The End of the Passage
Panic momentarily took possession of Nancy Drew as her light flickered
out. She was a prisoner within the secret staircase. Without a light
there was little hope that she could find the exit.
After her first fright had passed, she began to think more logically.
Through a crack in the wall, a dim light filtered. Unquestionably, she
had reached the end of the passage, and if only she could find the
secret, the wall would open.
“Perhaps the metal ring will open the panel,” she thought hopefully.
Grasping it firmly with both hands, she pulled with all her strength. A
trapdoor fell back so unexpectedly that Nancy nearly lost her balance
and tumbled down the stairs. Only by maintaining her hold on the ring
did she save herself.
Beyond the opening she could see a room. Where was she? Had she doubled
back and thus returned to Nathan Gombet’s dwelling?
Scarcely daring to breath lest her presence be discovered, she crawled
through the opening and hastily scrambled to her feet.
The room was dimly lighted by one window, and as she glanced toward it,
Nancy was surprised to see the moonbeams shining upon the casement.
Evidently, she had been within the passage for some time, as it had
stopped raining.
In the dim light she could not make out her surroundings. She moved
forward with the utmost caution. As she groped her way, she reached out
with her hand and touched something. It was a piece of furniture.
Eagerly, she felt of it, and then smiled broadly.
She knew that old highboy. She remembered seeing it the day she had
searched the Turnbull attic!
Nancy’s anxiety fell from her like a cloak. She leaned against the
highboy and chuckled softly. Now she knew where she was!
She had traveled from Gombet’s house underground to the Turnbull
mansion. The stairs she had ascended had led up the side of the house to
the attic. Undoubtedly, the other flights she had passed led to other
portions of the old house.
But why had she failed to discover the trapdoor when she had first
examined the attic, she asked herself. Certainly, she had made a
thorough search.
“I can’t see a thing without a light,” she grumbled mentally. “I suppose
I’ll have to wait until morning before I can investigate this attic
again.”
Nancy did not close the trapdoor, for she was afraid that if she did she
might never again find the spring which opened it. In the morning she
would visit the attic and again enter the hidden staircase.
“Now I’ll go to my room and try to sleep,” she decided. “It’s long past
midnight and I’m dead tired.”
Softly, she crept forward, feeling her way out of the attic. She found
the stairs which led to the floor below, and quietly descended them.
“I hope Floretta and Rosemary don’t hear me,” she chuckled. “If they do
they’ll think the ghost is abroad again.”
She slipped past Rosemary’s bedroom and reached her own in safety.
“What an adventure!” she sighed happily, as she closed the bedroom door
behind her and lighted a candle. “What a night! I hope I’ll never go
through another as harrowing. Still, I wouldn’t have missed it for
worlds!”
Hastily, she undressed and crawled into bed, but she did not fall to
sleep at once. Instead she lay awake staring up at the ceiling.
As she pieced together the information she had secured from every
source, she comprehended the value of her night’s work. She understood
it all now. Nathan Gombet was the guilty party. It was he who had
visited the Turnbull mansion at frequent intervals, frightening the old
ladies and stealing their valuables.
Since Nancy had learned that he wished to buy the Turnbull property at a
ridiculously low figure, she had been convinced that it was Nathan who
made nightly visits to the mansion, but without definite proof of her
theory she could not lay her case before the authorities. Now she had
the necessary proof!
Probably the secret tunnel which connected Gombet’s house with the
Turnbull residence had been built before Civil War days, and had been
planned as a protection against possible marauders. At that time the
Turnbull brothers had been friendly and Nancy imagined that they used
the passage frequently as a means of going from one house to the other.
But with the Civil War, the brothers had become enemies, and the
passageway had been closed up. With the passing of the years it had been
forgotten, until now the descendants could recall nothing about it.
In some way, undoubtedly by accident, Nathan Gombet had stumbled upon
the entrance. He had determined to use the knowledge to further his own
ugly schemes.
“Probably there are openings on each floor,” Nancy thought. “It would be
easy for Nathan to go from one room to another without being discovered,
it would be just like him to hide and listen to any conversation he
could!”
She recalled the strange threatening note she had received which had
warned her not to meddle with the affairs of the Turnbulls. She was
convinced that Gombet had sent the message. He had heard Floretta and
Rosemary discussing the letter, and in that way had learned that she was
expected to arrive.
The loss of the pocketbook, the silver spoon, the urn, the pin, and
Floretta’s dresses could be easily explained. Nathan had entered the
house by the secret staircase and had taken the things.
“There must be an opening into the library,” Nancy told herself. “I
intend to find it to-morrow if I have to chop down the wall!”
It was no longer a mystery how the canaries had reached Floretta’s room.
Probably Nathan had accidentally left the entrance to the tunnel open on
one of his visits to the mansion, and the birds had flown through the
opening and had found their way to the house, or possibly the miser had
brought them with him.
The loud cry which had been heard in the night was easily explained.
Nathan Gombet had fallen over the broken step on the stairway and had
hurt himself.
“Served him right, too,” Nancy thought, with some pleasure.
Satisfied that she had solved the mystery, she turned over in bed and
tried to go to sleep. But she could not. Worries began to beset her.
Until Nathan Gombet was brought to justice her work was not
accomplished. It would not be easy to capture him, she knew, for the
miser was a desperate man when crossed. If only her father were at home
to give her advice!
“What can have become of him?” she fretted, as she tossed restlessly in
bed. “I’m so worried. If I don’t hear from him to-morrow I must report
him missing to the police!”
Not until it was nearly dawn did she fall into a troubled sleep.