(#24) The Clue in the Old Album (10 page)

Nothing happened, however, and presently the two arrived at the Crow’s Nest, the special rendezvous of River Heights’ young people. Nancy and Ned joined their friends and ordered cokes.

News had spread that Nancy was absorbed in another mystery. Though she did not deny this, she avoided revealing any details of the case she was working on. Ned was not so secretive.

“If you ask me, Nancy’s reverting to her childhood!” he teased. “Dolls are now one of her big interests!”

“But I don’t play with them.” Nancy laughed.

“That’s the mystery,” Ned countered.

During the conversation Dot Larken remarked that the River Heights Yacht Club was having a big-little sister picnic at Star Island the next day.

“You’re coming, aren’t you, Nancy?” she asked.

Nancy had forgotten about the picnic. After a little urging, she said, “Yes, I’ll come and bring a girl named Rose Struthers.”

Unnoticed in the adjoining booth sat a swarthy couple. At the mention of Rose’s name, they exchanged significant glances but said nothing. They remained in the booth until after Nancy and her friends had left the Crow’s Nest.

“This is my first day out of jail,” Rose announced the next day as she and Nancy rode to the yacht club.

“You’d better not say things like that at the picnic or people will believe you,” Nancy cautioned.

At first Rose behaved surprisingly well, and Nancy felt that the training she had suggested was having a good effect. Rose entertained the group with a series of remarkably well-executed dances that showed real talent.

“My teacher’s arranging for radio and television auditions for me,” she said, boasting.

“Come, Rose,” Nancy broke in, and took the girl off for a swim.

Though not a good swimmer, Rose was utterly fearless in the water. She ignored Nancy’s request not to go into deep water and struck out for a float. Nancy brought her back to the beach.

When Nancy walked off to speak to a friend, Rose again struck out for deep water. Suddenly she disappeared. Three small girls on shore who had been watching screamed in terror. Nancy plunged into the water to search for her. A second later Rose bobbed up, laughing gleefully.

“Scared you, didn’t I?” she shouted. “I was just holding my breath.”

When the picnic was over the two girls headed for the Struthers’. At the front door, Rose rang the bell, but no one came to let them in.

“Where is everybody?” Nancy asked.

“That’s funny,” Rose said. “But I know where to find a key. Come with me!”

She darted to a side porch and found the key behind a shutter. Rose unlocked the door to the room where the doll collection was kept. She pushed it open, then stopped short.

“Why, look at the furniture!” Rose exclaimed. “It’s all topsy-turvy!”

Nancy peered through the doorway. Chairs had been pushed out of place. Dresser drawers had been emptied on the floor. The doll cabinet stood open, and there were many vacant spaces on the shelves.

“The house has been robbed!” Nancy cried.

“And I’ll bet something awful has happened to my grandmother!” Rose screamed.

CHAPTER XII

An Interrupted Program

FOR A moment Nancy thought Rose had seen Mrs. Struthers, but this was not so.

“Granny said she was going to stay home all day!” the girl cried out. “Maybe those awful people came and took her away!”

Nancy did not comment. She and Rose ran through the lower part of the house, searching for Mrs. Struthers and the servants.

“Listen!” Nancy commanded suddenly.

From upstairs came a muffled cry that sounded like a call for help. The girls rushed to Mrs. Struthers’ bedroom.

The door was locked. As Nancy twisted the knob in vain, she again heard the cry.

“Is that you, Mrs. Struthers?” she called loudly.

“Yes! Yes! Let me out!” came a faint cry.

“Oh, what happened to Granny?” Rose wailed.

“There’s no key in the door!” Nancy shouted.

She could not understand the reply, but Rose darted across the hall and took a key from the door of another room.

“This’ll open it,” she said.

Quickly Nancy unlocked Mrs. Struthers’ door. The woman was locked in a closet, but the same key fitted that door, too, and she was soon released. Clad in a blue robe, her hair untidy, she stumbled out. Nancy helped her to the bed.

“Have they gone?” Mrs. Struthers asked wildly.

“The burglars? Yes. Perhaps you’d better not talk now,” Nancy suggested, seeing how white and nervous the woman was.

“I’m—I’m all right, but what a fright!” Mrs. Struthers said. “Did they—take much?”

Rose spoke up. “A lot of the dolls. Oh, Granny, why did the thieves lock you up?”

“So I couldn’t call the police, I guess.”

“Where is Mrs. Carroll?” Nancy asked.

“Everyone has gone away. I see it all now. It was a trick. First, someone called to say Mrs. Carroll was wanted at the home of a sick relative.

Her husband drove her there. And the burglars must have been aware that Rose was not here.”

“Did you see the robbers, Mrs. Struthers?” Nancy asked.

“Only one, but from their voices I know there were two men.”

“Please tell me exactly what happened.”

“I was in my room taking a nap when I heard footsteps in the hall. At first I thought Mrs. Carroll had come back. Then I got up to make certain. Before I knew what was happening, a man wearing a mask entered and locked me in the closet. It was dreadful!”

“How long were you in the closet, Granny?” Rose asked, still frightened.

“Easily a half hour. I’d have smothered if it hadn’t been for the opening over the door.”

“Then the burglars haven’t been gone long,” Nancy surmised. “Let’s see what’s been stolen,” she suggested.

Mrs. Struthers took a hasty inventory as they went from room to room. Silverware and jewelry had been taken. What upset her most, however, was the discovery that all the gems had been removed from the cover of the treasured family album.

When Mrs. Struthers saw the doll cabinet, she cried out in distress. After a quick count, the collector estimated that at least twenty of her most valuable dolls were gone.

“My mommy’s doll is missing!” Rose cried angrily. “The one she played with when she was a little girl.”

“Yes. They took that, too,” her grandmother said, gazing sadly at the shelf where the doll had stood. “Now why would they steal that one? It had no resale value.”

Mrs. Struther’s last remark set Nancy thinking. She suspected that the burglars were Anton and another gypsy—perhaps the purse snatcher Tony Wassell. Though they obviously had taken jewels, silverware, and rare dolls to sell, it seemed odd that they had also selected the doll belonging to Rose’s mother.

A key turned in the front door. For a moment the three were fearful of more trouble, but the newcomers proved to be the housekeeper and her husband. They were amazed to hear about the robbery, but declared it explained the reason for the fake telephone call.

At Nancy’s insistence, Mrs. Struthers got in touch with the police and reported her loss. A few minutes later two detectives arrived.

Nancy felt she could do nothing more for Mrs. Struthers and returned to her own home. As she entered the front hall, she noticed the afternoon mail on the table. One letter was addressed to her. It was from Radio Station KIO, Winchester. She ripped it open eagerly.

“This must be an answer about the gypsy violinist,” Nancy thought.

The program director of the small Winchester station had written that a violinist would broadcast the following evening at eight o’clock.

“The man may be a gypsy,” he wrote. “In fact, we suspect that he is, though he uses the name Albert Martin. If you are interested in obtaining additional information, we suggest that you write to him at our station.”

“I’ll go there!” Nancy decided. “Dad will take me. This is what I call a lucky break.”

Unfortunately Mr. Drew had to go out of town and could not attend the broadcast, but Ned told her he had the day off from camp and he would go.

Scarcely half an hour later Mrs. Barlow telephoned to say she had been down to Mr. Hobnail’s shop. She had seen a doll that might have some significance for Nancy.

“It’s really a mannequin, but it’s only twenty-six inches high,” Mrs. Barlow said. “Mr. Hobnail told me it’s one of a collection that’s carried from place to place. I thought possibly it might belong to some gypsy.”

Nancy thanked the woman and said she would look at the mannequin. Then she asked if the red-haired gypsy had called at the house again.

“No,” Mrs. Barlow said. “I haven’t heard from her.”

She also told Nancy that Mr. Hobnail was to be in his shop late that evening, so Nancy asked Ned to stop there with her on the way to Winchester. When they reached the toy shop and Nancy told Mr. Hobnail what she had come to see, he led the way to the rear of the shop.

“There’s the mannequin.”

He pointed to a doll about two feet high, dressed as a bridesmaid. She wore a pale blue gown with a bouffant tulle skirt, and a large picture hat. Though intrigued by the doll, Nancy felt sure she was too typically American to belong to gypsies.

“She looks almost real,” Nancy said. “Where did you get her, Mr. Hobnail?”

“A young man brought her in to have one of the arms repaired. He said there’s a whole set of these dolls dressed like a wedding party—the bride, the groom and the whole works!

“He’s a salesman for some dress manufacturer, I believe,” Mr. Hobnail went on. “Goes around exhibiting his lady dolls. They’re to be shown at Taylor’s Department Store in River Heights in a couple of days if you want to see them.”

“I must go,” Nancy said.

Secretly she was disappointed that the mannequin had no connection with her own quest. Ned reminded her that time was slipping away, so they left at once.

“We’ll have to step on it to get to Winchester by eight,” Ned said, looking at the car clock.

“It’ll be my own fault if we don’t get to the broadcast in time,” Nancy remarked, “but I hope we can make it.”

Ned drove as fast as the law allowed. It was just eight o’clock when the young people reached the KIO building.

Nancy was afraid they would not be permitted to watch the broadcast, as the program was already on the air. But a young woman at a desk directed them to a small room with a large window through which they could look down into the studio where Mr. Martin, the violinist, was playing. To Nancy’s surprise, she and Ned were his only audience.

“That violinist does look like a gypsy,” Nancy thought, as they seated themselves. “But he’s not Romano.”

She decided to speak to him later, nevertheless, and ask him if he knew Rose’s father. As she listened attentively to an exquisite number from “The Gypsy Airs,” the girl thought to herself, “I hope Hannah is listening at home. It would be a shame for her to miss this beautiful music.”

Back in River Heights, Mrs. Gruen was indeed listening. For ten minutes she had sat near the radio, growing more entranced each moment.

“That man is too great an artist not to be playing over a nationwide hookup,” she said, half aloud. “I’m amazed he—Oh!”

The violinist had struck a sharp discord. On a high, squeaking note, the playing suddenly ceased. Angrily a voice cried out, “Murko will play no more! I will not have spies watching me! You play tricks!”

Abruptly the program was cut off the air!

CHAPTER XIII

A Strange Present

AT THE broadcasting studio, Nancy and Ned were even more startled than Hannah Gruen. In the midst of a beautiful passage, the gaze of the musician suddenly focused upon them. His eyes blazed. He struck a discord and stopped playing.

The musician pointed his bow at Nancy and cried out, “Murko will play no more! I will not have spies watching me! You play tricks....”

Murko the gypsy violinist!
In his excitement “Mr. Martin” had blurted out his real name!

At this moment the program was cut off in the control room. Murko stumbled from the studio. Nancy, too, rushed outside and down a stairway, followed by Ned. On the floor below, the musician was gesticulating wildly with his bow at the studio director, who had come to find out what had happened.

“You break promise to me!” Murko shouted at the man. “When I sign to play here, you promise no one ever see me! Only hear me! And now, two people in studio. Spies! They follow me now!”

The violinist pointed accusingly at Nancy and Ned in the hallway.

“Take it easy, Mr. Martin,” the director said. “I did not know anyone was watching you. But these people meant no harm, I’m sure.”

“They come to make trouble!” the musician exclaimed.

“We’re not here to harm you,” Nancy said. “We just wanted to see you play. One misses so much not watching a great artist like you!”

At these words of praise, Murko calmed down somewhat. Nevertheless, he moved along the hallway, a furtive look in his black eyes.

“Let us drive you to your home, Mr. Martin,” Nancy suggested, purposely using his radio name.

“No!” shrieked the man, apparently frightened anew.

“I believe we can help you,” Nancy said kindly.

“What can you do for me?” he demanded suspiciously. “There is no help for poor Murko. None.”

“Why do you say that?” Nancy asked. As he did not answer, she said, “Is it because you work so hard and are forced to give all your money to Anton and Nitaka?” Murko remained silent. “You are discouraged because all your earnings must go to the Cause?”

Murko’s head dropped. “Yes,” he muttered bitterly. “Yes, it is so.”

“Why don’t you refuse to contribute? Surely you realize there’s nothing in it for you—any more than for Marquita or Romano Pepito?”

Murko raised his head and looked straight into Nancy’s eyes. “No, there is not. Poor Romano,” he murmured. “A man broken in spirit.”

Nancy’s heart started to pound. Was she on the verge of learning about Rose’s father?

“Where is Romano now?” she asked.

“Wherever his tribe is—unless they have moved him as they did me.”