Read The Secret in the Old Attic Online
Authors: Carolyn Keene
Tags: #Mystery, #Women Detectives, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #Girls & Women, #Action & Adventure, #Mystery & Detective, #Juvenile Fiction, #Adventure and Adventurers, #Letters, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Fiction, #Attics, #Women Sleuths, #Music - Manuscripts, #Drew; Nancy (Fictitious Character), #General, #Mystery and Detective Stories
The Secret in the Old Attic (10 page)
Mr. March shook his head. “There’s no one I know of,” he admitted. “Mrs. Peabody used to come to the house to hear Fipp play the piano, but she died last year.”
“Didn’t Fipp have any younger friends?”
“Plenty of them, but they’ve scattered to the far corners of the earth. I wouldn’t know where to find them.”
Nancy tried a different approach. “Are you certain that your son never sold any of his tunes?”
“Fipp wouldn’t sell his music. He composed it because he loved to. I’m sure he would have told his wife Connie if he had sold any of his songs.”
Although she did not suggest it to Mr. March, Nancy was afraid another piece of music had been stolen from the attic that very evening. As the three girls were getting ready for bed, Nancy told her friends about smelling smoke on the third floor.
Then she asked, “Are you sure you saw a rolled paper in the hand of the man we were chasing?”
The girls nodded.
“Do you think it was a sheet of music?” Bess asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Nancy replied. “There’s no telling how long thieving may have been going on here. Well, if I can’t locate the music, perhaps I can find a clue to the thief right in this house.”
“How?” George asked.
“I have an idea. We’ll try it out in the morning,” said Nancy.
Pressed by her friends for an explanation, she revealed her suspicion that there might be a secret entrance to the attic.
“And you think that’s how our thief got out?” Bess queried.
“I’m convinced of it. Mr. March and I both heard the floor creak, and I know someone was smoking.”
As soon as Effie arrived in the morning to take over the housekeeping duties, Nancy and her friends went outdoors to examine the old mansion for signs of a concealed entrance.
“Hunt for clapboards that can be moved,” Nancy directed. “Secret doors alongside real ones, false windows, hidden—”
“That’s enough to start with!” George laughed.
The girls separated. They inspected every inch of the foundation and first-floor walls. Nancy spent a long time in the old servants’ quarters to see if there might be any kind of a concealed opening into the main part of the house. None of the girls found one.
“There’s only one thing left for us to do,” said Nancy. “Hide in the bushes tonight and spy on the intruder.”
“What do we do in the meantime? Get some sleep?” George asked.
“I propose we go up to the attic and hunt for a hidden entrance,” Nancy declared. “We’ll have to take a candle. I haven’t had a chance to get a new battery for my flashlight.”
The three friends trooped to the third floor.
“I once heard rapping sounds up here,” said Nancy. “Maybe there’s a secret panel that has to be knocked on in order to make it open.”
Bess stayed close to Nancy as she began rapping her knuckles against the low walls under the sloping roof.
George decided to look through an old bureau. Remembering that Mr. March needed money, she kept her eyes open for salable articles.
“Here’s some beautiful lace,” she called out, taking it from the drawer.
“Let’s see!” Bess cried.
George held up several dainty pieces. “Old lace is valuable,” she declared. “Someone who appreciates beautiful things will pay Mr. March a good price for this lovely work.”
“Have you anyone in mind?” Bess asked.
“Yes,” George replied. “Madame Paray the dressmaker. Maybe she’ll put some of it on a dress for Diane Dight.” George grinned.
At that instant Bess screamed, “Oh! Take it away!”
She stood as if transfixed. The girl had backed up toward the wardrobe, and the door had swung open. The long bony fingers of the skeleton had enmeshed themselves in her hair!
Quickly George released its hold. Bess sank shaking onto a trunk.
“See the way that skeleton hangs there with its back against the rear of the wardrobe and the other bony arm half upraised?” Bess pointed out. “Just as if it were beckoning to us to come into the closet!”
“Why, so it does!” Nancy agreed. She moved closer to the wardrobe. “Perhaps Fipp March placed the skeleton that way to convey a message to his family. Possibly there’s a secret hiding place—”
“Oh, Nancy, close the door!” Bess urged.
While Bess looked on with disapproval, Nancy began an examination of the massive wardrobe. She had done so before, but this time the young detective paid particular attention to the section underneath the skeleton. Inch by inch she ran her hand over the floor of the big piece of furniture.
“Hold the candle, George,” she requested.
The other girl came closer.
“I can feel something with my fingers!” Nancy said in an excited voice. “It’s a tiny knob!” she cried. “Girls, I’ve found a secret compartment!”
Again and again she tugged, trying to pull it up. The wood had swollen from dampness and the lid was stuck fast.
“Let me try my luck!” George urged impatiently.
Before she could test her strength, Effie appeared at the head of the stairs.
“Miss Nancy, there’s a man downstairs to see you,” she announced.
“To see me? I didn’t think anyone knew I was here.”
“Mrs. Gruen sent him,” Effie explained. “And he says he can’t wait long.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mr. Jenner.”
The
publisher
of Ben Banks’
music!
publisher
of Ben Banks’
music!
CHAPTER XIII
An Unpleasant Caller
THE unexpected appearance of the music publisher at the March home surprised Nancy. She asked Bess and George if they wanted to continue working on the secret compartment in the cabinet, or go downstairs with her.
“Maybe we can find some evidence against Mr. Jenner while you’re talking with him,” George suggested, tugging at the knob in the floor of the wardrobe.
Nancy hurried down the stairs to meet the song publisher. She was sorry that Mr. March had gone to town and could not meet him.
“But perhaps it’s just as well that he isn’t here,” she reasoned. “The poor man gets so excited thinking of his son’s music having been stolen that he might say something to harm his own chances.”
Mr. Jenner proved to be an unpleasant-looking man with a brisk manner.
“I haven’t much time to spend here,” he said snappily. “Are you Miss Nancy Drew?”
“I am,” the young detective replied calmly.
Mr. Jenner did not waste words. He spoke of the letters which she had sent to him. “Although you didn’t say anything definite, you hinted at an accusation.”
“What do you know about Mr. Banks?” Nancy began.
“Very little. Most of our contact has been through correspondence.”
“What can you tell me about a composer named Harry Hall?” Nancy asked. She had a hunch that he, too, published through Jenner.
“He’s another of my songwriters—a very talented person. I’ve never met him. He always sends his work in by mail.”
“Can you vouch for his honesty?”
“What is this, a quiz program?” the publisher demanded, getting red in the face. “I’ll admit I don’t know much about either of the men, but their music is equal to the best that is being put out today.”
“And for good reason, perhaps.”
“What do you mean? Don’t tell me you think someone else wrote it!”
“Maybe you should make sure no one else did,” Nancy replied, “before you publish it.”
“Tell me who has been making such insinuations?” the man snapped.
“I thought I’d give you an opportunity to explain what you know about the matter,” Nancy replied.
“I’ve nothing to explain! I publish the music in good faith. I’m satisfied that the men with whom I deal are the composers of the songs they submit to me.”
“And are you prepared to prove it?”
“Certainly I am,” Mr. Jenner returned wrathfully. He glanced at his watch. “I made a special trip here to see you, and my valuable time has been wasted.”
“You may not think so later.”
“What are your reasons for believing that Banks and Hall may be plagiarists?”
“I can’t tell you at this moment,” Nancy responded. “I do suggest that you buy no more music from either of those men until the matter of the rightful composer has been straightened out.”
“What is the name of the person you claim wrote the music?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Well, it doesn’t worry me in the least,” the publisher retorted. “Stupid of me to waste so much time coming here.”
Abruptly Mr. Jenner left the house. With mingled feelings of annoyance and contempt, Nancy watched him drive away.
“Has your caller left so soon?” Bess questioned when Nancy returned to the attic. “We haven’t opened the secret compartment yet.”
“When we do, I hope it will contain something I can use against Mr. Jenner,” said Nancy, and relayed the man’s remarks.
Bess and George were incensed. “All I can say is that he’d better look out!” George exclaimed, her eyes blazing.
“Well, after all, I do need evidence.” Nancy sighed. “Come on. Let’s get at this compartment again.”
Nancy gave the knob a quick jerk sideways. A little door pulled up, revealing a recess below.
“It’s open!” she cried in delight. “Let’s hope Fipp’s songs are here!”
Excitedly Nancy thrust her hand into the hole. “Papers!” she exclaimed.
Quickly she pulled out a handful. It was difficult to look at them by candlelight, so the girls took everything out of its hiding place and carried the contents to one of the bedrooms. Mr. March had returned and eagerly helped Nancy look through the mass of old letters. Bess and George began sorting the other papers.
Suddenly Bess cried out, “Here’s a piece of original music! It says ‘by Fipp March. Based on a melody composed by his grandmother.’ ”
The group stared at the double sheet.
“Thieves didn’t get this, thank goodness!” the elderly man muttered. “I’d like to hear it. Will you play it, Nancy?”
Everyone went downstairs to the music room. Nancy did the best she could on the old piano, while Bess and George hummed the melody.
“It’s lovely,” Bess said dreamily.
“It would be a hit if it were published,” George declared.
“My father knows a reputable music publisher,” Nancy said. “Maybe he would buy it.”
“Take it home with you,” Mr. March urged, “and send it to him.”
She had lunch with Mr. Drew and Hannah Gruen, then played the selection for them on her own piano. Both shared her enthusiasm for the lovely music, and declared that it was the equal of the best popular songs on the market.
“I can’t make rash promises, but I believe Mr. Hawkins will buy the song,” Mr. Drew told his daughter. “I’ll take the music to him this afternoon. He’s a good friend and a client as well, and we may get some excellent results.”
Satisfied that her father would do what he could for Mr. March, Nancy now told him of her plan to try capturing the intruder at Pleasant Hedges.
“I’m sure he’s getting in by some secret entrance. But I can’t locate it. So tonight we girls plan to watch for him if possible.”
“Promise me you’ll all use utmost caution,” Mr. Drew said.
“All right, Dad. And now tell me about your case. Has the chemical fluid I brought been analyzed yet?” Nancy asked.
“Mr. Booker is having his chief chemist examine the solution and compare it with preparations used in his own plant. So far I’ve received no report.”
“I wish they’d hurry,” Nancy said impatiently.
“If you want some action, why not see Mr. Dight again?” her father teased. “He probably was annoyed about the way you disappeared while on the factory grounds.”
Nancy made a grimace. “Do you think he found out I was in the lab?”
“Mr. Dight is thorough in his methods. I shouldn’t be surprised if he has called in several experts to take fingerprints and solve the riddle of the light you turned on in the laboratory.”
“Fingerprints!” Nancy gasped. “Why, I left them everywhere—in the lab, in the spidery, even the tunnel!”
“Then I advise you to steer clear of Mr. Dight unless you’re looking for trouble.”
“That’s just it,” Nancy replied with a little moan. “I’ll have to see him. Mr. Dight still has those valuable old bottles belonging to Mr. March. If I don’t go back for them, he’ll be doubly suspicious. He may even move his secret lab before you can prosecute.”
The more Nancy thought of interviewing Mr. Dight, the more she dreaded it. On second thought, though, she doubted that the man had looked for fingerprints.
“Still there’s no telling what he found out,” she reflected.
Despite her concern, late that afternoon Nancy drove to the factory grounds. With no outward display of nervousness, she greeted Miss Jones, the private secretary.
“May I see Mr. Dight, please?” she requested.
The secretary, formerly so friendly, gazed at the caller without smiling.
“Yes, Mr. Dight very much wants to talk to you, Miss Drew,” she replied with emphasis.
CHAPTER XIV
Warning
WITH sinking heart Nancy realized she must play her part convincingly if she expected to keep out of trouble.
“Your sudden disappearance from Mr. Dight’s office the other day disturbed him very much,” Miss Jones continued.
Nancy pretended not to understand. “My disappearance? Why, didn’t Mr. Dight think that when I left his office I was going home?”
“Apparently he didn’t. He thought you went off somewhere in the factory.”
“Well, no wonder you were concerned!”
“I’ll tell Mr. Dight you’re here,” the young woman said, rising.
In a moment she returned to say that he would see Nancy in his private office. The factory owner sat at his desk, writing. For several seconds he kept on, paying no attention to his young visitor. Finally he looked up.
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