Mr. March tried to reassure Effie. “She probably thought it was too late to phone us.”
Satisfied, Effie returned to her bed and immediately dropped into a deep slumber. Mr. March himself felt jittery.
“I wish Nancy
had
stayed here tonight,” he muttered. “I’m going upstairs.” The elderly man went to get a candle.
Warily he climbed the attic stairs and looked around. There did not appear to be anyone on the third floor. He poked among the various boxes and trunks, but found nothing out of the ordinary.
“Both Effie and I distinctly heard sounds,” he kept telling himself.
Finally Mr. March went downstairs and got back into bed. But he could not sleep.
Suddenly the elderly man became aware of a car motor and voices outside. Going to a front window, he was relieved to see Nancy and her father.
Mr. March hurried below to welcome the Drews. Nancy’s father stayed only a moment before heading back to his own home.
“I’m sorry to be so late,” Nancy apologized. “I was delayed.”
Soon she was listening to an account of the strange noises and the prowling figure at Pleasant Hedges.
“But there’s no point in investigating further tonight,” he finished. “All seems quiet now, and Effie has settled down.”
“I’m just sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” Nancy declared. “I was doing some sleuthing for Dad.”
“You must be tired, Nancy,” Mr. March said gently. “Get some sleep and we’ll tackle this mystery again tomorrow.”
Nancy was glad to say good night, and quickly got into bed. She fell asleep almost at once.
As Nancy was finishing a late breakfast the next morning, Mrs. French dropped in to say good-by. “And how is my dear little Susan?” she asked. “I miss taking care of her.”
Mr. March smiled at his old friend, who had looked after his granddaughter so lovingly. “Susan and I are going to miss you,” he said.
“I’ll miss you,” she said. “Maybe you can visit us in our new home.”
She went upstairs to say good-by to Susan. Mr. March followed.
Nancy decided to go home and work on the Dight mystery. After telling Effie she would be back that afternoon, the young detective left the old mansion.
At home she found Bess and George waiting for her. “You really move in on a mystery!” Bess teased. “We never know whether to look for you here or at the Marches’”
“But I’m still no closer to finding the missing music,” Nancy admitted.
“That house keeps its secrets well.”
“How about having lunch downtown with Bess and me?” George suggested.
“Fine idea!” Nancy agreed. “I’ll tell Hannah I won’t be here.”
“By the way, how are you making out with Diane?” George asked.
“She gave me several pretty dresses for Susan,” Nancy replied. Because of the confidential nature of her father’s case, she thought it best not to reveal anything she had learned at the Dight factory.
After telling the housekeeper her plans, Nancy stopped at the hall table to look through the mail which had just come. At once she seized a letter from the Jenner Music Publishing Company in Oxford.
As Nancy tore open the envelope, she explained to the girls that she had written to the firm several days before to ask for information about the composer Ben Banks. I’ll read it aloud.
“‘Dear Miss Drew,
We regret that we are unable to provide any of the information you requested concerning Ben Banks, whose songs we publish.
Sincerely yours,
Milton Jenner’”
“Well, that’s a cool answer,” George remarked. “What’s so secret about the information?”
“I wish I knew,” Nancy replied slowly. “I’m going to phone for an appointment.”
She looked up the number and dialed it. Nancy was informed that Mr. Jenner never granted appointments by phone. She would have to write for an appointment.
Disappointed, she told this to Bess and George. “Do you mind waiting while I write a note?” Nancy asked.
“Not at all,” Bess replied. “We’ll go talk with Hannah.”
“And Bess will help herself to some cookies,” George teased her cousin.
In the note Nancy stated that there was a matter of vital importance she would like to discuss with Mr. Jenner. She would appreciate talking to him as soon as possible. When Nancy finished the note, she called Bess and George.
“Come with me while I mail this,” she suggested. “Then we’ll eat. How about you girls going out to Pleasant Hedges with me for the night? Effie ought to have some time off.”
“That place is anything but pleasant,” Bess remarked. “It gives me the creeps.”
“Oh, a ghost or two won’t hurt you,” George kidded her. “Let’s go!”
After a pleasant luncheon, Nancy drove the girls home. “I’ll pick you up at four o’clock,” she said.
Before going home Nancy did several errands. They included buying supplies for the March household. On impulse Nancy stopped in the leading music store and asked for copies of all the songs composed by Ben Banks.
“There are only three,” the clerk told her. “I have both the records and sheet music of ‘Song of the Wind’ and these other two. They’re newer.”
“When were they published?”
“Very recently. They came out one right after the other. Ben Banks must be a cool guy to compose three great songs in such a short period of time.”
Nancy thought so too. It sounded very suspicious. She listened to the records but did not buy them because Mr. March had no player. She did buy the sheet music, however, and sat down at the store’s piano to play the two selections she had not heard before.
“You do all right, miss,” the clerk complimented her.
Nancy smiled, paid for the sheet music, and left the shop. Her mind was working fast. She was sure Mr. March had whistled parts of the melodies she had just played. Then a sudden thought struck her.
“If Ben Banks stole them from Fipp March, I wonder if his publisher knows,” she mused. “It could explain his giving out no information.”
At four o’clock Nancy met Bess and George and drove to the March house. Effie greeted them at the door.
Nancy said to her, “Tonight you go to the movies and then home for the night. We’ll stay here.”
“Wow!” said Effie in delight, hurrying off to change her clothes.
While Bess and George were starting preparations for supper, Nancy went to find Mr. March. He was trying to seal a crack in the second-floor hall ceiling.
“I have something to show you,” she said, holding out the music. “Does this look like your son’s work?”
“Now bless you, I wouldn’t know!” exclaimed Mr. March, peering at the sheets. “I can’t read music.”
“I’ll sing the melodies to you,” Nancy offered.
After hearing them, the elderly man cried out, “Yes, those are Fipp’s tunes! I’d like to go into court and face that thief Ben Banks!”
Nancy told him about the letter she had received and the reply she had sent.
“Good,” he said. “Those songs belong to the Marches, and I want the world to know it!”
“I wish I could find some definite proof before I meet Mr. Jenner,” said Nancy. “Tomorrow I’ll hunt for some more.”
Supper was a delicious meal, which included a special casserole of beef and vegetables, ice cream and cake. Mr. March was delighted.
“This seems like old times.” He chuckled. “It’s like one of the family dinner parties we used to have.”
Shortly after supper Nancy put Susan to bed. But the child was not sleepy. She begged for one story after another.
“Tell me about a king,” she said.
“Well, once upon a time—”
Nancy’s voice trailed off. Susan noticed that her attention was focused on the garden.
“Why don’t you go on?” the little girl asked impatiently. “Do you see something?”
Nancy did not reply. Jumping quickly to her feet, she moved closer to the window. The hour was well past nine o’clock and dusk had settled over the garden.
In the gleam of light from the kitchen windows she saw the bushes move. As they parted, the dark, shadowy figure of a man glided forward. Was this the man Effie had seen?
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Nancy said to Susan.
Without taking time to tell anyone what she intended to do, Nancy hastened outdoors in pursuit of the prowler.
CHAPTER XII
A Surprising Discovery
IN the darkness it was not easy for Nancy to distinguish objects, but she dimly saw the back of a man. He disappeared around a corner of the house. By the time she reached the spot, he had vanished.
“Now where did he go so quickly?” she asked herself, perplexed.
She listened for footsteps, but could hear none.
“He must have gone into the house,” she speculated excitedly. “But where?”
Cautiously she circled the old mansion, looking at each darkened window for a telltale light. None appeared.
“If that man is in the house, he must know his way around in the dark!” Nancy thought. “I must warn the others.”
She hurriedly went inside. Nancy spoke first to Bess and George, who were still in the kitchen.
“There is a prowler around,” she said breathlessly. “Will you please post yourselves outdoors and yell if you see him leave the house.”
“Where are you going?” George asked.
“To the attic.”
“Not alone?” Bess quavered.
“I’ll get Mr. March.”
The elderly man was considerably upset by Nancy’s announcement. After making sure that Susan was all right, they tiptoed to the attic door. Quietly Mr. March opened it.
As he did so, creaking sounds came from overhead. This was followed by the same harplike notes Nancy had heard once before.
There was no sign of a light above them. Nancy and Mr. March waited. Complete silence.
The stillness was broken by Susan. Afraid, the child had come into the hall. Seeing the listening figures, she sped toward them, crying.
“What’s the matter? Why are you going up to the attic?” she asked in a loud voice.
For a second Nancy was distressed that the child had unwittingly alerted whoever was in the attic. Suddenly it occurred to her that she might put Susan’s questions to good use. She said in a loud voice:
“Get into bed, dear, and we’ll tell you a story.”
She motioned to Mr. March to take the little girl away. Nancy lighted the candle she was holding, and noiselessly stepped to the stairway. She closed the door behind her with a bang.
“If someone is in the attic, I hope he thinks I went the other way,” she reflected.
For several minutes she stood still. No light appeared above her. There were no sounds except the murmur of Mr. March’s voice as he sought to calm Susan with a story.
Finally Nancy inched her way up the stairway, testing each step for creaky spots before putting her weight on it. Reaching the top step, she held the candle at arm’s length. Quickly she scanned the entire attic.
“No one here now,” she decided. She sniffed suddenly. “Smoke!”
Nancy’s heart leaped wildly. Was the place on fire?
She sniffed again. No, not a fire, but someone had been smoking recently in the attic!
At that instant Mr. March called up sharply,
“Nancy!”
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I didn’t find anyone here.”
The elderly man started up the stairs. “I had no idea you were going to the attic alone,” he said. “I thought you would wait until I could get back.”
Before Nancy had a chance to reply, they heard a shout from the garden.
“Bess and George must have seen the man,” Nancy cried, hurrying down the steps.
She raced all the way to the front door. Her friends were running through the pine grove toward the main road. Nancy took after them as fast as she could.
The chase ended abruptly a short distance from the road, when they heard a motor start and saw a red tail light disappear around a bend. Their quarry had apparently jumped into a car and driven off!
“If that isn’t the worst luck!” George cried. “We almost had him.”
“It’s a shame,” said Nancy. “Did you get a look at him?”
“No, it was too dark,” Bess replied. “He seemed to sneak out of nowhere so unexpectedly.”
“He was carrying a rolled paper in his right hand,” George reported.
“Did he come from the house?” Nancy asked.
“We don’t know. All of a sudden there he was, just ahead of us. When George yelled, he started to run.”
Mr. March met the girls at the front door. He had wanted to help in the chase, but the excitement had frightened Susan again, and it seemed wiser to stay with her.
It took Nancy a while to quiet the little girl, but soon her eyelids closed and she fell into a sound sleep. Nancy tiptoed to the hall and went downstairs.
In the living room Bess had turned on the radio, to restore her courage so she would dare to stay in the spooky old house. Mr. March suddenly jumped up from his chair.
“They’ve done it again!” he cried.
“Done what?” Bess asked.
Before he could reply, the music died away. The announcer’s voice was clear and crisp. Nancy fully expected to hear the name Ben Banks. Therefore she was startled at what she did hear.
“You have just listened to a new composition by Harry Hall. This completes the program of The Magic Hour. Listen in again tomorrow at the same time—”
Mr. March angrily snapped off the switch.
“I’ll do more than listen!” he fumed. “Harry Hall indeed! My son wrote that—every note of it. If I can only scrape together a few dollars, I’ll take the case to court.”
Then, remembering that he had no evidence to support his case, he sat down utterly dejected. Nancy tried to encourage him.
“Is there anyone besides your family who heard Fipp play the songs? Anyone who might positively identify him as the composer?”