Notifying the Police
“Oh, if only we had installed a telephone at the mansion,” Rosemary
fretted, as Nancy Drew’s roadster sped along over the smooth road toward
Cliffwood.
“Isn’t there any house along the road where we can stop to call the
police?” Nancy questioned. “It would save us considerable time.”
Rosemary shook her head.
“There aren’t any houses until we get almost into Cliffwood.”
“Then we may as well drive straight to the sheriff’s office,” Nancy
decided. “It’s only a short distance, anyway. A few minutes delay ought
not to make such a big difference.”
“But it may,” Floretta declared uneasily. “I believe Nathan is beginning
to be suspicious. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come to us this morning
with the offer to buy the house.”
Nancy did not respond, but concentrated her attention upon the road
before her. In exactly twelve minutes flat she brought the automobile to
a quivering halt in front of the sheriff’s office.
Switching off the engine, she sprang from the car, and, with the
Turnbull sisters close behind her, ran into the building. The sheriff,
the picture of repose, with his feet comfortably placed on the top of a
roll-top desk, was laughing and talking with several men who were seated
about the room. As Nancy Drew and the two women came in, he swung his
feet to the floor and eyed them with respectful attention.
“Anything I can do for you?” he inquired.
Without mincing words, Nancy quickly told of the strange things that had
happened at the Turnbull house and of the discoveries she had made. At
various points, Rosemary and Floretta corroborated her story.
“I want you to arrest Nathan Gombet,” Nancy ended. “He is the guilty
man.”
The sheriff scratched his head in perplexity.
“Well, I don’t know what to say. Nathan Gombet is no friend of mine and
folks say he’s a little queer, but I never heard of his doing any harm.”
“There’s always a first time,” Rosemary snapped.
“He’s just a clever crook—that’s all,” Nancy declared impatiently.
“Don’t you believe our story? We can show you the staircase.”
“Yes, I believe your story, all right,” the sheriff said hastily. “But I
dasn’t proceed without evidence. You can’t arrest a man unless you’ve
some proof he’s guilty.”
“What more proof do you want?” Rosemary interposed tartly.
“Well, if you’d found the silver urn in his house, or something like
that——”
“If my father were here, he’d convince you all right,” Nancy said, with
rising temper.
“Your father?”
“Yes, Carson Drew.”
“You don’t mean Carson Drew, the lawyer from River Heights? You’re his
daughter?”
“I am.”
“Well, that’s different. Why didn’t you say so at first?”
“What has that to do with the case?”
“Well, I reckon a daughter of Carson Drew knows what she’s about. If you
say Nathan Gombet is a crook, I’ll take your word for it.”
“Well, it seems to me you’ve taken plenty of time to make up your mind,”
Nancy said sarcastically.
The sheriff, thus goaded to action, turned to the other men in the room.
His indolent manner fell from him.
“Come on, boys!” he shouted.
Turning to Nancy he ordered:
“You lead the way and we’ll follow.”
Nancy nodded, and with Floretta and Rosemary hurried outside to the
waiting roadster.
“I never could stand that sheriff,” Rosemary commented. “You can see now
why we didn’t like to put the matter in his hands before. He would have
made a mess of it.”
“I can see all right,” Nancy admitted dryly.
She sprang into the car and the Turnbull sisters climbed in beside her.
She started the motor and waited impatiently for the sheriff and his
deputies. The moment the police car was ready to leave, she shifted
gears and was off.
As the two cars raced down the side streets of Cliffwood, many passersby
turned to stare curiously after them. Nancy did not notice, for she was
intent only upon one thing, and that was to reach the old stone house
before Nathan Gombet had an opportunity to escape or to hide the booty
he had stolen from the Turnbull mansion.
“The sheriff may be stupid enough to refuse to arrest him unless he
finds _evidence_ on the place,” she thought, in disgust.
She drove swiftly and soon came within sight of the gloomy old stone
house owned by the miser. Believing that it would be wisest to approach
cautiously and not give an alarm, she slowed down. To her chagrin the
police car raced ahead and roared down the driveway. It came to a sudden
halt in front of the house.
The sheriff sprang from the automobile and turned to his men.
“Surround the house!” he ordered crisply. “We won’t take any chance on
letting that old boy get away!”
“Oh, why does that sheriff have to be so dramatic?” Nancy murmured, in
alarm. “After all this noise, it will be a wonder if Nathan Gombet
doesn’t slip through the secret tunnel and escape. That will ruin
everything!”
Impatiently, she opened the door of the roadster and started to get out,
but Floretta held her back.
“Don’t go,” she begged. “There may be shooting!”
Nancy permitted herself to be pulled back into the safety of the
automobile. From there, the three watched the sheriff with misgiving.
They saw him walk up to the back door and knock. When there was no
response, he knocked again. He tried the door, but it was locked. Then
he peeped in at the kitchen window.
“No one at home,” he muttered in disgust, turning away.
Nancy could stand it no longer. Springing from the roadster, she ran
toward the sheriff.
“You can’t expect Nathan Gombet to welcome you with open arms after all
the noise you made coming up the drive,” she cried. “He’d be more apt to
welcome you with buckshot! He’s probably watching now from an upstairs
window. We’d all make good targets!”
The sheriff glanced anxiously upward and stepped closer to the house.
“It’s pretty serious business to go breaking into a man’s house,” he
said, somewhat crestfallen, “unless you’re mighty sure you’ve got the
right man.”
“Nathan Gombet is the right man!”
“Well, maybe he is, I don’t know.” The sheriff’s old doubt was returning
to assail him anew. “I suppose I could ram the door, but I don’t like to
do it.”
“I’ll assume the responsibility,” Nancy said shortly.
“All right, we’ll do it.”
“There’s an easier way.”
“How do you mean?”
“Climb through the cellar window and get in that way. There’s a stairway
from the cellar leading to the kitchen.”
“That’s an idea.”
The sheriff motioned to his deputies, and Nancy led the way to the
cellar window. One by one the men crawled in. Nancy hesitated an
instant, and then she followed.
Silently, she indicated the stairs leading to the kitchen. The sheriff
and his deputies crept quietly up to the landing, and there they paused
and listened. The house was as silent as a tomb.
Then unmistakably, there was a slight shuffling sound which seemed to
come from the kitchen. The sheriff turned to a deputy near him and
whispered into his ear:
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes, chief,” the deputy whispered in reply. “There’s someone hiding in
that kitchen!”
“Get set, boys, we’ll see who it is!”
The sheriff placed his hand on the door knob and gave it a quick turn.
The latch clicked. As the sheriff thrust open the door, he started back
involuntarily, for he stood looking straight into the muzzle of a sawed
off shotgun, held in the hands of Gombet’s colored servant!