(#24) The Clue in the Old Album (6 page)

“Did the woman look like a gypsy?”

Janie shrugged. “She was real dark and had red hair and wore big earrings. She asked us a lot of questions about Rose.”

“What were they?”

“She wanted to know what time Rose came to school and what time she went home. Then she told us Rose’s father was a gypsy. That’s all.”

“But that’s not all. You told other children.”

“I made up the rest,” Janie admitted. “I’m sorry. Honestly I am.”

“Rose is the daughter of a great violinist,” Nancy told the girl. “I’ve heard too that he’s a Spanish gypsy, but that’s not to his discredit. Most gypsies are fine people. Some are excellent musicians and a few are movie stars.”

Janie felt ashamed and wanted to leave. Nancy said, “Tell me more about the mysterious woman who said Rose’s father was a gypsy. Did the lady drive up in a black sedan?”

“Yes, and she got real mad when Billy West upset her suitcase.”

“Suitcase?”

“She had a little one in her hand when she got out of the car. Billy pushed against the bag and it opened. Guess what she had inside?”

“You tell me.”

“Dolls! I thought she must sell them, only they didn’t look new. The kids all wanted to see them, but the woman was real cross. She closed the suitcase with a bang.”

“Did you see the dolls yourself, Janie?”

“Sure, I was standing right there all the time.”

“What were they like?” Nancy asked, excited.

“Oh, they weren’t like the dolls in the stores. One had a fan in her hand. Another was a little man playing a violin.”

Janie’s information convinced Nancy that the woman was the person who had stolen Mrs. Struthers’ fan doll. The description Janie had given fitted Nitaka!

“Did the doll with the fan stand on a velvet box?” Nancy inquired.

“I think so,” Janie recalled. “The woman slammed the suitcase shut so fast we didn’t get a very good look at the dolls. Billy asked her if she sold them. She said yes. Then she jumped in her car and drove away.”

Nancy’s suspicions were confirmed. She was certain that the woman with the dolls was Nitaka and that a plot was afoot to harm Rose.

“May I go now?” Janie asked impatiently. “I promise I won’t make up any more stories about Rose.”

“All right, Janie,” Nancy said. “But if you ever see the woman with the dolls again, please let me know right away.” She wrote her name and phone number on a slip of paper.

Nancy was tempted to reveal what she had learned to Mrs. Struthers, then she thought better of it. The woman already was nervous, and knowing that Rose might be in danger would only upset her more.

Instead, Nancy sought her father’s advise. He shared her alarm about Rose’s safety and said at once that a detective should be assigned to the Struthers’ grounds.

“We can’t do that without telling Mrs. Struthers,” Nancy replied, “and I don’t want to worry her.”

“Tell you what,” Mr. Drew decided. “I’ll engage the detective on my own and tell him not to let the Struthers know he is on duty. After this has blown over, if Mrs. Struthers feels the service has been worthwhile she can pay me for it.”

Nancy visited the Struthers’ home the next day, where everything appeared to be running smoothly. Rose was bubbling with enthusiasm over her dancing and violin lessons. Her teachers had said she had talent, and Mrs. Struthers was pleased.

“Perhaps a career in music is ahead for my granddaughter,” she predicted enthusiastically to Nancy when they were alone. “And I have you to thank, my dear.”

“I’m glad I’ve done something helpful,” Nancy said, “even though I haven’t found the doll you want. But I did buy two things at the Jefferson Galleries.”

She handed Mrs. Struthers the package containing the four-faced doll and the album with the name of Euphemia Struthers on it.

“What an interesting doll!” the woman remarked after turning it round and round. “I haven’t seen one like this before. It will be a great addition to my collection. And this album—how quaint! Euphemia? Let me see. My husband had an unmarried cousin by that name.”

“Where does she live?” Nancy asked eagerly.

“In some suburb of New York City. I’ve forgotten exactly where.”

Nancy examined the album thoroughly a second time but found nothing that might help her to solve the mystery. She looked up to find Mrs. Struthers with a faraway expression in her eyes.

“Could you go to New York for me?” she asked abruptly.

“New York? Why, yes, I guess so,” Nancy replied. “You mean to see Euphemia Struthers?”

“If you can find her. But also to attend a large sale of exquisite old dolls,” the woman said.

Nancy’s mind immediately flew to various possibilities in connection with the trip. First, her Aunt Eloise Drew, who lived in New York, had been coaxing her to visit. Also, her friend Alice Crosby, a social-service worker in the city, had expressed a desire to see the young detective.

“How I wish I might go myself.” Mrs. Struthers sighed. “Alfred Blackwell is giving a recital.”

“He is?” Nancy said. “I’d love to hear him.” To herself she added, “And I’ll try to have an interview with him. Since he’s a violinist, he may have known Rose’s father and possibly can tell me where Romano is now.” Aloud she said, “Yes, I’ll go. When is the sale?”

“In a few days.”

The next morning Nancy left for New York. When she arrived in the city, she went at once to the suburban telephone directories and looked for the name Struthers.

“Here it is! Euphemia Struthers.”

She made a call and the woman herself answered.

“This is Nancy Drew from—”

“It is, eh? Well, it’s about time I heard from you!” the woman said.

CHAPTER VII

A Helpful Gift

NANCY was so startled by Euphemia Struthers’ unexpected words that she was speechless.

“I thought your conscience would bother you one of these days,” the tirade began. “I want that album of mine back and I want it right away!”

Nancy was dumbfounded. How had the woman found out that she had bought the album? The thought struck her that she must have picked up some stolen property!

As Miss Struthers paused for breath, Nancy said, “Please let me speak. I don’t know how you found out about the album. I don’t have it, but I assure you it’s in good hands. Mrs. John Struthers of River Heights is the new owner.”

“What did you do with the pictures?” Euphemia screamed. “She hasn’t got them, too! Oh, no!”

“There weren’t any in the album,” Nancy said.

“What do you mean?”

At last Nancy was able to describe the whole transaction. When she finished Miss Struthers asked in a subdued voice, “Who did you say you are?”

Nancy gave her name very clearly. A great gasp came from the telephone along with a profuse apology.

“Oh, my goodness, I thought you said ‘Nanny Dew,’ that thieving maid of mine! If I ever get my hands on that girl....”

“Your time is up,” an operator’s voice cut in. “If you wish to talk longer, deposit....”

“I don’t!” Nancy said, and hung up. She leaned against the side of the telephone booth and laughed. “Whew! I’m glad that’s over! The clue didn’t get me anywhere, but I’ll see that Miss Euphemia Struthers’ album is returned to her. I wonder what Nanny Dew did with the photographs?”

Nancy pushed the door of the booth open and went direct to the taxi stand. Ten minutes later she rang the bell of her aunt’s apartment. Miss Drew, an attractive middle-aged schoolteacher, greeted Nancy with open arms.

“This is the nicest thing that’s happened to me this vacation,” Aunt Eloise said, as she helped her niece unpack the few clothes she had brought along.

“Either you don’t intend to stay long or you left home in a hurry,” Miss Drew teased.

“Neither. Guess again.” Nancy laughed. “I’m going shopping.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, Nancy. Are you sure there isn’t some other reason for this visit?”

“I see I can’t keep secrets from you, Aunt Lou!”

Nancy described her new mystery and her hope of tracing Romano Pepito through Alfred Blackwell by questioning him after the concert the next evening.

“I’ll get tickets for us,” Aunt Eloise offered.

Nancy spent a happy evening with her aunt and the next day they shopped for several hours. Nancy purchased a dress to wear to the concert. She and Miss Drew arrived early, and Nancy handed the usher a note to take to the violinist.

Nancy thought Blackwell’s playing was even more wonderful than it had been when she heard him in River Heights. Just before the second half of the program began, the usher gave Nancy an answer to her note. It invited the girl and her aunt to go backstage to see the artist immediately after the concert.

“Now if he can only give me a clue to the Struthers’ mystery!” she thought, excited.

When they met Alfred Blackwell he not only remembered having met Nancy in River Heights but expressed great pleasure that she and her aunt had come to hear him. They in turn told the violinist how much they had enjoyed his performance. Then Nancy explained the purpose of her request to see him.

“Romano Pepito?” Mr. Blackwell repeated. “Ah, yes, I know him. I’ve heard him play many times. He is a fine violinist. His music expresses the depths of gloom and the heights of joy so well known to gypsies.”

“Where is he now?” Nancy asked.

“That I could not say. I haven’t seen him for over three years. You know him?”

“No, but I’d like to meet Mr. Pepito.”

“Perhaps I can help you. Can you and your aunt come to my hotel tomorrow morning?”

Nancy looked at her aunt, who nodded assent. At eleven o’clock the following day they went to the violinist’s suite. He greeted them cordially but said he had disappointing news.

“I couldn’t find out anything about Romano Pepito,” he said. “The man seems to have vanished from the music world, though there has been no report of his death.”

Mr. Blackwell picked up a photograph and handed it to Nancy. “A very good picture of Romano,” he explained. “Isn’t he handsome?”

“He certainly is. It’s important that I find him.”

“If this picture will help you, please take it,” Alfred Blackwell offered. “Is Romano in some kind of trouble?”

“Not that I know of,” Nancy answered evasively. “I’m interested in all talented gypsies.”

Alfred Blackwell nodded as if satisfied with the explanation. “In that case you must meet my friend Marquita,” he said.

“You mean the movie actress?” Nancy’s aunt inquired. “She was very good in her latest film.”

“Yes, her new picture is to open here this week. Marquita is a Spanish gypsy, and one of the most unselfish, beautiful women I have ever known.”

“Is she in New York now?” Nancy asked.

“I believe so. Wait, I’ll find out.”

The violinist called the theatrical agent who arranged all Marquita’s engagements. From him Mr. Blackwell learned that the actress had arrived the day before.

“We’ll go to her apartment,” Alfred Blackwell decided impulsively. “She refuses to have a phone, or I’d call her.”

He and the two Drews taxied to the actress’s apartment. To Nancy’s amazement Marquita did not reside in an exclusive neighborhood.

“Marquita makes a large salary but spends little of it on herself,” the violinist explained. “I sometimes wonder if it isn’t because she’s compelled to turn over the major part of her earnings to the Gypsy group of which she remains a member.”

The woman, dark, beautiful, and exotic looking, opened the door. She wore plain, inexpensive clothes. Her apartment also was sparsely furnished. Marquita greeted them cordially.

Before she had a chance to ask her callers to be seated, Mr. Blackwell said, “Suppose we all go to lunch to that famous Hungarian restaurant on the next block.”

Marquita offered no protest, and the Drews’ objections were quickly overridden. At the restaurant Alfred Blackwell ordered a full-course meal for each one.

Nancy sought to draw Marquita into a discussion of gypsy customs and superstitions. The actress answered the questions politely but reluctantly. She could give no information about Romano Pepito and seemed disinterested in the subject of dolls or albums.

“Gypsies do not have albums,” she said.

Nancy made a final attempt to get a clue from Marquita by asking whether gypsies who had been banished from a tribe could be reinstated.

“The old tribal law is becoming more liberal,” Marquita admitted. “It depends on the tribe, though. Some leaders allow certain members to go out into the world. Others are not allowed to leave.”

Out of consideration for her host, Nancy did not pursue the subject. The rest of the lunch hour was gay, and the guests were profuse in their thanks to Alfred Blackwell for his kindness.

The next morning Nancy and her aunt went to the doll sale. Several fine ones were on display. Many duplicated those already in Mrs. Struthers’ collection, but one caught Nancy’s attention. She listened carefully to a description of it when the auctioneer put the doll up for sale.

He explained that it dated back to Civil War days and had been used to carry messages and even quinine medicine through enemy lines. He demonstrated how the head could be removed by a sudden quick turn. Beneath it was a cavity where the precious drug and notes had been secreted.

“There’s a story that children were allowed to visit their fathers who were war prisoners of the enemy. They carried the dolls through the lines, and no one suspected that they were helping their parents trick the enemy,” he continued. “A guaranteed authentic collector’s item! Now what am I offered?”

“I believe I’ll buy that for Mrs. Struthers’ collection if the bidding doesn’t go too high,” Nancy whispered to her aunt.

Several persons made bids. As the price rose, everyone dropped out except Nancy and a woman at the rear of the room.

“She sounds like Nitaka!” Nancy thought, turning around.

The woman wore a large hat and scarf that covered the side of her face. “Maybe she wants that doll because it has something to do with the Struthers’ case,” Nancy reasoned.

Quickly the girl made another bid for the doll. The woman topped her offer by a large amount. Nancy raised the bid, but this time her competitor said nothing.