The Clue of the Black Keys

  And among the trees and branches was the distinct outline of three keys!

  At another spot, where the sheets joined, Nancy found symbols representing the sun, a prostrate man, and a frog. The same figures on the note Terry found in the tent in Mexico!

  “The person who wrote this diary somehow learned the directions to the Frog Treasure,” Nancy thought wildly. “He didn’t dare draw just one picture for fear somebody else would find out the secret!”

  Feverishly she worked to decipher the whole picture message. Two other drawings, viewed separately, were nothing but irregular oval blobs. When the drawings were placed one beneath the other, however, the blobs suddenly appeared in pairs.

  Footprints!

  Six pair were leading—where? With painstaking care, she traced the footprints on another sheet of transparent paper. Then she laid them over the drawing of the tropical wilderness.

  The result was just what she had suspected it might be. The circle was no longer empty. The footprints led to the rim of the large pool!

  Then she placed the sheet over the second drawing, which revealed the keys and the symbols of frog, prostrate man, and sun.

  This time the footprints led to the symbol of the frog!

  She could hardly wait for her father to finish his work at the courthouse. She wanted to get home and talk to Terry Scott and show him her discovery.

  When Mr. Drew came in, Nancy exclaimed, “Dad, I’ve pieced together the treasure map!” She added quickly, “Maybe Terry will recognize the location.”

  “Great work,” the lawyer said. “You’re really hot on the trail, but we must stay here until the day after tomorrow.”

  Friday the Drews caught an early plane for River Heights.

  Mr. Drew went directly to his office. Upon reaching home, Nancy immediately telephoned Terry at his hotel.

  “Mr. Scott hasn’t been in for two days,” the desk clerk informed her.

  “Did he check out?” Nancy asked in amazement.

  “Dad, I’ve pieced together the treasure map!” Nancy exclaimed

  “No, miss. He just hasn’t been around.”

  Worried, Nancy asked Hannah if she had heard from Terry. When she learned no message had come, Nancy wondered if he had changed his mind about staying with the Wangells. She dialed the number, River Heights 7-4772. There was no answer.

  Alarm for Terry’s safety now made Nancy’s heart beat faster. She telephoned George.

  “I’m picking you up in five minutes,” she told her startled friend. “I need your help on a search expedition.”

  Nancy quickly returned the obsidian key to her dressing-table drawer and locked the photographs in her desk, then hurried to her car. Within ten minutes she reached George Fayne’s house. George was waiting at the curb.

  “What’s on your mind, partner?” she asked as they drove off.

  “Worry,” Nancy replied, and told about the disappearance of Terry Scott. “We’re going to the Wangells’.”

  “Ugh!” George commented. “I see trouble ahead.”

  “We’ll soon know,” Nancy said.

  She parked around the corner from the Wangells’ house. Nancy rang the doorbell and they could hear creaking footsteps inside. But the footsteps hesitated and the person waited until Nancy rang again. Then the door flew open.

  A red-faced woman with bleary eyes, her hair uncombed, stared out at them. Was this Mrs. Wangell? Nancy wondered.

  “What do you want?” she asked suspiciously.

  “We’re looking for a friend,” Nancy stated. “Terence Scott.”

  “Scott? Must be another house,” the woman said and slammed the door. They heard a bolt slipping into place.

  George grinned. “Seems as if we’re not wanted.”

  “Wanted or not, I’m staying here until I do some investigating,” Nancy decided. “Did you see those suitcases in the front hall?”

  George nodded. “Maybe the Wangells are leaving town.”

  “If they are, it’s for no good reason. George, Officer Riley is a block back at the intersection. Would you mind asking him to come here quickly?”

  While George hurried away on her errand, Nancy circled the house. Dark shades were drawn and all the windows were closed with the exception of a small, second-floor one on the side. When she looked up at it, Nancy saw a curtain move, as if somebody were watching her.

  Then suddenly her attention was directed to the top floor. Fluttering from an attic window was what looked like a man’s white handkerchief!

  Was it a signal of distress?

  CHAPTER X

  Nancy’s Search

  WHILE Nancy stood staring upward, she heard a car stop in front of the house and ran to see who was coming. It was a taxi. A man and a woman, each carrying a suitcase, hurriedly jumped into it. The Wangells were leaving!

  “Wait! Stop!” cried Nancy, darting across the lawn.

  Before she could reach them, the driver started off. Either he had not heard her, or he had been told not to pay heed to her call. The taxi gathered speed and disappeared around the corner.

  Nancy dashed to her own car. She was determined not to let the Wangells get away.

  When she turned the corner, the taxi was not in sight. Nancy drove on for several blocks, looking up and down the intersecting streets, but in vain.

  “I’ll try the railroad station,” she said to herself and drove to it. Again no luck.

  Her next stop was at the bus station. The Wangells were not there, and waiting passengers said no taxi had stopped at the place for over fifteen minutes.

  “Maybe they went to the airport,” Nancy thought. But a stop there gained her no information about the Wangells.

  She decided that they must have engaged the taxi to take them out of town. The young detective hurried to the office of the Winfield Taxi Company. Perhaps someone on duty could communicate with the driver by radio. As Nancy dashed in, the girl at the desk looked up.

  “One of your drivers had a call to 619 Fairview Avenue. Has he returned?” Nancy asked.

  “No.”

  “Then please talk to him over your radio,” said Nancy. “I must find out where his two passengers are going.”

  “And why should I do that?”

  “Because it may save a man’s life.”

  “Say, who do you think you are? An FBI agent?”

  Nancy knew it was useless to waste any more time arguing with the girl. It would be better to get back to Fairview Avenue. George would be there with the police.

  When she returned to the Wangell house, Nancy saw that George had arrived with Officer Riley, who said he had telephoned headquarters for help, since he could not leave his traffic post for long.

  George burst out, “Hypers, Nancy, I’ve just about had heart failure. I thought you’d been kidnapped!”

  “Have you tried to get into the house?” Nancy asked.

  Riley nodded. “I rang the doorbell, but there was no response.”

  Nancy told them about seeing the couple leave the house, and that she was sure they were the Wangells.

  “Did you notice the fluttering handkerchief?” she asked.

  “Where?” Riley queried.

  “I’ll show you.”

  She led the way to the side of the house. The wisp of white cloth was no longer in sight!

  “It was there. I saw it. Someone was waving it out of that attic window!” Nancy exclaimed, pointing excitedly. “I suspect someone is imprisoned in that house. I’m going to call and see if he answers.”

  Nancy cupped her hands to her mouth and made a yodeling sound. Then she called as loudly as she could:

  “Terry! Terry Scott! It’s Nancy. Can you hear me?”

  The three held their breath, but not a whisper came from the shuttered house.

  “Let me try,” said George. She in turn called Terry, but there was no response.

  Riley smiled tolerantly. “You sure you haven’t been imagining things, Miss Drew?”

  Nancy was
indignant. “Of course not!” Once more she shouted, “Terry!”

  There was no answer from the Wangell house. But next door a window was flung open and a stout woman leaned out.

  “What is it?” she cried. “Is there a fire? Has something happened?”

  At the same time an old man, with spectacles resting across his forehead, came bustling out.

  “Say, why are you shouting?” he asked crossly.

  Riley said, “These young ladies think someone they know is imprisoned in here. Have you seen the Wangells lately?”

  The old man snorted. “Them? I don’t pay them no mind. Don’t like ’em. Phonies.”

  “What do you mean?” George asked.

  “Just what I say. Not decent folks. Not neighborly. Not nice.”

  “But haven’t you noticed anything?” Nancy persisted. “Your house is pretty close to the Wangells’. Are you sure you haven’t heard any disturbance?”

  The old man suddenly straightened. “Yesterday. I’d clean forgot,” he said. “I thought it was my radio.”

  “Go on, mister,” Riley prodded him.

  “I was upstairs yesterday morning, taking my pills. And I heard somebody calling, ‘Help, help!’ Feeble and far away, you know. I thought, ‘I’ve got interference. One of those stations cutting in and spoiling my music.’ That’s what I thought.”

  “Didn’t you investigate?” Nancy asked.

  “No, young lady. I just went downstairs and fiddled with my radio a bit and I didn’t hear anythingelse.”

  “Oh, it was Terry! I know it was,” cried Nancy. “Officer, we must go in the house.”

  The policeman still seemed doubtful. He was about to ask a question, when George gasped, “Look!” and pointed upward.

  From the attic window the white handkerchief was once more flying its signal of distress. Riley, as well as the old man, stared wide-eyed.

  “We won’t wait any longer,” Riley stated.

  The stout woman who had yelled from the upstairs window now appeared on the scene. She was carrying an ax. Riley grasped the heavy tool and nodded his thanks.

  He strode toward sloping double doors which led to the outside cellar steps. Testing the doors, he found they had been firmly barred on the underside.

  “Stand away, everybody!” he ordered.

  Riley took a mighty swing with the ax, and the heavy door shivered and splintered. Something on the other side fell away with a clatter. Riley pried one side of the door open and swung it wide.

  “Stay outside, girls. There may be trouble,” he commanded.

  The officer descended the stone steps. Nancy and George could see the beam of his flashlight as he played it into the dark corners of the cellar. A moment later they heard the warning siren of an approaching police car.

  Nancy turned to her friend. “George, I’m going inside with the officers.”

  “I’m with you,” George declared.

  They ran to the front of the house in time to see the police car stop at the curb. Four officers climbed out hastily. Two of them dashed to the rear of the house.

  The girls met the other two at the front porch. One of these was Sergeant Malloy, who grinned at Nancy. “You still on the job?”

  Officer Riley appeared at the front door and let them in, then left to go back to his post. Nancy hurried up the stairway, with George and two of the police following.

  “Terry! Terry, are you all right?” Nancy called.

  She expected an answer, but it did not come. The second floor was in semidarkness. Nancy felt along the wall for a light switch. At last her fingers touched a button. She pressed it, and light flooded a narrow hall.

  “Terry!” she called again in alarm.

  This time she heard something; not a voice, but a muffled tapping sound. It was an answering signal and it came from above.

  Nancy, George, and the policemen climbed to the third floor and began opening doors, but each one led to a closet or bedroom. Presently Nancy tried one which she found locked.

  “This must be the attic door,” she called excitedly. “And Terry Scott’s up there. I know he is. Oh, hurry and open the door, officers. Please!”

  Sergeant Malloy and Officer Trent braced their shoulders against it.

  Several swift crashes of their bodies against the door broke the lock. With a splintering sound the door gave way.

  CHAPTER XI

  A Grim Story

  NANCY was the first one up the narrow stairway to the attic. At her heels was Sergeant Malloy, his flashlight beaming the way ahead. The attic seemed to consist of a single storage room, low-roofed and windowless.

  But among the shadows Nancy noticed a small door, the key still in the lock. While the police searched behind trunks and dust-covered chests, Nancy went toward the door and unlocked it.

  As she did, there came a tap from the inside. Quickly she pulled the door open. A figure, bent over, stumbled toward her.

  Terry Scott!

  “Terry! Are you hurt?” Nancy gasped.

  Though he shook his head, his face was deathly pale and his eyes looked dull and sunken. He tried to smile. One hand wandered feebly to his throat.

  “You’re ill!” Nancy cried.

  The policemen carried him to a chair. Sergeant Malloy reached into a pocket and brought out a tiny glass vial. Nipping off the end with his thumbnail, he held the vial under Terry’s nostrils and ordered him to take a deep breath.

  Soon the color flooded back into Terry’s face. His eyes brightened. He moved one hand to his throat.

  “Lost my voice yelling,” he whispered. “Thanks. You saved me from starving to death.”

  “Let’s get him out of here,” Sergeant Malloy ordered.

  “I’ll take him to my house,” Nancy offered quickly as they assisted Terry downstairs.

  “All right. Then I’ll stick around here for a while,” Malloy said. Turning to Terry, he added, “I’ll get your full story later. Anything special you can tell us now?”

  “Look for an old diary,” the young scientist managed to say.

  Nancy and George drove Terry to the Drew home. Hannah Gruen was concerned when she saw him. After learning that he had been without food for two days, she announced firmly:

  “You leave him to me. I know what he needs.”

  Hannah insisted that Terry lie down on the living-room sofa. She put some chicken broth on the stove and made toast.

  “How can I ever repay you, Nancy?” the young professor murmured over and over after George had gone home.

  “By resting and getting your voice back, so you can tell me what happened.” Nancy smiled.

  When Hannah returned with the food, Nancy announced that she had an errand downtown but would be back as soon as she could.

  Nancy hurried out to her car and drove once more to the office of the Winfield Taxi Company. This time the blond girl at the desk was cooperative. She said to Nancy:

  “Our driver Johnson just phoned in. He’s at a farmhouse a couple of miles this side of Kirkland.”

  The driver had told her his two passengers from Fairview Avenue had forbidden him at gun-point to turn on the car radio. They had ordered him to drive to Kirkland.

  When they reached a lonely stretch of wood-land, about three miles from Kirkland, Wangell had forced Johnson to stop, get out, and walk in the opposite direction.

  “We’re going to use your cab for a while, buddy,” Wangell had said. “If you want it back, you’ll find it parked in Kirkland.”

  Nancy asked the girl if the driver had notified the police. She did not think so.

  “Johnson just called the office a minute ago.”

  Nancy leaned over the desk, picked up the telephone, and dialed the Wangells’ number. Sergeant Malloy answered. Nancy reported what she had just heard.

  “I’ll relay that to the police in Kirkland,” he said, “and tell them to scour the town for the taxi, and the Wangells, too.”

  “Have you found out anything about them at the house??
?? Nancy asked.

  “Not a thing. No sign of that diary the professor mentioned, either. By the way, the Wangells don’t own this house. They only rent it furnished.”

  Nancy was disappointed. “Well, I’ll appreciate your letting me know if anything turns up.”

  She was glad to learn, when she returned home, that Mrs. Gruen’s care had worked wonders with Terry. He looked like himself again.

  Nancy pulled up a hassock and sat down beside him. “Don’t strain your voice,” she cautioned, “but please tell me in a few words what happened at the Wangells’.”

  “They must have suspected what I was doing and planned to imprison me until they could get away,” he replied.

  “How did they manage to get you to the attic?”

  “As you know, there were several pages missing from the diary. Mrs. Wangell said that they might be in the attic with some other old papers. So I went with her to look.”

  “And Mr. Wangell sneaked up after you and locked you in?” Nancy asked.

  Terry nodded grimly. “Yes, but before he locked the door we had a scuffle. Wangell gave me a knockout punch. I don’t know how long I was unconscious. When I started coming to, my brain seemed very foggy.”

  “Drugged,” Nancy guessed.

  “I think so,” Terry answered. “Wangell was standing over me, laughing. It was an awful feeling. He kept asking me questions about the cipher stone. I knew I mustn’t give him any information.”

  Terry went on to say that he had found out a few things about the Wangells, however, before his capture.

  “They hate each other, for one thing. I’m sure of that. Listening to them talk was like waiting for an explosion. There was constant tension between the two, even when they weren’t quarreling. Mrs. Wangell seemed to be afraid of her husband.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t figure out why, but every time she started to find fault with him, he would stop her with a stunt that would send her into a panic. I’ll show you.”

  Terry walked over to the Drews’ piano. Clenching his right hand into a fist, he ran his knuckles along the black keys, hitting them in a loud, quick glissando.

  “How strange!” Nancy murmured.