The Clue in the Crossword Cipher

by Carolyn Keene

  But suddenly she was shocked when one man, who sounded like Luis Llosa, said, “You tell Nancy Drew she is a nuisance in Peru. She must go home at once!”

  Bess’s heart began to pound. There was no question in her mind but that the voice belonged to Luis Llosa. What should she do? Should she let the man know she had heard him and demand an explanation?

  “But he might harm me,” was her second thought, “and then I couldn’t warn Nancy.”

  Nevertheless, Bess decided to be courageous. She got up and looked around for the two speakers, but could see no one. Bess ran up and down a few of the ancient alleyways but could not find Luis Llosa.

  “I must alert Nancy!” she thought.

  Trying to find her proved to be hopeless. Bess called Nancy’s name several times but received no answer.

  Presently another thought came to Bess. Suppose Luis Llosa was on his way to the hotel to steal the precious plaque! Probably he knew that Nancy had retrieved it from the gift shop. Bess figured that the gang had not been able to decipher any more than the girls had.

  “I’ll bet they don’t want Nancy to keep the plaque for fear she’ll solve its mystery before they can. I’d better hurry back and stop Llosa from getting it!”

  Bess ran practically all the way to the hotel. She obtained the key to Nancy and Carla’s room, quickly ran up the stairs, and let herself in. Then she locked the door and immediately dashed to the bureau drawer where the plaque had been placed. It was still there!

  “Thank goodness!” Bess exclaimed.

  She sat down in a chair to catch her breath and wait. Minutes passed. No one came. Bess was beginning to think that her hunch had been wrong, when she heard footsteps in the hall. They stopped in front of the door.

  Bess held her breath and listened. No key was inserted into the lock, but the doorknob turned. Then she heard a scraping sound.

  “Someone is trying to jimmy the door open!” she thought. “Oh, what shall I do?” She was afraid to keep still but more afraid to cry out.

  Tensely Bess watched the door. Presently a long, thin file came sliding through the crack. Within moments the implement protruded into the room about two inches.

  Bess’s mouth was dry with fright. “In another moment that intruder will get in!” she thought wildly. “And no telephone here!”

  A sudden idea came to her. She crossed the room softly, grabbed the file, and gave it a hard yank. The whole tool came through the crack!

  Instantly she heard angry mutterings in the hall. Someone kicked the door, then ran down the hall. Bess was so amazed and relieved that she flopped onto the bed, still clutching the file.

  In the meantime, the other girls and Maponhni had continued to hunt through the ruins and question people about the mysterious señor. Finally George encountered a broad-shouldered woman with a deep, husky voice.

  In response to the girl’s query, she looked hard at her questioner. “I don’t know what girls are coming to these days. Always chasing a man. Is this one you’re after somebody who wants to get away from you?”

  “Oh no,” George said quickly. “It’s nothing like that—”

  The woman interrupted her. “That’s what all girls say, but I know better. You’re after him and you’re determined to find him.”

  George smiled. “You’re right, but my interest in finding him is because he’s a thief!”

  The woman’s eyes bulged. “A thief! Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  George felt like telling her she had had no opportunity, but repeated her original question. “Please tell me if you saw him.”

  “Yes, I did,” the woman replied.

  “The Lima police are looking for him,” George told her.

  The woman pointed in the direction of the girls’ hotel. “The man was heading down there,” she said. “If you want to catch him, you’d better hurry.”

  George thanked her, and as the young sleuth hastened away, the woman called, “I’m sorry I said what I did to you.” George waved at her and smiled.

  Upon reaching the hotel, George got the key to her room and went upstairs. As she unlocked the door, Bess opened the one to Nancy’s room.

  “Oh, George, I’m so glad to see you. Something dreadful happened.” She held up the file and poured out her story.

  Her cousin was amazed. “You sure came through that time,” George said. “By the way, I hurried back here because a woman up at the ruins told me Luis Llosa was headed this way. Probably he was the person with the file.”

  “I’m sure he was,” Bess replied. “And thank goodness he has left here.”

  “What do you mean?” George asked.

  Bess explained that she had looked out the window and had seen Luis Llosa drive off a short time before in a private car.

  “This was the only reason I dared unlock the door and come into the hall just now.”

  Bess went on to tell the bits of conversation she had overheard in the ruins. “I wonder who the man was that Luis Llosa was talking to. He may still be around and harm Nancy!”

  “You’re right,” George agreed. “We must warn her.”

  She took the file from Bess and walked to the window in Nancy’s room to examine the tool carefully.

  “I suppose Llosa’s fingerprints are on it,” she said, “but ours are also.” An instant later she said excitedly, “Look! There’s a name on here—Velez. I’ll bet this file was stolen from Jorge Velez’s shop!”

  Both girls were sure that it was one of the tools Luis Llosa had stolen from his employer’s workroom.

  George tossed the file on the bureau. “Let’s go!” she urged. “We must find Nancy.”

  Suddenly the sunlight outside faded and it began to rain hard.

  At the same moment Carla came into the room. “I just made it,” she said. “Maponhni is downstairs. He said we were going to have a downpour. By the way, the description that workman in the ruins gave him of the señor matches Luis Llosa perfectly.”

  “That villain!” George cried out indignantly. “And listen to this!”

  She and Bess told the story of the threat to Nancy and showed Carla the file.

  Carla was amazed. “By the way, where is Nancy?” she inquired.

  George suggested that since all the tourists were coming back because of the rain, Nancy might be downstairs talking with some of them. The girls locked their doors and went to the first floor.

  People were milling about the lobby and the lounge of the hotel. Nancy was not among them. The girls found Maponhni seated on a chair in a corner of the lounge. When he heard that Nancy had not returned and was told the other events of the afternoon, he became alarmed.

  “This man Luis Llosa—after he drove off, he could have sneaked back on foot and found Miss Drew in the ruins!”

  “Yes,” Carla agreed. “And do not forget the man he was talking to. Oh dear, why did I ever get Nancy into this dreadful mess!”

  “There is only one thing for us to do,” George said grimly. “We must all go back and find Nancy at once, rain or no rain!”

  CHAPTER XVI

  Sacred Stones

  THE worried searchers, wearing raincoats and hats, hurried up the roadway that led to the ruins. As soon as they reached the mass of devastated buildings, all of them began calling loudly:

  “Nancy! Nancy!”

  The only sounds were the echoes of their own voices.

  Bess was on the verge of tears. “Oh, I just know something dreadful has happened to Nancy!”

  George looked at her sternly. “Nancy has a knack of getting out of tight spots. Let’s keep our thoughts optimistic.”

  “You’re right, George,” Bess admitted, and tried to look less gloomy.

  Maponhni and the girls went on, calling out every few minutes. There was still no response from Nancy.

  Carla was very quiet but the others could see she was alarmed. Finally she said, “Maybe Nancy was a prisoner in Luis Llosa’s car when he drove away. Perhaps we should
go back and report her disappearance to the police.”

  For the first time Maponhni spoke up. “When we were up here before, we did not go down the other side of this peak. I suggest we look there before we give up.”

  The others followed him up the steep incline to the top, then looked down the far side of the mountain.

  “There she is!” Bess shouted with joy. “And she’s all right!”

  Down the grassy, bush-strewn slope was a picturesque sight. Four poles had been erected and a poncho stretched across the top of them. On the ground underneath the shelter sat Nancy and an elderly Indian. She was busy writing, apparently taking down what the old man was saying. She seemed to be unaware of her friends at the summit.

  As quickly as they could, Maponhni and the girls made their way down the wet, slippery mountainside.

  George called out in a loud voice, “Nancy!”

  This time she looked up. “Oh, I’m getting some wonderful clues!” Nancy called back. “Maponhni, I’m so glad you came. This man speaks only Quechua. I’ve been trying to write down the way the words sound.”

  When the others reached her, Nancy introduced her companion. His name was Pansitimba. The newcomers acknowledged the introduction and gave their own names.

  Then Bess said to Nancy, “If this man doesn’t speak English or Spanish, how in the world did you get him to talk?”

  Nancy grinned. “I said to him, ‘Munanki! Imaynan caskianqui?’ Remember? ‘Hello! How are you?’ ”

  The others smiled, and Carla asked, “Then what did you do?”

  “I said to him, ‘Did you ever hear of a man named Aguilar?’ ”

  She related that upon hearing the name he had looked at her strangely and had begun to talk very fast.

  “He kept repeating Aguilar so often, I finally decided to try writing down all the words as best I could and ask Maponhni to translate them.”

  Pansitimba had said nothing to the newcomers, but upon hearing the name Aguilar again, he began to talk to Maponhni. One of the first things he said was:

  “Warm ccate cachaussua.”

  “Wow! That’s a mouthful!” George remarked. “What does it mean?”

  Maponhni was grinning broadly. “It means,” he said, then paused. “It means, ‘Is that girl a spy?’ ”

  “Oh goodness!” exclaimed Carla, and the other girls laughed.

  Their guide quickly explained the girls’ mission to the elderly Indian and he too smiled. For several minutes after that the two men talked. Pansitimba made various gestures with his arms and pointed to the ruins, with Maponhni nodding understandingly. Finally he translated the conversation to the girls.

  “There is a legend in Pansitimba’s tribe that an ancestor of his had been a special servant to a Spaniard named Aguilar. Somehow he had learned about Machu Picchu and came here to see it.”

  Maponhni went on to say that these ancient Indians, who had never seen a white man, had thought Aguilar a god. This was partly because he was white, but mostly because he was a very good artist. He had brought paper, paints, and brushes with him and made fine portraits of the Inca ruler and the city officials.

  “But after a while they became afraid of Aguilar because he knew so much and the priests thought he might gain control of the people, so they made him a prisoner.”

  “How sad!” Bess put in.

  Maponhni smiled. “Aguilar was very clever and did not remain a prisoner long. He got out and fled from this place. Pansitimba’s ancestor, the servant, went with him. No one ever saw either of them again.”

  “What a fascinating story!” said Nancy.

  Carla nodded. “Now we know that the artist Maponhni told us about really was Aguilar.”

  Nancy agreed and said, “Maponhni, will you ask Pansitimba if the story mentions a treasure in connection with the Spaniard or his servant?”

  The question was put and the reply translated. The man had heard of none.

  “Ask him also,” said Nancy, “if there is a legend in his tribe about what happened to Machu Picchu.”

  Before the old Indian could answer, there was a sudden terrific downpour and with it a strong gust of wind. The poles and poncho went sailing through the air. Pansitimba groaned. He was no longer agile enough to run after them.

  “I’ll get it!” cried George, realizing how precious the man’s shelter was to him, and took off after the poncho.

  The tent poles had fallen to the ground and were rolling down the steep mountainside. The other girls dashed after the poles.

  The poncho was being tossed in circles, making it difficult for George to grab it. Fortunately, a sudden downdraft brought the garment near her. Stretching up her arms, she caught hold of one end and held on tightly.

  In the meantime, the other girls were scrambling hither and yon to rescue the poles. Nancy grabbed two and each of the others retrieved one.

  As Carla glanced at Nancy again, she said, “You are soaked! We must go right back to the hotel so you can change your clothes.” She smiled mischievously. “You have a habit of getting all wet on my account.”

  Nancy grinned and said if one of the girls would just lend her a dry sweater she would be all right. “I want to hear the rest of Pansitimba’s story,” she said.

  “It may be a long one,” Bess warned her. “Why don’t we invite Pansitimba to the hotel? It wouldn’t hurt him to do a little drying out too.”

  When the invitation was extended to the old man, he smiled appreciatively but declined. Nancy asked Maponhni to tell him the girls very much wanted him to come.

  “I would like to show him the plaque. Maybe he can figure out something we have been unable to decipher.”

  After the guide had translated the message, Pansitimba accepted. The group walked slowly to the hotel. Nancy immediately went upstairs, changed her clothes, and dried her hair. Before coming down again, the young detective wrapped the plaque in a sweater and brought it along.

  By the time she reached the lounge, Pansitimba’s hair and clothing seemed to be dry and she urged him to go on with his story.

  “You are interested in knowing why Machu Picchu became a ruin?” Maponhni asked, and all the girls nodded.

  After a lengthy conversation between the two Indians, Maponhni said, “There is another legend in Pansitimba’s tribe. Not long after Aguilar had fled from Machu Picchu, a band of Spanish explorers and some Indians who had been converted to Spanish ways came and sacked the city. There was a dreadful time. They carried off the maidens and nearly all the women, but they killed most of the men and threw their bodies into the river.”

  “How utterly ghastly!” Bess murmured.

  Maponhni went on, “Nothing was left, so there are no pictures or carvings or artifacts to show what this glorious city once looked like.”

  Nancy spoke up. “One thing I cannot understand is what happened to all the rest of the large stones which the Indians must have used in building their houses and temple.”

  Maponhni put the question to Pansitimba. The elderly Indian shrugged and replied, “It is said that afterward people came here and took the stones away. Since this was supposed to be a sacred city and a refuge, they no doubt thought having one of the stones in their home would bring them good fortune.”

  When Pansitimba finished, Nancy unwrapped the plaque and had Maponhni tell him about it.

  “Please ask him,” Nancy requested, “if he can supply the missing letters.”

  Pansitimba studied them a few minutes. Then Maponhni asked Nancy for a sheet of paper and a pencil. She took them from her purse. Slowly and painstakingly, Pansitimba began to copy the letters from the plaque onto the paper. When he had written mono cola and mesa, the girls held their breath.

  Was the mystery word near the top of the crossword cipher going to be deciphered at last?

  CHAPTER XVII

  A Smuggler

  “THE final word,” Carla cried out, “is china!”

  “What does it mean?” Nancy asked quickly.

&nb
sp; Carla said that in Spanish it stood for many things—Chinese, china, porcelain. “It even means pebbles.”

  “Pebbles!” Nancy repeated. She looked off into the distance and then said, “Perhaps we should look for a mesa of pebbles.”

  “With a monkey’s tail on it!” George added, grinning.

  The others laughed, then there was a prolonged silence as the girls tried to figure out in which sense Aguilar had used china. Did the mesa have Chinese living on it, or was it perhaps a spot where porcelain was made?

  Suddenly the old Indian said something to Maponhni. The guide in turn became excited and the two men talked at a rapid rate.

  The girls looked at one another, puzzled, but presently Maponhni turned to them and said, “I think Pansitimba has solved your mystery for you. Have you ever heard of the Nascan lines?”

  Carla spoke up. “I have heard of them, but I really don’t know anything about the place.”

  Maponhni explained. “About two hundred miles south of Lima there is a desert—a pebbly mesa twelve hundred feet above sea level and fifty miles from the ocean.

  “In ancient times—and no one knows how long ago—people there scratched giant figures into the earth. These designs can still be seen and are named for the Nascan people whose pottery was found nearby. I have never been to the Nascan site, but I have been told that from a plane you can see everything. There are lines like on your plaque and figures of many things, including monkeys.”

  Nancy was so excited she felt as if her heart had suddenly stopped beating. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “Oh, this is simply marvelous! How can we ever thank Pansitimba for giving us this clue?”

  Maponhni translated the message to Pansitimba, who merely smiled and shook his head. He wanted them to know he was a very religious and philosophical man who never took earthly rewards for helping people.

  Bess’s eyes suddenly became dewy and she murmured, “It is a privilege to meet such a person.”

  When this was translated to Pansitimba, he looked embarrassed and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” said Nancy, and invited Pansitimba to eat with them.