Read The Secret in the Old Lace Online
Authors: Carolyn G. Keene
The Secret in the Old Lace (11 page)
“Come on!” Nancy told her friends and hurried toward the man.
“Hello! You’re from the United States, aren’t you?” Nancy asked boldly. “So are we.”
“Well, I’m sure glad to meet you all,” the cowboy replied, extending his hand to shake theirs.
“We’ve been here a few days,” Nancy said. “When did you arrive?”
“Only a little while ago. I flew in with a charter group. ”
The man seemed genuinely friendly. Either the girls’ suspicions were unfounded or he was putting on an act!
“Your boots are pretty fancy,” George said pointedly.
Still unflustered, the cowboy thanked her for the compliment. “They’re straight from Dallas, like me.”
“You don’t by any chance know two men named Frieden and Rocke?” Bess asked.
The cowboy shook his head
George glared at her cousin for blurting out such revealing information. “Do you travel much?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“Not a whole lot,” he said, “but I may be doing some more if I land a part with a summer play-house—” He stopped talking when a young woman emerged from the shop. She trotted past him, clearly annoyed. “Nice to meet you,” he said quickly to the girls and hurried after the woman.
As they watched him disappear down the street, Nancy wondered if he really was their suspect and if they should alert the police.
“If he changes his shoes and his outfit,” George said, laughing, “they’ll never find him.”
The foursome headed for the library, and with Hilda’s help found a large book about the history of the theater. Among the names listed in the index was Elaine Warrington’s. There were several references to her, including mention of her marriage to Friedrich Vonderlicht after her family had disowned her.
“Where was she from?” Bess inquired.
“According to this,” Nancy replied, “she was born in France but lived in the United States. Apparently she lived in Europe most of her married life but returned to America abruptly after her husband’s death and died penniless—so she must not have known about François’s will or the treasure. ”
“Or if she did, she never found it, or maybe he died while she was on tour, and he never had a chance to tell her,” George said. “Was Warrington her real name?”
“I doubt it,” Nancy replied, shutting the book. “It must’ve been her stage name.”
“And François must have changed his name to Vonderlicht when he settled in Brugge!” Bess declared.
“Well,” Nancy replied, “let’s go back to Madame Chambray’s house. Some of the answers have got to be hidden there.”
Hilda admitted she had never done any detective work before but was eager to help. She even agreed to search the basement where the ghostly intruder had captured Bess.
“You go ahead,” Bess said. “I have no desire to be thrown into a closet again.”
“You won’t,” George insisted. “We locked the tunnel door so no one can get in there.”
“Even so, I prefer to stay up here in the safety of the kitchen.”
“You just want to be near the refrigerator,” her cousin teased, following Nancy and Hilda down the cellar steps. They had found extra flashlights and beamed them ahead as they descended.
Fascinated by the depth of the room, Hilda said, “Centuries ago I imagine this place was filled with boxes and barrels of food. People used to import it from many parts of the world—luscious bananas from the warmer climates and olives, too—”
Her light now shone on the tunnel door, prompting Nancy to interrupt.
“George, wasn’t there a key in that door?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s gone.”
George hurried forward and turned the handle. The door swung back freely.
Distressed, Nancy examined it for evidence of force. “The door isn’t damaged; it’s been unlocked with a key. But how? Did someone enter the basement from upstairs or from the tunnel?”
“There’s no way to tell,” George said.
“But I’m sure it was Mr. Ghost again!”
Hilda expressed alarm as well. “No one in this house is safe!” she said.
16
Exciting Clue
While the other girls were in the cellar, Bess decided to do her own investigating, but was at a loss as to where to begin. She remembered seeing a door at the end of the hall on the second floor and, not knowing if it led to the third story or another closet, concluded she’d start there.
Bess shivered nervously as she approached the door. “I refuse to be called ‘Chicken Marvin’ any more,” she murmured, opening the door.
Before her was a twist of stairs that rose steeply upward toward a small landing. She took a few steps, then paused, listening to a shuffling noise above her. It sounded as though someone was in the room overhead.
Bess froze temporarily but continued the climb. To her surprise there was no door at the top—only a window opposite an unevenly papered wall.
Hmph, that’s odd, the young detective thought. A bunch of steps that lead nowhere!
She pressed her ear against the wall. The shuffling sounds had stopped, at least for the moment.
It must have been my imagination, Bess concluded, turning to leave.
But suddenly she felt something settle on her forehead. It moved, tickling her skin. Quickly she brushed it to the floor, shrieking and jumping flat against the wall as a spider crawled into a corner. At the same time Bess’s hand detected a crack in the wood. Was it the work of termites or of an eccentric architect? she wondered.
Curiously, the girl sleuth ran her fingers along the depression. The wallpaper crackled as it tore apart—revealing a panel!
Bess’s heart pounded hard. She tugged at the wood but it was warped. Now what’ll I do? She sighed, her mind racing. Well, at least, I know one thing. If I can’t get through this wall, Mr. Ghost couldn’t either!
She flew downstairs to the kitchen, shouting to her friends in the cellar. They rejoined her immediately and told her about the missing key to the tunnel door.
“Uh-oh,” Bess said. “Then maybe there is somebody upstairs.” She revealed her discovery and the shuffling sounds on the third floor.
The girls locked the door between the kitchen and the cellar in order to prevent an intrusion through the tunnel. Then, armed with flashlights and a thin steel wedge they found in an old tool-box, the young sleuths followed Bess upstairs. Nancy worked the wedge deftly into the crack in the wall, forcing the panel back slightly.
“It’s coming,” she said, and stuck her fingers through the opening.
George and Hilda placed their hands around the wood as well. Inch by inch they moved it back. “There’s another wall behind this one!” George exclaimed as Madame Chambray’s familiar voice called to them from below.
“Girls!” she shouted. “Where are you?”
Bess hurried down to the second floor landing. “We’re up here! We found a hidden panel!” she called loudly.
“I’ll be right there,” the woman said, dropping the packages she had brought.
When she saw the partly open wall, the torn paper and steel wedge, Madame Chambray gasped. “What are you doing?”
“We think there’s a hidden room on the other side of this wall,” Nancy explained.
“A hidden room? How interesting. How did you find it?”
Bess explained how she had discovered the crack. “That spider really was helpful, even though I hate the things.” she concluded.
“Well, someday I’ll have to explore that room,” Mrs. Chambray said.
“I think we should do it right now,” Nancy urged. “The treasure might be hidden in there!”
Madame Chambray nodded absentmindedly, and Nancy wondered why the woman did not share the girls’ excitement. Instead, she almost seemed sad.
“We might even discover a clue to the owner of the diamond cross!” Nancy went on.
“I’ve found him already,” Madame Chambray said.
“You have? Where—”
Nancy was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. It was Mr. Drew.
“Hi, Dad,” Nancy said. “Any news?”
Nancy listened eagerly as her father told her his startling discovery. A relative of Elaine Warrington, her great-grandson in fact, was traveling in Belgium!
“That’s fantastic!” Nancy exclaimed. “What’s his full name—of course, his family name is Vonderlicht. ”
“He changed it to Vaughan ... Cody Vaughan,” Mr. Drew said.
Nancy laughed. “He sounds like a cowboy,” she said.
“He is. Well, not exactly. He’s an actor who’s been working at different jobs to prepare for roles he hopes to get. He moved to Dallas not long ago—”
“I think,” Nancy cut in excitedly, “we may already have met Mr. Vaughan!”
She told her father about the cowboy they had spoken to in town, then added, “But Madame Chambray claims she’s found the owner of the antique cross.”
“Did she say who he is?”
“No. We were interrupted by the phone.”
“Well, maybe she ran into Mr. Vaughan also,” Mr. Drew said. “Let me know what’s happening, Nancy, and take care of yourself.”
“I will, Dad.”
After the girl hung up, she found Madame Chambray in the living room with her face buried in her hands. Nancy darted to her side, slipping one arm around the woman’s shoulder.
“What’s the matter, Madame Chambray?” She asked softly. “Don’t you feel well?”
The woman lifted her eyes dolefully. “You must leave this house at once, dear,” she said. “It isn’t safe for you to stay here any longer.”
Nancy sensed that something had happened that was troubling Madame Chambray a great deal.
“Has someone threatened you?” she inquired.
“N-no. ”
“Are you sure?”
“No, I mean, yes, I—uh ...”
“Madame Chambray, we can’t leave you alone,” the young sleuth said. “Please tell me what is bothering you.”
The other girls kept silent, allowing the woman to speak. Haltingly she said, “This came in the mail. ”
She pulled a letter from her skirt pocket and handed it to Nancy, who read it aloud. “Dear Madame, your visitors have put a curse on your house. They must leave immediately or it will burn!”
“This is only an empty threat,” Nancy said.
“How do you know?” Bess spoke up.
“It sounds like a real one to me,” Hilda agreed.
“But this is a stone house,” Nancy retorted. “No one can burn it.”
“Not the shell, perhaps,” Madame Chambray said, wiping her eyes. “But inside there is wood everywhere. Oh, you must go back to America! I cannot be responsible for your safety any longer.”
The girls begged the woman to reconsider but she remained firm. “Besides, someone called me just before I left here today. He claims to be the owner of the diamond cross. He’s coming here later.”
“But the cross is gone,” Bess observed.
“I told him that. But he still wants to see me,” the woman replied.
“Did he give his name? Nancy asked.
“No.”
“Did he speak with a Texan drawl?”
“No.”
“Then I’m positive he’s an impostor!” the girl detective said resolutely.
17
Hidden Treasure?
“Madame Chambray,” the girl detective said, trying a new tack to convince the anxious woman to let them stay, “I believe the secret in the old lace is buried here. If you want us to leave tomorrow, we will; but please give us till then to continue our search.”
The woman did not answer immediately. She glanced at the pleading expression on her visitors’ faces, then spoke. “All right, you have until tomorrow, but for your own sakes, I can’t permit you to—”
“Oh, thank you!” Nancy interrupted, hugging her.
George sighed. “I hate to admit defeat,” she said, “But if François Lefèvre’s secret has been hidden for more than a century, how can we find it in less than twenty-four hours?”
“Think positive!” Nancy grinned.
Reluctantly Madame Chambray gave permission for the girls to open the panel on the third floor. “I suppose I ought to put new wallpaper up there anyway,” she said.
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to stay and help you,” Hilda spoke up. “But Joseph is taking me to a concert this evening. Perhaps all of you would like to join us ... if this is to be your last evening in Brugge.”
“We would love to,” Bess said, “but it sounds as if Nancy has other plans for us.”
The girls thanked Hilda for her invitation but said they expected to spend every minute left on the mystery. After saying good-bye, they hurried upstairs, and in less than half an hour slid the double panel fully open.
Beyond, drenched in sunlight streaming through a skylight, was a strange-looking room framed by high beams. It was cluttered with antique furniture, china, pictures, knickknacks of all kinds, and an old trunk thick with dust like everything else.
“What should we tackle first?” George asked, spying a pile of boxes in a corner.
“That’s exactly what I was going to ask,” her cousin replied. “Maybe we ought to split up our investigation.”
Bess headed toward a delicate silk screen that stood near the center of the room, and peered behind it. On the floor lay an old tarnished birdcage which she set upright.
“Find anything of interest?” George called out from her corner of the room.
“Uh-uh, just a birdcage without a bird.”
Nancy, in the meantime, was drawn to the big trunk. She raised the lid, revealing bundles of newspapers and letters.
“These are all addressed to François!” Bess observed excitedly. She opened one of them. “Here’s an invitation to a ball in Brussels! Oh, I wish I could’ve gone too. It must’ve been fabulous!”
“And this is an invitation to a big party,” George said, pulling out another letter. “I’d say François had a terrific social life!”
As the girls continued to sift through the papers, Nancy suddenly discovered a leather-bound book beneath them.
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