"Phillipe?" Lisa echoed with a puzzled frown. "Are you sure?"
"See for yourself." Nancy handed her the ring.
Lisa studied its engraving under the light, then looked at her friend in perplexity. "I don't understand. Her husband's name was Paul, not Philippe."
Nancy responded with a thoughtful nod. "I know. In fact there's outside evidence to confirm that fact." She told about the old newspaper article discovered by Mr. Teakin of the historical society, which referred to Paul and Yvette Duval by name. "Perhaps your ancestress was married twice," the teenage sleuth suggested.
"I suppose that's possible," Lisa said, her forehead still puckered in a slight frown. "But if so, it's strange that the family was never aware of it ... or if they were, that it was completely forgotten. Still, I guess all memories fade with time, don't they?"
The storm had let up when Nancy left the Thorpes' house soon afterward. She sensed that this was only a temporary lull, and hoped she could reach home before the downpour resumed. Unhappily, she had driven only a few blocks when a fresh gust of rain struck her windshield.
Oh, what luck! she thought wryly. Now I'll probably get drenched before I get indoors again!
She slowed at a blinking-light intersection and peered both ways. The streets seemed deserted at this late hour, and no one was coming from either direction. But as she started across, Nancy glanced in her rearview mirror, then reacted as if she had received an electric shock.
A big, old-fashioned red car was following her — from all appearances, the same car that had chased her the other night!
And, as before, Nancy could make out no driver at the wheel!
A pang of fear shot through the girl! She trod hard on the gas pedal to increase speed, even though she sensed already that her pursuer meant to dog her trail relentlessly!
Sure enough, the red car, too, speeded up. The empty blackness of its front seat was terrifying. But Nancy soon had other problems to claim her attention. The road wound steeply downhill toward the neighborhood where the Drews lived. And steering her car was becoming more and more difficult.
What had happened to her power steering? She could hardly turn the wheel. Nancy hesitated to apply the brakes with her ghostly pursuer so close behind. But she knew she would have to do so soon, unless she could bring her car under control. Otherwise she was in danger of going off the road!
Almost in the same moment that the thought crossed Nancy's mind, the decision was taken out of her hands!
There was a sudden thumpety-bump-bump! as her right wheel hit the curb. Her car slued and bounded from the paved road surface onto the dirt shoulder!
The shock jolted Nancy half out of her seat. She uttered a frozen scream of fright as she glimpsed the steep hillside yawning across her field of vision.
The next instant her car went skidding and crashing down the rough, brush-covered hillside!
14. Legal Threats
Using all of her strength, Nancy wrestled with the steering wheel as it jerked and twisted first in one direction, then in the other. All the while on her wild ride down the hillside, she was trying to stop the car by pushing on the brake pedal. Finally, when she thought she could do no more, she was able to bring the car to a halt, still upright and in one piece.
Considerably shaken and weak, Nancy leaned her head on the steering wheel while the storm raged on.
"Whew!" she said as she pulled herself together, opened the door, and stepped out into the rain.
"I guess the thing to do is to walk back up to the road and down to the next public phone,'' she muttered to herself as she climbed up the hillside, rain streaming over her from head to feet.
Walking as fast as she could against the storm, she reached the shelter of the phone booth and called one of the 24-hour towing service numbers provided by the company that insured her car. Nancy explained her predicament and asked if she could be dropped off at her house while the car was being towed to Bill's Garage, where the Drews were old customers.
"Sure, no problem," the service man said cheerfully, "if you don't mind riding up in the cab with me."
Twenty minutes later, Nancy walked into her house, drenched to the skin. The rest of the household was asleep, and Nancy, after disposing of her wet clothes, dried her hair and left a note for her father explaining what had happened to her car. Then she fell into bed exhausted.
She was so tired that she slept later than usual the next morning. By the time she showered and dressed, it was after 9:30 A.M.
Going downstairs, she found a place set for her at the kitchen table and a note from Hannah saying she had gone to the supermarket. Carson Drew had long since left for the office, so Nancy sat down to a lonely breakfast.
On the way to the refrigerator for milk and orange juice, Nancy switched on a small TV set that Hannah kept on the kitchen counter.
"May as well listen to the news," she said as she settled down at the table and spooned some strawberries onto her cereal.
"And now for some local news items," the announcer's voice boomed out. "Here in River Heights, artists and other participants in the local art scene were shocked by the revelation that the prize-winning painting in a recent art contest was a copy of a picture owned by the River Heights Museum. The discovery that artist Lee Talbot had copied his subject matter from the work of another painter was made by the famous teenage detective, Nancy Drew. Talbot could not be reached for . . ."
Nancy, very upset, switched off the TV set and went into the living room to look at the copy of the Morning Record, which had been brought in earlier from the porch by Carson Drew. Hastily checking through the paper, Nancy found the story of the copied painting on page 3. But this report made no mention of her part in the affair.
Puzzled, Nancy went into the hall to the telephone and quickly dialed the newspaper office. She asked to speak to reporter Peter Worden.
"Hello, Nancy," he said when she reached him. "You read my story in the Morning Record, right?"
"Yes, I did, Peter. Thank you for not mention-
ing my name.
"I always try to grant the request of beautiful girls," the reporter answered flirtatiously.
Nancy laughed. "Even though you didn't publish it, did you mention my name to anyone in connection with the story?"
"Absolutely not," he said in a more serious voice. "Why do you ask?"
"I was just listening to the morning news on television," Nancy replied. "The broadcast named me as the one who discovered that Lee Talbot's painting was a copy."
"Well, I'll be!" Peter Worden exclaimed. "Nancy, I don't know what to say. I swear I didn't violate your confidence. I told nobody." He declared this so earnestly and sounded so distressed that Nancy could not help but believe him.
"It's certainly a puzzle," she said in a troubled voice, "and it leaves me in a very unpleasant position. Still, there's no use fretting over it—what's done is done. I suppose sooner or later we'll find out how my name was brought into it."
"I'll check around and see what I can find out, Nancy," Worden said unhappily. "Meanwhile, if I can help in any way, please call on me."
Thanking him, Nancy returned to her unfinished breakfast in the kitchen. But the sight of the soggy cereal in the bowl drove away what little appetite she had left. Just then, the telephone rang and Nancy went to answer it.
"Miss Nancy Drew, please. Emily Owsler calling."
"This is Nancy speaking, Miss Owsler. How are you?"
"Oh—I'm just fine, dear." The maid paused as if to choose her next words, then went on. "I've just thought of something of Miss Duval's that might help you, something I was given as a keepsake. Perhaps you would like to look at it?"
Nancy's mood brightened. "Yes, indeed, Miss Owsler. Er, what is it?"
"An old photograph album. I thought by looking at the pictures in it, you might come across a clue of some sort," the elderly woman said hopefully.
"Why, that's an excellent idea! Thanks ever so much for letting me know."
>
Nancy arranged to visit Miss Owsler. She had no sooner hung up and turned away than the telephone shrilled again.
"I'd like to speak to Nancy Drew," snarled an angry voice.
"I'm Nancy Drew. Who is this?"
"This, Miss Drew, is Lee Talbot. You have publicly and falsely accused me of stealing, of plagiarism. I am therefore suing you for libel and defamation of character. You'll hear from my lawyer!" he threatened.
A look of dismay flickered over Nancy's face during this stormy speech. But she replied calmly enough, "Then please have your attorney contact my father, Carson Drew. He will act as my counsel."
Lee Talbot's response was to slam down the receiver, breaking the connection.
As Nancy turned from the phone, Hannah Gruen, the Drews' housekeeper, bustled in the door with two bags of groceries.
On seeing Nancy's expression, Hannah asked, "Has anything happened, dear? You look very upset and unhappy." She gave the girl a quick hug after setting down her load from the supermarket.
"Oh, Hannah, I've had a rather unpleasant morning. Could you take time out and drive me to Bill's Garage so I can pick up my car? I'll tell you all my troubles on the way."
They reached the garage in the Drews' station wagon just as Nancy finished relating the morning's events, ending with a description of Lee Talbot's threatening telephone call.
"My goodness, no wonder you looked so upset, dear!" a worried Hannah exclaimed as
Nancy got out of the car. "But don't let it get you down. I'm sure your father will know how to deal with that fellow. In the meantime, take care of yourself."
'Til try, Hannah. Good-bye and thanks for the lift. ,,
Rick, the garage mechanic, was just closing the hood of Nancy's car. "All set, Miss Drew," he smiled, then added more soberly, "I think you ought to be more careful where you park your car, hereafter. ,,
"Oh? Why?"
"Some joker cut the power steering hose. All the fluid leaked out."
"So that's why I had so much trouble turning the wheel!" Nancy frowned reflectively. "At first I didn't notice anything wrong. But I suppose the fluid leaked out gradually as I drove along."
"Right. Also, another odd thing, we had a call this morning. Fellow wanting to know if we had picked up Nancy Drew's car."
As Nancy's eyes widened, Rick said. "Maybe you ought to report it to the police."
"You're right, I will," the girl sleuth promised. She paid the repair bill and drove off.
Nancy decided to check with the curator at the art museum to try to find out how her name got into the news report about Lee Talbot's painting. But when she saw him in his office later that morning, he was unable to shed any light on the matter.
"No one talked to me about Lee Talbot or his painting, Nancy," Mr. Gregory said regretfully. "I'm sorry I can't help."
Seeing her disappointed look, however, he went on, hoping to cheer her up.
"But we have located that missing picture you were asking about—the one donated by the Duval family when the museum first opened!"
15. An Old Likeness
Mr. Gregory opened the door to a closet in his office and brought out a painting with an old, ornate gilt frame. Nancy stared at the portrait.
The painter had depicted a handsome young man with dark eyes and a cleft chin. He was dressed in the elegant style of the late eighteenth century. He had a tall, white powdered wig and a pale blue velvet coat embroidered in gold with a frothy jabot gathered at the throat of his fine white shirt.
"A striking fellow, I must admit," Mr. Gregory remarked, "even if the painting's not all that valuable."
"Yes," Nancy agreed and went on musingly, "It's strange, but he reminds me of someone." Try as she would, Nancy could not place the resemblance. "Can you tell me anything about the painting, Mr. Gregory, besides the fact that it was donated by the Duval family?"
The curator pointed to some small, scriptlike markings in the lower right-hand corner of the canvas. "Well, I have deciphered the artist's signature. He was Antoine Grivet, a minor French painter who flourished in the late 1700s. The date is less easy to make out, but appears to be 1790."
"Is there any way to find out whose portrait this was?" Nancy asked.
"Hm, yes, it may be possible to establish the subject of the picture. One would have to consult an expert who specializes in French art of that period. There's a chap in New York who might be able to help. I'll call him this afternoon."
Mr. Gregory replaced the painting in the closet and locked the door, then glanced at his watch. "Oh, my goodness. I have a meeting with the trustees in five minutes. Nancy, could you excuse me?"
"Of course. And thanks ever so much for letting me know about the Duval painting."
"A pleasure, my dear. It's the least I could do after your efforts to help solve those break-ins."
They parted outside the curator's office. Mr. Gregory bustled off down the corridor. As
Nancy walked toward the marble staircase which led down into the lobby, she happened to glance in an open doorway. A dark-haired young woman in a blue smock was bent over a framed painting on a worktable in front of her, carefully examining and cleaning the painted canvas. The young woman looked up and their eyes met.
"Hi, Nancy!" She was the curator's assistant, Jane Heron. "On the trail of another mystery? ,,
"Well, a small one." Nancy paused for a moment to chat. "But so far I'm not having much luck."
"What's the mystery, may I ask?"
"How that television news report this morning came to name me as the one who discovered that Lee Talbot's prize-winning painting looked like a picture in the museum."
"But you are the one, aren't you?"
Nancy smiled ruefully. "Yes and no. Actually it was a reporter for the Record, Peter Worden, who first noticed the similarity. I just happened to spot the picture he had in mind. It was the one I photographed down in the basement storage area, remember?"
Miss Heron nodded, looking troubled. "Yes, indeed I do."
"But, you see, I knew the discovery was likely to stir up a good deal of unpleasantness, and I didn't want to become involved. So I asked Mr. Worden not to mention my name when he wrote his news story. He promised he wouldn't, and he assures me he kept his promise. Yet the television newscaster this morning named me as the person who made the discov-ery.
"Oh, dear!" A look of distress had come over Jane Heron's face. "Nancy, I'm very much afraid that I'm the one who's to blame!"
"You?" Nancy stared at the museum staffer in surprise. "I don't understand. How did it happen?"
Miss Heron explained unhappily that a television camera crew had come to the museum to photograph the picture in question, after picking up Worden's story over the news wire, even before it appeared in the morning Record.
"They wanted to interview me," she went on, "but at the time I knew nothing about the matter, so all I could tell them was that I had seen you photographing the picture. They must have assumed from that that you were the one who'd discovered the similarity of the two paintings."
The girl detective responded with a thoughtful nod. "Yes, that probably explains it."
"Oh, Nancy, I'm terribly sorry!" Jane Heron exclaimed, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I just wasn't using my head. I should have spoken to you before mentioning your name. Can you possibly forgive me for not being more cautious?"
Seeing that the woman was upset, Nancy summoned a smile. "Don't worry, you had no way of knowing. In your place, I might have done the same. At least you've solved one mystery for me."
After leaving the museum, Nancy decided to visit Pierre Michaud, to see how he was coming along repairing his invention, and also to tell him about the latest developments in his case.
When she arrived at his workshop, she found him busily at work with his tools and electronic equipment. "You see, Nancy, a representative of the National Computer Company called and said they were interested in seeing my memory device. So I must have everything ready to demonstr
ate my invention when he comes here. He may be in River Heights within the next day or two."
"Golly, can you be ready that soon?"
"Om, if that is when he is coming, then I must be ready, even if it means working day and night," Pierre replied with a smile. "Anything is possible if one works hard enough! Is that not what you say here in America?"
Watching his mobile features while he talked, Nancy was struck by a sudden realization. Now she knew whom the man in the portrait reminded her of! No doubt the wig had thrown her off.
"Is something wrong?" Pierre inquired, seeing her startled expression.
Nancy's blue eyes twinkled. "Far from it. In fact you just made something come right for me." She described the picture which the museum curator had shown her and asked if by any chance it might be a painting of someone in his family.
"Mais non, Nancy. It could not be a Michaud. My family was of humble origin. No velvet or gold-embroidered clothes for us!" He laughed and added with a wave of his hand toward the computer assembly. "There may be before long, though, if I can get this finished and sell it!"
Nancy was about to leave a short time later when an expensive-looking car pulled up outside the building and Pierre's backer, Mr. Var-ney, came striding into the workshop. The big, vigorous-looking financier seemed preoccupied and disturbed.
"My boy," he blurted, "I don't like the way things are shaping up, not one bit."
"Do you mean the explosion, sir?" Pierre asked anxiously.
"Not only the blast itself, but the news report that was broadcast about what happened. Do you realize this could ruin your chances of selling your invention? Nobody wants to invest in something so risky it may blow up in his face!"
"But, Mr. Varney, you were here just after it happened. You know the explosion was not my fault. Miss Drew will tell you that the computer I was using to demonstrate my device had been bobby-trapped. Some enemy wired it with a bomb that was set to go off when the computer was turned on!"
"Yes, yes, we know all that. But that is certainly not the impression that listeners to the news broadcast will get. fm sorry, but I may have to reconsider giving you any further financial support!"
Clue in the Ancient Disguise Page 8