The Clue of the Black Keys

  “That’s why I want to talk to Dr. Anderson,” she concluded. “He may give us a clue.”

  They located the robust, forty-five-year-old professor seated in a garden behind one of the faculty houses. He wore comfortable tweeds and was puffing on a briar pipe.

  “Never find me indoors, weather like this,” he told his callers after Nancy had introduced herself and Ned.

  Dr. Anderson went on to say that he felt he could teach his students more on field trips than they could possibly get out of books. “On the ninth of this coming month I’m taking a group of special students from various colleges on a field trip to Florida.”

  “How exciting!” exclaimed Nancy.

  “Great country, Florida,” the professor said. “Fascinating history.”

  Nancy maneuvered the conversation to Mexico, and explained that her father knew Dr. Joshua Pitt. “Dr. Anderson, do you have any theories about where Pitt might be?”

  The question seemed to annoy the professor. With a frown he replied, “I’m interested in facts, not theories, Miss Drew.”

  He further astounded her by saying that Juarez Tino had called on him a few weeks before. He had offered to tell where Pitt and the missing cipher tablet were if Anderson would pay him for the information.

  “You didn’t do it?” Nancy asked excitedly.

  “That rascally scoundrel?” the professor exploded. “I should say not. I threatened to call the police, and then threw him out of my office!”

  Nancy asked a few more questions, but Dr. Anderson became evasive. Realizing she could get no more information from him, she thanked him for the interview and left with Ned.

  As they drove back to Emerson, Nancy remarked, “If I had been in Dr. Anderson’s place, I would have tried to find out where Juarez Tino went.”

  Ned agreed. “Do you think he might be holding Dr. Pitt for ransom?”

  “If so, there’s no telling what might happen to the poor man,” Nancy said. “I must find Juarez Tino just as soon as I can!”

  “Sounds too dangerous,” Ned retorted. “Remember, I like you all in one piece!”

  “Don’t worry,” Nancy replied laughingly. “So do I!”

  That afternoon she and Ned attended Terry Scott’s lecture at the college auditorium. The young scientist thrilled his audience with a story about a Mexican jungle, where there had once lived an ancient race of people quite unlike any of their neighbors. From statues that had been found, it was thought they might have been pygmies.

  “But they were people of a high culture,” Terry said, “who made many beautiful objects. These are just beginning to be uncovered. I had some color pictures of them, but unfortunately all of my slides, as well as my notes, mysteriously disappeared a short time ago.”

  Nancy whispered to Ned that this was when Terry was assaulted at his hotel. Toward the end of the lecture, the young professor mentioned his own work in Mexico and the cipher stone.

  “Someday I hope to come back here and tell you that the cipher stone has solved a great mystery,” he remarked, looking straight at Nancy.

  When the lecture was over, his listeners applauded loudly.

  “Never heard people so enthusiastic over this kind of lecture,” Ned declared as he and Nancy left the auditorium.

  “Terry’s really good, isn’t he?” Nancy said.

  The couple had dinner that evening at a popular steak house, and discussed plans for Ned’s Thanksgiving vacation.

  They said good night at ten, since Ned had classes the next morning and Nancy planned to start early on the drive home.

  Terry drove most of the way back to River Heights on Monday. “I’m glad this trip was uneventful,” he declared laughingly as he said good-by at his hotel.

  “I’ll be in touch soon about the mystery,” Nancy promised as she waved, and headed home.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back, and safe and sound,” said Hannah Gruen as she met Nancy at the door.

  “Any news here?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes. Your father left town. Didn’t say when he’d be back. And call Bess or George right away.”

  “Important?”

  “If you could hear them, you’d think so!”

  Nancy hurried to the telephone and called the Marvin house.

  “At last!” Bess gasped. “Wait there. George and I will be right over.”

  A few minutes later the cousins arrived in the Marvin car. They joined Nancy in her bedroom where she was unpacking.

  “Did you have fun?” Bess began.

  George cut her short. “Let’s tell Nancy our news first. She might want to report it to the police.”

  “Yes, please do,” Nancy begged.

  The girls said they might have a clue to the person or persons who had caused the car accident, about which they had already heard from Hannah.

  “It all started in Cliffwood,” said Bess. “Remember that terrible man who said all those awful things to you at the airport?”

  “You mean Wilfred Porterly?”

  “He’s the one.” George took up the story. “Bess and I were shopping Friday in Cliffwood when we spotted him.”

  The cousins were so sure he had not been telling the truth about himself at the airport that they had decided to follow him and see what they could find out.

  “We trailed him to a hotel, where he went into a phone booth,” George reported. “He dialed a number and talked to somebody named King.”

  “Conway King?” Nancy asked excitedly.

  “I don’t know. He just said King. But he was talking about you, Nancy. We heard him say, ‘That Drew girl and Scott are acting too smart. You know what to do.’ ”

  “Then what happened?”

  “King must have answered quickly and to the point, because Porterly said, ‘That sounds all right.’ Then he hung up.”

  Bess said the girls had expected Porterly to go upstairs, and were planning what to do next, when he suddenly went out a rear exit.

  “We followed him,” said George, “but he disappeared. I think he caught a glimpse of us.”

  “The hotel clerk said nobody was registered there under the name of Porterly,” Bess added.

  “Was there a Mr. King listed?” Nancy asked.

  “No,” George replied.

  “What time did Porterly make the phone call?”

  “A little after ten,” George declared. “It must have been, because we left home at nine.”

  Nancy was thoughtful. It was unfortunate that she had caught only a brief glimpse of the men’s backs when they had jumped into their parked sedan near the restaurant. Had the shorter one been King—alias Juarez Tino—back from Florida? Had the taller man been Porterly?

  Nancy told the girls about the two strangers who had been watching the restaurant.

  “Nancy, you might have been killed!” Bess said with a shiver.

  George agreed. “Those villains are plotting trouble for you as well as for Terry. Since one plan didn’t work, they’ll try another.”

  All the time Nancy was relating details about the house party, her mind dwelled on George’s remark.

  “I ought to warn Terry!” Nancy decided after the cousins left to return home.

  She hurried into her father’s study and telephoned. Nancy quickly related the story and her suspicions.

  Terry whistled in surprise. “Well, that clears up the mystery of the road sign,” he remarked.

  “When they find their scheme didn’t work,” Nancy said, “they’ll try something else. Terry, you’re the one they’re really after. I think you should leave town for a few days.”

  “Oh, I’ll be all right,” the young professor replied reassuringly. “But how about you? Does your father know what happened?”

  Nancy told him her father was away for an indefinite stay.

  “That settles it,” Terry said. “You and Mrs. Gruen should not be in that house tonight. Stay at some hotel.”

  “Nonsense,” Nancy told him. “We’ll be perfectly safe, esp
ecially if Juarez Tino thinks I’m scared off the case. But why do you have to stay in River Heights?”

  “I have no choice. You know I’m a bit of a linguist. A woman here engaged me just this afternoon to translate an old diary for her, and I’ve accepted. It belonged to her grandfather, a sea captain. It’s sort of a puzzle and she has persuaded me to decipher it for her.”

  “Can’t you do your translating somewhere else, while you’re in hiding?” Nancy asked.

  Terry said the woman considered the diary a priceless relic and would not permit it out of her sight. That meant he would have to work on it at her home in River Heights.

  “But here’s an idea,” he said. “She and her husband have invited me to stay with them while I’m doing the work.”

  “Well, that might be safer than staying at the hotel,” Nancy said. “I’d suggest you go there immediately. But please do it quietly. Don’t let Juarez Tino or Porterly know where you are!”

  “All right,” Terry agreed. “If you want to get in touch with me, I’ll be at the Earl Wangells’. They’re in the phone book.”

  A sudden look of alarm came into Nancy’s eyes. “Terry, did you say the Wangells? On Fairview Avenue?”

  “Yes. Do you know them?”

  Nancy’s voice was excited now. “Terry, listen to me. I beg you, don’t go there and stay. Don’t even take the job!”

  Terry was astounded. “Why not?” he asked.

  “I can’t tell you over the phone. But Dad would say the same thing if he were here. Please don’t go there, Terry.”

  For a minute he did not reply. When he did speak, the young man’s voice was kindly but determined.

  “Thanks for warning me. But I’ve just got to run the risk. I must see that diary again,” he said. “I believe it will help solve the mystery of the black keys.”

  CHAPTER VII

  A Mysterious Diary

  VARIOUS thoughts raced through Nancy’s mind. Her father distrusted the Wangells. Why had they contacted Terry? And why did he think the diary would aid in solving the mystery of the black keys?

  “Please,” she said, “let’s talk about this some more before you go to the Wangells’ again. But not on the phone. I’m having dinner at George Fayne’s. Could you come there afterward?”

  Terry agreed. At eight o’clock he arrived. After she had introduced him to George’s parents, the Faynes went off to watch a television program in the recreation room.

  “The first thing I want to know,” the young professor said, once he was seated, “is why you distrust the Wangells.”

  Nancy explained that several years before, the Wangells had done some traveling in Europe. “When they came back, they set themselves up as experts on rare, old pictures.”

  “Fake art dealers?” Terry suggested.

  “Yes. They convinced a widow that they had some rare French paintings. She paid a fancy price for them, only to discover later that the pictures were worthless.”

  “Did she sue?” Terry asked.

  “Yes. But the Wangells claimed they had bought the pictures from a young man named DuPlaine, and had been duped themselves—that DuPlaine had painted the pictures and forged a famous artist’s signature.”

  “How did you hear of the case?” Terry wanted to know.

  “A friend of Dad’s defended DuPlaine,” Nancy replied. “DuPlaine admitted he had painted the pictures but said they were only copies he had made, as a student, in the museums. He had sold them as copies for practically nothing.”

  “What was the Wangells’ answer to that?”

  “They acted injured and indignant. Mr. Wangell had a bill of sale and all sorts of documents to prove they had paid a high price.”

  Terry asked how the case had been settled. Nancy said the court had decided there was insufficient evidence, and had dismissed the case.

  “But my father always believed that the Wangells had forged the bill of sale, the documents, and the signatures on the paintings.”

  “Nice people,” Terry commented.

  “You see why I’m convinced they’re up to something dishonest in this diary business,” Nancy said. “It seems odd that Mrs. Wangell won’t let you borrow it.”

  “She says she can’t run the risk of losing it,” Terry replied.

  “I wonder if that’s the real reason,” Nancy mused. “And by the way, you haven’t told me what Mrs. Wangell’s diary has to do with the mystery of the black keys.”

  “From skimming through it, I gather it is full of unpublished legends which I suspect may have some bearing on our case.”

  “How?”

  “Mrs. Wangell’s sea-captain grandfather retired in Florida, but he’d picked up stories everywhere, especially in Mexico.”

  “I see why you want to read the diary.” Nancy smiled. “But I still don’t like your dealing with the Wangells. Promise you won’t stay there. How about going to a small hotel tonight and sending for your baggage so no one will know where you are?”

  “I’d like to please you,” Terry replied, “and be safe besides.” He grinned. “I’ll go to the Parkview and ask a porter to take my things over there. Ever since that attack, I’ve kept everything locked in my bags, so the move will be easy.”

  “I believe we ought to check the story of Mrs. Wangell’s grandfather being a sea captain, and the valuable diary belonging to him,” Nancy said.

  Terry lifted his eyebrows. “I never thought of that. It’s a good idea.”

  Nancy and Terry went to the recreation room and Nancy thanked the Faynes for dinner. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the least bit sociable since dinner. And now you’ll think me rude, but would you mind terribly if Terry and I go? I want to stop at Mrs. Prescott’s on the way home.”

  George groaned. “Hypers, Nancy, don’t you ever take time out from a mystery?”

  Nancy shook her head laughingly as she and Terry said good-by.

  While driving to Mrs. Prescott’s, Nancy explained that the woman’s business was tracing family trees.

  “She has studied the history of every family in this area, and is president of the local historical society. She has stacks of records.”

  Mrs. Prescott was at home and welcomed her two guests at once into the library. She seemed delighted to have Nancy ask a question on her favorite subject.

  “Mrs. Wangell? Let me see,” she mused, squeezing her pince-nez onto her nose. “She was Lillian Webster before she married.”

  The woman’s eyes studied the shelves. “This will take a little while, my dear. Do you mind waiting?”

  “Not at all,” Nancy replied.

  At last Mrs. Prescott turned away from her books and records, and took off her glasses.

  “I have checked both of Mrs. Wangell’s grand-fathers,” she said, “and neither of them was a sea captain.”

  Nancy and Terry pretended surprise.

  “It’s all in the record,” Mrs. Prescott insisted. “Neither of them followed the sea at any time.”

  “I guess I have the story confused,” Nancy murmured.

  She thanked Mrs. Prescott for her help and hurried out to the car with Terry.

  “You see, Mrs. Wangell isn’t to be trusted,” Nancy said. “I think you should insist upon taking that diary to the hotel and translating it before she becomes suspicious and changes her mind.”

  “She’ll never agree to my taking it,” Terry objected.

  Nancy thought a moment. Suddenly she remembered a small camera her father had presented her on her latest birthday. She kept it in the glove compartment of the car. Now she took it out and gave it to Terry.

  “Put this in your pocket and take it to the Wangells’ tomorrow. The camera’s loaded with self-developing film. Ask to borrow the diary, and if Mrs. Wangell refuses, take pictures of the pages you think may be especially important.”

  Terry promised to do as she suggested. Then, making sure they were not being followed, Nancy drove him to his new hotel, the Parkview.

  “Sure you’l
l be all right?” he asked. “I hate to think of your spending the night in that big house without your father.”

  “Nonsense! I’m not the least bit worried,” Nancy said with a laugh.

  Though Nancy was not alarmed over the situation, it was quite apparent, when she reached home, that Hannah Gruen was. The faithful housekeeper was waiting at the front door.

  “Thank goodness you’re back!” she exclaimed.

  Nancy put an affectionate hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You’re a lamb to be so concerned. But here I am, safe and sound. And maybe tomorrow Dad will come home.”

  Nancy went up to her room, undressed, and slid into bed. As she dropped off to sleep, she could hear Hannah still busy in the kitchen. “What a clatter!” Nancy thought in amusement.

  When she awoke, it was in bewildered alarm. Somewhere in the darkened house there was loud banging and jangling. Simultaneously, something crashed heavily and there was the thud of footsteps.

  Springing out of bed, Nancy pulled on a robe and rushed into the hall. There was no further sound. The entire house was in darkness.

  Her first thought was of Hannah Gruen. She stepped quickly into the housekeeper’s bedroom and flicked on the light. The room was empty, the bed not turned down.

  Suddenly Nancy heard a moan from the floor below. She dashed to the head of the stairs and turned on the lower hall light.

  Close to the front door lay Hannah Gruen!

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Lesson in Sleuthing

  NEAR Mrs. Gruen’s right hand was a rolling pin. Evidently she had dropped it. Stretched across the hall between chairs was a homemade burglar alarm—clothesline strung with tin pans and kitchen utensils. Nancy ran down the stairs.

  “Hannah!” she cried, bending over the housekeeper. “What happened?”

  The dazed woman opened her eyes and whispered, “Get him! Get him!”

  Nancy looked out the hall window but saw no one. She helped the housekeeper to a sofa, then raced through the first floor, peering into closets and behind doors. There was no sign of any disturbance except in the hall. Evidently the burglar alarm had scared off the intruder.