(#28) The Clue of the Black Keys (7 page)

“Are there any other references to the black keys?” Nancy asked excitedly.

Terry nodded and picked up a page of notes he said had come from pages ninety and one hundred.

“Here is something I translated from the Spanish. It says, ‘Today I heard another story about the Keys of Sun and Raindrop. Whoever finds the secret may be Ruler of Mankind,’ and listen to this!‘Look for the Frog.’ ”

“It’s the same Frog Treasure mentioned on the Mystery Stone!” Nancy exclaimed.

“It looks that way,” Terry agreed.

Bess was rereading the text above the key drawing. “Where is the ‘sodden wilderness’? And who is the ‘Swamp Indian’?” she asked.

Terry said he wished he knew. If it were true that a sea captain owned the diary, even though he was not Mrs. Wangell’s grandfather, there was no way to prove it. If a name had ever been in the book, someone had torn it out, along with several other pages.

“I suspect Mrs. Wangell did the tearing,” Bess decided. “She probably didn’t want to be caught lying about the diary’s owner.”

Terry said the rest of the notes he had made that day were interesting, but he doubted if they had any bearing on the mystery.

“Terry, it’s important you go on with what you’re doing. Only now, translating and deciphering the diary is just part of your job.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re to become a detective.”

“A—what?”

Nancy bobbed her head seriously. “The Wangells are dishonest. That’s been proved. They need you for translating the diary. But once you’ve given them what they want, you won’t be safe.”

Terry stared, unbelieving. Nancy went on to say that it was necessary to find out more about what they were up to, before the work on the diary was finished.

“It isn’t hard to do some simple sleuthing,” she said encouragingly. “You see, it’s not just the big things—like the diary—that are important. If you want to solve your mystery, you should start noticing the little things, too. For instance,” Nancy went on, “did you notice the mail in the hall as you came in?”

“Good grief, no! Am I supposed to?”

“Of course. Postmarks and return addresses are important clues. How about the pad on the telephone desk? Any messages?”

“That’s snooping.”

“I’m afraid a good detective has to snoop,” Nancy said.

Suddenly the young professor remembered something. His eyes widened, and he leaned forward excitedly.

“Maybe I do notice things after all,” he said.

“What?” both girls asked at once.

“This morning at the Wangells’,” Terry said, “while I was in the study, Mrs. Wangell made a telephone call. I just happened to overhear part of it.”

“Whom was she calling?” Nancy asked.

“I don’t know. But she said, ‘I won’t forget. The name’s King.’ She laughed with sort of a sneer, and added, ‘Some king he is!’ Then she hung up.”

“You are a detective, Terry!” Nancy praised the young professor. “The ‘King’ Mrs. Wangell mentioned must be Conway King—the name Juarez Tino uses!”

CHAPTER IX

Terry Disappears

TERRY smiled. “That seems to prove the Tinos and Mrs. Wangell are in league.”

“Keep your eyes open and make sure of that,” Nancy begged him. “Try to find out how the Wangells got that diary.”

Later that afternoon, when Terry and Bess had gone, Nancy again studied the photographs of the drawings. When her father arrived, she put them aside and went to greet him.

“Oh, it’s so good to have you back!” Nancy exclaimed, giving him a hug and a kiss. “You should see the pie Bess made to celebrate your homecoming.”

Carson Drew sighed. “In that case I’ll have to stay home and not leave until tomorrow.”

“Leave?” Nancy cried. “But, Dad, I have so much to tell you about Terry’s mystery. I saw Dr. Anderson, and I think we’ve found another clue in an old diary.”

She accompanied the lawyer to the living-room sofa, then proceeded with her story.

“Well, you have been busy,” her father said. “Good results, too. I guess there’s no reason now why you shouldn’t work on Terry’s case. And I have news of my own,” he added.

Upon returning to his office, Mr. Drew had found a letter from a man in Baltimore. Caswell P. Breed claimed to be a cousin of the missing Dr. Pitt and demanded a share in any money he might have left.

“Dad!” Nancy exclaimed. “How did he know you’re Dr. Pitt’s lawyer?”

Mr. Drew said this was exactly what he intended to find out. “Since I have to go to Baltimore anyway, in connection with another case, I’ll look up Breed,” he said.

Nancy strongly suspected that Breed was not really Pitt’s cousin, and told her father so.

“Well, real or not,” he said, “I’m going to Baltimore. I’d like you to go along and help me, and also meet some friends.”

“I’d love to. But first, I want to tell Terry about this Breed person. Maybe he knows him, or Dr. Pitt might have mentioned him.”

Nancy quickly telephoned Terry. He was amazed to hear about the letter. The young man had never heard of Breed.

As Nancy put down the telephone, a thought struck her. “Dad,” she said, “what gave Breed the idea that Dr. Pitt is dead?”

Mr. Drew looked at Nancy admiringly. “That’s something I must find out.”

The lawyer wired ahead for hotel reservations. After dinner he and Nancy boarded an evening plane for Baltimore. On the way Nancy told her father that plainclothesmen were watching the house.

“Just the same I brought the mysterious pictures with me, and the half-key.”

“Good idea,” the lawyer said.

At nine-thirty the next morning Nancy and her father taxied to a ramshackle dwelling situated next to a factory. C. P. Breed was inscribed on a card nailed above the knocker.

The door was opened by an old man. Mr. Drew introduced himself and Nancy, saying he was the lawyer from River Heights and would like to hear more about Mr. Breed’s claim.

The man stroked his whiskered chin, and limping, led the way into the sitting room. “I’ll talk to y’all,” he said in a high-pitched voice, “but I won’t give up the claim. Doc said not to.”

Nancy glanced at her father. “When did you last see your cousin?” she asked Mr. Breed.

The old man scratched his head. “He ain’t no cousin o’ mine. He’s my doc, an’ a good one, sure enough. Fixed my broken leg what I got at the factory. An’ he told me not to give up my claim to any o’ you lawyers.”

“There must be some mistake,” Mr. Drew said. He took the letter from his pocket and handed it to the old man. “Did you write this?”

Mr. Breed pulled a pair of spectacles from his vest pocket, adjusted them on his nose, and peered at the letter.

“This is me an’ it ain’t me,” he said. “Breed’s my name, but I don’t know Dr. Pitt an’ I ain’t his cousin, an’ I didn’t write this.”

“Do you know who could have sent it?” Nancy asked.

The man said he did not have the slightest idea, adding testily, “But I’d like to get hold o’ the person who used my name!”

As his callers rose to leave, he accompanied them to the door.

On a hunch Nancy asked him if he knew any people named Scott, Graham, Anderson, Tino, King, Porterly, and Wangell. The answer was No in each case.

“You didn’t leave out one,” the lawyer teased his daughter as they rode off. “But I know what’s in your mind; that one of them wanted to work some scheme while we were away, and sent that letter to get us out of town. Which one do you suspect?”

“Juarez Tino,” Nancy replied quickly. “I’m sure he’s the ringleader of that group. We’d better phone home and see if anything has happened.”

“You take over while I go to the courthouse,” Mr. Drew suggested.

For the next three hours Nancy kept busy at the hotel. First she telephoned Hannah Gruen to be sure everything was all right.

“Yes,” the housekeeper replied. “Now stop worrying, honey.”

“Be extra careful,” Nancy warned, and told Mrs. Gruen about the fake letter.

Nancy next turned her attention to the photographs Terry had made of the diary pages. There were nine of them, and not one of the strange drawings suggested a picture.

Then Nancy had an idea. She bought a pad of thin tracing paper, and cut nine sheets to the exact dimensions of the photographs. On each sheet she made a careful tracing of one of the drawings, using India ink.

Laying aside the original photographs, Nancy began to juggle the sheets around. She shuffled and rearranged them.

Very soon she began to make discoveries. The meaningless lines on three of the drawings, placed one beneath another, suddenly became a picture. Nancy could see a tangle of trees, a large pool of water, and a winding path.

It was the picture, Nancy thought, of some remote tropical wilderness!

She searched for other dues. One of the trees seemed lopsided. It was fan-shaped, like a traveler’s palm. But the palm had been neatly split in half!

Was that half-tree a clue? Nancy excitedly searched through the rest of the drawings. At last she found what she was looking for—the other half of the fan-shaped tree.

Edging the two sheets together to complete the tree, she made another discovery. The sheets placed together completed another picture.

And among the trees and branches was the distinct outline of three keys!

At another spot, where the sheets joined, Nancy found symbols representing the sun, a prostrate man, and a frog. The same figures on the note Terry found in the tent in Mexico!

“The person who wrote this diary somehow learned the directions to the Frog Treasure,” Nancy thought wildly. “He didn’t dare draw just one picture for fear somebody else would find out the secret!”

Feverishly she worked to decipher the whole picture message. Two other drawings, viewed separately, were nothing but irregular oval blobs. When the drawings were placed one beneath the other, however, the blobs suddenly appeared in pairs.

Footprints!

Six pair were leading—where? With painstaking care, she traced the footprints on another sheet of transparent paper. Then she laid them over the drawing of the tropical wilderness.

The result was just what she had suspected it might be. The circle was no longer empty. The footprints led to the rim of the large pool!

Then she placed the sheet over the second drawing, which revealed the keys and the symbols of frog, prostrate man, and sun.

This time the footprints led to the symbol of the frog!

She could hardly wait for her father to finish his work at the courthouse. She wanted to get home and talk to Terry Scott and show him her discovery.

When Mr. Drew came in, Nancy exclaimed, “Dad, I’ve pieced together the treasure map!” She added quickly, “Maybe Terry will recognize the location.”

“Great work,” the lawyer said. “You’re really hot on the trail, but we must stay here until the day after tomorrow.”

Friday the Drews caught an early plane for River Heights.

Mr. Drew went directly to his office. Upon reaching home, Nancy immediately telephoned Terry at his hotel.

“Mr. Scott hasn’t been in for two days,” the desk clerk informed her.

“Did he check out?” Nancy asked in amazement.

“Dad, I’ve pieced together the treasure map!” Nancy exclaimed

“No, miss. He just hasn’t been around.”

Worried, Nancy asked Hannah if she had heard from Terry. When she learned no message had come, Nancy wondered if he had changed his mind about staying with the Wangells. She dialed the number, River Heights 7-4772. There was no answer.

Alarm for Terry’s safety now made Nancy’s heart beat faster. She telephoned George.

“I’m picking you up in five minutes,” she told her startled friend. “I need your help on a search expedition.”

Nancy quickly returned the obsidian key to her dressing-table drawer and locked the photographs in her desk, then hurried to her car. Within ten minutes she reached George Fayne’s house. George was waiting at the curb.

“What’s on your mind, partner?” she asked as they drove off.

“Worry,” Nancy replied, and told about the disappearance of Terry Scott. “We’re going to the Wangells’.”

“Ugh!” George commented. “I see trouble ahead.”

“We’ll soon know,” Nancy said.

She parked around the corner from the Wangells’ house. Nancy rang the doorbell and they could hear creaking footsteps inside. But the footsteps hesitated and the person waited until Nancy rang again. Then the door flew open.

A red-faced woman with bleary eyes, her hair uncombed, stared out at them. Was this Mrs. Wangell? Nancy wondered.

“What do you want?” she asked suspiciously.

“We’re looking for a friend,” Nancy stated. “Terence Scott.”

“Scott? Must be another house,” the woman said and slammed the door. They heard a bolt slipping into place.

George grinned. “Seems as if we’re not wanted.”

“Wanted or not, I’m staying here until I do some investigating,” Nancy decided. “Did you see those suitcases in the front hall?”

George nodded. “Maybe the Wangells are leaving town.”

“If they are, it’s for no good reason. George, Officer Riley is a block back at the intersection. Would you mind asking him to come here quickly?”