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 (11 page)
“Well?” he barked, trying to place Nancy on the defensive. “Did you learn what you were sent here for?”
Nancy knew that Mr. Dight suspected she had been assigned by someone, perhaps her father, to spy on him, but she pretended otherwise.
“Oh, you mean about the bottles?” she said brightly. “I’m sorry I ran off the way I did, but I saw someone in the courtyard I thought I knew. Then it was so late I decided to go on home.”
Lawrence Dight gazed quizzically at Nancy.
“And did you go directly home from here?” he questioned sharply.
Nancy was not to be trapped so easily. “Well, you know how it is.” She laughed. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone, but I stopped to see some friends. I’ll confess I didn’t get home until rather late. Our housekeeper was quite upset.”
“I can imagine,” replied Mr. Dight.
The man believed Nancy’s story. She figured he had decided that the light in the laboratory must have been left on by one of the workmen in the plant. Bushy Trott had found nothing out of order. He had apparently not even seen the black widow Nancy had killed.
Leaning back in his swivel chair, Mr. Dight suddenly relaxed. In a friendly tone he began to discuss Mr. March’s collection of bottles.
“I’ve taken quite a fancy to some of that glassware. Now if you’ll name your price, young lady, perhaps we can do business.”
“The blue bottle was intended as a gift.”
“I’ll buy the others. Suppose I offer you thirty-five dollars for the entire collection?”
Nancy’s face fell. She had expected Mr. Dight to make a low offer, but certainly not one under a hundred dollars.
“Only thirty-five?” she asked. “Oh, I couldn’t sell them for that.”
“I might make it fifty,” Mr. Dight said. “You’re a friend of Diane’s, so I’ll throw in the extra fifteen for good measure.”
Nancy arose, glad of an excuse to withdraw in good grace.
“I couldn’t think of letting friendship influence me in this transaction, Mr. Dight, ”because I’m selling the bottles for someone else. I don’t believe the person would be willing to part with them for thirty-five dollars.”
“I’ll pay you fifty, but not a cent more.”
“I’ll find out if that’s satisfactory,” Nancy said, standing firm. She had already decided to consult Mr. Faber the antique dealer. “May I have the bottles, please?”
Obviously unwilling to let the fine collection out of his possession, Mr. Dight raised his price another ten dollars. When Nancy would not sell them, he reluctantly returned the box of glassware.
Nancy gave a sigh of relief as she got into her car. She hoped never to have to face Lawrence Dight again!
She drove directly to Mr. Faber’s shop, and carried the glassware into the quaint little place. The owner was there.
“Well, well,” he said. “And what have you brought me this time?”
“Some old bottles. I’d like you to tell me what they’re worth.”
As Nancy lined them up on the counter, Mr. Faber’s blue eyes began to sparkle.
“These bottles are old and fine!” he exclaimed, appraising them at a glance. “I’ll pay you a very good price for them.”
“Friendship mustn’t enter into this,” Nancy cautioned him. “Tell me frankly, are the bottles worth more than fifty dollars?”
“I’ll pay you double that amount gladly! If you’re in no hurry for the money, perhaps I can sell them to a collector who will pay an even higher price.”
“The bottles are yours to do with as you wish,” Nancy decided instantly. “Perhaps, though, you’d better write a check now for a hundred dollars to Mr. Philip March. Let me know if you manage to sell them for more later.”
“You are always busy helping someone.” Mr. Faber beamed at the girl as he handed her the check.
At home Nancy found a telegram awaiting her. It was from Mr. Jenner, the music publisher.
The message both disappointed and annoyed her. Curtly the man informed her that she had made a great mistake in assuming the songs he had published had been stolen.
“Further accusations will lead to a libel suit,” Nancy was warned. “Advise you pursue matter no further. Otherwise expect immediate action against you.”
Nancy was not fooled by the threat.
“He’s frightened and is just trying to scare me,” she thought. “Mr. Jenner, Ben Banks, and Harry Hall must be closely associated. I must find some proof that Fipp wrote those songs—and soon!”
Bess and George had decided to go back to Pleasant Hedges for the night, so the three girls drove out there after an early supper. They found Mr. March following his usual custom of relating stories to his little grandchild.
When Susan had been tucked in, Nancy told him of her plan to watch the house from outside that evening, hoping to catch the mysterious intruder.
Mr. March was concerned. “I don’t know that I should let you do this,” he said. “It’s very risky.”
“Three of us girls ought to be able to handle one man!” George boasted.
Nancy assured the owner of Pleasant Hedges that they would take no unnecessary chances. She had suggested that the three of them wear dark dresses and cover their hair with black kerchiefs. When they left the house and stealthily took the separate posts which Nancy had assigned, they seemed to be only ghostly shadows.
Within the house, life went on in the usual routine. Effie cleared away the supper dishes and went upstairs. Mr. March seated himself in the living room to listen to the radio for clues to any songs stolen from his son. Finally he turned off the radio, put out the light, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Nancy and the other girls shifted their positions in the darkness outside. There had been no sign of a trespasser.
It had been decided that if no one appeared by dawn, the chances were that nobody would. Then the three girls were to give up the watch.
From somewhere in the old mansion a clock began to strike, breaking the stillness of the night. Nancy, posted near the old servants’ quarters, counted eleven.
From a distance came another sound. Something was stirring. Nancy stood erect, listening intently.
Nancy was not fooled by the threat
She was puzzled. One moment she thought she heard a soft padding, as if someone were sneaking among the pine trees toward the house. The next minute she was sure light footsteps were approaching from the front of the mansion.
“Maybe the thief has an accomplice,” she said to herself.
There was no doubt of it. Two figures were coming nearer and nearer. Nancy held her breath!
CHAPTER XV
Wallpaper Clue
As Nancy waited, the two shadowy forms crept closer. The one coming across the lawn appeared first. Then suddenly the voice of the other cut the air from among the trees.
“Nancy! Where are you?”
Mr. March!
His ill-timed call from the pine grove served as a warning to the intruder. Instantly he turned and fled.
Nancy dashed from her hiding place. As she pursued the running figure, the young detective shouted to her friends to join in the chase.
They came quickly, but the race was futile. The night swallowed up the stranger. As the discouraged girls returned to the house, Nancy explained what had happened.
George was annoyed. “It’s bad enough to have missed capturing the thief, but now he’s been warned that we’re looking for him.”
“We’ve probably missed our chance, too, of finding out how he gets into the house,” added Nancy in disappointment.
“Oh, why did Mr. March have to pick out just that moment to look for us?” Bess complained.
“I suppose he meant well,” said Nancy.
The elderly man was apologetic over his untimely appearance. He had grown uneasy about the girls, he explained, and had come outside to make sure they were all right. When he could find no one, he had become fearful that something had happened to them, and had called out, unaware of the nearness of the intruder.
It was agreed that the mysterious stranger certainly would not return that night, so the girls went to bed. Upon awakening the next morning, Nancy heard faint music from a distance.
“Mr. March has the radio on early,” she thought.
When Nancy reached the dining room, she found him already at the breakfast table with Susan. But neither of them was eating. They were listening to a man singing.
“One of my Daddy’s pieces, Nancy!” cried the little girl.
As Nancy listened, she realized this composition was somewhat different from the others Mr. March attributed to his son. It was a beautiful love song in waltz time. Three words caught the girl’s attention. “My heart’s desire—”
“Where have I heard that phrase before in connection with this mystery?” she mused.
For nearly an hour the melody continued to haunt her. Then suddenly she knew why. Running to Mr. March, she exclaimed:
“I believe you were right in the first place about the clue to the missing music.”
“How’s that?”
“Why, those letters written by your son to his wife! The words ‘My heart’s desire’ appear in one of them!”
“So they do,” the elderly man agreed.
Nancy was eager to read the love letters again. Since they were still at her own home, she decided to go there at once.
But before Nancy could leave, Susan called her upstairs to admire the child’s “dress up” costume. Holding up a trailing skirt with one hand, she flourished a silk parasol in the other.
“I found these in a hall closet. Let’s go down and show Grandpa!” Susan said eagerly. “Do I look like a real grown-up lady now?”
“Those high-heeled shoes certainly make you seem taller.” Nancy smiled. “Watch out, or you’ll trip!”
As they started down the stairway, the child stumbled on the steps. Nancy, who was only a few steps behind, grabbed Susan just in time. But the sharp-pointed parasol got out of control and tore a jagged hole in the wallpaper. It revealed several bars of music.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to do it!” Susan cried in dismay. “What will Grandpa say?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Nancy assured her. “Fortunately you weren’t hurt. And you’ve uncovered a clue!” she exclaimed.
Excitedly Nancy examined the torn place. Several tiny bars of music were painted on the wall!
Nancy summoned Mr. March to the stairway. At first he thought she was calling attention to the costume, but when the elderly man saw the music notes, he too became excited.
“Maybe it’s part of one of our old family songs!” he exclaimed. “I’d like to know if there’s any more of it here. Let’s tear off the paper!” Mr. March urged. “It’s too faded to worry about, anyway.”
Inch by inch, with the help of Nancy, Bess, and George, he removed a large area of the wall covering. It was slow, tedious work, but at last they were successful. Gradually a charming, old fashioned scene was revealed of a woman seated at a piano and a man beside her singing.
The last bit of paper to come off partially covered the music rack of the piano. Someone had sketched in a sheet of music, the notes of which had first drawn Nancy’s attention. Printed in tiny lettering was the composer’s name, a member of the March family.
Nancy hummed the pictured notes. The tune was indeed one which Fipp March had elaborated upon, and was a current “hit.”
“Now we have real proof that Ben Banks is an impostor! This is one of the melodies he claims as his!” Mr. March exclaimed.
“Would a court accept such evidence?” George asked.
“I think it would,” Nancy said soberly. “Of course it might not be necessary to go to such lengths. If Mr. Jenner knows we have a case against him, he’ll probably prefer to settle matters without a lawsuit. If you wish, Mr. March, I’ll see the publisher.”
“Yes, do that,” he urged.
Nancy asked Bess and George if they would accompany her to Mr. Jenner’s office in Oxford, a town several miles from River Heights. The girls were eager to go, and suggested starting at once. An hour later, they arrived at their destination, a dingy brick structure.
“This isn’t very inviting,” said Bess as they entered.
From an upstairs room came the strains of a swing band. In another section of the building someone was picking out a few notes on a piano.
“Listen!” Nancy cried suddenly.
“I don’t hear anything except that loud music,” George declared. “The tune is catchy but all those discords!”
“The person at the piano is playing one of Fipp March’s songs!” Nancy said.
The girls moved nearer to the closed door. Soon the piano playing ceased abruptly. After waiting a moment, the callers went along the hall until they came to a door which bore the name of the music publisher. Nancy and her friends entered.
They found themselves in an untidy little room. A desk was piled high with papers, books, and stacks of music. A girl sat at a typewriter. She chewed gum to the rhythm of her typing and did not look up for a long while.
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