value. I just drove over thinking you might like to go to a movie with me.”
“I’ve already seen one today,” Nancy said. “And I’ve had all sorts of adventures. So, if you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here and talk. I have a lot to tell you.”
The suggestion was not displeasing to Ned, for he had mentioned the show merely as an excuse to spend the evening with Nancy.
“You look tired,” he said sympathetically. “I shouldn’t have come tonight.”
“I’m glad you did,” Nancy told him quickly. “There’s something I particularly want you to do for me.”
“At your service!”
Nancy then recounted to the astounded young man all that had happened at Stanford and Mapleton.
“Since you live in Mapleton, it will be easy for you to see Joe Swenson,” she concluded. “I wish you’d go to the jail and talk with him—try to cheer him up.”
“You bet your life I’ll go,” Ned assured her promptly. “Anything more I can do?”
“Well, tomorrow you might drive over to Sandy Creek and take some packages to Honey.” She indicated the gifts now lying on the hall table. “I’d go myself, only I want to concentrate on finding Mr. Raybolt.”
“I’ll be glad to go. I sure feel sorry for those folks. Tell you what! Suppose I take both of them —Mrs. Swenson and Honey—to see Joe. That should cheer him up a little.”
Ned and Nancy discussed the mystery of Felix Raybolt’s strange disappearance, and Ned was of the opinion, too, that Raybolt’s wife might know more than she was telling. It was his conviction that Raybolt had gone into hiding for some nefarious reason.
Seeing that Nancy was very weary, Ned cut his visit shorter than he had intended. When he left her it was with the promise that he would do all in his power to help her locate Felix Raybolt.
Nancy did not retire immediately. She noticed that a light was burning in her father’s study, and she decided to tell him her suspicions. He was buried deep in a lawbook, but he looked up and smiled as his daughter perched herself on the arm of his chair.
“Nancy, you look worried,” he observed. “I hope this new case of yours isn’t getting you down.”
“I’m worried about Joe Swenson,” she explained. “What do you think of his chances, Dad?”
“If the account on tonight’s newcast is correct, I’m of the opinion he’ll be convicted—unless Felix Raybolt shows up.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’m sure Mr. Raybolt must be hiding somewhere.”
“And I agree,” her father said. “Nancy, I obtained one bit of information today that might prove this. I thought you might track it down for me.”
CHAPTER XVII
An Important Clue
NANCY could hardly wait for her father to proceed. She left the arm of his chair and seated herself on a couch opposite him.
“As you recall,” the lawyer began, “I mentioned that Felix Raybolt practically had stolen my client’s invention—an improvement for an automatic elevator.”
Nancy leaned forward, listening intently as her father continued, “Mr. Simpson also feels that Raybolt may have decided matters were getting too hot for him and he’d better disappear. The other day Mr. Simpson’s wife happened to stop at a country store and gas station a few miles outside of Mapleton.
“A run-down old car with a shabby-looking driver was just pulling away. Mrs. Simpson had only a fleeting glimpse of the man, but she thinks he may have been Mr. Raybolt.”
“How exciting!” Nancy exclaimed. “Did she follow him?”
“No, but she asked the attendant about him. The man bought a large quantity of canned goods —including bread in tins.”
“Which makes it appear,” said Nancy, “that the man was going camping.”
“Exactly. Of course he may not have been Mr. Raybolt. The clerks in the store said the shabby-looking customer was a stranger to them. But I think the clue is worth investigating.”
“Oh, I agree. The man might have been Mr. Raybolt in disguise!” said Nancy eagerly. “I’ll get right to it and start by going to that store first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But not without Bess and George,” Mr. Drew insisted.
Nancy called the cousins at once. Both were enthusiastic about accompanying the girl detective, although Bess as usual said she hoped there would be no danger involved.
“Oh, by the way, Ned was here,” Nancy told her. “He’s going to deliver our gifts to Honey, then take her and her mother to see Mr. Swenson.”
“Good!” Bess giggled. “I see you’re starting this friendship with Ned correctly—make your date work for you!” She hung up before Nancy could retort.
The following morning the girls drove to the country store, made a few purchases, then asked if the stranger in the old car had ever come back.
“No, he never did, but he had no reason to,” one of the clerks said. “The tank of that old crate was full to the brim, and there was enough food in the back seat to last the guy a month.”
“Which way did he go?” Nancy asked.
The man pointed in a direction opposite to the one where the burned Raybolt home was located. After Nancy had received a full description of the old car, she followed the road it had taken.
Presently she said, “Girls, if you were coming along here and planning to hide, where would you go?”
“If I knew about that cobwebby cabin we saw I’d go there,” George replied.
“But we were in it after Mr. Raybolt’s disappearance,” Nancy spoke up. “Nobody has been in it for a long time. Bess, what’s your guess?”
“Another cabin. One that’s closer. Maybe Mr. Raybolt has a small hunting lodge somewhere.”
Nancy was driving very slowly now. Finally she said she was looking for a little-used side road. If there were tire tracks on it, she would see where they led.
Suddenly Nancy stopped. On her left was a narrow, grassy lane, almost obscured by overhanging trees. There were two distinct tire tracks.
“You’re not going to drive in there?” Bess cried out. “Nancy, you’d ruin your car!”
“I guess you’re right,” Nancy conceded, “but I think we should investigate.”
She parked, locked the ignition, and climbed out. The other girls followed. The woods road was rutty and full of stones.
“I hope we don’t have to go far,” said Bess presently. “These stones hurt my feet. We should have worn hiking boots.”
Nancy forged ahead. The road went on and on, with no sign of a cabin, or the shabby car or its owner. After the girls had walked for fifteen minutes, Bess called for a rest period. They dropped to the ground.
“It’s certainly quiet in here,” George remarked. “You could hear a pin—oh!”
All three girls were startled by the distant buzz of a chain saw. As they listened, there came a tremendous crash.
“Timber!” exclaimed George, grinning.
“You’re a little late with your warning. The tree’s already fallen,” Bess chided her cousin good-naturedly. “Well, I’m sure Mr. Raybolt isn’t doing any lumbering if he’s trying to hide, so let’s go back.”
Nancy felt that they were not a long way from the tree-cutting site. “Whoever is working there may have seen Mr. Raybolt or his old car. Let’s find out,” she said.
As the girls plodded on over the rough ground, the sounds of trees being felled grew louder. Finally they came to a spot where they could see a good distance ahead. A large area of the woods was being cleared for a housing development. They assumed that the entrance to it was at the far end, for in the distance they could see several new houses.
“There’s a man who looks as if he might be the foreman,” Nancy said, and walked toward a tall, husky young man. She introduced herself, then asked him if the lane was used by the real-estate developers.
“No, that’s on someone else’s property,” he replied. “My name’s Tim Murphy. I’m in charge of the clearing operation. Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes, a shabbily dressed man who has an ancient hot rod.” Nancy grinned. “We thought he might be staying in a shack in these woods.”
Tim Murphy’s reply startled the girls. “I think your friend was here but left mysteriously. This development has been held up, and we just resumed work a couple of days ago. There’s a little shack not far from here. It was empty, so whenever we
had a downpour, my men and I used it for shelter.
“Two days ago we went there. What a surprise we got! A man came out with a shotgun and ordered us away! He was tall and thin, and his clothes were very shabby.”
“Was there a car around?” George asked.
“Yes, a black crate that sure was beat up. Think this is the man you’re looking for?”
“Yes,” said Bess, “but if he has a shotgun, we’re not going near him!”
Tim Murphy laughed. “You needn’t worry. He’s gone.”
This revelation shattered Nancy’s hope that her quest was nearing an end. “When did he leave?”
“During the night, and he hasn’t come back. I have an idea he won’t, either. I got the impression he wanted to be alone, and an expanding housing development is no place for a recluse. Say, do you mind telling me why you girls are interested in such a peculiar guy?”
They were spared the necessity of answering Murphy when a worker called him away. He went off hurriedly, and the girls started back to the lane. They were silent until they came to the spot where they had rested before.
“Do you think the man with the shotgun really was Mr. Raybolt?” George asked Nancy.
The young sleuth shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing is sure. Whoever he was, the man acted as if he were guilty of something and didn’t want strangers around.”
“Which makes me think,” said Bess, “that he is Raybolt. Nancy, we must give up trying to find him before he uses that shotgun—on us!”
“I might agree,” Nancy replied, “if we were certain. But our evidence is pretty slim. For the sake of the Swensons, I want to capture Mr. Raybolt before he can leave the country. I’m convinced now that he and his wife are in collusion. They’re just waiting to collect his life insurance, which is probably large, and the fire insurance, then they’ll meet in some foreign place.”
George chuckled. “You know, it would serve that old cheat right if his wife collected the money and never met him! He couldn’t do a thing about it without being caught.”
Bess nodded in agreement. “And I wouldn’t put it past that woman to play such a trick!”
The Clue in the Diary Page 9