The Mysterious Mannequin

Table of Contents

 

 

THE strange disappearance of a young Turkish client of Mr. Drew’s and the gift of an Oriental rug with a coded message woven into its decorative border start Nancy on a difficult search for a missing mannequin. What happened to the attractive figure that Farouk Tahmasp used in the display window of his rug shop? Who is trying to keep Nancy from finding it—and why?

Tracking down the intricate trail of clues takes Nancy and her friends Bess and George, Ned, Burt and Dave to Turkey. Their sleuthing leads them to the Grand Bazaar in the exotic city of Istanbul, where Bess mysteriously disappears. Suspense mounts when Nancy encounters a vengeful enemy at an ancient underground reservoir.

Events move swiftly as Nancy and her friends try to solve this challenging mystery, and lead to an exciting climax that will delight and thrill all admirers of America’s favorite girl detective.

Copyright © 1970 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam &
Grosset Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.
NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster,
Inc. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

eISBN : 978-1-101-07748-1

2007 Printing

NANCY Drew opened the door of her father’s office and walked in. He had phoned her to pick him up since his car was in the repair shop.

“Hi!” she said to Miss Hanson, his secretary.

“Hello, Nancy,” the woman replied. “Your father will be ready in a few minutes.” She gave a little chuckle and pointed to a package on a chair near the door. “That came a little while ago. Looks mysterious.”

Nancy’s interest was aroused at once. The package was about eighteen inches square and well wrapped. She glanced at the airmail stamps and postmark.

“This is from Istanbul, Turkey!”

The attractive, teen-age detective leaned down to get a look at the sender’s name and address. There was none.

“That’s strange,” she thought.

Just then Carson Drew, a tall, good-looking man in his late forties, appeared from his inner office. He kissed Nancy, then looked at the package.

“What’s this?” he asked. “Hm! From Istanbul. I didn’t order anything from there. Nancy, have any of our friends been to Turkey recently?”

Nancy thought for a moment. “None that I can think of.”

“Let’s open the package. Maybe the sender’s name is inside.”

Miss Hanson took a pair of shears from her desk and cut the sealing tape. Inside the wrapping was a Turkish prayer rug three by five feet.

“How beautiful!” Nancy exclaimed, unfolding it.

The center section of the new, Oriental silk rug had a pale-gold background with a flower design. Its rectangular border was an intricate combination of leaves, vines, and geometric symbols in shades of deep rose, blue, and gold.

“It’s exquisite,” Miss Hanson remarked. “Strange that the sender didn’t enclose a card.”

Mr. Drew continued to stare at the rug. Finally he said, “I’m going to hazard a guess about who sent this. Miss Hanson, do you recall my Turkish-American client Farouk Tahmasp?”

The secretary nodded. “He owned the Turkish rug shop in town and disappeared mysteriously.”

“He’s the one,” the lawyer said. He turned to Nancy. “Farouk’s shop was over on Satcher Street, where there’s a tailor now. It was a very fine shop and he sold many expensive Orientals. Farouk was accused by customs officials of having smuggled in several valuable rugs. He denied it and came to me for advice.

“I took his case, but before it came up in court, Farouk suddenly vanished. He left a note for me saying he could not stand the disgrace, even though he was innocent. He did not say where he was going and I haven’t heard from him since. Too bad, because he does not know that he was acquitted. Someone in Turkey had reported wrong information.”

“What a shame!” said Nancy. Her eyes lighted up. “I remember that shop. Didn’t he have a mannequin in the window?”

“Yes.”

Nancy smiled. “It was about six years ago that I first saw the mannequin. It was a young Turkish lady. She wore pale-blue pantaloons and a longsleeved cerise blouse. What interested me most was the big white veil that covered her whole head except her eyes and the upper part of her nose.”

“That’s right,” her father agreed. “Women in Turkey were required to wear that type of costume before the country became a republic in 1923. But nowadays most of them wear Western-style dress.”

Nancy chuckled. “One time, when I stood looking at the mannequin, I was sure she had winked at me. I kept going back to see if she would do it again, but she never did.”

Mr. Drew and Miss Hanson laughed. Her father said, “With your imagination I can see how you might think that. By the way, Farouk Tahmasp disappeared nearly two years ago.”

“And you think maybe he’s in Turkey and sent this rug?” Nancy asked. “Did he owe you legal fees?”

The lawyer shook his head. “That’s one of the strange parts of the story. Farouk sent me money before he left. He greatly overpaid me and I have always wanted to send him a refund.”

“What happened to the mannequin?” Nancy queried.

Her father said he did not know. “Farouk probably sold her to a shop or museum.”

Mr. Drew went on to say that according to neighbors, all the rugs in the shop had been loaded on a van and taken away. He said that later he found out a dealer in New York had paid cash for the merchandise.

“So there was no way of tracing Farouk,” Nancy remarked.

All this while she had been examining the rug. “Since the sender didn’t enclose his name, do you suppose there could be a message for you woven into the pattern? I’ve heard that years ago in Turkey secret messages were hidden in rugs.”

Mr. Drew smiled. “Nancy, I value your hunches. Let’s see if we can find something.”

They laid the rug across Miss Hanson’s desk and the three began to examine the border carefully. No one spoke as their fingers traced flowers, vines, and geometric symbols.

In a few moments Nancy spotted an object hidden among some leaves. “I believe it’s a car,” she said to herself. She moved a forefinger along the rug and came upon the figures of a man and a little boy.

Nancy looked at it steadily for several moments. Then she burst out, “Here’s a clue!” She pointed. “See that car? And the man and boy?”

“Yes,” Miss Hanson replied. “Does it mean something?”

“I’m sure it does,” said Nancy. “My father’s name! Car-son! Carson.”

“Why, that’s marvelous!” Miss Hanson exclaimed. “But I can’t understand why Farouk Tahmasp didn’t write his message in a letter.”

Nancy suggested that the answer might be found in the rug.

“Dad,” she said, “I’m sure there’s a whole message for you in the border of this rug. Oh, if we can only figure it out!”

Miss Hanson smiled. “You will.”

The three searchers became so intent on their task that Mr. Drew suggested they lay the rug on the floor in order to study it better. It was not long before Nancy found another clue.

“Here’s a French word:
trouvez.
It means find.”

“Find what?” Miss Hanson asked.

The three did not discover anything more during the next five minutes.

“Nancy,” said Mr. Drew, “it’s time for us to go home.”

He folded the rug, wrapped it in the paper, and carried it to Nancy’s car.

When the Drews arrived home they were met at the door by the housekeeper, Mrs. Hannah Gruen. She was a sweet-looking, motherly person who had helped to rear Nancy since Mrs. Drew’s death when her daughter was only three years of age.

“Nancy,” she said, “those blue eyes of yours are sparkling. What has happened?”

“Another mystery!” Nancy announced. “Come into the living room and we’ll show you.”

The housekeeper was amazed not only because the identity of the donor was unknown, but also because a message was beginning to unfold itself in the intricate weaving.

“Hannah,” said Nancy, “try your hand at discovering what we are supposed to find.”

Mrs. Gruen laid the rug on the living-room carpet, got down on her knees, and began a search. Meanwhile, Mr. Drew had gone upstairs to make a phone call and Nancy went to wash her hands and give Togo, her terrier, his supper.