The Quest of the Missing Map (10 page)

“No, no,” came the sobbing reply.

Mrs. Chatham’s face grew stem. “Well, then tell me what’s going on,” she said, raising her voice abruptly.

“Trixie is missing!”

“What!”

“Your daughter is missing. We can’t find her anywhere.”

The words ringing loudly in her ears, Mrs. Chatham made no response. She stumbled up the porch steps to a chair.

Nancy had been silent, not wishing to interrupt the woman’s conversation with her employee. But now she inquired if Ellen Smith and Hannah Gruen had left.

Tears trickled down the young woman’s face. She answered, “They both went away right after lunch. Miss Smith had to leave because of a singing lesson. And your housekeeper, Miss Drew, left because she couldn’t get anything to eat. The cook resented her being here and wouldn’t even make her a sandwich, much less let her into the kitchen to fix her own meal.”

“Where are the guards?” Nancy asked.

“Oh, they got better jobs, so they left.”

Nancy coaxed the girl to tell as much, as she could about Trixie’s disappearance.

“She’s been gone close to two hours,” was the reply.

Mrs. Chatham spoke up. “Have you searched everywhere? Over the cliff—and down by the river?”

“Yes, Madam, everywhere.”

Mrs. Chatham seemed relieved by this statement. “Then Trixie has run away! Well, this isn’t the first time. She’ll come home.”

“I don’t wish to alarm you, Mrs. Chatham,” said Nancy, “but I’m afraid she may have been kidnapped.”

The widow gasped. “Then we must call the police at once!”

As the child’s mother started toward the house, Nancy followed closely. When they entered the hall both noticed a sheet of paper lying near the telephone.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Chatham asked, picking it up.

At a glance she saw that it was a ransom note. Written in a bold scrawl was the alarming message :

If
you want to see your
kid again have
this
amount
ready when our messenger
arrives.
Do not
notify
the police or
you’ll
be sorry.

At the bottom of the paper was a request for thousands of dollars.

“Oh, no!” Mrs. Chatham groaned.

For a moment Nancy thought the woman was going to faint but she managed to steady herself and sat down.

“I don’t want to pay the money,” Mrs. Chatham stated, then said, “But what will happen to Trixie if I refuse?”

“Please don’t worry about that—at least not yet,” Nancy said, studying the ransom note again. “The kidnapping could be an inside job.”

“I don’t agree with you,” Mrs. Chatham returned with conviction. “While my servants may be careless, they’re all dependable. Whoever left this note here did so without the knowledge of my employees.”

Nancy tactfully withheld her own opinion.

“I think I should call the police,” Mrs. Chatham said nervously.

“Please wait until we’ve had an opportunity to search the grounds thoroughly,” Nancy advised. “I have an idea.”

Without explaining her hunch, Nancy hurried from the house. She ran down the path, a question burning in her brain. Was Trixie a
prisoner somewhere
on the
estate?
Perhaps in Ship Cottage with its secret room and sliding panels?

Cautiously Nancy opened the door of the music studio and peered inside. The room was vacant, but on a chair lay a child’s hair ribbon.

Nancy groped for the peg which opened the secret panel. As the wall slid back slowly she was almost certain she heard a movement in the dark chamber.

“Trix—” she started to call.

At the same moment a hard object struck Nancy and she blacked out.

WHEN Nancy Drew opened her eyes, the room was spinning. A little girl, her mouth gagged with a white handkerchief, was staring down at her.

“Trixie!” Nancy murmured weakly and slowly got to her feet.

She removed the handkerchief and the child began to sob. “Oh, I didn’t mean to hit you!”

“You
hit me? But why and how?”

In bewilderment Nancy looked at the cords binding the child’s ankles and hands which were crossed in front of her. She unknotted them as Trixie answered:

“I thought you were that awful man coming back. So when you opened the panel, I knocked this big stick off the shelf. It fell on top of you.”

She pointed to a croquet mallet lying on the floor.

“Trixie, who put you in here? Tell me quickly.”

“That horrid ghost you drew a picture of!”

“And he brought you to the cottage?”

“No, I came by myself,” Trixie admitted. “I didn’t think the ghost would bother me since the guards were around.”

“How did you get in?”

“With the key. I saw where my mother put it after she locked up the place.”

“Then what happened?”

“I was playing the piano when that bad man—the ghost—grabbed me. I couldn’t yell ’cause he put his hand over my mouth. He tied me up and carried me in here.”

She gulped and started to cry again but Nancy gave her a comforting hug. Hand in hand they walked back to the house. Mrs. Chatham was so relieved to see her daughter she barely listened to Nancy’s explanation of what had happened to Trixie.

When the excitement had subsided, Nancy mentioned the ransom note. “I wonder why the messenger hasn’t come yet. I should think the kidnappers wouldn’t lose any time sending someone over here, Mrs. Chatham.”

“You’re right, Nancy. I’ll call the police right away so they can capture him.”

“Perhaps,” Nancy said, “the man has been here and already left.”

Seeing the woman’s confused expression, she explained, “Whoever was sent to get the money from you may have spotted Trixie and me outside, and knew the game was up. Please don’t worry any more, Mrs. Chatham. Get a good night’s rest and in the morning, if it’s all right, I’d like to resume the search for Captain Tomlin’s map.”

Police were stationed at the house and the cottage. In the morning they reported to Nancy, who had stayed overnight, that no one had shown up.

She and Mrs. Chatham went to the studio to examine the various ship models. Each bore a small brass plate with a name engraved on it, but the
Warwick
was not there. Moreover, a thorough examination of the miniature ships did not reveal a single hiding place.

“Mrs. Chatham, how many did you sell?” Nancy asked.

“About ten or twelve,” the woman said. “I listed the purchasers.”

“You did?” Nancy cried, her spirits reviving. “And the names of each model?”

“I don’t remember about that. Perhaps I can find the record book.”

Mrs. Chatham returned to the main house, and within moments came back with a small black book.

“Apparently I didn’t write down the names of the ship models,” she said, glancing through the book. “Only the prices paid and the eleven purchasers.”

“Was Captain Tomlin’s vessel very well known?” Nancy asked.

“No. It was a small ship and rather old.”

“Then a model of it would be less likely to command a high price. I’m tempted to start our investigation with the purchasers of the least expensive ones.”

They noted that a man named J. K. Trumbull had paid the lowest price. His address was given as Hope, a small city about twenty-five miles away. But to Nancy’s disappointment his telephone number was not listed in the directory.

“I’ll have to drive there and try to find Mr. Trumbull,” she declared. “Maybe Bess and George will go with me.”

When the girls were informed of the trip, both were eager to accompany Nancy. The cousins packed a picnic lunch and were waiting when she drove up in front of the Marvin residence.

Within an hour the trio arrived in Hope and began making inquiries about J. K. Trumbull. A local shopkeeper finally directed them to a white frame house. Its owner was a short, curly-haired man.

Introductions were exchanged and Nancy asked, “Mr. Trumbull, I understand you purchased a ship model of the
Warwick.
Is that correct?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Say, are you the one who advertised in the paper saying a good price would be paid for the
Warwick?”

“Why, no,” Nancy replied, surprised.

“Do you still have that paper?” George asked the man quickly. “And was there a name signed to the ad?”

“No, I threw it away days ago,” he answered. “To your second question, there was no name, just a box number. I didn’t need to know it because I have no intention of selling the model.”

The girls’ hearts sank at Mr. Trumbull’s statement. Nancy explained that they were trying to recover the model of the
Warwick
for Mrs. Chatham, whose first husband had sailed the original vessel.

“May we borrow the model?” she asked. “We believe it contains a clue which may help solve a mystery for Mrs. Chatham.”

“What sort of clue?” Mr. Trumbull inquired, his interest aroused.

“I can’t tell you, for I’m not sure myself.”

He remained silent a moment, studying the girls. Then, to their relief, he smiled broadly.

“I thought you just wanted the little
Warwick
to sell at a profit. Now that I see otherwise, you may have the ship for exactly what I paid.”

Nancy gratefully gave him the sum. With her two friends she delightedly carried the model to the car.

“We’ll drive out of town and then examine the model,” she proposed.

Unnoticed by the girls, a sedan which had been parked across the street followed only a short distance behind. The occupants had observed the three leave the Trumbull house with the Warwick.

“Nancy Drew would never buy a ship model unless it has something to do with the parchment map!” the woman was saying to her husband. “If only we can get our hands on it! I’ll bet it’s the
Warwick!”

“I have a feeling this is going to be our lucky day,” the man replied. “The advertising trick didn’t work, but now we have Nancy Drew and the Warwick right where we want ‘em!”

“Please be careful, Fred. Nancy has preferred a kidnapping charge against us and—”

“Listen, Irene, you worry too much,” he retorted as he speeded up to keep Nancy’s car in sight.

With no suspicion that they were being followed, the girls pulled into a shady lane. While Bess took the picnic hamper, Nancy and George examined the
Warwick.

“If the map isn’t in here, I’ll be very disappointed,” Nancy declared, her fingers exploring the ship’s hull. “It must be, unless Captain Tomlin’s letter meant something totally different.”

“Can’t you find it, Nancy?” George asked, with growing impatience. Bess, silent, anxiously fastened her eyes on the little ship.

While the search was in progress, Fred Brown parked his car some distance away. Noiselessly he stole among the trees until he was directly behind Nancy’s convertible. He listened closely to the girls’ excited conversation.

“Look at this!” he heard Nancy exclaim. “A tiny door in the bottom of the ship!”

“Try it!” George urged.

“I can’t seem to get it open,” Nancy answered. There was a short pause, then she cried, “It’s coming now! I feel something inside!”

“Is it the map?” Bess asked tremulously. “Is it, Nancy?”

“I’m not sure yet. Yes, it is! Or a copy of it. We’ve found the missing directions!”

The eavesdropper, still crouched behind the car, smiled with satisfaction. He nodded with even deeper satisfaction as he heard Bess suggest to Nancy that she replace the half map in the ship, so that they could eat their picnic lunch.

Nancy did not reply. She was thinking, “I wish we could start on that cruise right away!”

Bess exclaimed, “This excitement has given me a big appetite!”

“Let’s carry the hamper over to a shady spot in the woods,” George added, pointing. “It’s too sunny here.”

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” Nancy said. “I suppose the ship will be safe in the car.” She looked about, then set the model on the front seat. Picking up’ a Thermos jug, she added, “Bess, please lock the car.”

“Sure thing.”

Fred Brown quickly ducked behind a clump of bushes, spreading their leaves, to watch Bess’s movements. She had trouble with one of the snap locks and called out to Nancy. But by now the other two girls had disappeared into the woods and did not hear her. She looked at the little ship.

“I’m sure it’ll be safe,” Bess told herself, and started off to join the others.

As soon as she was out of sight, Fred Brown crept from his hiding place. He stole around the car, opened the front door, and snatched the precious
Warwick!

IN the meantime Nancy and her friends were enjoying the picnic lunch under the trees. Bess had reported the balky lock on the car door.

“I’ll have to get it fixed,” Nancy said, then smiled. “Don’t worry, Bess. There surely aren’t any thieves in this lovely place.”

Bess reached for a second helping of potato salad. “Isn’t it wonderful! We’ve found the map and it may lead to buried treasure!”

“Providing Mrs. Chatham doesn’t change her mind about financing the trip,” George reminded her cousin. “What do you think, Nancy? Will she go through with it?”

“Oh, Mrs. Chatham is very enthusiastic. If we succeed in piecing the map together, she promised to ask both of you, and also Burt and Dave if you like,” Nancy added with a twinkle in her eyes. “And Ned, Ellen, and Bill Tomlin.”

“Terrinc!” Bess exclaimed gleefully. “Four couples. What a houseparty!”

“Four couples and Trixie,” said Nancy.

It was growing late, so after Bess had consumed the last sandwich, the girls gathered up the picnic debris and returned to the car.

“I’d like to look at that map again,” George remarked.