The Secret in the Old Attic (13 page)

Read The Secret in the Old Attic Online

Authors: Carolyn Keene

Tags: #Mystery, #Women Detectives, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #Girls & Women, #Action & Adventure, #Mystery & Detective, #Juvenile Fiction, #Adventure and Adventurers, #Letters, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Fiction, #Attics, #Women Sleuths, #Music - Manuscripts, #Drew; Nancy (Fictitious Character), #General, #Mystery and Detective Stories

“That’s queer,” said Mr. March. “Let me try it.”
He had no better success than Nancy. Effie also tried but to no avail.
“It must be bolted on the other side,” she said. “In that case we’ll never be able to get in.”
Many thoughts flashed through Nancy’s mind. The strange musical notes and the rapping sounds she had heard must have come from beyond this locked door. With no apparent opening to the place from the old servants’ quarters, how did anyone get inside?
Effie whispered hoarsely, “I’ll bet there’s a ghost beyond there! Please leave it alone. Don’t let it out! No telling what it’ll do to us!”
The remark brought Nancy back to reality. She was provoked that the maid had spoken, for her statement had frightened Susan. The child clung to Nancy.
“Effie, go downstairs and take Susan with you,” Nancy said, rather severely. “There are no such things as ghosts and you know it. Mr. March and I will continue the work alone.”
The maid, somewhat embarrassed, took the child by the hand and went to the second floor. Although Nancy had declared there could not be a ghost beyond the locked door, she was apprehensive as to what they might find.
“Shall we break the door down?” she asked Mr. March.
He nodded.
Together they pushed against the door. Suddenly there was a splintering sound, and the barricade gave way.
Nancy and Mr. March fell forward. There was no floor beyond the door. Man and girl pitched into space!
Mr. March and Nancy pitched into space!
For a second Nancy thought she had hurtled to the outdoors. But suddenly, with Mr. March beside her, she crashed onto something hard.
The two, their breath knocked from them, lay still for a few moments. Then Nancy roused herself.
“Are you all right?” she asked, getting up and helping Mr. March to rise.
“Yes,” he panted. “Guess we missed some steps.”
The candlelight was still visible at a distance, but most of its beam was cut off by the massive wardrobe. As Nancy’s eyes became accustomed to the dimness, she groped toward the doorway of the attic to retrieve the light.
She found three steps leading from the secret room to the attic and climbed up. Effie was standing there, trembling.
“I heard a crash—” she began.
“Everything’s all right,” Nancy assured her. “Mr. March and I had a fall, but we weren’t hurt —just a few bruises.”
“Thank goodness!” Effie cried. “Oh my, you could have killed yourselves! Did you find anything?”
“Not yet. We’ll let you know as soon as we do.”
Effie went downstairs again. Nancy got the candle and returned to the secret room. Her first thought was to find out how the person who had bolted the door from the inner side had gained access to the room. Nothing showed up until she looked above her.
“A skylight!” she said aloud, and played the candle on the low arched ceiling. “Look, Mr. March, it has been entirely covered with a large black cloth.”
“A person could step in and out of that window easily,” Mr. March remarked. “The fellow put the dark cloth over it to keep anyone from seeing a light in here. And come to think of it, Fipp often went to his bedroom early. Probably he came up here instead of going to bed.”
Nancy was not entirely sure the elderly man was correct in his surmise about the skylight being the entrance. There was no evidence outdoors that an intruder could possibly gain access to the steep roof without a long ladder.
“And that certainly would have been noticed,” Nancy thought.
She and Mr. March searched for another opening, but were unable to find one. Nancy had to conclude that Mr. March’s theory probably was correct, yet a strong hunch told her it was not.
“Now let’s look for Fipp’s music,” said Mr. March.
The only pieces of furniture in the room were a small antique piano-desk and a drawerless table. Nancy inquired if Mr. March had ever seen them before.
“Yes, long ago,” he replied. “But I seem to recall that they stood along a wall in the attic at that time.”
Nancy began to examine the unusual piano-desk, feeling that if Fipp’s music were hidden any place, it would be there. Lightly she struck a few of the yellowed keys, and then her heart sank.
“These harplike notes are the very ones I heard the other day!” she exclaimed.
“Are you sure?” Mr. March asked.
“Positive.”
To herself Nancy said, “I’m afraid the intruder knew the secret of this old attic and has found all the music. One by one the songs will be published, and there won’t be a scrap of evidence to bring suit against the thief! The one clue we found under the wallpaper on the staircase won’t help us much.”
Mr. March shared her feeling of discouragement as they pulled out one drawer after another of the piano-desk. They contained nothing.
“Perhaps there’s a secret drawer under the keys,” said Nancy, taking heart suddenly. “Those musical notes I heard may be part of some special combination that’s used to open a hidden compartment.”
“Didn’t you say you heard rapping sounds as well?” Mr. March reminded her. “Maybe you have to rap on something while you strike the notes. But what’s the use of bothering if all the music is gone?”
“We don’t
know
that all of it is gone,” Nancy told the elderly man. “Maybe the thief was only experimenting, just as we are, and didn’t find the combination.”
Nancy tried to imitate the sounds exactly as she had heard them. Again and again she played the musical notes, while rapping first on one part, then another of the wooden framework with her free hand.
She was just about to give up when a drawer shot out just above the piano keys.
CHAPTER XVIII
Trapped
 
 
 
“THERE’s nothing in the secret drawer!” Mr. March groaned in disappointment. “The thief got here first and took it all!”
“Here’s a card with writing on it,” said Nancy, reaching in and taking out the message. “Maybe it gives further directions.”
“Read it to me,” Mr. March directed.
Nancy was so excited that the words tumbled from her mouth. Here, in telltale handwriting, was a splendid clue to the man who had stolen the March songs and to the person who had them published as his own original compositions! Mr. March requested that the girl repeat it.
“‘Riggin,
Can’t you find another good song?
D.’”
“‘D’ for Dight, you think?” Mr. March asked.
“I’m sure of it,” Nancy replied, elated at the discovery. “But who can Riggin be? Whoever he is he must have dropped this card when he was searching for the songs.”
At that instant Effie appeared in the doorway. “Isn’t anybody going to eat supper? It’ll be stone-cold pretty soon.”
The maid’s words brought the searchers back to reality.
“Why, yes, Effie. We’ll be right down,” Mr. March said.
“You two look awful funny. Did something happen?” Effie inquired.
“We’ve had a surprise, that’s all,” Nancy answered. “But we didn’t find what we’d hoped to.”
Before leaving the secret room, Mr. March decided to nail up the skylight so the intruder could not get in again. He called to Effie to bring hammer and nails from his toolbox in the basement.
“But it’s like locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen,” he said dolefully.
“Maybe not,” said Nancy, a new thought coming to her. “You know the intruder hasn’t been back since we frightened him away. Whatever he wanted hasn’t been taken yet.”
“True enough,” the elderly man agreed. “There’s still a ray of hope.”
“Just where to look next puzzles me,” said Nancy. “I’d like to sit down quietly and think things out.”
Effie returned with hammer and nails. The skylight was securely fastened. Then they all went downstairs.
During supper no mention was made of the secret room. Susan was eating with her grandfather and Nancy, and they did not want to excite the child. It was not until the little girl had gone to the kitchen after the meal to talk to Effie that Mr. March divulged to Nancy what he proposed to do that evening.
“I have a hunch that fellow Riggin is going to come back here tonight. Well, he’ll be my prisoner before he knows what’s happening.”
“You mean you’ll notify the police?”
“Indeed not. This old soldier is going to capture the thief alone!”
Nancy was aghast, and started to object.
“Nothing would please me more than to get my hands on the fellow who stole Fipp’s work!” Mr. March insisted.
Nancy could not persuade him to change his mind. She offered to accompany him, but he would not let her.
“You said you wanted to think things out,” Mr. March reminded her. “Maybe an idea will come to you and you’ll go back to the old attic and search for the rest of my son’s music.”
“At least, let’s arrange a signal,” Nancy pleaded. “Couldn’t you imitate some kind of an animal sound to let me know if the man shows up?”
Mr. March grinned. “I can try hooting like an owl.”
“Good! I’Il listen for it.”
Saying he would post himself near the old servants’ quarters, Mr. March went outdoors quietly. Nancy had some misgivings about his going, but said nothing.
She put Susan to bed, then came downstairs. Effie soon finished her work and retired. The young detective was left alone.
For an hour Nancy sat in the living room, thinking. She reviewed the various angles of the two strange cases in which she and her father had become involved.
“The hardest work is yet to come,” she mused, “and that will be to go into court and prove that the two Mr. Dights are guilty. They’ve both stolen something, but how different the two products are!”
Realizing it would cost Mr. March a great deal of money to carry out his plan of prosecuting the plagiarist, Nancy could not help but wish that there were some way to locate more of Fipp’s music. Her thoughts turned suddenly to the piano-desk.
“Why, there may be another secret drawer in it!” she concluded suddenly.
Excited, Nancy jumped up and started for the attic, carrying a candle. As she reached the third floor a clock chimed.
She smiled. “The witching hour of midnight! And I hope all’s well,” she quoted.
Nancy started her new investigation of the piano-desk. The utter stillness and the close atmosphere had a depressing effect upon her. She began to breathe more quickly as first one sound, then another made her uneasy.
“They seem so far away,” she thought. “I wonder if I would hear Mr. March if he should call.”
For a long moment Nancy stood still, hesitant to go on with her work. Maybe she ought to run downstairs to be near the elderly man if he needed her.
“I’ll hurry with my search,” she decided.
Nancy pressed first one area, then another on the left-hand side of the old piece of furniture. No drawer came out. She tried again and again, then switched to the right-hand side. At last her efforts were rewarded.
Slowly a shallow tray moved out from the middle of the old piano-desk. It was filled with papers.
Nancy’s pulse was beating wildly, but she forced herself to be calm. She carried the tray to the table, then took out several scrolls and folded papers.
Nancy scanned them hastily. As she had hoped, they were all musical compositions. The name Philip March Jr. was signed in a bold scrawl at the top of each song!
“These have never been published!” Nancy thought elatedly. “That thief didn’t find them!”
Her imagination was spinning as she hummed one lovely air after another and realized what hits they would make. Nancy could picture the shabby old mansion restored to its former grandeur. Little Susan would be getting a fine education. Mr. March ...
Nancy was so absorbed in her thoughts she failed to notice that the piano-desk was moving slowly and silently across the floor. It stopped. Then noiselessly a man raised himself through a hole. He began to smile.
“So she found them for me!” he gloated.
Nancy, unaware that her every move was being watched, rolled up the manuscripts. As she started to pick up the candle, the young sleuth became aware of a sound behind her!
Nancy froze to the spot. The stealthy intruder confronted her. Before she could scream, he grabbed her in a powerful grip and put one hand over her mouth.
“Bushy Trott!” she gurgled behind his fat fingers.
“Mr. Riggin Trott, if you please!” he corrected her with a sneer. “I see you remember me. Well, I remember
you.
Tried to spy on me at the Dight factory, didn’t you? Well, that didn’t get you anywhere!”
Nancy fought to escape from the man, but his clutch was like an iron vise. He whipped out a handkerchief and stuffed it into her mouth. Deftly he produced two pieces of rope from his pocket.
“Always carry these for emergencies,” he announced with a low chuckle. “Use them for people who don’t mind their own business. I threw a stone at old man March at your house to scare you from coming here. But I’m glad you came.”

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