Inside the Other House
Nancy Drew crouched in the dark cellar of the old stone house, scarcely
daring to breathe lest her presence be discovered. She could hear the
old colored servant coming down the path which led directly to the
window through which she had just scrambled.
“She heard the noise all right, and she’s coming to investigate,” Nancy
thought fearfully.
She dared not turn on her flashlight to search for a hiding place and
she dared not remain where she was. If the colored woman looked in at
the window, as she was almost certain to do, her presence would be
detected.
Feeling her way in the dark, Nancy moved cautiously forward. She could
not see a foot ahead of her, and the cellar was unpleasantly musty and
damp.
Her hand touched something cold and slimy. She recoiled as though she
had touched a snake, although in reality it was only an old piece of
rubber hose.
She could hear the colored woman coming nearer and nearer. Unless she
found a hiding place quickly, she would be caught.
Then her hand touched a doorknob. She turned it eagerly. The door opened
readily, and Nancy found herself in a small storeroom.
There was no time to search for a better place, so she quickly drew the
door to after her. Leaving a tiny crack through which she could peep,
she waited anxiously.
Almost immediately, she heard a noise at the cellar window, and a light
was flashed about. It rested for a moment upon the door of the storeroom
and then moved to another corner.
“I suah thought I heard somethin’!” Nancy heard the old negress mutter.
“An’ it was right down in this heah basement, too!”
She continued to flash the long beam of her flashlight here and there
about the cellar, and though Nancy could see nothing at the window
because of the glare, she imagined that back of the lens she saw two
penetrating black eyes peering directly into her retreat.
“If she sees me!” Nancy thought, and the prospect of being captured like
a thief in the house of Nathan Gombet caused her to crouch closely to
the wall, praying that the colored woman would not discover her. “If she
decides to come down into the cellar, I’m lost,” she told herself.
Apparently, the colored woman was satisfied that there was nothing wrong
in the basement, for after peering in at the window, she moved away,
muttering to herself.
“I done reckons my old ears is playin’ me false,” she mumbled. “I hears
noises dat sounds like dey was in de basement and dey was only in my
haid.”
A moment later Nancy heard the kitchen door slam shut. After waiting
several minutes longer to make certain that the old colored woman had no
intention of returning, she switched on her flashlight and curiously
surveyed her surroundings.
The storeroom in which she found herself was like any other room of its
kind, though it showed neglect. The place was filthy with dirt, and in
one corner some half-rotten potatoes sent up an odor which was anything
but pleasant.
After assuring herself that there was nothing of interest in the room,
Nancy opened the door and quietly stepped out into the main part of the
basement. It was a relief to get a whiff of comparatively fresh air.
Her purpose in entering the cellar was to discover whether or not there
was a secret tunnel connecting the Turnbull mansion with Nathan Gombet’s
house. Since she had learned that both residences had been built at
approximately the same time, she had suspected that such a passageway
might be in existence. She had been unable to find an entrance in the
cellar of the Turnbull mansion, but she hoped to have better luck in the
basement of Gombet’s house.
Flashing her light over the walls, she searched diligently for a secret
opening or a trapdoor. Obviously, there was no tunnel which opened out
of the basement. The walls appeared to be constructed of solid stone.
However, as she moved her light about, she saw a flight of stairs which
led to the first floor of the house.
Nancy Drew had no intention of leaving the place until she had made a
thorough investigation of the floors above, but the stairway she had
located led directly into the kitchen. So long as the colored woman was
working there, she would be held a prisoner in the cellar.
“I may have to wait here until she goes to bed,” she thought dismally.
A girl less patient would have given up the search, but Nancy was
determined to see the affair through to the end. Unless she here and now
unearthed an important clue which would definitely connect Nathan Gombet
with the strange happenings and numerous thefts at the Turnbull mansion,
she feared that the mystery would forever remain unsolved.
She had visited the home of Gombet as a last resort. She was firm in her
intention not to return without the evidence which must be obtained
before the old miser could be convicted.
The cellar was damp and Nancy’s slicker was but slight protection
against the chill night air. Presently, she was shivering with cold.
“This will never do,” she chattered. “I can’t stay here all night.”
Discomfort made her bold. Impulsively, she crept up the stairway. A door
blocked the entrance to the kitchen. Crouching down, she peered through
the keyhole. The colored woman was still there. She stood with her back
to the basement door, ironing.
It was slightly warmer on the landing and Nancy remained there, hoping
that some errand would take the woman from the room. After what seemed
an interminable wait, the negress put her ironing board away and,
picking up the basket of clothes, went out of the kitchen.
Throwing caution to the winds, Nancy gently tried the door. It was not
locked. Without making a sound, she opened it and stepped out into the
light.
Now that she was actually in the kitchen she did not know which way to
turn. As she hesitated, she heard the colored woman returning.
Frantically, Nancy glanced this way and that. There was not sufficient
time to retreat to the cellar. The woman had nearly reached the kitchen.
“I’m trapped,” the girl thought desperately.
Then her eyes rested upon a closet door to her left, and with scarcely
an instant’s consideration, she hastily sought the refuge it afforded.
Scarcely had she stepped into the closet and closed the door when the
colored woman came back into the kitchen. Without so much as a glance in
the direction of the closet, she picked up a pile of ironed linen and
again left the room. Nancy could hear her moving about in another part
of the house.
“Now is my chance!” she advised herself. “If I stay here I’ll be sure to
be caught.”
Quickly, she stepped out of the closet. She listened for a second to
make certain the woman was not returning, and then, without making a
sound, darted into the next room.
There was no time to look about, for at any moment the colored woman
might come back and find her there. She must reach the second floor.
Where was the stairway?
Softly, she tiptoed across the floor and opened a door. Fortune favored
her, for it was the right one. A narrow, winding stairway, not unlike
the one in the Turnbull house, led to the landing above.
With her pistol ready for instant use, Nancy Drew crept noiselessly up
the stairs. The boards creaked slightly but she did not pause until she
had reached the landing. It was pitch dark and she dared not use her
flashlight.
She heard a noise, and started.
“That sounded like someone coughing, but I guess it couldn’t have been,”
she decided. “My nerves are all on edge to-night.”
Had she only known it, she stood within twenty feet of the room where
her father was held a prisoner!
Nancy paused and listened, but the sound was not repeated.
She then crept silently along the corridor, unwittingly passing the
prison chamber in the dark.
The floor boards creaked alarmingly, and at each step she feared someone
would spring out and attempt to overpower her. She felt as though unseen
eyes were watching her every movement.
“I must control my nerves,” she told herself firmly.
By a supreme effort of will she gained control over herself and moved
forward again. Her hand struck a door knob. Cautiously, she opened the
door, wondering what would be revealed. In the inky blackness she could
see nothing, and with sudden daring, switched on her flashlight.
As a penetrating beam fell upon an object directly in front of her, she
started back in sheer horror.
A big owl, with spread wings and wicked glassy eyes, was less than three
feet from her!
Only by rigid mental discipline did Nancy suppress a cry of fright.
Then, as she continued to stare at the huge bird, she relaxed slightly.
The owl was stuffed! For a moment she had forgotten that Rosemary and
Floretta had told her that Nathan Gombet was something of a taxidermist.
With misgiving, she flashed her light about. What she saw did not tend
to lessen her terror. She stood in a room of birds!
“What a strange hobby,” Nancy shuddered.
Never had she seen such a collection. The room was crowded with
pedestals upon which sat stuffed birds. From one corner, an eagle looked
down upon her, and from another, an ugly vulture. There were several
crows and odd specimens Nancy did not recognize.
It was a gruesome sight. She stared at the figures in fascination and
horror, for in the semi-darkness a score of glassy eyes seemed focused
upon her.
Nancy’s first impulse was to back hastily from the room, but almost
immediately she gained control of herself. She would not leave until she
had discovered every secret of the old house!
As she moved her light about, she saw that there were live birds in the
room also. Golden canaries in gilded cages! They seemed strangely out of
keeping with the ugly stuffed specimens about the walls and upon the
pedestals. There were dozens of the little yellow birds, and as a beam
from the flashlight struck the cages, they aroused sleepily on their
perches and began to chirp and twitter.
“Canaries!” Nancy whispered, impressed at the sight. “Now I am sure it
was Nathan Gombet who entered the Turnbull mansion. The two canaries
which we found in Floretta’s room must have come from here! But how did
they get there? That is what I must find out before I leave here
to-night!”
She turned toward the door and as she moved forward a ray from the
flashlight fell upon a large cage which had escaped her notice. Now for
the first time she saw a brilliantly colored parrot.
The bird began to stir restlessly. Sensing that she was about to bring
disaster upon herself, Nancy switched the light to another portion of
the room. Too late! The parrot let out a loud squawk.
“Go ’way!” it screamed. “Go ’way! Polly wants a cracker!”
Thoroughly alarmed, Nancy darted toward the door. As she opened the
door, she heard a heavy step on the stairs. The colored woman was coming
to find out what the matter was! Escape was cut off.
“I could choke that parrot!” Nancy told herself almost fiercely. “Now I
am in a mess!”