Clue in the Ancient Disguise

by Carolyn Keene

  Contents

  1. Alarm Call

  2. Faces from the Past

  3. Red Juggernaut

  4. Car Snoop

  5. Weird Intruders

  6. Copycat

  7. The Secret Seal

  8. A Dangerous Plan

  9. Spook in Armor

  10. Damaging Evidence

  11. English Settlers

  12. A Ghost in the Attic

  13. Phantom Fashions

  14. Legal Threats

  15. An Odd Likeness

  16. The French Impostor

  17. A Tantalizing Translation

  18. The Old Gowns

  19. The Eyes Have It!

  20. History Lesson

  1. Alarm Call

  "Nancy, my client here needs a mystery solved," said Attorney Carson Drew. "I'm hoping you may be able to help him."

  "I'll be glad to try, Dad."

  A tall, dark-haired young man bowed and shook hands with Nancy Drew as the lawyer introduced him. "This is Mr. Pierre Michaud . . . or perhaps I should say Monsieur Michaud, since he comes from France."

  The young man smiled. "Simply Pierre Michaud will do very well, merci."

  He was certainly handsome, Nancy observed, with finely chiseled features that included a high-bridged, slightly aquiline nose and strong, dimpled chin. His wide-set, dark eyes were especially striking.

  "I am told you have a great talent for solving mysteries, Miss Drew," he went on.

  The lovely young sleuth, whose red-gold hair and sparkling blue eyes were among her own most striking features, smiled back. "You'd better take nothing for granted until we see if I can help in your case," she chuckled. "Tell me all about it."

  The Frenchman explained that as he had no relatives, he had closed his family's small house near the Riviera before coming to America. "While disposing of some of my late grandfather's belongings," Pierre continued, "I came across this letter."

  He handed Nancy a folded sheet of blue stationery. To her surprise, it bore an engraved address in her own hometown of River Heights and the name Louise Duval. According to the typewritten date in one corner, the letter had been written thirty years ago. It read:

  Dear M. Michaud,

  While tracing an ancestress of mine, I have made a startling discovery which may be of great importance to both of us.

  I prefer to say nothing more until all the facts are clear. But I am planning a trip to France soon, and I shall look forward to informing you in person of some exciting news at that time.

  Sincerely yours, Louise Duval

  Nancy raised her eyes from the letter in a questioning glance at the young Frenchman. "Do you know if this Duval woman ever did come to visit your grandfather?"

  Pierre Michaud responded with a quizzical shrug. "I have no idea. That is why I first consulted your father."

  Carson Drew spoke up. "You see, Nancy, that address on the letter no longer exists. Apparently the house was torn down some years ago to make way for an industrial park. So Pierre asked me to try and trace Louise Duval."

  "Any luck, Dad?"

  "I'm afraid not. From town hall records, I learned that Miss Duval has been dead for many years. She died soon after that letter was written, in fact. However, her will is on file at the county courthouse, and by checking out names from that source, I learned that she has one living descendant, a grandniece named Lisa Thorpe."

  Nancy frowned reflectively. "Sounds familiar. I wonder if I've ever met her."

  "Quite possibly. Or you may have seen her name on the society page of the Record at some time or other. She's the daughter of a wealthy businessman, Norton Thorpe."

  Nancy turned back to Pierre. "And have you talked to Miss Thorpe?"

  "Oui, I have seen her on several occasions, but she and her father had never even heard of Louise Duval's letter to my grandfather." With a slight flush, the Frenchman added, "Unfortunately Mr. Thorpe was not very kindly. I might even say that he made no secret of disliking me. As a result, neither he nor Lisa was of much help."

  From Pierre's tone of voice and the way he referred to Lisa Thorpe by her first name, Nancy suspected that his contact with the Thorpes might have been a good deal more interesting than he let on.

  For the moment, however, she decided not to probe further and changed the subject. "If Louise Duval died soon after she wrote to your grandfather," Nancy said, "it sounds as though she never went to France as she intended."

  Pierre Michaud nodded. "Om, I think so, too, and therefore nothing came of her letter. No doubt that is why I myself was unaware of it until I discovered it in my grandfather's effects."

  Carson Drew glanced at his watch and announced that it was almost noon.

  "I've taken the liberty of having my secretary reserve a table at Marco's,'' he went on. "I thought you two might want to continue your discussion over lunch."

  "That would be a great pleasure," Pierre said. He rose to his feet as the vigorous, distinguished-looking Mr. Drew, whose hair was slightly graying at the temples, came out from behind his desk to offer a parting handshake. "Will you not join us, sir?"

  "Regretfully, no, I have another appointment I must keep. Besides," Mr. Drew added with a smile, "Nancy will probably elicit all the information she needs much more quickly without any interruptions by me."

  Marco's was only a block away from Carson Drew's law office. Nancy liked its comfortable, relaxed atmosphere and red-checked tablecloths. She often ate there with her father when helping him on one of his law cases.

  Today the waiter seated her and Pierre by the front window, brought their orders swiftly, and left them to enjoy the delicious Italian food.

  "You mentioned that you were already planning to come to America when you ran across Miss Duval's letter," Nancy said after they began eating.

  "Om, that is so," Pierre replied.

  "Are you here mainly on business, then, or just on vacation?"

  "On business." The young Frenchman explained that he was an electronics engineer and had come to the United States hoping to interest some American manufacturer in a new type of computer memory which he had invented. "There is still much work to be done in perfecting my device, you see, but that will take money. Luckily, I found a backer soon after I arrived in this country."

  "Someone in River Heights?" Nancy inquired.

  "No, his name is Mr. Varney. He is a rather quiet financier who dislikes publicity and specializes in developing new products for industry. We met in Xew York City. But when I told him that I wished to spend some time in River Heights for personal reasons, he very kindly rented a small vacant building here for me to use as my workshop."

  "That was certainly a lucky break." Nancy hesitated a moment, then said gently, "I don't mean to pry, but would you care to tell me any more about your talks with Lisa Thorpe and her father? It might give me a lead to follow up in unraveling this case."

  Pierre glanced down at his plate with an embarrassed expression. When he looked up and met Nancy's gaze, he smiled regretfully. "Eh bien, I may as well be frank, since you have been kind enough to try and help me. The truth is, I found Miss Thorpe very attractive. She seemed to like me, too, and I hoped that we might become better acquainted."

  "Norton Thorpe, however, disapproved of his daughter becoming involved with a foreigner who had no job and little money. His manner was quite insulting," Pierre confided. "I am not used to such rudeness, and I refused to be bullied. So he made it clear that I was no longer welcome in his house."

  "What about Lisa herself?" asked Nancy.

  The young Frenchman shrugged unhappily. "She is very much—how do you say?—under her father's thumb. Indeed, she seems almost afraid of him. So I assume she has bowed
to his wishes, and that is why she has not returned my calls."

  Their table by the window gave a clear view of the street outside. Nancy was about to go on discussing the Thorpes, when suddenly she frowned.

  "Do you see that man standing across the street?" she murmured.

  Pierre glanced out the window. "The one in

  the doorway of the jewelry shop?"

  "Yes." The man was swarthy and, though neatly dressed, was rather tough in appearance, with a heavy jaw and scowling, dark eyebrows.

  "Not a very pleasant-looking person," Pierre remarked.

  "I agree. Have you ever seen him before?"

  "Not that I know of." Pierre glanced at Nancy in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

  "Because I noticed him hanging about when we left the building where my father has his office. Now he seems to be watching this restaurant. I'm wondering if he's shadowing us."

  Nancy's words brought a frown of concern to Pierre's face. "That is rather worrisome," he said in a grave voice. "My backer, Mr. Varney, warned me to be on the lookout for such a person. Apparently he himself has been annoyed by some troublemaker who bears him a grudge."

  Before Nancy could comment, the waiter came bustling toward their table with a phone in one hand. "You have a call from your father's office, Miss Drew!"

  She waited until he plugged in the telephone, then lifted the receiver. "This is Nancy."

  The voice on the line was that of her father's secretary, Miss Hanson. "I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch, Nancy," she said, "especially with bad news, but this is urgent!"

  The young detective listened intently, then thanked Miss Hanson and hung up. Turning to Pierre Michaud, she said, "You have a girl working for you named Nyra Betz?"

  "Oui, she types and answers the phone and helps out with my experimental work. Why?"

  "She just called my father's office to say your workshop is on fire!"

  Pierre stood up from the table. "If you will excuse me, Miss Drew, I had better go there at once!

  "Of course. I'll drive you!"

  As they hurried out of the restaurant, Nancy noticed that the swarthy watcher was nowhere in sight. Her trim blue sports car was parked in a lot just around the corner. Soon she and Pierre were whizzing through the business district of River Heights.

  His workshop was located in a factory district near the railroad tracks on the west side of town. It was a small, two-story brick building that looked as if it might once have housed a repair shop or shipping-company office.

  The shrill sound of fire sirens could be heard in the distance as Nancy pulled up in the paved parking area just outside. Billowing smoke and flames were issuing from the building.

  As Nancy and the young Frenchman jumped out of her car, a girl's screams rang through the air.

  "That is Nyra!" Pierre cried anxiously. "She must be trapped inside!"

  2. Faces from the Past

  Pierre raced across the pavement to the old wooden door of the building. He shouldered it open and disappeared into the smoke and shooting flames. Nancy held her breath.

  Just then the fire engine came thundering up. Raincoated fire fighters jumped off the truck and began connecting a hose to the nearest hydrant.

  In a moment, Nancy saw Pierre stagger out of the building, carrying a girl in his arms. She was clinging to his neck, coughing and sobbing hysterically. Nancy and a young fireman rushed forward to help. The girl seemed vexed at the sight of Nancy, but allowed the fireman to help Pierre lower her to the grassy verge of the parking area. She seemed delighted at their concern and attention.

  Gradually, after struggling for breath and fluttering her eyelids as if reviving from a faint, she permitted Pierre to help her sit up. Then, in another few moments, with his arm around her, she managed to rise to her feet, but leaned closely against him for support. She was a tall, thin girl with mouse-colored brown hair, and she was not very attractive due to her petulant expression.

  Her pale gray eyes focused on the young Frenchman's face as she quavered, "Oh, Pierre! I just left to go down to Center Street to get a bite of lunch. I wasn't gone more than twenty minutes. And I come back to this!"

  Pressing her hand to her eyes, she wailed, "Oh, I should never have gone! I hope none of your work is ruined!"

  "Now, now," Pierre said, "you are not to worry. You are safe. That is the most important thing."

  "No, oh no! Your work is the most important thing. If only you hadn't gone out this morning, all this might never have happened!" she declared, shooting a withering glance at Nancy between sobs. "Whatever else you had to do, surely it didn't matter as much as your work and experiments here!"

  Ignoring her comments, Pierre said, "Nancy, let me introduce Nyra Betz, my secretary and all-round helper. She is invaluable!"

  Nyra simpered and blushed.

  "Hi." The titian-haired girl smiled.

  At that moment, Nancy suddenly realized how surprising it was that she and Pierre had reached the scene even before the fire engine arrived. Nyra must have called Carson Drew's office before she even phoned in an alarm! And why hadn't she left the building sooner? Obviously she adored Pierre. Could she have set the blaze herself just for the sake of being rescued by the handsome Frenchman?

  Aloud, feeling somewhat sorry for Nyra, Nancy said, "Pierre, you're very lucky to have found someone so capable and dedicated."

  The mousy-haired girl glanced at Nancy with less animosity now.

  Pierre smiled. "Yes, truly. Nyra and I met when I first went to see the Thorpes, just after I arrived in River Heights. She is a good friend of Lisa's."

  Not any more, I'll bet! thought Nancy.

  "Later Nyra came to see my workshop," Pierre went on. "When I showed her my memory device and explained how I worked, she volunteered to help me."

  "Gee, that was nice of you, Nyra," Nancy said politely.

  Meanwhile, the fire fighters had been playing streams of water on the burning building and soon extinguished the small smoky fire.

  The fire captain frowned suspiciously as he went inside to inspect the damage. When he came out again, he said to Pierre, "Are you the sole occupant of this building?"

  "Yes, I live above my workshop," Pierre replied.

  "Any enemies?"

  The Frenchman shrugged in surprise. "Not so far as I am aware. Why?"

  "Better come in and take a look at this."

  Pierre accompanied the fire captain into the building. Nyra and Nancy followed them into the damp, smoke-blackened room.

  It was impossible to miss! Across one wall in red spray paint was the ugly threat:

  GO HOME, FRENCHY, OR A LOT WORSE WILL HAPPEN!

  Nancy felt a shiver of alarm. If she was going to help Pierre, she had better begin her investigation as soon as possible. But where to start on the case? The more she thought about it, the more it seemed that Lisa Thorpe might be the person best able to supply a clue to the mystery.

  After excusing herself and saying goodbye, Nancy left Pierre and Nyra still talking to the fire captain, and drove off.

  As she rode along with her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road, she continued turning the problem over in her head. And suddenly she realized why Lisa Thorpe's name had sounded so familiar when Pierre first mentioned it.

  Of course! She worked at the River Heights Thrift Shop with Bess Marvin, one of Nancy's closest friends.

  The shop sold clothing donated or gathered by members of a local charitable organization. Nancy glanced at her wristwatch. The shop was open only at certain hours, but someone might be there now.

  Coming to a public telephone booth, Nancy swung over to the curb and got out, then looked up the thrift shop number and dialed.

  Luckily, her good friend Bess Marvin, answered. She was delighted to hear from Nancy, who said, "Bess, by any chance is Lisa Thorpe working there with you this afternoon? But don't let on that I'm asking about her, please!"

  "Oh . . . okay, Nancy, I understand. And the answer is yes."


  "Bess, I'd like to meet her, so I'm going to drop by."

  Her friend immediately sensed that the famous young detective was hot on the trail of another mastery. "Fabulous! But we're closing for the day in about twenty minutes, Nancy, so you'd better hurry."

  "I'm on my way, Bess! See you soon."

  Nancy drove to the other side of town. The thrift shop was located two blocks off Main Street, on the first floor of an old house. A bell tinkled as Nancy opened the door and walked in.

  Bess and a pretty, laughing girl were tidying the racks of clothing and displays of other donated goods. Bess, who was blond and plump, introduced Lisa, and Nancy could well understand Pierre's interest in her. She had glowing brown eyes and beautiful ivory skin that seemed even more perfect by contrast with her brunette hair. She was perhaps four years older than Nancy and Bess.

  Nancy said, "Bess, I was out on an errand, so I thought I'd drop by to persuade you to have a sundae with me."

  "Oooh, my weakness! Well, we're almost through here." She turned to Lisa. "Why don't you come along with us?"

  "Well, I, . . ." Lisa hesitated.

  "That's a splendid idea. Do come," Nancy seconded the invitation. "Let's go to Jake's Ice Cream Parlor. He makes the most delicious hot fudge sundaes!"

  So the thrift shop was locked, and the three girls piled into Nancy's car. Soon they were seated in a booth at Jake's. After they had given their orders, Nancy said, "Lisa, I'm so glad you were able to come with us. You see, I've been asked to help Pierre Michaud solve the mystery of Louise Duval's letter to his grandfather."

  At the mention of Pierre's name, Nancy noticed that Lisa colored and dropped her eyes.

  "Oh yes, he did come to see us about that," she said, looking up again at Nancy. "My father and I had never heard of it before. Louise Duval was my great-aunt, but she's been dead many, many years."

  "Oh, this sounds exciting. Tell me about it," Bess said. To Lisa, she added, "Nancy has a reputation for solving mysteries. She's really good."

  "Oh, now, Bess." Nancy laughed. But Lisa was looking at her with fresh interest.

  "I'd like to help, Nancy. Will you let me?"