The Hidden Window Mystery (7 page)
Read The Hidden Window Mystery Online
Authors: Carolyn Keene
Tags: #Women Detectives, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #Mystery & Detective, #Juvenile Fiction, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Adventure Stories, #Drew; Nancy (Fictitious Character), #Mystery and Detective Stories
“How do you like it?” she asked casually.
Alonzo snorted. “Pretty bad,” he said. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking up Mr. Bradshaw’s time. Anyone can see that you’re no artist. Where did you get the idea you were?”
Nancy was stunned for a moment by his sharp criticism. She decided, however, that he was still trying to discourage her from coming to the studio.
Aloud she said, “I’ll see what Mr. Bradshaw has to say about it.”
Alonzo Rugby’s eyes blazed. Before Nancy could stop him, he grabbed the sketch from the drawing board, crumpled it into a tight wad, and threw it forcefully across the room. It landed in the fireplace among ashes and half-burned logs!
CHAPTER IX
Surprise Visitors
“WHY, how dare you!” Nancy cried out, realizing her sketch was ruined. “You had no right to do that!”
“Yes, I did,” Rugby said defiantly, his eyes snapping. “If you haven’t got sense enough to get out of here, then I’m the one to see you do!”
Nancy was angry, but also elated. Rugby’s sudden rage had probably been caused by the sight of her peacock drawing.
“It could even mean he thinks I know more than I do about the missing window!” she mused.
Nancy pretended to calm down. “Maybe you’re right, Mr. Rugby. Suppose you show me some of your sketches for stained-glass windows.” Secretly she hoped they would give her a clue to justify her suspicions.
“Very well,” Rugby replied haughtily. “But it won’t help you any in making sketches yourself. Either you’re born with talent or you’re not,” he added.
He showed Nancy a portfolio of his drawings, all of which seemed mediocre to her. Apparently Mr. Bradshaw had engaged Rugby to help with the mechanical part of stained-glass windowmaking.
After seeing all of the assistant’s pictures, Nancy was disappointed. There were no sketches of knights, horses, shields, or peacocks among them.
“Thank you,” said Nancy. “I’ll try one more sketch before lunchtime.”
As she went back to her drawing board, Mr. Bradshaw returned with several delphiniums of various shades of blue. He held them up for Nancy to see.
“They’re gorgeous,” she said.
“The window I’m working on,” Mr. Bradshaw told her, “will picture a garden of these.”
For the next half hour only the ticking of the clock could be heard as the three artists worked assiduously. By that time Nancy had a new sketch finished. It portrayed Susan Carr in her rose garden.
Mr. Bradshaw came over to look at it. He smiled broadly. “Now you’ve caught on, Nancy. This is excellent,” he said. “It has design, character, and good line structure, yet it is simple enough to make a good stained-glass window.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy looked at Alonzo Rugby. His face was scarlet, and he was casting angry glances in her direction.
“I’m so glad you like it, Mr. Bradshaw,” Nancy said with a lilt in her voice, as if she were saying to Rugby, “See, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The woman in this picture looks like Susan Carr. Is it?” Mr. Bradshaw asked.
“Yes,” Nancy replied, and added, “Do you suppose you could help me make a small stained-glass window from this? I’d like to give it to my cousin.”
“I think so,” the artist replied. “We’ll start tomorrow morning. I have to close shop now. I have an appointment in town.”
Alonzo Rugby took off his lightweight slippers, tucked them into his coat pocket, and put on his shoes. Nancy sighed. There would be no chance to compare either pair of his shoes with the paper pattern of the footprint in the Carr garden.
They all went out, and Mr. Bradshaw locked the door of the studio. Alonzo Rugby said good-by and strode off toward the road. Instead of staying on the gravel path, he stepped onto a little patch of soft earth bordering the driveway. Rugby left perfect imprints of his shoes!
Nancy smiled with satisfaction. The prints would be a good clue. “I’ll come back here after dark,” she told herself, “and compare the left footprint with my pattern.”
It occurred to Nancy that she had better leave something she could pretend to be searching for, in case anyone should find her there. As she walked toward the car with Mr. Bradshaw, Nancy unobtrusively opened her handbag and took out a compact. When he was not looking, she dropped it into some bushes.
“Good-by until tomorrow,” she said to the artist, climbing into the car.
At Seven Oaks, Nancy was eagerly questioned by Susan, Bess, and George as to how she had made out with her sketching and sleuthing. She told them what had happened.
“And tonight I’ll go back there—to pick up my compact,” she said with a chuckle.
Smiling, Bess said, “You’ll have an unexpected escort, Nancy.”
“What do you mean?”
Her friends explained that after Nancy had left, Ned Nickerson had telephoned. He was leaving Emerson College with Burt Eddleton and Dave Evans, friends of George and Bess. The three football players were on their way to Charlottesville for an annual collegiate conference.
Nancy was delighted. “That’s wonderful! And they’re coming out here this evening?”
George nodded. “Susan has invited them to dinner. If you really have to go sleuthing tonight, Nancy,” she added, winking at the others, “I’m sure Ned won’t let you go alone.”
“And I wouldn’t want him to,” said Nancy, grinning broadly.
At seven o’clock that evening the three boys arrived in a taxi. Susan, who had never met any of them, peeked through a window as they came toward the front door.
“That’s Ned in the lead,” Nancy told her. Ned was tall, broad-shouldered, and he had brown eyes and hair.
Dave Evans, who dated Bess, was behind Ned. The young man had a rangy build, dark hair, and flashing green eyes. George’s favorite escort, Burt Eddleton, was blond. He was a little shorter and heavier than the other two.
The girls ran out the front door to greet the new arrivals. Ned took Nancy aside for a moment and whispered in her ear, “Miss me?”
“Sure have,” she said, and added facetiously, “but I’ve been keeping myself busy with Mark Bradshaw.”
“Who’s he?”
Ned demanded.
Ned demanded.
Nancy teased him, replying that she would explain later.
The boys followed their dates into the house and Nancy introduced them to Susan, then to Cliff, who had just come into the living room.
“Good to meet you all,” he said.
At dinner the conversation ranged from football to detective work. After dessert, Ned asked for a complete explanation of the mystery Nancy was trying to solve.
“Mysteries, you mean,” George corrected.
The boys were astounded to hear all that had happened. Ned was relieved to learn who Mark Bradshaw was, and asked if there was something he could do that very evening to track down the villain. Nancy told him what she had in mind.
“Perfect,” he said. “When do we start?”
“Let’s go at about eleven o’clock,” Nancy suggested. “The Bradshaws probably will be asleep by then.”
Shortly before eleven, she and Ned started out in the convertible. The moon would not rise until late, but the stars were shining brilliantly. Ned parked some distance beyond the Bradshaws’ driveway. Then the couple walked quietly on the grass along the driveway.
They passed the house without seeing anyone and went on toward the studio. About three hundred feet from it, Nancy whispered, “I suggest that you wait here, Ned. I’m trying to keep my sleuthing a secret. If Mr. Bradshaw or Alonzo Rugby should notice a strange man’s footprints alongside mine, they might question me.”
Ned agreed and stopped to wait for her in the shadow of some tall bushes. Nancy tiptoed across the driveway and continued to the studio. The young detective was just about to take her flashlight and paper pattern of the footprint from her bag when she became aware of a figure inside the studio.
At that instant the door opened and a flashlight was directed toward Nancy! Quickly she dodged behind the building and by a fraction of a second avoided detection. She heard the door close and footsteps inside.
For an instant Nancy was tempted to run back and get Ned. Then she realized that the intruder in the studio might leave and she would not be able to find out who he was. Cautiously she moved up to one of the windows.
By the time Nancy reached it, the light inside had been extinguished. For several seconds all was silent and dark. Then the light went on again. Nancy gasped!
Alonzo Rugby!
“What in the world is he doing here at this time of night?” Nancy asked herself.
Suddenly Rugby reached inside the fireplace and withdrew a crumpled paper. It was the sketch of the peacock Nancy had made that morning!
Rugby smoothed out the paper on the floor and studied the drawing.
“Why is he so interested in my sketch?” she mused.
As she watched, Alonzo picked up the drawing and slipped it into his portfolio, which he tucked under his arm, and left the studio. To Nancy’s amazement, he turned left and headed toward the woods.
“I’d like to know where he’s going,” Nancy thought, and she began to follow him.
She crept quietly behind the man. This was not difficult because the path among the trees was fairly smooth and Rugby’s flashlight, which he held close to the ground, was powerful enough to light her way. She remained a reasonable distance behind the man, who did not turn once.
Presently the path forked. Rugby took the righthand turn and in a few minutes reached the bank of Eddy Run. He pulled a canoe from the shadows and shoved it into the water. He laid the portfolio on the bottom of the craft, then picked up a paddle and set off upstream toward Ivy Hall and Cumberland Manor.
“He must live up there somewhere,” Nancy told herself as she turned back.
Clicking on her own flashlight, Nancy started back through the woods to look for a clear impression of Rugby’s footprints. At the intersection of the two paths she found a deep one. She compared the paper pattern with it.
“It’s the same length and width!” she exclaimed.
Nancy knew it would be difficult to identify a suspect from just a shoe size. And there were no distinctive marks on the soles or heels of the shoes Rugby had been wearing. In contrast, the pair worn by the man who had pitched the stone at her had contained a small circle in the heel.
“Just the same, I believe that person was Alonzo Rugby,” Nancy concluded. “And I’m going to find out all I can about him to prove either his guilt or his innocence!”
The young sleuth had just made this decision when the stillness was shattered by the loud barking of a dog. Nancy soon realized that it was searching for her.
Worried, she decided to take refuge in a tree. Beaming her light around, she quickly shinned up a medium-sized oak tree. Just as she reached the first limb, a large Doberman pinscher bounded into view. He jumped up angrily, pawing the tree.
“Go home! Shoo!” Nancy commanded, but the dog showed no signs of leaving and growled loudly. “I’m literally treed!” she murmured ruefully.
The dog stopped growling long enough for Nancy to hear approaching footsteps. Someone was running in her direction.
“This beast’s owner, no doubt,” Nancy decided.
The pinscher, intent on his quarry, apparently was not aware that someone was coming. Nancy flashed her light as a guide. A moment later Ned appeared.
“Look out!” she exclaimed in warning.
At the same moment, the pinscher noticed Ned and lunged at him. But the football player neatly sidestepped the dog, Then, with a grip of steel, he grasped the animal by the collar with one hand. The dog snapped and yelped, trying his best to bite Ned.
“Ned, look out!” Nancy exclaimed.
“Be careful!” Nancy begged.
Suddenly, above the sounds of the growling dog, came a man’s icy command. “Stop that, Prince!” To Ned, he cried out, “And you, ruffian, what are you doing here?”
CHAPTER X
The Haunted House
THE speaker, carrying a flashlight, strode into view. Nancy nearly tumbled from her perch in dismay.
The man was Mark Bradshaw!
His mouth set grimly, he stared at Ned, who still held the dog by the collar. An involuntary gasp from Nancy made the artist look up suddenly into the tree. He blinked, then asked, “What is the meaning of this, Nancy?”
As he spoke, Mr. Bradshaw took the pinscher from Ned. The animal immediately quieted down and crouched at his master’s feet.
“Mr. Bradshaw,” Nancy began, “I’m dreadfully sorry. Before I explain, let me introduce my friend Ned Nickerson. Ned, this is Mr. Bradshaw, the artist who makes stained-glass windows.”
Mr. Bradshaw acknowledged the introduction but did not put out his hand to shake Ned’s.
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