The Whispering Statue (9 page)

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Authors: Carolyn Keene

Tags: #Art Thieves, #Yacht Clubs, #Women Detectives, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #Girls & Women, #Adventures and Adventures, #Adventure and Adventurers, #Juvenile Fiction, #Mothers and Sons, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Fiction, #Art Objects - Reproduction, #Fraud, #Mystery Fiction, #Adventure Stories, #Art Objects, #Swindlers and Swindling, #Drew; Nancy (Fictitious Character), #Statues, #Mystery and Detective Stories

BOOK: The Whispering Statue
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“One thing seems certain,” she said to herself. “Since Mr. Atkin has access to Mr. Basswood’s office, he must know what’s going on and is in league with his employer.”
She was determined to do more sleuthing in the shop. When Nancy arrived there, she asked Mr. Basswood how his assistant was.
He answered nonchalantly, “Oh, he’ll be all right. Atkin gets these attacks once in a while. Doesn’t watch his health.”
At that moment a customer arrived and Nancy asked if she could help him. This was the beginning of a very busy afternoon for her. Mr. Basswood did not wait on anyone, so Nancy had no chance to do any investigating in the shop. At four o’clock sharp he told her to go and locked the door behind her.
As she walked toward the taxi stand, the young detective said to herself, “If I had this job as my real livelihood, I’d certainly ask for higher wages. Mr. Basswood is a selfish old meany. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve brought him over a thousand dollars in sales.”
Nancy was cheered, however, by the one possible clue she had discovered—the mysterious M
De K
notation.
A visitor was waiting for her at the yacht club. A pleasant, serious-faced man of about forty said he was Sylvester Holden and had come to examine the statue on the front lawn.
In a low tone he said, “Your father sent me.”
Nancy nodded. Mr. Ayer, Bess, and George followed Nancy and Mr. Holden outdoors. The sculptor carried a small bag of tools.
“This is a fine piece,” he remarked as they approached the statue. “I suspect it is a reproduction, however.”
He took a strong magnifying glass from his tool kit and spent several minutes going over the statue. Presently he brought out a chisel and tapped the marble.
“It doesn’t ring,” he said. “An original would. This piece is made from marble dust mixed with a white casting cement. But I must say it’s one of the finest reproductions I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you think it was made in this country?” Mr. Ayer asked.
Mr. Holden said there was no way of being sure, but he suspected that it had been made in the United States. “I think this is powdered Vermont marble.”
Nancy spoke up. “Can you give us any clue about how we might find out who the sculptor was?”
“That depends on whether or not the person who made the piece wanted to keep his identity a secret. Most sculptors and makers of reproductions put a mark on the base of the statue. Let’s turn this lady on her side and take a look.”
“Let’s hope it hasn’t been cemented down,” Nancy remarked.
She was relieved to find this had not been done yet. The statue was tipped over and gently laid on the lawn. Everyone peered at the base.
“I see something!” Nancy exclaimed. “It’s very faint, but it says
M De K!”
CHAPTER XII
Unexpected Clue
BESS and George also stared at the initials on the base of the statue. “M De K!” they exclaimed, recalling what Nancy had told them about the notation in Mr. Basswood’s office.
Turning to Mr. Holden, Nancy asked, “Do you know a sculptor with the initials M De K?”
“No, but I can look up this person in my directory of painters and sculptors. I’ll do it as soon as I get back to New York and I’ll let you know.”
The statue was set in place again. As Mr. Holden walked back to the clubhouse with the girls and Mr. Ayer, he offered to consult various trade journals to find out who had sold the original whispering statue.
“Also who purchased it, and what the price was. But don’t get your hopes up too high,” he warned. “I’m inclined to think it was a secret deal and not reported because the whispering statue was stolen. Later I’ll take some measurements of this reproduction. These will be the same size as the original.”
“How can that be?” Bess spoke up.
Mr. Holden explained that the rubbery material a sculptor brushes over the original work produces a skin-tight mold. “The cast which is made from the mold is therefore the same size as the original.
“And I would say that the patina of the stolen statue—meaning its surface color—would be somewhat different from that of the lady out on the lawn, even though the reproduction is an excellent one.”
George asked, “Mr. Holden, could the thief have sold the original statue at such a high price he became worried and tried to ward off suspicion by having a reproduction made to try to fool people?”
“Oh yes,” the sculptor replied. “I would say that the original was worth many thousands of dollars.”
“Hypers!” George burst out. Then she said, “I wonder if this M De K is in league with the thief —or if he was just paid to do a job without knowing the reason.”
Mr. Ayer looked at the girls and smiled. “I expect Debbie Lynbrook and her friends to find that out.”
Mr. Holden proved to be a fascinating companion and related many interesting and amusing stories about his work.
“I think my worst subject was a small boy whose mother wanted a statue of her little darling. But the boy couldn’t sit still for more than fifteen seconds at a time. He seemed scared to death of me every time I came near him with a tape measure. Finally I gave up and just took a lot of pictures of him.”
The girls laughed and George asked, “How did it all work out? Did you make the statue?”
“Oh yes,” Mr. Holden answered. “But I had to charge the mother a rather high price for all the extra time it took.”
During a slight lull in the conversation, Nancy asked the sculptor if he would stop at Basswood’s Art and Bookshop the following morning.
“I’d like you to look over the statues and statuettes and see if they’re fairly priced.”
“I’ll be glad to,” Mr. Holden promised. “Since I’ll be going through the town on my way home, I’ll drive you there.”
Suddenly he began to chuckle. “It’s possible Mr. Basswood may think he recognizes me from photographs he might have seen in magazines or newspapers, so I believe I’ll change my name too. How about Harry Silver?”
“I’ll remember,” Nancy answered. “I think it’s a good idea.”
The next morning, when they arrived at the shop, Nancy had a hard time keeping a straight face as she said to Mr. Basswood, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Harry Silver. He was staying at the yacht club and offered to drive me over. Mr. Silver, this is Mr. Basswood.”
The two men shook hands, then the visitor was invited to sign the register. Nancy was confident Harry Silver, New York City, was a good disguise. She went on, “May I show Mr. Silver some of our fine pieces?”
“Go ahead. I’ll be in my office any time you need me.” Whenever the shop owner disappeared, Nancy wondered if he had some secret means of spying on her.
She showed Mr. Silver some of the fine paintings, but he shook his head and said, “How about some of the statuettes? This is an attractive one.” He pointed toward a boy, wearing ragged knee trousers and a loose-sleeved, low-necked shirt. He was barefoot and carried a fishing pole over one shoulder.
As Mr. Holden picked up the statuette, Mr. Basswood suddenly reappeared and watched him sharply. The sculptor turned the piece over and looked at the base.
He whistled. “This is highly priced,” he remarked, and set the statuette down. “Too much money for me.”
Some of Nancy’s suspicions had been confirmed! She gave no sign of her elation.
“Mr. Silver,” she said, “perhaps you would be interested in a smaller piece.” She led him to the statuette of a man seated cross-legged and whittling a piece of wood.
“That is interesting,” he commented. Once more he turned the statuette over and looked at the sales sticker. Then he sighed. “I’m afraid there isn’t anything here within my price range.”
Mr. Basswood’s eyes flashed. “Sculptors don’t give away their work,” he snapped.
“
A
nd these are originals?” Mr. Silver asked. “Of course.”
The caller said he guessed he would have to go somewhere else and buy a copy. Nancy noted that the sculptor avoided the word reproduction. She also wondered if the pieces were not originals. She hoped for an opportunity to ask Mr. Silver.
When the sculptor said he must leave, because he had a long drive back to New York City, she followed him to the door. Mr. Basswood went along, so there was no chance for her to speak privately to Mr. Holden. Disappointed, she said good-by and closed the door.
Turning to Mr. Basswood, she asked, “How is Mr. Atkin?”
“Coming along. It was certainly mighty inconsiderate of him to pick a time like this to get sick. You know yourself how rushed we’ve been here.”
Nancy pretended to look hurt. “I’m doing the best I can, Mr. Basswood.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “But we’ve got to keep this place cleaner. Go get a dustcloth and wipe off the books.”
Before Nancy went for it, she remarked, “When Mr. Silver turned over the statuette, I noticed the initials M De K on the base. What do they stand for?”
Was it her imagination, or did Mr. Basswood show a sudden bit of alarm?
His fright was gone in a moment and he replied, “I really don’t know. I bought those pieces at an auction and never did inquire who the sculptor was.” He turned toward the rare book section and Nancy went to the back room for the dustcloth.
Unlike other mornings, half an hour went by and not a customer had come in. Nancy said to her employer, “Since I’ve finished the dusting and there isn’t any special work to do in the shop, is there anything I can help you with in the office?”
Mr. Basswood’s face took on a dark look. “You stay out of my office!” he almost shouted at her. “Get another cloth and dust off the paintings.”
She was back in a few seconds—apparently before Mr. Basswood expected her. She had seen him take a book from a shelf and upon hearing her footsteps had tucked it under his coat. She was puzzled. Why didn’t he want her to know he had it?
“I wonder what the book is,” she thought.
As soon as she had dusted the paintings, Nancy went over to the bookshelves. Because of her special interest in the books, she had memorized the titles of all the volumes. In a few moments she realized that Mr. Basswood had taken one on modern painters and sculptors. Did he think M De K was mentioned in it and did not want her to find out?
As she stood in the book section mulling over this, suddenly the whole building began to shake. Statuettes, paintings, and books flew through the air.
“It must be an earthquake!” Nancy thought, trying to keep her balance.
The next instant an enormous book was dislodged from an upper shelf and fell directly toward her headl
CHAPTER XIII
Living Pictures
NANCY saw the heavy volume falling and jumped aside. The big book crashed to the floor inches from her feet. The violent shaking of the earth ceased abruptly.
Mr. Basswood had rushed from his office and into the street. Nancy, too, hurried toward the doorway. She could see people running and hear shouts of “What happened?” “Was it an earthquake?”
Noticing that Mr. Basswood’s office door was open, Nancy ran inside and turned on the radio to a local station. She was just in time to hear, “We interrupt this broadcast to give you a report on the earth tremor in Waterford.
“It was not an earthquake. There was a gas-main break underground with a resultant explosion. All danger is over but everyone is asked to be sure gas burners are turned off. We will broadcast a further report as soon as it is received.”
The young detective made a quick survey of the office. Half buried under a pile of papers that had shifted on Mr. Basswood’s desk was the volume he had removed from the bookshelf.
Hearing Mr. Basswood’s footsteps, Nancy tucked the volume under her arm and scooted back into the main room. Quickly she hid the book behind some others, and began picking up the volumes that had fallen to the floor.
Mr. Basswood walked toward her, saying, “This is terrible, terrible! What a loss!”
“You’re insured, of course?” Nancy asked him. He did not reply and Nancy could not decide whether it was because he did not want to, or because he was not paying attention to her question. He went outdoors.
All around the shop paintings lay upside down on the floor and nearly every art object in the place had fallen over. Nancy noticed a statuette that had slipped from a pedestal to the floor and cracked wide open. It was tagged as an original marble piece and highly priced. Nancy was amazed to see that it had an inner metal armature to support the arms and legs. The piece was not solid marble but a reproduction made of white cement and marble dust!
“And not worth what Mr. Basswood was asking for it,” she thought.
On a hunch Nancy picked up the base of the statue. She was not surprised to see M De K faintly carved into it.
“I must find out who that person is,” Nancy said to herself as she began to pick up the scattered pieces.
Half an hour later Mr. Basswood came back. “I’m going to dose the shop for the day. There’s too much of a mess in the place for customers to shop. You go on home, Miss Lynbrook. I’ll send for you when I want you back.”
“But I don’t like to leave you with all the cleaning up to do,” Nancy remarked. “I’ll stay and help.”
Instead of being grateful, the shop owner looked at his employee angrily. “I said go and I mean go.” He pointed toward the door.
Nancy shrugged. “All right, if you say so.”
As she went to get her coat from the back room, Mr. Basswood returned to his office. In the rear room of the shop, Nancy found things topsyturvy. To her amazement a large highboy had slid out of place, revealing a hidden door.
“I wonder what’s behind the door,” Nancy thought. “And how much damage has been done.”
She opened the door and gazed into a dim room with a small skylight. Nancy could vaguely see small pieces of statuary on the floor, sculpting tools which apparently had fallen from a workbench, and several large portrait frames. These stood along one wall on which hung an enormous canvas cloth. Miraculously the frames had not toppled over.

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