The Secret in the Old Lace (9 page)

As the girls left the shop, however, Nancy sensed that somone was watching them. Across the street stood a man in a raincoat and hat. He glanced at the girl detectives, then disappeared down the street and around a corner.

Wondering if he had been waiting for them, Nancy decided not to mention this to the others until the pleasant tour was over.

Hilda, meanwhile, directed them to the large old building with minaretlike towers and a store facade. “This used to be the home of the Gruuthuse family. By our standards, it was a palace more than a house.”

Inside, the visitors were impressed by the beautiful tapestries, china, and furniture. “How do you like these old beds?” Hilda asked when they reached the second floor. “Notice they are short and narrow. In the old days many people were small.”

“Guess they didn’t take their vitamins.” George laughed.

Bess followed Hilda to the top floor where the Lace Room was. “What gorgeous centerpieces!” she exclaimed, gaping at the large display case. “It would be a real shame to put one of those on a table and then cover it up with a lamp or something.”

Nancy was equally awestruck by the collection of lace collars. They were designed to stand up stiffly around the neck, some up to six inches high!

“Those are ruffs,” Hilda explained. “They were very fashionable all over Europe in the seventeenth century. ”

George flinched. “I’d hate to wear one of those. They must have been very hot and uncomfortable. ”

There were also handmade children’s dresses, hats, and handkerchiefs on exhibit. “Several of these things,” Hilda remarked, observing Bess’s admiring glance, “are worth many thousands of dollars—they are irreplaceable.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Bess said. “And I was just thinking how nice it would be to buy one to show everybody at home.”

Hilda now suggested they go downstairs to see the guillotine. Bess trailed after her down the stairway while Nancy hung back, talking to George.

“Don’t turn around,” Nancy said in a low tone. “There’s someone in this room who’s been following us. I don’t want to lose him. ”

“Well, you won’t if he’s following us,” George said wryly.

She and Nancy stepped out of the room for a moment and pinned themselves against the outside wall behind the door. Surely the man would go downstairs now. The next few minutes ticked by slowly as the young detectives waited.

“You were wrong,” George whispered to her friend when the stranger did not appear.

Nancy peered through the crack below the door hinge. “He’s gone!” she cried, racing back into the empty room. Her eyes circled quickly to a balcony doorway. “He must have escaped through there!”

She dashed toward the opening and peered over the railing. Hand over hand, the man was lowering himself on a rope!

“He stole some of the lace!” the young detective gasped, seeing fringes of ruffles sticking out of his pockets.

Instinctively she leaned across the balcony and grabbed the rope, pulling on it as hard as she could. But the man’s weight was too much for her to budge. Suddenly Nancy’s foot slipped and she lost her balance. She slid forward over the railing, ready to tumble over the edge!

 

 

 

Instantly George rushed toward Nancy and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back fast. “That man mustn’t get away!” Nancy cried.

But the thief was already halfway down the rope and was now dangling only a dozen feet above the ground.

“Oh, look! The rope’s splitting!” George cried out.

Indeed, the strands were fraying rapidly until the last few threads snapped and the man hit the ground hard. His legs gave way underneath him, and he fell, letting out a howl of anguish.

“We’re about to lose him!” George exclaimed, watching the thief try to get up.

“Maybe not,” Nancy said. “He seems to have hurt his ankle. Let’s hurry downstairs. Chances are he won’t be able to run away!”

The girl detectives flew down the stairway toward the front door and rushed around the building. Hilda and Bess, who were in the Weapons Room, were unaware of what had happened and wondered why their friends were taking so long to join them.

When Nancy and George reached the spot where the frayed rope lay, the man was gone.

“There he is!” George shouted, pointing to the thief as he desperately hobbled toward a bridge spanning a narrow canal between the Gruuthuse and another museum. Nancy darted ahead of her companion, yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Stop!
Arrêtez! Halt!”
But he kept limping on as fast as he could.

Halfway across the bridge, however, he paused to rest his hurt ankle. Nancy dived toward him, grabbing the lace centerpiece hanging out of his pocket. Instinctively, he snatched it back, causing the beautiful piece to tear in half!

“Get away from me!” he shouted at Nancy in English. Then he scooped her up in his arms, ready to push her over the stone railing into the water!

“Stop!” Nancy exclaimed just as George caught up to the pair and seized the man’s arms.

Should she give him a judo flip into the canal? No, she decided. He would drag Nancy along with him.

Instead, George continued to hold him while Nancy slid from his grasp and began to empty his pockets that were bulging with lace. Angrily, the man shoved the girls aside and darted across the bridge.

Her arms full of beautiful lace, Nancy called out, “George, go after him while I take this stuff back to the museum!”

George nodded and rushed after the man. Just as he stepped off the bridge, a group of visitors arrived, completely filling the narrow walkway. All of them were young men, laughing and joking with one another. When George tried to push past them, one caught her in his arms.

“Don’t run away, pretty girl!” he said in a lilting Irish brogue. “Why don’t you join us on our tour? We’d love to have something lovely to look at!”

“Please excuse me!” George said, trying to get away from him.

“Ye look like ye’re running away from someone,” another fellow said.

“No, I’m running
after
someone!” George cried in utter frustration. “A thief, if you want to know. Now please let me pass!”

The young man looked at her with big eyes. “A thief!”

By now George had wriggled out of his grip and slipped past the other young men. In a few long leaps, she crossed the bridge.

There was a narrow alley to her right and a park-like courtyard to her left. The man was nowhere in sight!

Some distance ahead of her was the other museum. Would he try to hide in there? George wondered. If I were he, where would I go?

In answer to her own question, she raced down the narrow street. But when she turned the next corner, there was no sign of the fugitive. Disgusted, George walked back to the museum. I’ve lost him, she said to herself. What bad luck!

She met Nancy in the lobby, surrounded by guards. They were excitedly jabbering in Flemish, and the woman from the reception desk walked up and translated for the girls.

“You stole these things from the exhibit upstairs!” she accused Nancy.

“I didn’t steal anything!” the girl dectective said evenly. “Someone else did. He let himself down from the balcony on a rope. I caught him and got all the stuff back. But one piece ripped when he tried to hold on to it!”

The guards continued to converse loudly. Finally the woman said, “Jacques here said he saw you walking
into
the lobby with the lace, not running away with it. Will you please tell us exactly what happened?”

Nancy did, and George verified her explanation. Bess and Hilda, meanwhile, had left the Weapons Room and were looking for their friends. They were just in time to hear Nancy’s story.

“Did he take the pieces from the glass display cases?” Nancy asked as she finished.

The receptionist shook her head. “No. We just received a new shipment which Jacques was bringing upstairs. Apparently the thief saw him and decided it would be easy to steal as long as he could get the guard out of the room.”

“How did he manage that?” Bess asked.

“He told Jacques he was wanted in the lobby. So the unsuspecting guard put the box of lace behind one of the display cases and hurried downstairs. The thief then must have waited until you girls left the room before he made his next move and escaped over the balcony. ”

“But what about the rope?” George asked. “If he hadn’t planned to steal the lace before he arrived, where’d he get the rope from?”

“Unfortunately, it was lying on a chest of drawers in one corner of the room,” the receptionist said. “We had men working on the chimney, and they forgot to take the rope when they left early this morning before the museum opened. The thief saw it and realized it was long enough to help him down from the balcony.”

The receptionist turned to Nancy. “What did the thief look like? I will call the police and ask them to look for him. ”

“He was tall and thin,” Nancy said, “and wore a raincoat. He had a hat pulled low over his forehead, so I couldn’t see his eyes too well. But his face was narrow, his lips thin, and his coloring was very pale, almost gray. He looked like a man who rarely went outdoors.”

“He also limps because he hurt his ankle,” George added.

“Thank you,” the woman said. “I shall pass this information on to the authorities. Will you give me your names and addresses in case the police find the man and need to get in touch with you?”

The girls provided the information and then stepped out into the sunlight again.

“Phew, what an experience!” George said.

“That man was watching us at the Lace Center,” Nancy told her friends. “He must have followed us all the way from there. I didn’t want to say anything before, because I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to worry you. He might have been the same man who stole my suitcase at the airport. I didn’t see his face then, but he had the same build as the lace thief. ”

“But if he wanted to know what we were up to, why would he draw attention to himself the way he did?” Bess asked.

“Perhaps he thought the cuffs with the message in them were among the antique lace pieces the guard brought upstairs for display,” Nancy guessed.

“Well, unfortunately he got away,” Hilda said. “There is nothing we can do about it. We might as well continue our tour.” She paused briefly. “We’ll go to an art museum—yes, I know just the one!”

The gallery she had in mind was filled with numerous paintings that depicted life in Brugge since the sixteenth century.

“As your father said, Hilda, not many things have changed, have they?” Nancy commented.

“No, they haven’t. But we love the old charm of our city. ”

Suddenly an oil painting caught Nancy’s eye. It was a striking portrait of a gallant young man with a mustache. He was wearing a red velvet jacket with a lace jabot and cuffs.

“Bess! George!” Nancy called out. “Look over here!”

Eagerly the girls joined her. “My goodness, that looks just as I imagined François Lefevre.” Bess gaped in surprise.

“But who’s that behind him?” George asked.

In the scene the handsome young man was posed on an arched stone bridge. He was leaning forward, his hands on the edge of it. In back of him was the menacing shadow of another figure. Cloaked in a full black-hooded robe that covered his face and body completely, he was peering over the young man’s shoulder. Two hands emerging from under the robe were ready to attack the unsuspecting victim.

“I wonder who the artist is,” Bess said.

“There’s no name on the picture, only initials,” Nancy replied, “but maybe Hilda can tell us what they mean.”

The Belgian girl said she was not familiar with this particular painting. “I’ve been here many times but I don’t recall ever seeing it.” Aloud she read the small gold plate underneath the picture.
“Le Cavalier et le Spectre Noir.
Translated that means
The Cavalier and the Black Ghost.
It must be a rather recent acquisition.”

When she asked the curator, he replied, “It was found in somebody’s attic. So far as I know, the museum did not pay very much money for it.”

“Do you happen to know who sold it to the museum?” Nancy inquired.

The curator rubbed his chin with uncertainty. “Mm—no I don’t, but even if I did I would not be able to answer your question. The museum keeps information about its purchases strictly confidential. ”

“Well, then,” George put in, “perhaps you can tell us who the painter is.”

“Yes. It was done by a man named Dirk Gelder, a well-known art teacher in his day. The story goes that the cavalier’s girlfriend commissioned the painting, because her beau was an ardent admirer of Gelder. ”

“Do you know her name?” Nancy asked eagerly.

The curator shook his head. “Sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I have some business to attend to.” He turned on his heels and walked away.