Read The Secret in the Old Lace Online
Authors: Carolyn G. Keene
The Secret in the Old Lace (5 page)
Ned, unable to prevent this, frantically pressed the horn, trying to attract the attention of anyone near enough to hear him. Just then, another boy pulled him away from behind the wheel and, with the help of one of his friends, lifted him out of the car.
Ned struggled furiously and quickly regained his balance. He dived at the two boys, as another young punk swung at him from behind.
“Ned, watch it!” Nancy cried. She stood next to the boy who had dragged her out of the car. Apparently convinced she was too scared to move, he left her unguarded and joined in the fray.
Ned, hearing her warning, ducked and, gripping the legs of his attacker, pulled him to the ground.
Nancy knew she would be unable to assist Ned in the fight. She turned and ran down the street as fast as she could!
“Hey! Stop her!” one of the gang members shouted. The boy who had dragged Nancy from the car dashed after her. His long legs carried him closer and closer to the fleeing girl, when Nancy turned a corner. Her pursuer followed suit, but suddenly he cried out in pain! He had stepped into a pothole and fallen headlong onto the pavement.
Nancy looked over her shoulder and realized that he was unable to get up. Relieved, she ran on, calling loudly for help.
Ned, meanwhile, had been overpowered by the three young hoodlums who remained behind.
Panting and exhausted, he stopped fighting. “What do you want?” he asked his attackers.
“We’re going to take your car apart, wise guy!” one of the boys replied. He ran to the trunk of his own car and got out a box of tools. “Here,” he said to one of his companions, “you disconnect the radio. I’ll get the hubcaps.”
The third boy, who was the smallest and looked about fifteen years old, stood guard over Ned.
While his friends were busily working on Nancy’s car, he released his grip on the athlete somewhat. Ned, perfectly still, tried to regain his strength. Suddenly he twisted his body and grabbed the boy, lifting him up and dragging him toward the road barrier.
“Let me go!” the boy screeched, trying to get away from Ned.
The captive thrashed his legs, allowing his body to fall like dead weight toward the ground. But Ned tightened his grip on the boy’s arms and, kicking over one of the wooden horses, he dragged him to the dark, swirling water.
“Tell your friends to quit or I’ll dump you in the river!” he panted.
By now the boy’s companions had come after Ned and his captive, ready to pounce on the young athlete again, when they heard police sirens in the distance.
“The cops!” one of the young punks yelled. “Let’s get out of here!”
The two ran up the street, too scared to come to their friend’s help.
“Just who are all of you?” Ned asked his captive.
“Friends!” the boy hissed, squirming and trying to kick Ned in the shins.
Ned sank his fingers into the boy’s arm.
He bellowed in pain, but did not answer when Ned repeated the question.
“As soon as the police get here,” Ned said, “I’m going to tell them you were responsible for this whole mess.”
“But that’s not true. Sammy Johnson made us do it,” the boy blurted out.
“Who’s he?”
After a slight hesitation, the answer came. “He’s Matey Johnson’s brother!”
By now, a patrol car flashing blue and red lights had pulled to a halt behind the two cars. Two officers and Nancy emerged. She rushed to Ned’s side.
“Are you okay?” she inquired, noticing a slight bruise along his cheekbone.
Ned grinned. “I feel as though I just scored a touchdown—”
“I hate you,” his captive snapped at Nancy.
She stared at him in surprise. “I don’t even know you! What did I ever do to you?”
Before he could answer, the police officers interrupted. “Come on, we’re taking you down to headquarters,” one of the men said.
Immediately Ned related what the boy had told him. “I guess the kids were trying to get even with Nancy for catching Matey Johnson,” he concluded.
“Incredible,” the girl detective said. “Was Sammy one of the gang members?”
The boy, who was now handcuffed, glared. “Well, you won’t catch him!”
Staring at her car stuck between the roadblock and the gang’s vehicle, Nancy replied, “I guess I won’t. ”
Before long, however, a tow truck was on the scene to move the boys’ car. As soon as Nancy’s hubcaps were replaced, the couple was ready to leave.
“Too bad the radio was ripped out,” Ned said, looking at the hole, the wires dangling under the dashboard. “But at least they didn’t take it with them. I’ll have it put back for you while you’re away. ”
“That’s really nice of you,” said the girl, adding, “I couldn’t get over how you tackled all those kids. You were terrific. ”
Prompted to tell Nancy the full details of the final capture, he said, “I just dragged that little squirt to the goalpost—I mean the river!”
Ned turned the car around and drove toward the main street once again, while Nancy looked at her watch.
“It’s too late for us to go to the show,” she said. “Why don’t we go straight to the dance and meet everybody there? I’m sure Bess, George, and the boys are really worried about us. ”
Ned agreed. As Nancy had predicted, their friends were extremely anxious when they arrived.
“Where have you been?” George questioned, observing their disheveled attire. “Were you attacked by a monster?”
“Four of them,” Nancy replied, urging Ned to tell the story.
When he had finished, George remarked, “Being captain of the football team sure comes in handy sometimes. But I never knew they trained you for multiple attacks.”
Ned grinned. “We might not have fared so well if it hadn’t been for our fleet-footed Nancy. Man, can she sprint!”
“But I’d rather dance!” Nancy laughed, as the orchestra music swelled in the hall. Ned took Nancy’s hand and led her onto the dance floor. “Do your bones ache too much to dance?” she asked with concern.
“Never!” He laughed, sweeping the girl toward the center of the room.
The other two couples followed them. Bess, however, was more perplexed than her cousin about Nancy’s casual attitude.
“Look at them,” she said, keeping her eyes on Nancy and Ned. “They’re dancing and laughing as if nothing happened.”
“Maybe,” Dave chuckled, “Ned’s feat did wonders for their relationship!”
As they found themselves dancing near Nancy and Ned, Bess said to her friend, “You ought to call your father and tell him you’re all right. I phoned him, thinking possibly you went home for some reason.”
Taking Bess’s advice, Nancy excused herself for a few moments. Her father and Hannah Gruen were relieved to hear that she and Ned were safe after the attack.
“Those boys must be punished,” Carson Drew declared. “The people in this town won’t tolerate such nonsense.” He paused, adding lightly, “Have a good time, dear, but stay together as a group on your way home.” Nancy promised they would.
In the course of the evening, the young people discussed Nancy’s manuscript and the mystery involving François Lefèvre’s lace cuffs. “I’d also like to know who owns that diamond cross,” Burt Eddleton spoke up. “You’ll sure have plenty to keep you busy in Belgium.”
“They’ll be so busy, they won’t even have the time to send us postcards,” Dave remarked.
The day the girls were to leave for New York, the boys drove them to the airport, stopping briefly at the post office on the way. To Nancy’s amazement a copy of the signed receipt for the manuscript had just been received. But the signature was illegible. The young detective showed it to her friends, then put it in her purse.
“Besides that little gem,” Ned said, “did you pack your toothbrush, your clothes, and a picture of me?”
“I did—in just the reverse order,” she said, kissing Ned good-bye. “I’ll bring you back a surprise!”
“Make it a solution to the secret in the old lace!”
When the threesome reached New York City, they took a taxi directly to Aunt Eloise Drew’s apartment house. She welcomed the girls with hugs and kisses. After they were settled, Nancy told her aunt everything that had happened so far.
Aunt Eloise was shocked. “Terrible, just terrible!” she exclaimed. Then, looking fondly at her niece, she said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Nancy, but the editor-in-chief of
Circle and Square
magazine wants to see you as soon as possible.”
Circle and Square
magazine wants to see you as soon as possible.”
“Did he say why?” Nancy asked.
“Well, yes,” Aunt Eloise replied, unsure of what to say next. She took a deep breath.
“I can take it,” Nancy insisted.
“It seems there’s a serious charge against you!”
7
The Stolen Bag
“What kind of charge?” George asked. “Nancy hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Aunt Eloise put an arm around her niece. “Of course she hasn’t. My brother phoned me a little while ago with the message. He said Mr. Miller, the man to whom I gave your manuscript, didn’t give any details, but he stressed he must see you personally.”
“It’s almost five-thirty,” Nancy said. “The magazine office is probably closed now. I’ll have to go there first thing in the morning.”
The following day, she set up an appointment to see Mr. Miller.
“I’m going with you,” Bess insisted. “After what’s happened to you, I don’t think you should travel
anywhere
alone.”
anywhere
alone.”
“Bess is right,” George agreed. “I’ll come along too. ”
Nancy’s face creased into a broad smile. “With two bodyguards to protect me, I guess I ought to be fairly safe.”
“And if all else fails,” her plump friend teased her, “we’ll call Ned to the rescue!”
Aunt Eloise, who taught school, had already left so the visitors tidied the apartment before leaving for the office of Circle and
Square
magazine.
Square
magazine.
Once outside, the girls headed west past a small private park toward Madison Avenue, one of New York City’s busiest streets. It was filled with taxis, passenger cars, and crowds of pedestrians walking at a faster clip than any vehicle could move that morning.
“I just love New York,” Bess swooned, gazing into the window of an Italian dress boutique. “The clothes are gorgeous, the people are gorgeous—” She paused to stare at a sleek, black-haired girl in the shop. She was wearing a fine lemon-colored knit suit. “Boy, I wish I could look like that.”
George nudged her cousin away from the window. “You could if you stopped eating!”
Bess pretended not to hear the remark. “Nancy, wouldn’t it be great to see a few shows and concerts too?”
“I hardly have enough time to see Mr. Miller,” Nancy said, her thoughts miles away from Madison Avenue. “But maybe we can catch up with New York when we return.”
Soon the trio reached the entrance of a tall building where they found a wall directory next to a bank of elevators.
Circle and
Square magazine was on the twelfth floor.
Circle and
Square magazine was on the twelfth floor.
As they rode up in silence, Nancy steadied her eyes on the floor indicator. When the light stopped at twelve, the doors slid open slowly and she took a deep breath.
George leaned toward her. “Don’t worry,” she said, as they entered the magazine office. “Everything will turn out all right.”
Mr. Miller proved to be a handsome man with light brown hair and cheerful blue eyes. Nancy judged him to be close to her father’s age.
“I have an eighteen-year-old daughter too,” he volunteered. “She looks a little bit like you, Miss Drew, but I’m afraid the resemblance ends there. She would never plagiarize someone’s story.”
The accusation stunned the girl detective. “Well, I wouldn’t either,” she replied evenly, trying to check her rising temper.
“That’s right,” Bess said in support.
“Why don’t you let Mr. Miller explain what he means,” George suggested.
The editor-in-chief said that his readers had found two identical entries to the contest. “One of them is yours,” he stated. “Your solution to the mystery is the same as the other contestant’s.”
“Word for word?” Nancy inquired.
“Well, no,” he replied, “but it certainly looks like a clear-cut case of plagiarism or mental telepathy. Which is it?”
The girl detective gritted her teeth as she proceeded to answer. She told about Matey Johnson and his attempted break-in.
“But now you say he’s in jail,” Mr. Miller replied. “Did he manage to steal your manuscript?”
“No,” Nancy admitted, suddenly realizing Johnson had had no opportunity to see her entry. “But he overheard me talking about it! Then I mailed you my original, which your office claims never arrived. Yet I have a receipt that says otherwise. Then my aunt delivered a copy of my story several days ago.”
Nancy opened her purse and took out the receipt with the illegible signature on it.
“Strange, very strange,” Mr. Miller said, frowning. “This doesn’t look familiar to me. I’m sure it didn’t come from here.”
“What?” George cried. “But the receipt was returned to Nancy by the River Heights post office!”
“You’ll have to leave it with me,” Mr. Miller said abruptly. “This is most irregular.”
Worried that she might lose an important clue to the identity of the plagiarist, Nancy asked for a photocopy of the tiny paper.
“Don’t you trust me?” the editor quipped, showing the first sign of friendliness.
Ignoring the comment, Nancy said, “Can you figure out the signature? We can’t.”
“No, but I’m inclined to think it belongs to someone who doesn’t work in this office.”
“Possibly my rival in the contest,” the girl sleuth concluded. “Who is it, by the way?”
“A man named Paul Frieden.” As Mr. Miller stared at the illegible signature, he added, somewhat embarrassed, “I may owe you an apology for my attitude when you walked in here this morning. But I’m afraid that until this matter is resolved, we cannot enter either your manuscript or Mr. Frieden’s in our contest.”
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