The Secret in the Old Attic

  “We’d better keep our eyes open,” George answered.

  The house was a rambling structure, partly covered with vines. There was a gray stone section at one end, but the rest was built of clapboards, which were badly weather-beaten.

  “Now that we’re here, may we look inside the house, Mr. March?” Nancy asked as she pulled up at the front door. “Maybe the four of us together can find that lost music.”

  “I’ll be grateful if you’ll try,” he replied. “Your young eyes no doubt are sharper than mine.”

  As Nancy gazed at the stone wing, she thought that it appeared to be much older than the rest of the house and asked Mr. March about it.

  “That part was built way back when people around here had plenty of servants,” he explained. “We’ll go in there first.”

  He led his callers along a weed-grown path to some moss-covered steps.

  “The lower level of the old building was a stable,” Mr. March explained.

  The girls descended the steps, snapped on a light, and looked inside the stable. It was dirty and cobwebby from years of disuse. The long rows of empty stalls, each with a name posted above it, fascinated them.

  “Running Mate,” Bess read aloud. “And here’s another—Kentucky Blue. How interesting!”

  “Those were the names of two of my grandfather’s horses,” Mr. March explained. “Great racers they were in their day. The Marches kept a stable which was known throughout the country. The trainers lived upstairs.”

  He pointed to a narrow stairway. The girls climbed up, clicked on overhead lights, and glanced into the small bedrooms which ran off a center hallway.

  Nancy looked around carefully for any possible hiding places in the walls or floors where Fipp March might have put the music he had composed. She did not see one anywhere.

  The three girls descended the antique stairway, which groaned beneath their weight. Mr. March escorted them back to the main entrance of the house. He took a large brass key from his pocket and after several attempts succeeded in unlocking the heavy old door. It swung open with a grating sound.

  “The place is pretty bare,” the owner said with a sigh. “I’ve sold nearly all the good furniture. Had to do it to raise money for little Susan.”

  The girls walked into the long, empty hall, which sent out hollow echoes when the visitors spoke. From there Mr. March led them to the music room. The only furniture in it was an old-fashioned piano with yellowed keys and a thread-bare chair in front of it.

  Several other rooms on the first floor were empty and dismal. Heavy silken draperies, once beautiful, but now faded and worn, hung at some of the windows. The dining room still had its walnut table, chairs, and buffet, but a built-in corner cupboard was bare.

  “I sold the fine old glass and china that used to be in there,” Mr. March said to Nancy in a strained voice. “It seemed best. Come. We’ll go upstairs now.”

  Some of the bedrooms on the second floor were furnished, but they did not contain the lovely old mahogany or walnut bedsteads and bureaus one might have expected. A few inexpensive modern pieces had taken the place of those which had been sold.

  Realizing how desperately Mr. March needed money, Nancy kept her eyes open for any objects which could be sold to antique dealers. Apparently almost everything of value had been removed. She asked if the girls might begin their search for the missing music.

  “Go right ahead,” Mr. March told her.

  For the next two hours she, Bess, and George tapped walls, looked into cupboards beside the fireplaces, and examined the flooring for removable boards. Three times Nancy inspected the paneled music room. There seemed to be no clue anywhere.

  “Nothing left to check but the attic,” said the young detective to Mr. March at last. “May we go up there?”

  “I’ll show you the way. It’s a long, steep climb,” he declared, opening the door to a stairway. “I don’t go up there very often. It winds me.”

  After getting a candle, the elderly man conducted the girls to the attic steps.

  “There are no lights, but maybe you can see well enough by candlelight.”

  Nancy chided herself for leaving her flashlight in the car and said she would get it. Just then they heard loud pounding somewhere downstairs.

  “What was that?” Bess asked, startled.

  “It sounded to me as if someone might be hammering on a door!” George suggested.

  Nancy offered to find out, but Mr. March would not hear of this.

  “No, I’ll go,” he insisted. “You girls search the attic in the meantime. I’ll leave the candle.”

  It was so dark in the attic that at first the girls could see little by candlelight. As soon as Nancy’s eyes became accustomed to the dimness, she groped her way forward in the cluttered room.

  “The attic is really very interesting,” she said, surveying the assortment of boxes and trunks. She called her friends’ attention to a fine old table which stood in one corner. “I believe Mr. March could sell that,” she said. “And look at these old-fashioned hatboxes!”

  She picked up one of the round, cardboard boxes. On it was the picture of a gay rural scene of early American life.

  “Let me see that!” exclaimed Bess, blowing off the dust. “Mr. March certainly could get something for this. Only yesterday Mother told me about a hatbox like this which brought a good price at an auction sale.”

  “There are at least a dozen here!” George declared excitedly. “All in good condition, too!”

  They were decorated with pictures of eagles and flowers, as well as scenes of American history. Two of them contained velvet bonnets with feather ornaments.

  “Girls, this attic may be a valuable find!” Nancy exclaimed.

  “Even if we don’t locate the missing music, there may be other things here Mr. March can sell,” George added. “Let’s—”

  She stopped speaking as a cry came from below. It was followed by a shout.

  Rushing to the stairway, Nancy listened anxiously. She heard Mr. March calling her name in a distressed voice.

  “Come quick! I need your help!”

  CHAPTER III

  Bad News

  THOROUGHLY alarmed, Nancy and her friends at once abandoned their search of the attic and hurried down the steep stairway as fast as they could.

  “What can be wrong?” Bess gasped.

  “Maybe Mr. March has fallen and hurt himself,” Nancy suggested.

  George’s face showed her concern. “Oh, we must find him!”

  The girls could not locate the man anywhere on the second floor. Descending to the first, they were relieved to find him uninjured. He was talking excitedly to a middle-aged woman.

  “This is Mrs. French, the friend who’s been looking after Susan,” he explained quickly. He introduced the girls. “She says my little granddaughter is seriously ill.”

  He pointed to a pathetic-looking child who sat huddled in a large living-room chair. Her face was red with fever and her dark hair touseled.

  “It’s not my fault,” Mrs. French spoke up. “I’ve been caring for Susan as I would my own daughter. But all of a sudden she seems to have come down with something.”

  “I’m sure you’re not to blame for Susan’s illness,” Nancy said kindly as she went toward the little girl. “Let’s take Susan to her room and then phone for a doctor.”

  “I don’t feel good,” Susan confessed as Nancy carried her up the stairs, followed by Bess and George.

  “You’ll soon be in your own bed. Then you’ll feel better,” Nancy said comfortingly.

  “Poor little thing,” Bess murmured.

  “My eyes hurt,” the child added wistfully, “and I’m awful hot.”

  This gave Nancy an idea. When they reached the child’s bedroom, she turned the lamp full on Susan.

  “Measles,” she announced, noting the red blotches. “How well I remember when I had them! Same symptoms.”

  “Poor Mr. March!” George whispered. “What’ll he do?
”

  “He hasn’t enough money to get his granddaughter a nurse,” Nancy thought. “And Mrs. French is moving soon and can’t take her back.” Aloud she said, “Girls, do you remember Effie?”

  “That dizzy maid who works for your family once in a while?” George laughed. “How could one forget her?”

  Nancy smiled. “She can be very efficient, as long as she isn’t involved in a mystery. I believe I’ll see if she can come here.”

  “This old homestead already has the makings of a mystery,” George said significantly.

  “Effie would be the solution to the housekeeping problem,” Nancy went on. “I hope Mr. March will agree to having her here.”

  Leaving Bess and George with Susan, Nancy went downstairs to report to Mr. March.

  “I’m glad it’s nothing worse than that!” he said when Nancy explained to him what the trouble probably was. Mrs. French was also greatly reassured.

  “I’ll call Dr. Ivers,” Nancy offered, “but Susan will soon be asleep, I’m sure. Bess, George, and I will take care of her for the night.”

  Mrs. French, although eager to be helpful, seemed relieved to be able to pass on the responsibility for Susan’s care. After Nancy had phoned the doctor and received instructions, she notified her father that the girls were staying. He offered to inform the Faynes and Marvins.

  As soon as Mrs. French left, Mr. March and Nancy went upstairs to see Susan. The child was resting quietly.

  “Measles are not usually serious,” Nancy remarked as they returned to the living room. “But Susan will have to stay in bed for a while.”

  “What am I to do?” the elderly man asked helplessly. “I’ve never taken care of a sick child. Susan has always been so lively and healthy. I just don’t know—” Mr. March broke off in despair.

  This was Nancy’s opportunity to mention Effie as a possible housekeeper. The problem of salary worried Mr. March.

  “I have a surprise for you.” Nancy smiled. “Just before you called us from the attic, we found several fine old hatboxes and a table which can be sold. The money from them will take care of things for a while.”

  Mr. March looked at Nancy gratefully. “You’ve been so good,” he said. “I guess fate led me to your door to ask your help for little Susan.”

  “As soon as things get straightened out here, I’ll go on searching for the music,” Nancy promised.

  The girls tried to make Susan comfortable with meager supplies in the house. Nancy sat up most of the night, acting as nurse to the feverish child. After breakfast the next morning Bess and George took over. Nancy drove to Effie’s house.

  The maid, kind-hearted and loyal to the Drew family, was easily persuaded to take charge at Pleasant Hedges. She packed and left with Nancy. But when Effie glimpsed the huge, barren old dwelling, she almost changed her mind.

  “Oh! Oh!” she wailed. “What am I getting into? Another mystery? This old place looks haunted! I believe I’d better go home!”

  Nancy finally convinced the girl to stay. As Effie began to work, her fears seemed to vanish. She and Nancy had stopped to buy food, and soon Effie was starting preparations for a hot lunch.

  “I’ve done all I can for the time being,” Nancy said wearily to Mr. March, declining his invitation to stay. “Dr. Ivers will be coming soon. The girls and I are going home to get some sleep.”

  “You more than deserve it,” he replied. “I never can thank all of you properly for what you’ve done.”

  The girls put the table and hatboxes in Nancy’s car and rode away. Nancy dropped Bess and George off at their homes. Then she went on to the Drew house.

  “You must be thoroughly exhausted,” Hannah Gruen declared.

  “I may spend most of the day in bed,” Nancy replied. “Later on I’ll go down to Mr. Faber’s Antique Shop and try to sell Mr. March’s things.”

  When Nancy had completed her errand late that afternoon, she came home with a sizable check for the old table and hatboxes. Mr. Drew praised her, then listened attentively to his daughter’s report on the situation at the March mansion.

  “Dad, did you hear anything from the police?” Nancy asked.

  He shook his head. “I guess that without clues we’ll have to forget the stone thrower.”

  Nancy was up early the following morning. She had just finished a hearty breakfast when Hannah Gruen told her that Effie was on the telephone.

  “Effie!” Nancy exclaimed. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

  She dashed out to the hall to answer the call. At first Effie talked so fast and in such an excited voice that Nancy was unable to determine what was wrong.

  “Effie, calm down! I don’t understand a word you’re saying! Has something happened to Susan?”

  “Susan is all right,” the maid admitted in a quieter tone.

  “Then what is wrong?”

  “Everything! Oh, I’m scared! I don’t want to stay!”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Last night—” Effie paused.

  “Yes?” Nancy prompted her.

  “I’d better not tell you any more. Please get out here as fast as you can!”

  Nancy lost no time in driving to the old March homestead. Effie met her at the door.

  “Let’s talk outside,” the maid whispered. “I don’t want Mr. March to hear me. He gets so excited if anything goes wrong.”

  Nancy suppressed a smile. Effie herself often reacted the same way. She followed the maid to a corner of the lawn.

  Effie glanced carefully about her. Then in a half-whisper she began her story.

  “It happened late last night. I kept hearing creaking sounds and couldn’t sleep. So I got up. I was standing looking out the bedroom window when all of a sudden I saw a big, powerfully built man sneaking across the lawn!”

  “Had he come from the house?”

  “He must have. He came around from the back and stole off toward the garage. Then he disappeared. Oh, I don’t like this place! Can’t we take little Susan and go into town?”

  “We shouldn’t move her while she’s ill,” Nancy replied. “After all, you don’t know that the man was actually in the house. There isn’t anything valuable here for anyone to steal.”

  “I guess that’s right,” Effie conceded. “And I saw to it that all the doors and windows were locked before I went to bed.”

  “Suppose we go around now and see if any of them were forced open last night. Which ones did you open this morning?”

  “Only the dining room and kitchen.”

  Together Nancy and Effie inspected the first floor of the house. Mr. March was upstairs with Susan and unaware of their investigation. After each window had been checked and found to have been untouched by any intruder, Effie was greatly relieved.

  “I guess that man wasn’t in here after all,” Effie said with a sigh.

  The maid returned to her work, apparently no longer disturbed. Nancy was far from being satisfied. She went outside to examine the yard. To her dismay she discovered fresh footprints in the soft earth. They circled the house, then led away from a point near the former servants’ quarters.

  “Effie did see someone!” she thought. “But what would a prowler be interested in here?”

  Again Nancy followed the circle of footprints around the mansion. Then an alarming thought struck her. “Maybe he has a skeleton key!”

  Another idea leaped into Nancy’s mind. Perhaps the trespasser had been looking for Fipp March’s unpublished music! He might be the one who had stolen the piece Mr. March had heard on the radio!

  CHAPTER IV

  A Startling Figure

  “I’LL renew my search for the missing compositions at once,” Nancy decided.

  On her way to the attic she stopped to say good morning to Susan and Mr. March. The little girl was sitting up in bed, a big grin on her face. She was listening to her grandfather tell stories.

  “The doctor says I’m almost better, Nancy,” the child said happily. “I’m sure I can get
up soon, and I’m never going away from here again —ever!”

  Mr. March’s eyes glistened with tears, and Nancy was sure she knew what he was thinking. She opened her purse and took out a check made out to the order of Philip March.

  “For me? From Mr. Faber’s Antique Shop?” the elderly man asked, not understanding.

  “For your table and hatboxes. The ones my friends and I found in your attic.”

  “I had no idea they were worth so much! This will tide us over for some time.”

  “And now I’m going to search for something even more valuable—the music.” Nancy smiled.

  “I’m sure you won’t find it,” Mr. March declared sadly. “It’s been stolen, I’m afraid.”

  Nancy did not tell him how near the truth she thought he might be. She said nothing about the mysterious prowler. Instead, she urged Mr. March to be hopeful.

  Nancy realized the mystery would be a long way toward being solved if the elderly gentleman could identify some of the tunes on radio programs. He had no television set and his one radio did not work very well.

  “Mr. March, suppose I bring my portable radio out here tomorrow,” she said. “Carry it around with you all the time. You may hear more of your son’s songs.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  Nancy straightened the covers on Susan’s bed, then said she would start her hunt on the third floor.

  “My friends and I didn’t have a chance to do much searching in the attic the other day,” she told Mr. March. “I guess if the music is in this house, it will be up there.”

  “You may be right. But be careful.”

  When Nancy reached the top of the narrow stairway she turned on her flashlight and looked about, wondering where to begin her hunt. The placed seemed even more spooky than the previous time she had been there. There was a musty odor in the attic. As she stepped forward to open a window, the floorboards groaned.

  Nancy decided to begin her search in an old horsehide trunk. She lifted the lid and saw a yellowed wedding gown of rich, brocaded satin.