Password to Larkspur Lane (4 page)

“Oh, hello, Nancy,” said Mr. Mahoney. “What’s this about a thief in the store?”

Nancy took him aside and explained briefly. “I don’t think the woman is an ordinary purse snatcher. She’s probably mixed up in a case I’m working on.”

“Well, I hope you catch her,” Mr. Mahoney said. He waved good-by and walked off.

Nancy examined her handbag. The strap had been cut. “I doubt if that woman knew I had the bracelet with me before she saw it through the jeweler’s window.” The young detective suspected that Adam Thorne had engaged the thief to trail her.

“I believe she recognized the bracelet,” Nancy told herself, “and she’ll tell Thorne about it. I hope the old lady who owns it doesn’t get into trouble for slipping it to Dr. Spire.”

Deep in thought as she walked down the street, Nancy did not see a petite, dark-haired young woman hurrying toward her.

“Nancy! What luck to run into you!”

“Helen Corning! Oh, I’m sorry,” Nancy said with a grin. “I can’t get used to your being Mrs. Archer. How’s everything?”

“Oh, just great, except for one thing. Nancy, I was going to call you this very afternoon. How about solving a mystery for me?”

Seeing her friend’s look of interest, she chuckled. “I thought that would catch you. Could you come to my apartment tomorrow evening at six? I’ll tell you all about it then. Besides, Jim would love to see you.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Nancy replied, “but I think it’s only fair to tell you I’m already working on a mystery.”

Helen smiled. “Then this is just one more. You’re so clever, Nancy, I’m sure you can solve both at once!”

Nancy laughed. “Give me a hint.”

Helen explained that her Grandmother and Grandfather Corning had recently moved to Sylvan Lake. “They have a dreamy stone house on a hill. It is beautiful. But now Gram and Gramp are afraid to stay there because of something queer that keeps happening.”

“What is it?” Nancy asked.

Helen glanced at her watch. “I’d love to tell you, but I must run. See you tomorrow. We’ll drive out to the lake and have dinner with Gram and Gramp. Thanks a million, Nancy!”

As Helen Archer hurried away, Nancy stood on the sidewalk musing. “Um—another case.” Then she turned toward home.

When Nancy reached it, Effie opened the front door. “I heard you drive in,” she said in a loud whisper. “The pigeon man’s here.” She gestured toward the living room. “He’s very good-looking.”

“Thank you,” said Nancy, and went to greet the caller, hoping he had not heard Effie.

A tall blond man in his twenties got up as she entered. He introduced himself as Donald Jordan, secretary of the local branch of the Pigeon Fanciers association. He showed her his credentials.

“I’m so glad you came,” said Nancy. “Please sit down. I’ll get the pigeon and the message.”

Nancy hurried to the garage and saw with relief that the bird seemed stronger.

“Oh, I hope Mr. Jordan won’t take you away,” she murmured to the bird. “I want you to get well enough to fly to your home loft. Then I’ll follow you!”

Nancy carried the pigeon to the living room. Mr. Jordan examined the bird gently, noting especially the number on its leg band. Then Nancy took the message from her purse and handed it to him.

“This is the second pigeon seen in this area with an unregistered number,” he said. “The other was found dead on the highway. I mentioned it to a detective friend of mine. He thought criminals might be using this means of communication, thinking it safer than telephone or telegraph or letter.”

Nancy nodded and told him she had reported the incident to the police.

“Good. That saves us the trouble.” The young man arose. “Well, thank you for notifying me, Miss Drew. Now I’ll take the bird and—”

“Oh, please don’t!” Nancy exclaimed.

Mr. Jordan looked surprised. “Surely you don’t want to be bothered with a sick pigeon?”

“I don’t mind,” said Nancy. “I’d like to try to nurse it back to health.”

The young man shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s not much chance, but if that’s what you want, it’s okay with me.”

He made copies of the leg-band number and the strange message, then wished her luck and left. Nancy returned the pigeon to the garage. She immediately went to Hannah Gruen’s room to tell her about the latest developments in the case.

“And about time,” said the housekeeper. “I never hear any news up here.”

“How are you feeling?” Nancy asked.

“Much better. If it wasn’t for that fussy doctor, I’d be up and working like I should.”

Nancy laughed. “You just take it easy while you have the chance!”

Late in the afternoon Mr. Drew called to say that he could not be home until nine o’clock. To keep Hannah company, Nancy and Effie ate supper on trays in her room and afterward watched a television play.

At the end, Effie sniffed in disappointment. “Not enough love,” she commented. “Now that handsome Mr. Kyle should have—”

She stopped speaking as the front doorbell rang. “Dad must have forgotten his key,” Nancy remarked. “I’ll go.”

She hurried down the stairs and started to open the door. Instinct told the young sleuth to be cautious. She flicked the wall switch to turn on the porch light, then opened the door a crack. The porch was dark! Nancy thought the bulb must have burned out.

“Dad?” Nancy called quickly.

There was no answer, but from somewhere in the shadows came the sound of heavy breathing.

“WHO’S there?” Nancy called sharply into the darkness. She heard a stirring near the porch, but could see no one.

“Never mind who,” came a rasping whisper from the shadows. “We warned your father to mind his own business. Now we’re telling you: forget the doctor’s story or you’ll be sorry.”

Just then headlights swept up the driveway. Instantly a dark figure dashed across the lawn and disappeared into the night.

Nancy recognized her father’s car. Moments later Mr. Drew parked beside the house and hurried up the porch steps.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Why are you out here?”

“A man rang the bell, Dad, but wouldn’t let me see him. He gave us another warning.”

The lawyer’s face was grim. “Did you recognize his voice?” he asked.

“It sounded something like Adam Thorne’s,” Nancy replied, “but I can’t be sure because he spoke in a whisper. The man was big, though, like Thorne.”

Nancy explained why the light was not on, and turned to examine it. “The bulb’s gone!” she exclaimed. “I suppose the man took it out so I couldn’t see him. I’ll put in a new one.”

“I’d like to wring that fellow’s neck,” her father stormed. “I’ll put the car away, then report this to Lieutenant Mulligan.”

“Dad, before you put the car in the garage, would you drive me to the flower show? I’m just a little bit curious as to who won the prizes.”

He grinned. “Of course I’ll take you.” He patted her shoulder. “While I phone Mulligan, go tell Hannah and Effie where we’re going and not to answer the doorbell.”

Twenty minutes later father and daughter arrived at the greenhouse on the Blenheim estate. The display was beautiful, but the cut flowers were beginning to wilt. Nancy’s pulse quickened as she approached her own entry.

“Dad!” she cried out. “Look!”

Attached to her bouquet of larkspur was a dark-blue satin ribbon with the inscription FIRST PRIZE!

“Nancy, that’s wonderful,” her father said. “Congratulations! Maybe you ought to give up solving mysteries and raise flowers.”

“Not a chance,” she said.

“But it’s far less dangerous,” he countered. “Take this present mystery, for instance. It might be wise for you to drop it.”

Nancy looked shocked. “Why, Dad! Think of the poor old woman who is a prisoner.”

“But, Nancy, my first concern is for your safety. You are more important to me than all the mysterious old ladies in the world!”

Nancy’s face showed her disappointment. “Oh please, Dad, no.”

Mr. Drew looked uncomfortable. “I know, I know. You’re like me. You’ll never be satisfied until you lick the problem. Go ahead.”

“Thank you, Dad,” Nancy said happily. “I will.”

“Hold it, Miss Drew!” said a voice nearby.

Nancy looked up to see a news photographer pointing a camera at her. “There! Stand right next to your exhibit.”

Before she could comply, Nancy heard another voice say, “Go get her!” At the same instant a big, vicious-looking dog sprang at her!

“Oh!” she screamed, dodging just in time. The Great Dane crashed into the vase of prize flowers, knocking the exhibit to the ground and shattering the vase. He yelped in fright, then ran off.

“Who owns that beast?” cried the photographer.

No one claimed to be the owner. The Drews guessed Thorne was behind the attack, but could see him nowhere in the crowd. He—or his henchmen—had taken advantage of the excitement to escape.

Nancy reported the incident to Mrs. Winsor, who told her to take the blue ribbon home. When she and her father reached the house, Hannah and Effie were delighted to hear that Nancy had won first prize in the delphinium class. “Here’s hoping,” said Mrs. Gruen, “that you’ll come out ahead in your mystery, too.”

“You’re sweet,” Nancy told the housekeeper, then kissed her good night without telling of the dog episode. But she was alarmed over it.

Nancy went to her pretty yellow-and-white bedroom. There she changed into pajamas, robe, and slippers, then seated herself at her desk. She was determined to figure out the strange message which the pigeon had been carrying.

She opened a gardening book and turned to bluebells, then delphinium and larkspur. She learned that bluebells were different from the others. Delphinium were perennial flowers and usually blue, though some were white or lavender. Larkspur, the annual flower of the genus, occurred in pale and dark blue, mauve and other shades. In common usage, however, the names delphinium and larkspur were often interchanged.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Nancy thought, “but it doesn’t get me much further.” She closed the book with a sigh and put it away. “Maybe if I just forget the whole thing until morning an answer will come to me.”

She stretched out on her comfortable bed and tuned in the clock radio to her favorite musical program. But her mind kept returning to the problem.

“I have larkspur on the brain. Larkspur—larkspur,” she mused, clasping her hands behind her head. “Funny name. I wonder how they came to be called that. Maybe because the blossoms have little points or spurs. But why the lark? Why not sparrowspur or ostrichspur?

“Spurs are for horses, and horses don’t look like larks, and larks don’t suggest anything that wear spurs. Larks sing and—Oh!” Nancy sat bolt upright. “I have it! I’ll bet that’s it!”

She raced to her father’s study and knocked. Mr. Drew called, “Come in.” He looked up from the letter he was writing when Nancy exclaimed:

“Dad! I think I have a clue to the kidnappers’ hideout. It’s larkspur!
Singing horses
stands for lark—spurs!”

“Nancy, that could be it!”

“Maybe the kidnappers got the idea of using that flower in their code, because it grows at the headquarters of the gang!”

The lawyer nodded thoughtfully as Nancy went on, “There may be bluebells there too, but I’m not sure.
Blue bells
in the pigeon’s message might mean something else since it is two words. I’m going to drive through the countryside until I find a place—a house, a street, or something else—that has larkspurs, bluebells, or both as its most conspicuous feature.”

“It’s certainly a lead worth working on,” said her father. “Better than trying to follow the pigeon to its home loft.”

In the morning Nancy studied a map of the River Heights area and decided to ride through the countryside east of the town on her search for the telltale flowers. She drove tirelessly, stopping only to ask people if they could direct her to places where either larkspurs or bluebells grew. Here and there she found larkspurs in gardens of private homes too small to be the place Dr. Spire had described. After lunch she drove on, but had no luck. At four o’clock she gave up, disappointed.