The Quest of the Missing Map (11 page)

Bess, who was a few steps ahead, swung open the car door. She gasped in astonishment at the empty seat.

“Oh, no! We shouldn’t have left the ship model in here!” she wailed.

“What’s happened?” Nancy asked.

“Someone stole it while we were eating!” Bess exclaimed. “Nancy, will you ever forgive me?”

George eyed her cousin disapprovingly. “Think of all the hours we spent trying to find that map.”

Nancy gazed carefully about the clearing but could see no one. The thief was gone.

In a tranquil voice she said, “Fortunately it’s not too serious.”

“Not serious!” Bess cried. “We lost the treasure and our wonderful vacation trip and you say it’s not serious!”

Smiling, Nancy opened her handbag and displayed the missing section of the parchment map.

“I took it with me when we left the car,” she explained. “As for the little ship, it’s not a great loss.”

“Nancy, I’m so happy I—” Bess laughed and cried, giving her friend an affectionate hug.

“There’s only one thing that bothers me,” Nancy said. “I can’t recall the wording which was on the bottom of the Warwick!”

“Wording?” George asked in surprise. “I didn’t notice any.”

“Neither did I,” Bess declared. “What was it, Nancy?”

“I can remember just one word-‘Little.’ No doubt it will come to me when I study the two pieces of map at home.”

The girls had made only a casual inspection of the parchment, for even in a strong light the writing was difficult to make out. Nancy was eager to return home so she could look at it under a magnifying glass.

“Shall we start for River Heights?” she proposed. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

“And make no attempt to trace the person who stole the ship?” George asked in surprise.

“It wouldn’t do any good. We don’t have a single clue,” Nancy replied. “Let’s head back.”

After loading the picnic hamper into the car, the three girls crowded into the front seat. Out of habit, Bess reached for the button lock and pressed it down. “It does work!” she exclaimed. George frowned at her cousin but refrained from making a comment.

“On second thought,” Nancy interposed, “I’d like to stop and talk with Ellen’s father. I have a photograph to show him and he’ll want to hear the good news about the map.” She turned in the direction of Wayland.

Mr. Smith was saddened to learn that his brother was dead. He readily identified the picture, saying, “John looked exactly like my dad at the same age.”

Mr. Smith expressed great pleasure over the recovery of the long-lost section of the precious map and stared at it eagerly. “This is my brother’s torn piece,” he declared positively. “Now if only I had my own half!”

“Just as soon as I get home,” said Nancy, “I’ll compare this with my copy of your section.”

“Has Mrs. Chatham actually promised to pay for the expedition?” Mrs. Smith inquired. “I don’t like to think of her spending so much money on something which may turn out to be a disappointment.”

“Mrs. Chatham wants to do it,” Nancy assured her. “The trip will not only be an expedition but a vacation for her and Trixie.”

Before leaving the house, the girls learned that the police had not caught the thief who had burglarized the Smith home. Although Nancy did not need the stolen parchment, she feared that Spike Doty might get to the buried treasure first. That evening her father voiced a similar opinion.

“After what happened to the model of the
War
wick
you must be on your guard more than ever,” he warned her. “The Browns and the others have demonstrated their ruthlessness. They will not give up, Nancy, until the fortune is theirs.”

For a couple of hours she and her father studied the two sections of map, fitting them together and trying to decipher Captain Tomlin’s writing. Directions for reaching the southern Atlantic island were fairly clear, but one vital section of a word was missing.

“It would be part of the island’s name,” Nancy commented ruefully. “Plainly it says, ‘Little—Im Island’, but it’s easy to see more letters appeared on the original.”

“Little Island as a clue means nothing,” Carson Drew remarked, glancing up from an atlas.

“Mr. Smith said the island was uncharted,” Nancy reminded her father.

“That was a long time ago,” Mr. Drew replied. “No doubt it’s on the big maps today. Anyway, I’ll take another look at all the islands. Here’s one. Little Palm—”

“That’s it!” Nancy cried out. “Little Palm Island!”

“How do you know? How can we be sure? In this expedition a wrong guess could prove to be very costly.”

“I’m not guessing, Dad. The name was carved on the bottom of the ship model which was stolen from my car today.”

“Then everything seems to be cleared up,” Mr. Drew declared in satisfaction. “If Mrs. Chatham gives her approval, we can charter a ship.”

Upon learning that the lost half map had been recovered, Mrs. Chatham was even more enthusiastic than Nancy had dared hope.

“By all means have your father engage a captain,” she instructed. “And invite the Smith family and any friends you wish. We’ll have a marvelous time.”

Nancy telephoned to Bill Tomlin, Ned, Burt Eddleton, and Dave Evans. They all instantly accepted and in a whirl of excitement Nancy began to plan her cruise wardrobe.

On Monday her hopes were suddenly deflated by her father. “I’m afraid there’s not a single charter boat available now,” he announced at lunch.

“Oh, Dad!” Nancy exclaimed. “Are you absolutely certain? How about a plane?”

“I’ve tried everywhere and everyone. No chance. I’m sorry, Nancy.”

“But the Browns or Spike Doty may get to Little Palm before we do and find the buried fortune!”

That afternoon Carson Drew made several more unsuccessful attempts to find a suitable yacht. The few that were offered to him were either too large or much too small.

“Remember, dear, the thieves don’t have Captain Tomlin’s section of the map,” Nancy’s father said encouragingly.

“No,” she agreed. “But don’t forget that a copy of it was stolen by a member of the crew.” She reminded him of the letter found in the New Kirk bank.

Days went by and Nancy chafed at the delay. She made frequent trips to Rocky Edge to discuss the situation with Mrs. Chatham. Ellen had finished school for the year and come to the estate as piano teacher. Already Trixie was much better behaved.

One afternoon the child was not in sight when Nancy arrived. Ellen ran down the walk to meet the young detective, who sensed at once that something was wrong.

“Trixie has disappeared!” Ellen cried. “I’m sure she has been kidnapped again!”

HAD the kidnappers dared to abduct Trixie Chatham a second time? Nancy could not believe they would be so foolish.

“Maybe Trixie has only wandered away,” she suggested.

“Oh, I hope so,” Ellen said. “Mrs. Chatham isn’t here and I’m very worried.”

“Did Trixie talk about going anywhere today?” Nancy asked.

“Why, yes, she did. She spoke of going to see you. Of course I didn’t pay much attention. I told her you would be coming over but—”

“Suppose she tried to walk to River Heights? She’d definitely get lost!” Nancy exclaimed. “Come on. Hop in my car.”

The two girls had expected a long search, but to their surprise they spotted Trixie a few minutes later walking along the road. Beside her was a middle-aged man in a sea captain’s uniform.

“I hope that isn’t Spike Doty!” Ellen exclaimed nervously.

“I think not,” Nancy replied, easing on the brakes. “I can’t imagine who he is.”

At a closer look Trixie’s companion seemed to be quite pleasant. The child herself explained the situation and introduced the man as Captain Stryver. She had seen him walking past the estate and noticed that his uniform looked like those she had seen in pictures of men on ships. Trixie had followed him to talk about boats.

“I didn’t mean to take the child away from her home,” the man apologized, his weather-beaten face creasing into kindly wrinkles. “We’ve been gabbing a little about ships.”

“He has one called the
Primrose!”
Trixie exclaimed, seizing Nancy’s hand.

“I don’t own her,” the captain hastened to correct. “Mr. Heppel, my employer, is her master.”

“Is the Primrose for rent?” Nancy asked.

“Mr. Heppel has had a lot of bad luck the past year. I’m sure he’d be glad to rent the Primrose. Not a prettier yacht afloat. She’s tied up in New York now. I’m just here visiting my daughter.”

Nancy and Ellen asked many questions, and soon were convinced that the ship was well worth an investigation. They liked Captain Stryver, and tactfully inquired if his services could be obtained for a voyage to an island in the South Atlantic.

“I know that area like a book,” he said. “Nothing would suit me better than a cruise in those waters.”

After talking with Captain Stryver for nearly half an hour, Nancy learned that Mr. Heppel was coming to Wayland the following morning to talk to the captain. She asked to meet him.

“Come to my daughter’s house at ten o’clock.” He gave Nancy the address.

Since Trixie had been responsible for calling the Primrose to their attention, neither Ellen nor Nancy felt like scolding her for wandering off. The girls brought Trixie home.

Carson Drew was pleased to learn of the
Prim-rose
and Captain Stryver. He went with Nancy to call on Mr. Heppel the next day. The man was willing to rent his yacht for a fair sum. Pictures of it and a maritime commendation convinced the Drews of its seaworthiness.

“You’ll have no problem with Captain Stryver at the wheel,” said Mr. Heppel. “He’s honest and dependable,” the owner declared, and the deal was concluded. The captain was promptly engaged and given the task of selecting a crew. Happy about the assignment, he left for New York.

Nancy’s preparations for the trip were at their height later that morning when she received a telephone call from Chief McGinnis of the River Heights police force.

“We have a lead, Nancy,” he said. The chief was a long-time friend of the Drews. “Spike Doty’s address.” He rattled off the number and name of the street. “It’s a rooming house.”

“That’s in the worst district of town,” Nancy commented.

“A couple of our men are down there now,” the chief said. “Dressed like town hoods. They’re waiting for Doty to appear.”

“Are you sure he still lives in that apartment house?” Nancy asked.

“The landlady verified it but said he hasn’t been to his room since night before last.”

“I’d like to take a look around myself.”

“If you want a police escort—”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to scare Doty off or be too conspicuous. As a matter of fact—” She stopped speaking. “I’ll be okay. Thanks just the same.”

Not wishing to reveal over the phone a plan she had suddenly thought of, Nancy assured him she would take no chances and said good-by. She went to her room and from the rear of her closet pulled out a dark-colored dress that was out of style, a pair of old brown shoes, and a bottle of gray dusting powder for the hair.

“I hope this’ll work,” she said to herself. “Too bad Hannah and Dad aren’t here so I could tell them my plan.”

Quickly she changed clothes and brushed some of the powder into her hair, giving it a gray tinge. She combed it to give a scraggly appearance. Fully disguised, Nancy posed in front of the full-length mirror in the hall.

“Well, Mrs. Frisby, are you ready to do some housecleanin’?” Nancy asked her reflection. Could she trap the thief in this disguise? A broad grin spread across her face as she answered, “Give me a broom and I’ll sweep Doty into jail!”

In a short while Nancy was on her way. She parked her car in a nice neighborhood several blocks from Doty’s rooming house. Then, hunching her shoulders and lowering her head, she walked the rest of the distance. An untidy landlady answered her knock.

“What do you want?” she bellowed, glaring at the old woman before her.

A crude letter holder hung on the wall. Chalked onto it were several names and room numbers. Doty’s was 22.

“I come t’ clean up Mr. Doty’s room,” Nancy announced. “Kin I start right now? Just tell me where you keep everything and open his door, please. I’ll be in and out in a jiffy.”

The red-haired woman looked surprised but led Nancy up the sagging stairway. “All the cleaning stuff’s in the closet down the hall. His room’s over there. Door’s always unlocked. I can’t figure that guy. He’s been out for almost two days and wants his room cleaned. For who? The mice?”

Without waiting for an answer, the landlady started downstairs, leaving Nancy alone. The young sleuth opened the door to Spike Doty’s room. It was shabby and contained only a desk, a bed, and a chair, all piled with old newspapers and torn envelopes. She pretended to straighten up the room, hunting through the papers for a clue to any accomplices of Doty’s or to his whereabouts if he had left town.