“You’re white as a sheet,” he said. “Something happened. What was it?”
“Did anyone touch the piano downstairs?” she asked.
“The piano? No. Why?”
“I thought I heard a few notes of music,” Nancy replied.
“You’re not telling me all you know,” the elderly man said. “I want to hear everything. Don’t keep anything back.”
“I’m afraid somebody or something is in the attic,” Nancy admitted. “After my flashlight went out there were all kinds of ghostly noises.”
Mr. March grunted. “I’ll fix him,” he said and started up the stairs. Nancy tried to hold him back.
“I’ve faced the enemy before,” he declared, holding the candle aloft. “And it’s high time I find out about that mysterious attic.”
Nancy followed him. To her chagrin they found no one, nor was there any evidence of a secret entrance through which an intruder might have come. On the floor near the spot where she had stood lay a large toy bear.
“It must have fallen from the rafters,” Nancy decided. She told Mr. March this was one of the strange events that had occurred in the past fifteen minutes. “I guess the bear fell on me,” she added.
“That bear belonged to Fipp,” his father explained. “I haven’t seen it for years.”
Nancy was apologetic for having worried him. She picked up her flashlight and said no more about the incidents. But she knew that she had not imagined the stealthy footsteps, the rapping sounds, and the musical notes. Who and what had made them remained a deep mystery.
“Here’s a surprise for you,” she said, changing the subject. “I located one of the old songs under a pile of newspapers.”
Mr. March scanned the parchment eagerly. Finally he spoke. “Oh, yes, I remember this—‘The Old and the New.’ ” He nodded, humming a few bars of the tune. “My mother composed the tune and Fipp later added to it. It was one of his finest.”
“It’s the best find we’ve made yet,” said Nancy after they had gone downstairs. “If Ben Banks has published a song with this melody, you’ll certainly have a case against him.”
“I hope you receive a reply to your letter very soon,” the elderly man said. He sighed, adding, “This suspense is rather hard on an old fellow like me.”
Nancy spoke a few words of encouragement and showed him the valuable old shoe buckles. Then she said good night. That weekend she was kept busy with the housework, and had no chance to go to the attic. But she took time on Saturday to run into the business section of River Heights to see Mr. Faber.
The dealer gave her a good price for the buckles. Mr. March was overjoyed at the encouraging news.
“How wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Oh, Nancy, I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”
Nancy brushed aside the comment modestly. She knew that the money she had been able to acquire was still not sufficient to take care of Susan or the house expenses indefinitely.
By Monday Effie was able to assume the duties of the household once more, and Nancy returned to her own home. Mr. Drew greeted her cheerily.
“Well, I’m glad to see my daughter again,” he said affectionately. “I believe I should take the day off and celebrate.”
Knowing she was being teased, Nancy asked,
“Are
you taking a holiday?”
“I’m on my way to see Mr. Booker,” her father replied.
Nancy queried him about what progress he had made in clearing up the mystery of the stolen formula for creating the lovely silk material.
“Absolutely none,” Mr. Drew confessed. “Men have been shadowing the Dight plant ever since you were there, but they haven’t seen Bushy Trott go in or come out of the building.”
“Maybe he lives there. Would you like me to go back to the factory and find out?” Nancy asked.
“Not yet, but I may call on you later. Mr. Booker is so sure his process is being imitated that whether or not Trott is there, he wants me to start suit against Lawrence Dight.”
“Will you do it?”
“Not until I have a little more evidence,” the lawyer replied. “One has to be mighty careful when accusing a person of Mr. Dight’s standing. Up to now Mr. Booker hasn’t explained much about how he makes the special silk material, so I’m on my way to find out. Want to go with me?”
“You won’t have to ask twice!”
“Then we’ll be on our way. Later, if one of us gets into the secret section of the Dight plant, we’ll be able to compare the two methods.”
Nancy and her father were welcomed cordially by Mr. Booker, who was eager to conduct the Drews through his plant.
“First I’ll show you the Gossamer Garment Room,” he declared, leading the way.
The Gossamer Room contained several bolts of filmy white silk material like that used in the scarves Nancy had seen. Others were in various colors, while a few were patterned with artistic and unusual designs.
“They’re beautiful!” Nancy exclaimed.
Clever designers had fashioned some of the materials into attractive dresses, which hung row upon row in dustproof glass cases.
“I’ve never seen anything so lovely!” Nancy said. A pale-yellow evening gown caught her eye. “What a stunning dance dress!”
In texture it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. “The material is strong,” she said, “yet it looks delicate enough to dissolve at a touch of the hand!”
“That’s why we call it gossamer,” Mr. Booker said proudly. “I’ll show you how it’s made. You must promise, of course, never to reveal my secrets!”
“You can trust us!” said Mr. Drew.
The factory owner unlocked a heavy metal door and led his callers into a room where two men sat at tables, engaged in a most unusual occupation.
“This is my spidery,” Mr. Booker explained. “Here I breed orb weavers under glass. They provide me with the silk threads I need for my material.”
“You actually use spiders!” Nancy gasped.
“Yes.” Mr. Booker smiled. “They are very useful to man when one understands how to put them to work.”
Nancy watched curiously. One of the men was holding a spider in a pair of forceps. The little insect was exuding a filmy thread from its spinneret. With his other hand the man was winding the silk onto a spool.
“The spiders work fast,” Mr. Drew remarked.
“One of them can spin a web half a yard across in less than an hour,” Mr. Booker revealed. “Now I’ll show you how we make the thread strong enough to be woven into cloth.”
Nancy and her father were escorted to the room where the secret chemical formula was mixed. Not only did Nancy look at the solution in the various tubes, but she took particular note of the peculiar scent it produced.
“I’d be more likely to recognize the odor than anything else. If this chemical is being used at the Dight factory, maybe I can identify it that way,” Nancy thought.
Mr. Drew inquired if this was the department where Bushy Trott had worked.
“Yes,” Mr. Booker replied, “he was in this section. He came to me highly recommended as a chemist. Because he left my employ abruptly, I suspect that he was sent here as a spy.”
Mr. Drew told the manufacturer there was plenty of evidence now against the rival concern.
“We’re still trying to check on Bushy Trott,” he said. “The next step will be to find out how Lawrence Dight is making his silk material’
“If only I could get into his factory again!” Nancy remarked to her father as they drove away from the Booker plant.
“Couldn’t you arrange for another trip with your friend Diane?”
“She’s scarcely a friend, Dad. But I’ll think up a way,” Nancy promised.
After dropping her father at his office, she had an inspiration. If her scheme worked, she would get into the factory!
On impulse she drove directly to the Dight home to put her plan into action. The spacious grounds were located at the edge of the city and were screened from the road by a high, ivy-covered fence. Nancy turned into the winding driveway and coasted to the big white house.
CHAPTER IX
A Blue Bottle
HOPEFULLY Nancy rang the bell at the Dight house. She was eager to carry out her plan. Diane opened the door.
“Have you come to see me?” Diane inquired curtly.
Nancy smiled graciously and replied, “You have a little sister, I believe.”
“Jean’s seven.”
“Then she’s only a little bigger than a girl I know who has very few clothes. Do you suppose your mother would be willing to pass on a few of Jean’s clothes that she has outgrown?” Nancy asked.
“I’ll ask her,” Diane offered with a shrug. “Come in.”
The invitation delighted Nancy. This was her chance to see what kind of art objects the Dights favored. Perhaps they would be interested in buying some of Mr. March’s antiques. If she could obtain something to sell them, she might have a reason for calling on Mr. Dight at his office.
Left alone, Nancy gazed with interest about the luxuriously furnished living room. Against one wall stood a mahogany case with glass shelves. On them was an array of beautiful, unusual old bottles.
“The very thing!” Nancy thought in delight.
She went over to examine the collection. One had the face of George Washington etched in it, another that of Dolly Madison. As Nancy stood gazing at a lovely old blue perfume bottle, Diane came downstairs.
“There you are,” she said, tossing a heap of garments onto a sofa. “Mother says to take them all if you like.”
Nancy thanked her for the clothing, and then expressed interest in the bottle collection.
“Oh, that’s Mother’s hobby,” Diane replied indifferently. “She spends a great deal of her time at antique stores trying to pick up bargains. She’d rather have an old bottle than something new.”
“Many old things are far prettier than new ones,” Nancy remarked.
“I don’t think so. And especially bottles. Anyway, it’s my opinion one collector in the family is enough.”
Nancy was tempted to make a retort, but wisely kept still. Diane certainly was a disrespectful and conceited daughter.
“Thank you for the dresses,” she said, gathering them up. “Little Susan will be delighted to have them.”
From the Dight home Nancy drove directly to Pleasant Hedges. She had seen some old bottles in the attic there!
Nancy showed Mr. March the dresses she had obtained for Susan. They were very pretty, and gave no evidence of having been worn.
“Mrs. Dight was good to send my granddaughter such fine clothes,” he said gratefully, “but I can’t accept charity.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“You mean there’s some way I can show my appreciation?” he asked.
“In your attic are several nice old bottles. They’re standing way back under the eaves,” Nancy told him. “Mrs. Dight collects bottles. I’ll see that she gets one, if you like, in return for these dresses.”
“Do that. I remember the bottles, now that you speak of them.”
“May I sell some of them?” Nancy asked.
“Yes, yes. Every penny helps. You might give the blue flowered one to Mrs. Dight.”
Excited that her scheme had worked so far, Nancy went to the attic. Though the sun was pouring in through the one small window, she had to light a candle in order to look in the far corners of the room.
Finally she came to the bottles. There were four which were fairly large in size and several smaller ones. All were exquisite.
Nancy lifted up the bottles one by one. The color of the glass indicated that they were old and valuable.
“This must be the blue one Mr. March spoke about!” she said, examining the bottle. “It’s beautiful. Mrs. Dight is lucky to get this in exchange for a few dresses!”
Placing all the glassware in a box, she started for the stairway.
“Oh, I hope my plan works!” She sighed. “I can accomplish two missions if all goes well!”
With Effie’s help Nancy washed each bottle until it shone.
“What are you going to do with these?” the maid asked.
“Try to sell them to the husband of a woman who collects old bottles,” Nancy said.
She spent most of the afternoon reading and talking to Susan. After she had said good-by to Mr. March and his granddaughter, Nancy went to pick up the old bottles in the kitchen.
“You’re coming back tonight?” Effie asked fearfully. “I don’t feel well enough to stay here without you, what with ghosts and prowlers hanging around the place.”
“We haven’t seen a real ghost yet!” Nancy laughed.
“Call it what you like. You can’t fool me,” the girl complained. “I see a man prowling around, and I’m supposed to believe he was just crossing the lawn on his way home. Then a skeleton happens to be hanging in a closet. Next a black widow crawls out and bites me!”
Nancy, to allay Effie’s fears, promised to come back and spend the night.
“I’ll get here as soon as I can, Effie,” she said.
Taking all the bottles with her, she drove to River Heights. Parking her car at a distance from the Dight factory, Nancy proceeded on foot.
When the young detective reached the plant, it was approaching the closing hour. Workmen were already coming through the gates. Nancy stopped a minute to look for Bushy Trott, but when he did not appear, she headed for the executive offices.
“Am I too late to see Mr. Dight?” Nancy inquired of Miss Jones, the private secretary.
“He’s still in his office,” the pleasant young woman replied. “I think he’ll see you.”
The secretary went inside. A moment later she returned to escort Nancy into his private office. Lawrence Dight arose as Nancy entered, but did not appear too pleased to see her again.
“Mr. Dight, I must apologize for bothering you,” Nancy began, deftly whisking the fine blue bottle from the box. “I’m afraid I annoyed you the last time I was here.”
The factory owner’s gaze fastened upon the beautiful old glass.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in amazement.