The Secret in the Old Attic (14 page)

Nancy kicked at the man’s shins, and he winced with pain.

“Goin’ to fight, eh? I’ll fix that,” he sneered.

Having tied Nancy’s hands behind her, Trott now pushed the young detective down and bound her ankles. She fought desperately, but it was useless. When he had her completely at his mercy, he grinned evilly.

“Many thanks for solving the baffling mystery!” he said. “For a long while I’ve been trying to learn where the rest of the March music was hidden. Now I’ll relieve you of your precious bundle.”

He picked up the manuscripts, which had fallen to the floor in the scuffle, and put them under one arm. Then he reached into a pocket.

“I’m sorry to leave you like this,” he said sardonically, “but I trust that this little creature will fix you so you’ll remember nothing of this episode.”

Nancy, squirming and twisting, did not understand what the man meant. He removed a bottle from his pocket.

“You wonder what this is?” he jested cruelly. “A black widow, my dear detective. Oh, you shudder? Then you know what it will do to you!”

 

 

 

BUSHY Trott’s eyes gleamed like a maniac’s as he laid the spider on a corner of the piano-desk. At once it started to crawl toward the floor and he gave a low laugh of satisfaction.

Nancy rolled herself sideways to get out of its path. Her eyes focused for a second on the three steps to the attic.

“If only I could pull myself up them, I might be able to escape!”

“Don’t expect any help from the old man,” Trott said with a look of satisfaction. “March is sound asleep in the garden, and he won’t wake up for a long, long time!”

The man chuckled, pleased with his accomplishment. Nancy’s heart nearly stopped beating. What had he done to Mr. March?

“Now just to be sure nobody else comes here,” Trott continued, “I’ll fix that attic door so it can’t be opened.”

Nancy’s heart sank as he moved to the opening through which she had hoped to escape. He swung the battered door shut, then rearranged the long, wooden bar which she and Mr. March had broken down.

Thoroughly enjoying himself, Bushy Trott looked around. Seeing the spider, he scooped it up in the bottle and shook it, “Just to liven the thing up a bit,” he said. Once more the man held it above the piano-desk. The black widow crawled out and dropped onto the yellowed keys of the instrument.

“I always carry one of these with me in case of need,” Trott explained. “Well, good night, young lady!” He grinned at Nancy. “And good-by. Good-by forever.”

To her horror, he picked up the candle and retreated to the opening in the floor which Nancy guessed led to the old servants’ quarters. She struggled desperately to free herself.

“You can’t escape,” Trott taunted her. “The black widow may not come quickly, but she’ll finally find you.”

The man held the candle in the direction of the piano-desk. Nancy saw the spider climbing slowly down one leg of the instrument. It was not a dozen feet away from her.

“Sweet dreams!” whispered Trott, blowing out the candle.

He took a flashlight from his pocket, turned it on, then lowered himself into the opening. Before disappearing he pulled the piano-desk over the hole.

The old attic was in complete darkness. Nancy knew the black widow was coming closer to her, but she had no idea which way to roll to avoid its deadly bite.

Nancy expected the poisonous spider to strike any moment. Then a thought came to her. Perhaps if she lay very still, the spider might decide she was not going to harm it and leave her alone.

Suddenly Nancy’s anger at Trott’s vile deed took possession of her. No one but herself could testify that he had stolen Fipp March’s music, and that he carried deadly black widows to use on anyone who might stand in his way.

“I must get out of here!” Nancy told herself over and over again. “That terrible man must be arrested at once.”

She could not scream, nor could she loosen her bonds. Nancy found, however, that she was able to raise both her feet and thump them hard on the floor. Would the sounds carry to Effie’s room? And if they did, would the timid maid come upstairs, break down the door, and venture into the secret room?

“I believe she’d do that if she thought I was in danger,” Nancy reassured herself.

She rolled across the floor until reaching the steps to the main attic. Then she pounded on them with all her might. After waiting several minutes and getting no response, Nancy gave up hope of rescue from this source.

“If I could only move the piano-desk and get down that hole!” she thought. “There must be a stairway.” Then Nancy realized that in the pitch blackness she would probably fall and be badly injured.

Suddenly Nancy heard her name called. The sound was far away. Her heart sank. But in a moment hurrying footsteps came from somewhere.

“Nancy! Nancy!” a male voice called out.

“Oh, I hope I’m not imagining things,” she thought.

“Nancy! Where are you?” a girl shouted.

Now she could hear jumbled voices in the big attic. Again her name was called.

Nancy thumped with all her strength. The next instant a body crashed against the door, and it burst open. A flashlight shone in her eyes.

“Thank goodness you’re safe!” were the words Nancy heard. She could hardly believe her good fortune. The speaker was Ned Nickerson.

Bess, George, and Effie crowded into the room after him. But Ned took complete charge of the situation.

Springing forward, he jerked the gag from Nancy’s mouth. Then he cut her bonds with his pocketknife and helped the girl to her feet.

“Nancy, if anything had happened to you—Who did this?” he demanded gruffly.

“Bushy Trott. Oh, Ned—”

Her arm shaking, she pointed to the floor. The black widow was less than two feet away!

As Effie let out a scream, Ned crushed the spider with his foot. The others murmured in relief.

“Have any of you seen Mr. March?” Nancy asked quickly.

The others gazed at her, perplexed.

“Isn’t he in bed?” Effie asked.

Nancy told them of Bushy Trott’s sinister words. Like a shot George dashed down the stairs of the old attic on her way to the garden. Bess and Effie followed.

Nancy started after them, but Ned held her back. “Are you really all right?” he asked in deep concern.

“Yes, Ned.” She smiled at him. “I was pretty scared for a while, I admit, but I’m okay now. Really.”

“Boy, you sure gave me a scare!” Ned said.

Together they went downstairs quickly and outdoors.

“By the old servants’ quarters,” Nancy called to the girls.

She led the way as Ned held the flashlight. Under a lilac bush they found the crumpled form of Mr. March. Effie let out a frightened moan.

“Is he—is he—?”

Ned pulled the still figure from beneath the bush. Nancy felt the elderly man’s pulse.

“He’s alive,” she said. “But the shock may prove to be too much for him.”

They carried Mr. March into the house. Under their kindly ministrations, he quickly regained consciousness. Nancy had warned the others not to tell him what had happened in the secret room. Presently he went upstairs to rest.

“I have to go to River Heights right away,” said Nancy. “Effie, I can’t explain now, but you’ll be all right here alone. That shadowy figure will never come back.”

“Thank goodness!” said the maid. “You and your friends go right along, and I’ll take good care of Mr. March.”

“Where are you going?” George asked.

“To Mr. Dight. I know he has the address of Bushy Trott!”

Explanations were in order on both sides. Nancy suggested they tell their stories while riding along. When they went outside, the young people saw a car turn into the driveway of Pleasant Hedges. The man at the wheel proved to be Mr. Drew.

“What luck!” Nancy cried out. “Oh, Dad, I’m so glad to see you,” she said hurriedly as he stopped at the door. “Can you go to Mr. Dight’s house with us right away?”

“Sure can,” he replied. “But what’s up? More clues?”

“It was Bushy Trott who was stealing Fipp March’s music! And he got away with the rest of it tonight! We must find out his address from Lawrence Dight and then notify the police!”

“Hop into my car, everybody!” Carson Drew called out.

Nancy gave her father and her friends the story of her evening’s adventure in detail. At Nancy’s recital of her experience being tied up in the dark with a black widow spider, Mr. Drew was shocked.

“You shouldn’t take such chances,” he told his daughter. “Bravery is one thing, but dealing with a man like Trott—”

Nancy said, “How could I have guessed there was a trap door under the piano-desk? Anyway, it’s fortunate that my friends rescued me,” she added cheerfully.

“It was just luck that we did,” Ned explained. “Tonight when I came to River Heights, even though it was getting late, I wanted to see you. Mrs. Gruen told me where you were, and I got Bess and George to show me the way out here.”

By this time Mr. Drew had reached River Heights. Bess thought that she and George ought to go home, and were driven to their respective houses.

“If you and your father have a job to do,” said Ned, “perhaps I should go too.”

“Oh please stay!” Nancy urged.

Mr. Drew added, “I believe we’ll need an extra man before the night’s over! One with good strong muscles!”

 

 

 

WHEN Mr. Drew drove up to the Dight home, it was in darkness. Nevertheless he pounded on the front door. Finally Mr. Dight came to let them in.

“What’s the meaning of this call in the middle of the night?” he demanded angrily.

The lawyer did not waste words. He stated that he wanted to prefer charges against Riggin Trott and demanded the man’s address.

“I don’t even know the fellow,” Lawrence Dight blustered. “What do you mean by coming here and waking me up with such a stupid question?”

“Maybe you know him as Bushy Trott,” Mr. Drew suggested. “We have proof that he stole a silk-making process from his former employer Mr. Booker. You’re using that same formula in your own plant.”

“Nonsense!”

“There is no denying it,” Mr. Drew declared. “My daughter obtained samples of fluid from two different vats in your laboratory. Tests prove them to be the same content as the Booker mixtures.”

Nancy spoke up. “Your employee Trott tonight tried to kill me by tying me up and leaving a black widow spider loose to poison me!”

The information seemed to stun Mr. Dight.

“I knew nothing of that,” he insisted in a frightened voice. “We have poisonous spiders at our plant but—”

“There are also other charges against Bushy Trott. Will you give me his address?”

Mr. Dight was shaking. “Yes, I will. I assure you I didn’t knowingly use the Booker silk-making process. Nor did I suspect that Trott was trying to make trouble for your daughter. I’m glad nothing happened to her.”

Lawrence Dight went quickly to a desk and wrote down Trott’s home address.

“To tell the truth, I thought for a time Nancy Drew was trying to steal
our
plant formula,” he told the callers. “We purchased the new silk-making process from Trott recently at a high price.”

Mr. Dight sighed and did not speak for several seconds.

Finally he went on, “I’ve kept the silk-making process at the factory a secret, because I was afraid all the workmen in the place might leave if they knew there were poisonous spiders around.”

“The secret you guard so carefully already belongs to my client Mr. Booker,” replied Carson Drew. “The only difference is that your man uses poisonous spiders. From what happened tonight, I judge he has a mania for the deadly things.”

Mr. Dight looked incredulous. “You mean to say Bushy Trott sold me a process which he neither owned nor controlled?”

“Exactly.”

“Then I’ve been tricked!” shouted the factory owner. “I’ll telephone the police immediately and have the man arrested.”

Within ten minutes a patrol car was speeding to the Trott home. Mr. Drew, Nancy, and Ned followed in the lawyer’s automobile. They arrived in time to see Trott being led from the house by two policemen. He turned deathly white when he saw Nancy.

“You!” he cried unbelievingly. “How? Where did you come from?”

“Is this the man?” one of the officers asked her, seeking a positive identification.

“Yes,” she replied. “I believe his right name is Riggin Trott.”

The following day Nancy and her father asked the police if they might speak to the prisoner. Police supplied the information that Trott was an ex-convict. Though he was a clever chemist, after prison he had worked as a chauffeur for Horace Dight, the cousin of Diane’s father.

“Well, that explains a number of things!” cried Nancy.

Trott talked willingly. Nancy asked, “You sold Philip March’s music manuscripts to Horace Dight, didn’t you?”

Trott nodded. He said that Dight, always strug gling to compose a song which would sell, was hard-pressed financially. One day Trott had slyly suggested to his employer that he knew where salable songs might be obtained.

“I didn’t tell him where, though.”

As it developed, Trott had known Fipp March in the army, and made it a point to win his confidence, planning to rob the March mansion eventually.

“But he didn’t tell me exactly where he had hidden the music,” the prisoner went on.

After Trott got out of the service, he soon landed in jail. By the time he reached the March mansion a few years later the place seemed hardly worth looting. When he took employment with Horace Dight, Trott remembered that Fipp had often played his numerous unpublished compositions. The thief was determined to search for them. One day when the family was out of town Trott had explored the main attic. He had discovered the crude door covered by the heavy wardrobe and had investigated the second room. He had found a song which Fipp had left on the piano-desk. He had sold it to Horace Dight, who had asked for more immediately.