The Clue of the Leaning Chimney

  “We’d better call the police,” she suggested.

  “Oh dear!” said Mrs. Wendell. “I never thought I’d get mixed up with the police.”

  “I wonder how he got down,” Nancy mused. She leaned out the window. The answer to the riddle was apparent. A foot away was a rainspout, entwined with heavy vines. It would be a simple matter for someone to cling to the vines and climb down to the ground.

  As Nancy turned around, Mrs. Wendell gave a loud sneeze. The sound echoed through the musty attic.

  “Such dust!” she said. “Nancy, what do you make of all this?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  Glancing about the room, Nancy saw several packages on the floor. They were wrapped with newspapers and tied with string. She bent over one of them and examined it closely. The newspaper was printed in Chinese!

  Quickly untying the string, Nancy opened the bundle. It contained a beautiful Chinese vase decorated with lotus blossoms!

  She untied a second bundle, then a third. They, too, held exquisite Oriental vases.

  Mrs. Wendell stared at the porcelains in amazement. “My lands!” she burst out. “Where did they come from?”

  Nancy had a hunch about that. But she decided to say nothing of her suspicions for the present.

  “Don’t be worried,” Nancy begged. “Everything will come out all right.”

  Mrs. Wendell went downstairs. She waited a moment for one of her roomers to leave, then called police headquarters.

  Meanwhile, Nancy unwrapped the remainder of the bundles. Each one contained a beautiful Oriental vase. She had hoped Mr. Soong’s Ming piece and the jade elephant would be among them, but she was disappointed.

  The Chinese newspapers intrigued her. After carefully unfolding one of them she stuck part of it in her handbag.

  Two Masonville policemen arrived, and Mrs. Wendell at once told them of Nancy’s prowess as a detective. Nancy smiled and explained what had happened.

  “What was the fellow like?” asked one of the officers, named McCann.

  Nancy said she regretted not having had a better look at the intruder so that she might identify him, but the man had his head down as he was stepping through the opening.

  “Looks like you discovered something big, Miss Drew,” said Officer McCann as he picked up the vase patterned with lotus blossoms.

  “This one fits the description of a vase stolen from the Masonville Museum last week,” Officer McCann declared. He turned to Mrs. Wendell. “What do you know about all this stuff, ma’am?”

  Mrs. Wendell was flustered, but Nancy put her arm reassuringly around the woman’s shoulder as she spoke up falteringly:

  “I don’t know anything about it, Officer.”

  “Who lives in this room?” he asked, stepping back into the attic room.

  Mrs. Wendell told of having rented it to a John Manning six months before. He had asked to be left alone because he was working very hard “writing a book” and did not want to be disturbed. The secret panel mystified her, she said. She was sure it had not been there before Manning rented the room.

  “Manning probably installed it while you and the other tenants were away from the house,” Officer McCann declared. “What does he look like?”

  “Why, he’s medium tall,” the woman reflected, “with black hair and sort of olive skin. He ... he spoke very nice, not like a rough thief. Seemed to me like he’d traveled a great deal.”

  “Um.” The officer pondered, as if mentally reviewing the rogues’ gallery.

  “Oh, and he has piercing black eyes,” Mrs. Wendell added quickly.

  At once Nancy recalled the piercing black eyes of the strange-acting man she and Bess had encountered the previous night. Her gaze wandered around the floor of the room and the closet. “Mrs. Wendell,” she asked, “did you ever notice anything unusual about the height of Mr. Manning’s shoes?”

  “Why, no,” she said, somewhat surprised.

  Nancy told the policeman about the unusual footprints she had found at Hunter’s Bridge. He agreed that the prints might well have been made by the thief, and that the thief might be the man known as John Manning.

  While the three had been talking, the other policeman had been examining the attics in both houses, searching for additional loot. Finding none, he wrapped up several of Manning’s personal belongings to study later for fingerprints and compare them with those on the vases. Finally the two officers gathered together the pieces of pottery and started down the stairs.

  “If you ever want a job on the Masonville force, let us know!” one of them said to Nancy.

  “I really only stumbled on this,” Nancy said modestly. “I came here looking for a leaning chimney and found an attic full of loot.”

  The policemen glanced at each other incredulously. “A leaning chimney?” echoed McCann. “And that led you to discover a crook?”

  The other officer cocked his head. “I guess that’s what they call woman’s intuition. I wish I had some of it!”

  After the police officers had descended the stairs, accompanied by Mrs. Wendell, Nancy looked about Manning’s room. What a sight! Dresser drawers were pulled out, the mattress overturned, the rug rolled back, the contents of the trunk scattered over the floor. Even the cardboard backing had been removed from the pictures. Manning’s suits had been examined also. The pockets had been turned inside out and their linings inspected.

  “I wonder if there could be anything the police missed,” Nancy mused as she surveyed the room.

  True, they had found plenty of loot, but they had not uncovered a single thing that might be a clue to the identity of the thief.

  “The floor!” Nancy said half-aloud. The police hadn’t examined the floorboards.

  Getting to her knees, the young detective scrutinized the rough-hewn planks. Perhaps a loose one might have served as a hiding place for Manning’s mail. But every board was secured by big, broad nails used by carpenters sixty years before.

  “Nothing there,” sighed Nancy, rising to her feet.

  Then a thought flashed through her mind. “The window shade!”

  Nancy had a sudden vision of letters falling from the tightly rolled-up shade when she pulled it down. Going to the window, she tugged the cord. The shade came halfway down, but no letters fluttered to her feet.

  Nancy made a discovery, however. The sun, streaming through the window, faintly outlined some dark squares on the shade. Excitedly Nancy removed the shade from its little brass fixtures and laid it on the bed.

  “This is a find!” she mused in puzzled delight.

  Taped to the outside of the shade were four pages torn from an art magazine. They were full-color photographs of rare old Chinese vases!

  Attached slightly above them were two yellow sheets of paper listing the museums and homes where the vases could be found!

  CHAPTER IV

  The Blinding Glare

  “THAT’S pretty conclusive proof Manning’s the thief,” Nancy told herself. “I’ll take these papers to the police.”

  It was easy to understand how they had overlooked the papers Manning had concealed so cunningly in the shade. She unrolled it another foot. More papers were attached. Each contained Chinese writing done in bold brush strokes with black ink.

  “I wonder what they mean,” Nancy thought. “They must have something to do with the vases.”

  Just then she glanced at her watch. Less than half an hour to meet Bess and George! She had not even looked through the contents of the old trunk for a clue to the China clay pit!

  Carefully Nancy removed the papers from their hiding place and put them in her handbag. While she was restoring the shade to the window, Mrs. Wendell returned. She said the police would send a man to watch the house, but they doubted that Manning would return.

  “And I got a carpenter comin’ right away to board up that hole into the other house,” Mrs. Wendell reported.

  Nancy told of her new find, then looked over the contents of the trunk. Scat
tered among old clothes were a lot of yellowed letters. Nancy scanned the correspondence. Much of it was personal, so she read only enough to convince herself there was no mention of China clay.

  “Mrs. Wendell,” she said, “did Mr. Manning ever say anything about this trunk?”

  The woman looked startled. “Yes, he talked quite a bit about it. He said it wouldn’t bother him in the room and insisted I leave it here. Why did you ask?”

  “I believe he might have come here on purpose to look for something in it; something that belonged to Mr. Petersen.”

  “Oh, gracious!” said Mrs. Wendell. “This gets more complicated every minute.”

  “Don’t worry any more about it.” Nancy patted the woman’s arm. “Just forget the whole thing.”

  Nancy said good-by and went to her car. She drove as rapidly as she dared in order to keep her date with Bess and George at the Masonville Inn. But when she reached it, she was minutes late.

  “Well,” said George when Nancy had parked, “I hope you don’t keep Ned Nickerson waiting like this!”

  Nancy blushed, thinking of Ned, a student at Emerson College. Nancy enjoyed his company, and had attended many parties and dances with him.

  “I just couldn’t get here any sooner,” Nancy replied. “Wait till you hear about the secret panel!”

  At lunch Nancy told her friends what had happened. Bess’s eyes grew wide with astonishment and George said, “Gosh!” and “Hypers!” several times.

  After Nancy had finished eating, she showed the girls the photographs of the vases, then copied the Chinese symbols in a notebook.

  “We’d better go,” said Bess. “I said I’d be home by four.”

  “Oh, heck!” George complained. “That dress I bought won’t be ready for an hour.” She explained that it was being altered slightly.

  “I bought two dresses, Nancy,” said Bess. “They’re positively yummy.”

  “Um.” Nancy smiled. Then, pretending to be envious, she said, “I’ll be at Helen Townsend’s birthday dinner tonight in just an old pink sheath. Tell you what. Suppose you go on home, Bess, and I’ll wait for George. I want to stop at police headquarters with these papers.”

  The arrangement suited Bess, who drove off at once. She took a longer but more traveled road back to River Heights than the one where the suspected thief had been.

  An hour later Nancy and George followed but took the short cut. Nancy braked as the convertible went around the series of twisting curves approaching Hunter’s Bridge.

  “Do you think the man you saw here was Manning?” George asked. She leaned forward, looking alertly ahead, as if she expected the man to jump out at them any moment.

  “Either Manning or a pal,” Nancy answered. “Mr. Soong’s vase wasn’t in that attic.”

  “But it would have reached there eventually if you hadn’t spoiled Manning’s plans,” said George. “I wonder where Mr. Soong’s vase is.”

  Nancy was about to reply when suddenly both girls were blinded by a stabbing glare. Nancy threw up her left hand to shield her eyes. Then, as quickly as the glare had come, it disappeared.

  “What was that?” George asked.

  Nancy stopped and got out. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I intend to find out.”

  “Not without me,” George declared.

  Together the girls walked to the sparse woods from which the flash had come. In a few seconds Nancy and George came upon a car. It was a maroon coupé with a badly dented right rear fender. The car was empty.

  Attached to the outside frame was a side-view mirror. It had been tilted, possibly by the jarring trip off the road. On a hunch, Nancy adjusted the mirror. As she did so, she was struck by the same stabbing glare that had blinded her in the convertible. A ray of sunlight had been reflected from it to the road!

  “Funny place to leave a car,” George commented.

  “This may be a meeting place for Manning and his friends.” Nancy circled the coupe, then jotted down the license number in her notebook.

  As if confirming her deduction, Nancy and George heard the murmur of men’s voices deeper in the woods. The girls started forward.

  Taking care not to make a sound, they stepped cautiously as the voices grew more distinct. Presently the girls saw two men. Their backs were turned, and they seemed to be bending over something on a log. Unable to hear what they were saying, Nancy and George crept forward.

  Nancy’s attention was so fixed on the men that she did not notice a dry twig in her path. The next moment, there was a sharp crack as she stepped on the twig.

  The girls heard a startled exclamation, followed by a hollow crash, as if something had dropped and broken. Without looking back, the men scooted into the brush and disappeared.

  “George, I’ll see what they dropped,” Nancy whispered, running quickly toward the log.

  “Be right back!” called George, and raced off in the direction of the disappearing men.

  Hoping that they would be heading for their car, George plunged into the dense underbrush. She had to get a look at them!

  Beside the log, Nancy found part of a wrinkled newspaper. On it lay fragments of what had been a small Oriental bowl. Nancy glanced at the newspaper. It was Chinese!

  She bent over to pick up the paper and the broken pieces. They might prove to be a valuable clue. But hardly had she put the last fragment in her bag when a bloodcurdling scream rent the woods.

  It came from George!

  Nancy raced pell-mell toward the sound, which had come from the direction of the car. Her worst fears aroused, she fairly flew, heedless of the brambles that tore at her dress. Finally she came in sight of the coupé standing exactly where she had seen it.

  George was not there!

  As Nancy stood uncertain under a low-hanging limb, a shadowy figure suddenly leaped at her. She felt a stinging pain and collapsed to the ground!

  CHAPTER V

  A Chinese Puzzle

  NANCY recovered her senses in a few minutes and got up. There was a dull throbbing in her forehead, but her memory cleared at once.

  Her first thought was of George. There was no sign of her. The maroon coupé was gone, and for an instant Nancy was fearful her friend might have been kidnapped. But she discarded the horrible thought at once.

  “More than likely George was knocked out too,” she reasoned.

  Picking up her handbag, which lay on the ground, she began calling George’s name. To Nancy’s relief, the shout was answered.

  “I’m over here! Blindfolded! My hands are tied!”

  Nancy traced the sound. George stood with her back to a tree, rubbing her wrists against the bark to tear off the belt of her dress with which they were bound. Nancy quickly freed her and removed the blindfold. George’s story differed only slightly from Nancy’s.

  “It all happened so fast!” George said. She took a deep breath. “I thought I’d lost the men. When I turned around to go back to you, one of them jumped out of the bushes and tied my scarf over my eyes. I screamed and tried to tear it off. But another man bound my hands and told me to keep still!”

  “Did you see either of them?” Nancy asked.

  “Not enough of their faces to identify them.”

  Nancy led the way out of the woods to the road. The girls, disappointed and chagrined, but thankful nothing harmful had happened, climbed into Nancy’s car and headed for home.

  Suddenly George shook off the mood and grinned. “Those fellows were pretty dumb,” she said. “You have their license number.”

  “And they left some other evidence.” Nancy told of the pieces of the bowl still in her purse. “One of the men might have been Manning.”

  Some time later Nancy stopped in front of George’s house, and her friend got out. “See you tonight at Helen’s birthday party.”

  “You bet. I wouldn’t miss it for anything!”

  Nancy drove to the motor-vehicle office to learn the name of the owner of the maroon coupé, if possible. The man in charge
knew her, and after hearing her story, obligingly telephoned state headquarters for the information.

  “You just got here in time,” he said, while holding the telephone. “We’re about to close.”

  He found that the license plates had been issued to a Paul Scott of Masonville, and that the coupe had been reported stolen that very afternoon!

  “I’ll bet those men planned to hide the car in the woods until they could paint it another color and put different license plates on it,” Nancy said to the man. “May I call the police?”

  “Sure thing. Use my desk phone.”

  After Nancy had talked to Police Chief McGinnis, she drove to Dick Milton’s shop and told him about the leaning chimney in Masonville. Dick was disappointed that the clue had not led to a China clay pit. Then Nancy left him and headed for Mr. Drew’s office. She had promised to pick up her father at six o’clock.

  Fortunately an automobile pulled away from the curb in front of the building where Carson Drew had his law office. Nancy skillfully guided the convertible into the vacant spot. As she was about to get out, she saw a short Chinese gentleman with spectacles and a tiny goatee emerge from the building.

  “Mr. Soong!” she called.

  The Chinese smiled and came over to her.

  “You’re just the person I want to see!” Nancy greeted him. “Can you spare a minute?”

  Mr. Soong nodded. He looked very natty in a gray felt hat and a blue pin-striped suit. He carried a handsome Malacca cane. Nancy opened the door and he seated himself beside her.

  “May I drive you home?” she asked.

  “That would be very kind. I must hurry to keep an engagement.”

  On the way, she told Mr. Soong of her day’s adventures. The Oriental gentleman’s face reflected his amazement. He could not identify John Manning, but he begged Nancy to be extremely careful in further investigations.

  When Nancy pulled up at Mr. Soong’s home, she opened her bag and took out the wrinkled newspaper which held the broken fragments of a Chinese bowl. But first she showed Mr. Soong the symbols she had copied.

  “I hope they’re not as mystifying to you as they are to me,” Nancy remarked.