The Eskimo's Secret (2 page)

The man staring at the camera was tall, attractive, and very angry; his dark eyes flashed and the well-manicured hands were tightening into fists as he forced a smile. “I’m afraid I have no comment at this time,” he said.

“Not even to squelch the rumor that this might have been an inside job?” the newscaster asked.

Nancy gasped and jumped as the telephone interrupted her concentration on the television. Mr. Steele looked very much as though he’d like to hit the newscaster, but he only turned away. Nancy swallowed a sign, turned down the sound and picked up the receiver.

“Nancy? Nancy, is that you?” Alana’s voice was high and frantic, her breathing ragged as though she were crying.

“Alana, where have you been?” Nancy asked. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

“No, no, I’m not. I need help, Nancy. Please,

can you come to Victoria?” The last was a sob.

“Of course I’ll come,” Nancy assured her. “But what’s the matter? Is it the robbery? How can I help you?”

“Just come, please, I—” The connection was broken sharply.

“Oh!” Nancy exploded, dialing the number for the Steele house.

“Steele residence. ’ The voice was that of the housekeeper.

“This is Nancy Drew,” Nancy said. “I was just talking to Alana and we were cut off. Is she there?”

“Oh, no, Miss Drew, Alana hasn’t returned yet. I’m afraid I have no idea where you can reach her.”

“But...” Nancy started to protest, then gave her thanks, realizing she had no idea where Alana might have been calling from. She considered calling the gallery, then rejected the idea, aware that it would be a scene of mass confusion after the robbery. She was relieved to hear her father’s key in the door.

His greeting was warm, but he quickly asked, “Is something wrong, Nancy? Couldn’t you roach Alana?”

Nancy began explaining about her calls, Alana’s plea for help, and the robbery. He listened without comment until she’d finished, then shook his head. “That doesn’t sound good,” he said. “Would you like me to call Jeff Carrington? He’s an investigator with the police here in Victoria whose specialty is art theft. He’s bound to be involved in the case already.” “Oh, Dad, I’d really appreciate it,” Nancy replied. “I just don’t know what to do. Alana must be in terrible trouble and I want to help her, but first I have to find her!”

“I’ll ask Jeff,” her father promised. “He’ll know if she was at the gallery when the robbery took place.” He smiled. “While I’m doing that, why don’t you look over the room service menu and make some decisions about dinner? I assume you’ll be wanting to stay here in case Alana calls again.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Nancy gave her father a quick hug before going to get the menu.

Carson Drew’s conversation proved to be a long one, and when he finished his expression was rather grim. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good, Nancy,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“The newscaster was correct: The authorities do seem to feel that this was an inside job. Whoever took the Tundra knew just where to find it and had access to the private safe at the Steele Gallery.”

“But who . . . ?”

“Jeff couldn’t give me any details, but from what he implied, I would guess that suspicion at the moment is being directed at Clement Steele, although several of his employees are also being questioned.”

“And Alana?” Nancy was almost afraid to ask. “Jeff said that she wasn’t being questioned. In fact, he was quite sure that she hadn’t been at the gallery today. She is, however, on the list of people to be contacted.”

“Do you suppose that’s why she was so upset?” Nancy asked. “Because of the robbery, I mean.”

“Didn’t you say she sounded nervous earlier?” her father countered.

Nancy nodded. “She was at home then, and when I called the gallery and talked to Mr. Steele, he didn’t know where she was.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, then Nancy offered her father the menu, asking his comments before she ordered. They were halfway through dinner when the telephone rang once again. Carson Drew answered it, then handed the receiver to Nancy. “Mr. Steele.”

“Hello, Mr. Steele,” Nancy said. “Are you calling for Alana?”

“Is she there?” Mr. Steele asked.

“Here? Of course not,” Nancy gasped. “I just meant—”

“She’s not in Seattle? You haven’t talked to her?” Mr. Steele’s voice dropped.

“I haven’t talked to her since she called and asked me to help her,” Nancy began.

“When was that? Was it after we talked?” “Yes it was. Actually, it was while I was watching the news report about the robbery. That’s why I didn’t call you at the gallery.” “What exactly did she say?”

Nancy reported the conversation as well as she could remember it, ending, “I promised her I’d come and help, but I don’t know where to reach her, Mr. Steele. I tried calling your house again, but they said she hadn’t been home.” “She hasn’t.” His voice was weary.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Nancy asked. “Is it the robbery? I want to help her.” The too familiar click stopped her words.

“Is something wrong?” her father asked. “Mr. Steele just hung up on me,” Nancy reported, frustration making her angry. “It seems like everyone I talk to is doing that. Nobody wants to give me any answers.”

"Frustrating, isn’t it?” Carson Drew observed. “I’ve been getting a lot of that, too.” “How is the Haggler case going?” Nancy inquired, eager for the change of subject. “I’ve been so worried about Alana I didn’t even ask.” “Like your telephone conversations,” Mr. Drew replied. “I’ve never run into so many dead ends. It’s like being in a maze. Everywhere I turn I find a promising lead; I follow it and run directly into a wall.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Nancy asked. “Help me eat this dessert,” her father answered. “I ordered too much dinner.”

“Didn’t I warn you about that?” Nancy teased. “Hannah would never approve.”

Her father responded with a story of another multi-course meal and Nancy found herself laughing in spite of her fears for Alana. There seemed to be nothing she could do at the moment, so it was better not to dwell on all the terrible things that might be happening to her friend.

The evening passed slowly. The news was full of reports of the robbery, but it was soon clear that no one knew any more than they had during the first moment when Nancy had seen the news flash. Still, Nancy enjoyed watching the reports because they showed the short tape of the Tundra sculpture and she found it hyp-notizing.

About halfway through the evening the telephone rang again. Nancy raced to answer it, then suppressed her disappointment when she recognized Helen Haggler’s voice. “May I speak with Carson, Nancy?” the woman asked.

“Of course, Miss Haggler, just a moment.” Nancy handed her father the receiver, which caused him to raise an eyebrow.

Nancy returned to the television, but even as she watched, she was conscious of her father’s voice and the change in his tone. He was upset, she could tell, and he was frowning when he finally replaced the receiver.

“Is something wrong, Dad?” Nancy asked.

“I’m not sure,” he replied.

“Was Miss Haggler unhappy with our progress?”

“She didn’t even ask.” Carson Drew sighed. “She called to tell me she wants the investigation of Investors, Inc. stopped,” he explained. “And she refuses to tell me why.”

“Stopped, but I thought. . . ?” Nancy let it trail off. “What are you going to do?” she asked sure her father wasn’t going to be so easily put off.

“I’m going out to her estate first thing in the morning,” Carson said.

“Do you think someone has threatened her?” Nancy asked, following his line of thought without any difficulty.

“Knowing Helen Haggler, I doubt she’d give in to simple threats. She didn’t get where she is today without being a very strong lady.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I’m not going to stop my investigation until I know exactly what has changed her mind.” His face was set and hard and Nancy felt a sudden chill of fear for him.

“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked, almost timidly.

“You’d better stay here and try to reach Alana,” he said.

Nancy nodded, but the premonition of disaster didn’t go away.

Carson Drew left for the Haggler estate early the next morning; by eight o’clock, Nancy was pacing the floor. Unable to wait any longer for Alana’s call, she tried the Steele mansion once again. The housekeeper answered in an already weary tone.

“May I speak with Alana?” Nancy asked, then identified herself, sure that the household had been bombarded by calls from reporters.

“I’m sorry, Miss Drew, but Miss Steele is away,” the housekeeper responded.

“Away?” Nancy frowned. “But I don’t under-stand.”

“She left on a trip around lunchtime yesterday, Miss. I’m very sorry.” The connection was broken before Nancy could protest.

“Away on a trip, my foot,” Nancy murmured to herself, suddenly sure her friend was in real trouble. “If she left, it wasn’t on anything as casual as a little trip.”

Nancy spent a few minutes reviewing all that had happened since yesterday’s call to Alana, and none of it made much sense to her. She was haunted by the call from Alana and her plea for help.

“There’s no use waiting around here,” she told herself firmly. Her father would be gone most of the day, and perhaps even overnight if his conference with Miss Haggler continued late into the day. Alana had begged her to come and help, and Nancy, sure that help was needed, was ready to go.

Packing an overnight case and calling about arrangements to get from Seattle to Victoria didn’t take very long. She felt better as soon as she was on her way. She only hoped her father wouldn’t be too upset to come back to the hotel and find only a note waiting for him.

Once in Victoria, Nancy hesitated. She considered calling the Steele mansion again, but she had a strong suspicion that she would only be told the same story. Better to rent a car and just drive to the mansion.

Nancy arrived there a little before noon. A maid answered her knock, but would tell her only that neither Alana nor Mr. Steele was at home. When Nancy requested more information, the maid summoned the housekeeper, whom she called Mrs. Dentley. The housekeeper merely repeated the story she’d given Nancy on the telephone.

“Alana asked me to come,” Nancy protested, sensing that the woman was lying. “I really must see her.”

The woman shrugged and closed the door on Nancy, leaving her standing on the doorstep.

Frustrated, Nancy looked around. The estate was set well back from the street in the midst of beautifully cared for gardens. Flower scents filled the air and in the distance she could hear the steady whirring of a mower.

Aware that pounding on the door would bring her no information, Nancy followed the sound of the mower around to the side of the mansion. A young man was operating it, and he stopped at once when he saw her.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“I’ve come to see Alana Steele,” Nancy said, liking his friendly grin. “She called me yesterday and asked me to come and help her, but now she doesn’t seem to be home and I don’t know where to get in touch with her. Do you have any idea where she might be?”

The young man studied her for a moment, I lien shrugged. “She left the house shortly after noon yesterday. I noticed, because she ran out like someone was after her. Hopped in her car and took off. As far as I know, she hasn’t come back.”

“Not even last night?” Nancy’s worry about her friend deepened.

“Her car is kind of noisy and I live over the garage, so I would have heard it if she’d come in.

“Did she take any luggage with her?” Nancy asked, remembering the housekeeper’s story about a trip.

The young man shook his head. “Mr. Steele might know where she is,” he suggested. “Or maybe her boyfriend would.”

“Who would that be?” Nancy inquired.

“Tod Harper. He works with her at the gallery.”

Nancy sighed, sure that she’d gotten all the information she could from the young man, and feeling even, more anxious about Alana. She thanked him and returned to her car. It was obvious that the Steele Gallery would have to be her next stop and she was sure she wasn’t going to find Alana there. She only hoped that Alana’s uncle would have more information for her today than he’d had last night.

The Steele Gallery was a handsome building, new but carefully designed to fit in with the older structures on each side. At the moment, however, it boasted a large CLOSED sign on the front door and there were several official-looking cars parked in the area. Not sure she would be admitted, Nancy tried the front door. To her surprise, it was unlocked.

“We’re closed today, Miss.” The guard stepped out of the shadows the moment she entered the dim reception area.

“I was looking for Mr. Steele or Tod Harper,” Nancy said quickly. “I’m a friend of Alana Steele’s.”

The man’s eyes remained unfriendly as he studied her for a moment, then he nodded. “You will find them both down that hall to your left.”

Nancy took two steps in the indicated direction.

“Wait a minute,” the guard said. “You’re not a reporter or anything, are you?” he asked.

“No, I’m not,” Nancy answered.

“Better not be,” the guard muttered as he waved her forward. “They aren’t giving any interviews today, that’s for sure.”

Nancy followed the hall to where a series of offices lined a corridor behind the main show-rooms of the gallery. Since only one office bore a name—“Clement Steele”—Nancy headed for it.

“I don’t have to listen to this!” The man’s voice was loud and full of anger, stopping Nancy’s hand before she could knock on the door.

“You work for me; you’ll listen to whatever I have to say,” an equally angry voice replied.