The Theft
“The silver urn is gone!” Rosemary repeated, as though unable to believe
her eyes. “Someone has taken it! And it can never be replaced.”
“It was a family heirloom,” Floretta added morosely. “We’ve had it ever
since grandmother died. It was handed down from one generation to
another.”
“It was valuable, too,” Rosemary went on. “It was solid silver. We had
been offered five hundred dollars for it by a jeweler, but of course we
refused the offer. Oh, I can’t bear to lose it!” She sank into a chair
and looked as though she were about to cry.
“Perhaps we’ll find it somewhere,” Nancy offered hopefully. “Are you
certain it was left in the library?”
“Oh, yes, it was on the top of the bookcase. We’ve kept it there for
years.”
“First a spoon, then a pocketbook, next my pin, and now the urn,”
Floretta reviewed pessimistically. “It’s too much. I know there’s a
ghost in this house.”
“A ghost wouldn’t have needed a chair to reach the top of the bookcase,”
Nancy commented dryly.
“That’s so,” Rosemary agreed. “The chair is pushed up against the
bookcase! But how did the thief get into the house?”
“If we knew the answer to that question, I think the mystery would be
solved,” Nancy returned. “Were the doors all locked last night before
you went to bed?”
“Oh, yes, I was very careful.”
“And the windows?”
“All bolted.”
“I can’t understand it,” Nancy murmured, perplexed.
She examined the room as carefully as she could in the dim light but was
unable to find any additional traces of the midnight prowler.
“The thief seems to have vanished into thin air,” she said at last. “I
don’t believe there is any use to search to-night. We may as well go
back to bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Floretta interposed. “I am going to sit up
the rest of the night.”
“So am I,” Rosemary added.
“Then we may as well bring our blankets down here,” Nancy declared. “I
don’t think the thief will return to-night, but at least we can be
prepared.”
Accordingly, the three settled themselves in comfortable chairs, and
spent the remainder of the night snugly wrapped in warm blankets. Nancy
and Rosemary occasionally dozed off into a light slumber, but Floretta
was too nervous to permit herself to go to sleep. Although the light was
burning, her eyes continually roved about the room, fearfully searching
the darker corners.
At the first indication of dawn, Rosemary, with Nancy assisting her,
prepared breakfast. Hot coffee went a long way toward reviving the
spirits of the trio. And with the rising of the sun, the old house
seemed less oppressive and fearful.
As soon as breakfast was over, Nancy set herself to the task of going
over the library minutely. She examined the walls inch by inch, but
found no indication of a secret panel. With Rosemary’s help, she even
moved the heavy bookcase, but there was nothing behind it. The furniture
occupied but little of her time, for with the exception of a built-in
sofa similar to the one in the drawing room, it was all very ordinary
and offered no possibility of a hiding place. Nancy did examine the
bookcase and the chairs for fingerprints, but her search was not
rewarded. There was not a single clue which pointed to the identity of
the thief.
Nor was the missing urn found anywhere in the place. All day Nancy
searched, but in vain. She was bitterly disappointed, for she had hoped
to be able to help Rosemary and Floretta. The ordeal of the night had
frightened them a great deal, and they began to talk seriously of
leaving the house at the end of the week.
“It will be better to close it up than to endure another week like the
past one,” Rosemary admitted. “I don’t like to be driven away, but I see
no other way.”
Nancy said nothing, but mentally resolved that she would never leave The
Mansion until she had solved the mystery. When her father arrived on his
way home from Chicago, she would tell him everything and turn the case
over to him.
The next two days and nights were uneventful, greatly to the surprise of
everyone. Rosemary and Floretta began to show the effects of the strain
under which they labored.
“I declare, I’d almost as soon something would happen as to keep
thinking it’s going to every minute,” Rosemary sighed.
With the passing of the days, Nancy Drew became quiet and thoughtful.
She had a new worry which she did not communicate to the Turnbull
sisters.
When her father had left for Chicago he had promised that he would
return within a week and that he would send her a telegram stating the
exact hour he expected to arrive in Cliffwood. For several days Nancy
had been anxiously looking for the message, but it had not arrived. Why
had her father failed to keep his promise?
“It’s possible Dad didn’t get his business accomplished as quickly as he
expected,” she assured herself. “I’ll probably get the telegram
to-morrow.”
But the expected message did not arrive on the following day, and now
Nancy began to worry in earnest. Surely, her father would have wired her
if he had been delayed, she told herself. What could have happened?
“Perhaps he decided not to stop at Cliffwood, and went on to River
Heights,” she reasoned.
Glancing at the calendar she saw that it was a full week since her
father had left home. By this time she had expected to return to River
Heights herself, and she had asked Hannah to open the house before her
arrival.
“If only there were a telephone here,” she fretted. “I could call home
and find out if Dad is there yet.”
The more she thought of it, the more anxious she became, and at last, to
relieve her mind, she decided to drive to Cliffwood and make the
telephone call. This intention she communicated to Rosemary and
Floretta.
“You’ll not be gone long, will you?” Rosemary questioned anxiously.
“We’ve decided not to stay in this house another night alone. When you
leave, we’re going too.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Nancy promised. “I only want to make a
telephone call.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t one here,” Rosemary apologized. “It’s so much
bother to go into Cliffwood.”
“I really don’t mind at all. I’ll enjoy the ride.”
As Nancy left The Mansion behind, she breathed more freely. There was
something about the place that was oppressive. She drove rapidly and
soon reached the main part of Cliffwood. Entering a corner drug store,
she telephoned to her own home. After a short wait, Hannah Gruen
answered.
“Is my father home yet?” Nancy asked, after a few preliminary remarks.
“No, I haven’t heard from him since he left,” came the response.
Nancy hung up the receiver and leaned against the side of the telephone
booth. What could it mean? Why had her father failed to notify anyone of
his change of plans? It was not at all like him.
“I have a notion to telegraph to Chicago and find out if he has left
there,” she thought. “I believe I have the address of the firm he went
to see.”
Opening her purse, she fished about and after pulling out several wrong
cards, found the one for which she was searching.
“Now to find a telegraph office,” she decided, as she left the drug
store.
She found one only a few doors away, and, having entered, wrote out a
brief message and handed it to the clerk at the desk.
“When the answer comes have it sent to the Turnbull Mansion,” she told
the man.
After paying the charges, she left the office and slowly made her way
back to the roadster.
“Now, back to the haunted house,” she told herself grimly. “I’m
beginning to feel that I’ll never solve the mystery by myself. I’ll be
glad when Dad gets here so he can help me.”
As she approached The Mansion, Nancy’s attention was attracted to
another stone house only a short distance away. In general appearance it
bore a striking resemblance to The Mansion.
“I wonder who lives there?” she thought. “I must inquire when I get back
to The Mansion.”
However, for the time being, Nancy was too troubled about her father to
devote much thought to the mystery of the old house, and before she
reached The Mansion she had forgotten the question she had intended to
ask.
The evenings at The Mansion were all alike. Dinner was served at seven
o’clock in the big, gloomy dining room, and after that the three
adjourned to the drawing room. There was no radio and no evening paper.
With the deepening of the shadows, the conversation became stilted and
difficult. By nine o’clock everyone was glad of the opportunity to
retire.
All afternoon Nancy had waited hopefully for an answer to her telegram,
but it had not arrived. She would have made another trip to the
telegraph office in the evening, but she knew that Rosemary and Floretta
would be afraid to stay in the house alone.
At nine o’clock Nancy went to her room, but she did not fall asleep for
hours.
“I have the strangest feeling,” she thought. “It’s just as though
something had happened to Dad. Of course it’s silly of me!”
But try as she would, she could not free herself of the conviction, and
when she arose in the morning it was still with her. She ate very little
for breakfast, but her lack of appetite passed unnoticed by the Turnbull
sisters. As she was about to leave the table, there came a ring of the
front doorbell.
Rosemary and Floretta exchanged frightened glances.
“Who—who can it be, do you suppose?” Floretta stammered.
“I’ll go,” Nancy said quickly. “I think it must be for me.”
She left the dining room and hastened to open the front door. As she had
expected, it was a uniformed messenger boy.
“Telegram for Nancy Drew,” he said curtly.
“I am Miss Drew.”
“Then sign here.”
Nancy complied with the request and eagerly accepted the yellow
envelope. As she tore open the flap and scanned the message a frightened
look came over her face. The telegram had been sent by the law firm in
Chicago and confirmed her worst fears.
The message read:
“Carson Drew left here two days ago.”