Carolyn Keene_Nancy Drew Mysteries 032

by The Scarlet Slipper Mystery

  Half dragging and half pushing her, Ned started off through the woods. They had not gone far when Nancy asked for an explanation of what he had done.

  “I don’t trust that guy,” Ned replied.

  “But what was the idea of giving him an impression like that?”

  “Impression like what?” Ned asked in some surprise.

  “Anyone who heard you would think we’re husband and wife. Especially a man like Renee.”

  Ned laughed heartily. “Well, someday I hope it’ll be true. And for your information I hope he’ll think we’re married now. If he’s a spy or a kidnapper, as I suspect, he’d better not find out your name is Drew!”

  Nancy agreed and said she did not trust Renee either.

  Ned remarked, “He didn’t have to tell us that long story. I’ll bet he wouldn’t have admitted his identity if you hadn’t asked him. The less he knows about us, the better!”

  Nancy smiled then, took Ned’s arm in her own, and said, “You’re on the warpath, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, and I’m going to do something about it,” he declared. “I want you to walk to the car and drive to police headquarters. Get hold of Captain Crane and a couple of his patrolmen and bring them back here. I’m sure Renee’s story won’t stand up when the police question him about his activities. I’ll return to the house and keep him there.”

  “If Renee plays innocent,” said Nancy, starting off, “at least we can have the house searched. Helene and Henri may be there. Somehow, Ned, I just can’t bring myself to believe they’re guilty of this jewel smuggling.”

  “Nor can I,” said Ned.

  He left her, and Nancy hurried on toward the car. She had nearly reached the road when suddenly a coat was thrown forcefully over her head and both hands were pinned behind her.

  Nancy screamed but the sound was too muffled to carry far.

  “So you are Nancy Drew!” her captor snarled. “Double-crosser! You will never notify the police, and you will be sorry you ever tried it!”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A Dancer’s Footprints

  RENEE snatched the keys to Ned’s car from Nancy’s hand and whipped a rope from his pocket. Nancy fought unsuccessfully to free herself.

  Renee mumbled to himself while he was binding Nancy. She caught a word here and there. “... their car must be at the end of this trail she and her boyfriend made—I’ll move it. Nobody will find it until after I escape.”

  When the young sleuth’s hands and ankles were securely bound, the man dragged her through the woods. Stones and twigs scratched her, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. In a few minutes Renee stopped and Nancy heard a car door open. She was lifted off the ground and shoved onto the floor behind the front seat.

  Renee drove the car down a rough, twisting road. Nancy guessed that he was running it deep into the woods to hide it.

  Presently the man stopped the car with a jerk and turned off the ignition. He snatched the coat from Nancy’s head, and before she could scream for help, stuffed a gag in her mouth.

  Glaring at the girl, Renee said, “You will mind your own business from now on and not interfere with mine! If you disobey, I shall not be so easy on you the next time.”

  He rolled up all the windows and slammed the door shut, leaving Nancy huddled on the floor. At first she struggled, but as the car became stuffy, she began to feel faint.

  “Oh, I hope Ned is more watchful than I was,” she said to herself. “Renee must have followed us and heard us talking.”

  One thought after another whirled through the young sleuth’s mind. Renee had, no doubt, told them a suave but completely untruthful story. Otherwise, why would he be afraid of the police?

  Nancy was now confused as to whether or not Helene and Henri Fontaine were innocent. Instinct told her they were blameless, but the evidence seemed to be contradictory.

  Nancy’s thoughts returned to Ned. What was he doing? Had Renee returned to the house or made his getaway at once?

  Ned, a quarter of a mile away, was worrying about Nancy. When he had reached the farmhouse, Renee had not been in sight. Ned had pounded on the door, but there had been no response. He had entered the building and searched it thoroughly, but had found no one.

  As Ned went outdoors, he was amazed to see Renee hurrying up the lane.

  “I’d hoped to find you here!” the man said excitedly. “Your wife’s had an accident down the road. I’m going to phone the police!”

  As Ned stood stunned, realizing Renee meant Nancy, the man dashed into the house. Ned was torn between a desire to get more details about the accident and a wish to help Nancy immediately. Deciding on the second move, he ran down the lane and turned to the highway.

  After sprinting nearly half a mile, Ned stopped. He suddenly realized that Renee could not possibly have come this far and then return to the farmhouse in the length of time that had elapsed.

  “Maybe someone came along and took Nancy to town,” he concluded.

  Or perhaps Renee’s story had been a hoax! The only way to find out was to question him.

  Turning, Ned ran back down the highway. While he was still some distance from the lane, he saw a black sedan pull out of it and speed off.

  Ned was not close enough to read the license number, but he could see that there were four people in the vehicle. In the rear seat sat a blond young man and a girl with dark hair.

  “The Fontaines!” Ned cried out involuntarily. “They had been prisoners in that farmhouse after all! But where had they been hidden?”

  Ned wondered whether Renee had been in the sedan. He ran to the house and knocked loudly. No one answered, so he went inside. Renee was not anywhere on the first floor. The bedrooms also were empty.

  “I’ll phone the police,” Ned decided. “Maybe Nancy did reach headquarters after all.”

  Finding a phone in one of the bedrooms, he called quickly. “Has Nancy Drew come in to see you?” he asked Captain Crane.

  The officer said he had not seen the girl but would ask the other men on duty at headquarters. In a few moments he returned to the phone.

  “Miss Drew is not here.”

  Ned quickly told his story, saying finally, “I’m afraid Nancy may have been kidnapped.”

  “Do you want me to send out an alarm for the black sedan?” the captain asked.

  “Yes,” Ned replied, “and I would like some police out here to help me hunt for Nancy.”

  By this time dusk had fallen. The frantic youth began to visualize Nancy in the hands of the ruthless smugglers. As he tried to put the horrifying thought out of his mind, a car turned into the lane. With a sense of relief, Ned saw a red blinking light on its roof. The police!

  Two men had been sent. One of them was Officer Donovan. Ned told them of his and Nancy’s second meeting with Renee.

  “He tricked me into leaving the house with his story of an accident. Then he escaped by car with three other people,” Ned finished.

  “Looks bad!” said Donovan. “Suppose we start our search where Miss Drew began her walk through the woods to your car.”

  Ned led the way. It had grown almost dark and the men had to use their flashlights to pick up the trail. They stopped and searched carefully at the scuffle-marked spot where Nancy had encountered Renee.

  “From here, only a man’s footprints go in this direction,” Donovan pointed out. “Looks as if he was pulling something. I’d say your friend was dragged from here.”

  “Then she can’t be far away!” Ned cried. “Renee isn’t a husky man and couldn’t have dragged Nancy far. Maybe he was heading for my car. I left it not far from here.”

  About a hundred yards farther on they came to the place where Ned had left his car, but it was not there. Tire marks indicated that it had been driven down the road. Quickly Ned and the two policemen followed the tread marks.

  Presently they came to a place where a car had been driven off the dusty thoroughfare and into the woods. Ned’s heart sank. What was he going to fin
d when they reached his car?

  They had not gone far when the tracks of the automobile stopped. This could mean only that the car had been backed out again.

  “Nancy’s kidnappers drove in here temporarily, probably to avoid some passing car,” Ned said.

  Donovan laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Don’t be so sure of that,” he said. “A car might have pulled in here for a number of reasons.”

  They pushed farther along the road. After a few hundred yards they came to a second trail that led into the woods. Hopefully, the searchers turned in and followed it.

  Suddenly the flashlight beam picked up the outline of an automobile. But upon closer inspection they found it to be just a rusted car that apparently had been junked some time ago.

  Ned and the officers retraced their steps and continued the search. The road turned almost back on itself. It occurred to Ned that if Renee had kidnapped Nancy, he could have hidden her and the car temporarily. A shortcut back through the woods could explain the speed with which he had reached the lane to his farmhouse.

  At this moment the flashlight’s beam showed a car a short distance ahead.

  “That’s mine!” Ned shouted, pointing toward the cream-colored convertible. “Nancy! Nancy!”

  The youth ran to the car and yanked open the door. On the floor behind the front seat lay Nancy. Ned untied her and removed the gag.

  “Oh, Nancy, are you all right?” he asked fearfully.

  “Y-yes, Ned,” she said in a daze. After several deep breaths she was able to tell her story. She hobbled around to restore circulation to her arms and legs.

  “This is a fine end to my plan for a nice ride and dinner this evening,” Ned said.

  “I’m sorry, Ned.”

  Ned suggested that they start for home at once and stop in a restaurant on the way.

  “But I’m a sight,” Nancy protested. “I couldn’t go anywhere to dinner. I’ll tell you what. There must be some food at the farmhouse. Let’s go up there and help ourselves. Then we can do a little investigating in the house.”

  Ned shook his head in amazement. Turning to the policemen, he said, “Nancy Drew never gives up until she has solved a case!”

  They all climbed into the car and Ned drove back to the farmhouse. Donovan contacted Captain Crane and made a report. The captain ordered him to guard the farmhouse overnight. The other officer was to return to headquarters as soon as the house had been investigated.

  Ned had hoped Nancy would take it easy, but she insisted that what she needed was exercise. Together they opened several cans of food they found on a shelf, and warmed the contents. The police officers, who had eaten earlier, inspected the grounds.

  When the improvised meal was finished, Nancy accompanied the officers on their investigation of the house. Upstairs, they checked the bedrooms one by one. Finally Nancy asked to borrow Officer Donovan’s flashlight.

  “All right,” Donovan said, handing it to her. “I’d like to watch a girl detective work. But would you mind telling me why you need it?”

  Nancy said that if the missing Fontaines had been at the house, Helene probably would have practiced her dancing. She was searching for signs of this.

  “Ballet dancers,” Nancy explained, “never let a day go by without working. They have to keep their muscles in perfect condition.”

  Nancy got down on her hands and knees and began examining the floor. Suddenly she stopped.

  “Look here!” she cried excitedly. “This floor has been waxed recently. And see these long slide marks and rounded dents in the waxed surface? These were made by toe shoes.”

  “Hmmm,” said Donovan. “Guess you’re right. But say, can these folks dance without music?”

  “Why certainly,” Nancy said.

  Just then Ned walked into the room. “I have a clue for you, Nancy!” he said.

  The young man had called the telephone company and obtained the name of the party under which the farmhouse phone was listed.

  “Does the name Raymond Bull mean anything to you?” he asked.

  “Indeed it does!” Nancy replied. “He’s the Frenchman who was on the plane from New York to River Heights with Mr. Koff and me.”

  “Could it be an alias of Renee’s?” Ned asked.

  “That’s possible.”

  Further search of the house disclosed no clues that would indicate the destination of the fugitives or give any inkling of their plans. The young people said good night to Donovan and drove the other officer back to headquarters.

  At the police station, Nancy stopped to find out whether Mrs. Judson had confessed or whether she had had any suspicious callers.

  Captain Crane shook his head. “We’ve tried to get Mrs. Judson to talk, but she refuses.”

  “Did you search her handbag and other personal belongings?” Nancy asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Captain Crane replied. “One of our matrons handled that, but she found nothing of any use in the case.” The captain went on to say that there had been no report on the black sedan and its occupants.

  It was nearly midnight when Nancy and Ned reached River Heights. Nancy was weary and slept late the following morning. As she awakened, the young sleuth found herself looking up into the faces of Hannah Gruen, Bess, and George.

  “Well, sleepyhead,” George said, seating herself on the edge of Nancy’s four-poster. “Tell us everything!”

  The girls listened attentively. After Nancy had eaten her breakfast, she told her friends she was heading back to the farmhouse in Brandon. “This time I’m going to search the barn from top to bottom,” she declared. “Want to join me?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” George declared.

  Bess was hesitant until Nancy assured her that the place was being guarded by the police.

  When the girls reached Renee’s hideout, Officer Donovan welcomed Nancy with a wide smile.

  Nancy introduced her friends and explained that they were going to search the barn for clues. The three entered the rickety building and found that the main floor contained nothing but a few pieces of obsolete machinery.

  “Hayloft next,” said George.

  Working in various locations of the loft, they began pulling the loose hay apart. Suddenly Nancy exclaimed, “Girls, here’s a briefcase hidden in the hay.”

  The cousins rushed over. “Is it Mr. Koff’s?” Bess asked excitedly.

  CHAPTER XIX

  Desperate Measures

  WITH Bess and George waiting eagerly, Nancy looked inside the briefcase and exclaimed, “This is Mr. Koff’s, all right! Here’s his full name and address pasted on the inside.”

  Bess, peering over Nancy’s shoulder, suddenly cried out, “Oh, Nancy, put it down!”

  “Why?” George demanded.

  “Because,” Bess told her fearfully, “there’s a note that says, ” ‘Do not read the contents or you will die!’”

  “That’s ridiculous,” George said in disgust. “Nancy, you aren’t going to let that stop you, are you?”

  “Not that threat,” Nancy replied, “because I doubt that Mr. Koff wrote it. I would return the briefcase to him without looking at the letters except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  Nancy picked up an envelope on which had been scrawled from Red Buzby.

  “Remember the red-haired man?” she asked. “I think this is a real clue. I vote we take the briefcase into the house and read every single letter—if we can. They may be in Centrovian.”

  The girls climbed down the hayloft ladder and went to the house. Nancy looked around for Officer Donovan to tell him what she was going to do, but the guard was not in sight.

  “Phew! What a strong odor of kerosene!” Bess said. “What would that policeman be doing with kerosene?”

  Nancy shrugged. She was too interested in getting at the letters to care.

  The first floor of the house had only one small table in the kitchen, so the three girls went upstairs to the front room and spread out the conten
ts of the briefcase on the bed. They had been written in French and Nancy translated one after another. She could readily see why Mr. Koff had not wanted them to fall into enemy hands. The letters hinted at drastic movements of the underground against the Centrovian occupation.

  Suddenly George interrupted Nancy. “Here’s a typed carbon of one in English signed Buzby.” She read it aloud:

  Dear Pal, I have a plan worked out for selling these letters to those guys in Europe. It should bring us plenty in good American dollars.

  “How wicked!” Bess exclaimed.

  Nancy nodded. “I’m glad we located these letters before they were sold.”

  She and her friends found several other notations signed by Buzby. One of these, apparently an answer to some inquiry that had been made, read:

  Don’t worry. Nobody will ever find out who Judson is. 10561-B-24.

  “The mysterious number again!” Bess exclaimed. “Whatever does it mean?”

  “I have an idea,” said Nancy, “and if I’m right the number will go a long way toward tying this mystery together.”

  She picked up the telephone and called her father, who was working in his study at home. After reporting her discovery to him, she said, “Will you please call the French embassy and ask whether 10561-B-24 could have been a passport number, and if so, to whom it was issued?”

  “I’ll do it right away,” the lawyer assured her.

  As Nancy hung up and turned around, the girls heard a loud clattering in the hall below and went to the stairway to investigate.

  Henri and Helene Fontaine were rushing up the steps!

  “Nancy!” the dancers cried and Helene hugged her friend fervently. “Bess! George! We’re so glad to see you!”

  The girls were speechless, but finally Bess blurted out, “You—you’re not smugglers? You didn’t run away?”

  “We were spirited away,” Helene replied. “We were told how that dreadful man Renee had accused us of stealing the painting with the scarlet slippers.”

  “And also of stealing a fortune in jewels,” Henri added.