Nancy was thrilled. Not only could she learn something from this very fine artist, but perhaps she could unravel the mystery about Mrs. Dondo’s brother.
“If he’s as bad as Mr. Dondo says, I’m surprised that Mr. Bradshaw would associate with him,” Nancy said to herself. Then a troubling thought struck her. Were the two men in league?
“It doesn’t seem possible,” she decided. “Mr. Bradshaw is such a gentleman.” Aloud she said, “I’ll be here by ten o’clock. Thank you so much, Mr. Bradshaw.”
The girl detective had come close to the artist. Now she surreptitiously put her own foot near his and glanced down to make some quick mental measurements. It looked as if Mr. Bradshaw could definitely be eliminated as the suspect who had injured her.
Nancy maneuvered to get near Alonzo Rugby’s street shoes, which he had placed under the bench. She accomplished this when he walked away. As Nancy slid one foot alongside the pair, her heart leaped. The man would bear further investigation!
While Mr. Bradshaw was showing the group a cartoon on which he was working, Alonzo Rugby took Bess by the arm and led her aside. Out of hearing of the others, he whispered, “I want to give you a warning, miss. Don’t let your friend come here to take lessons. Mr. Bradshaw’s wife is the jealous type. A couple of times when he’s had woman students she made life miserable for them. So you had better keep your friend away from here!”
“How do I know this is true?” Bess asked airily.
Alonzo Rugby said she would have to take his word for it. Before he could add anything, Mr. Bradshaw turned around.
“Better get back to the cutting table, Alonzo,” he said pleasantly. “We need that glass for tomorrow morning.”
Alonzo immediately returned to his work, and Bess joined the others. A few minutes later Susan and her friends left the studio. As they rode toward Seven Oaks, Nancy asked Bess what she and Alonzo had been talking about.
“Making a date?” George asked flippantly.
Bess blushed and said indignantly, “Of course not! But, Nancy, you mustn’t go there and take lessons from Mr. Bradshaw!”
“Why not?” Nancy asked in amazement. Bess repeated Rugby’s warning.
At once Susan said, “Why, that’s utterly ridiculous. Alicia Bradshaw is one of the loveliest women I know. She most certainly is not jealous and never interferes with his work.”
Bess looked uncomfortable and her cousin chided her. “I’m surprised at your falling for such a story,” George said.
“Well, I’m glad it happened,” said Nancy. “Bess has been a bigger help than you give her credit for, George. This convinces me that Alonzo Rugby doesn’t want me around that studio.”
“But why?” Susan asked.
Nancy told them of her latest conclusions about the man who had peered in the window. “If he was Rugby, I’m going to find out!” she said with determination.
“He’s dangerous!” Bess exclaimed. “Oh, Nancy, don’t go to the studio.”
Susan spoke up. “I think Bess is right. If he’s the kind of person you think he is, you’d better cancel your appointment.”
Nancy said she did not want to miss this opportunity to ferret out the facts. “I’ll be perfectly safe with Mr. Bradshaw there. I promise you that if he leaves the studio for long, I’ll come home.”
Since it had been a busy day, the girls were glad to retire early. The next morning Nancy took her cousin’s car and set off for Waverly, the paper footprint in her purse. Bess and George were going to play golf with Susan.
When Nancy reached the studio, both Mr. Bradshaw and his assistant were there. Rugby barely nodded to her and went on with his work. He was cutting glass at a bench.
“Good morning, Nancy,” Mr. Bradshaw said cheerfully. “I’ve been thinking that the best way for you to start learning the window-making process would be to make a few sketches—any kind you wish. Then I’ll tell you whether they would divide up well for leading.”
He led Nancy to a drawing board, gave her a smock, paper, and some crayons, then went back to his own work.
Nancy sat, lost in thought for several minutes, then drew a sketch of her dog Togo. She used a background of flowering azaleas and forsythia. Not satisfied with the sketch, she next tried a religious subject. In all she made five before calling Mr. Bradshaw.
“I’m ready,” she said.
All this time Nancy had been aware that Alonzo Rugby had been watching her covertly. He continually found excuses to leave his workbench and glance at Nancy’s sketches. Several times it seemed as though he wanted to say something but had thought better of it and had gone back to his work.
Mr. Bradshaw now looked at the various pictures she had made. “You do have talent,” he said, smiling. “I especially like the picture of the little dog. Is he yours?”
Nancy nodded. Mr. Bradshaw finally remarked that while it would not be impossible to make stained-glass windows from any of the sketches, none of them was exactly right for the best leading process.
“When using human figures,” he said, “it is advisable to show them in an upright position. Or, if they’re leaning over, they must be seen in profile. The same applies to animals. Your picture of the dog is very appealing, but with the light coming through a window, his figure would look foreshortened.”
Nancy thanked the artist for his constructive comments. “I’ll make a few more sketches,” she said.
A banjo clock on the studio wall had just chimed eleven-thirty when Nancy finished her next one. She had drawn a peacock, its fan spread wide open. She felt that if Mr. Bradshaw and Rugby saw it, possibly one or the other would show any unusual interest he might have in the Greystone window. On impulse, Nancy had made the peacock the size she thought the bird on the shield might be.
“It’s pretty good, even if I say so myself,” the young sleuth thought.
As she gazed at it, wondering whether she should call Mr. Bradshaw over, the artist suddenly stood up. He announced that he was going outside to look for a flower of a certain shade of blue to use in a window. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
Nancy fervently hoped Alonzo would follow. Then she could compare his shoe with the paper pattern.
But she was disappointed. The assistant did get up, but instead of going out the door, he turned and came directly to Nancy’s drawing board.
“How do you like it?” she asked casually.
Alonzo snorted. “Pretty bad,” he said. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking up Mr. Bradshaw’s time. Anyone can see that you’re no artist. Where did you get the idea you were?”
Nancy was stunned for a moment by his sharp criticism. She decided, however, that he was still trying to discourage her from coming to the studio.
Aloud she said, “I’ll see what Mr. Bradshaw has to say about it.”
Alonzo Rugby’s eyes blazed. Before Nancy could stop him, he grabbed the sketch from the drawing board, crumpled it into a tight wad, and threw it forcefully across the room. It landed in the fireplace among ashes and half-burned logs!
CHAPTER IX
Surprise Visitors
“WHY, how dare you!” Nancy cried out, realizing her sketch was ruined. “You had no right to do that!”
“Yes, I did,” Rugby said defiantly, his eyes snapping. “If you haven’t got sense enough to get out of here, then I’m the one to see you do!”
Nancy was angry, but also elated. Rugby’s sudden rage had probably been caused by the sight of her peacock drawing.
“It could even mean he thinks I know more than I do about the missing window!” she mused.
Nancy pretended to calm down. “Maybe you’re right, Mr. Rugby. Suppose you show me some of your sketches for stained-glass windows.” Secretly she hoped they would give her a clue to justify her suspicions.
“Very well,” Rugby replied haughtily. “But it won’t help you any in making sketches yourself. Either you’re born with talent or you’re not,” he added.
He showed Nancy a portfolio of
his drawings, all of which seemed mediocre to her. Apparently Mr. Bradshaw had engaged Rugby to help with the mechanical part of stained-glass windowmaking.
After seeing all of the assistant’s pictures, Nancy was disappointed. There were no sketches of knights, horses, shields, or peacocks among them.
“Thank you,” said Nancy. “I’ll try one more sketch before lunchtime.”
As she went back to her drawing board, Mr. Bradshaw returned with several delphiniums of various shades of blue. He held them up for Nancy to see.
“They’re gorgeous,” she said.
“The window I’m working on,” Mr. Bradshaw told her, “will picture a garden of these.”
For the next half hour only the ticking of the clock could be heard as the three artists worked assiduously. By that time Nancy had a new sketch finished. It portrayed Susan Carr in her rose garden.
Mr. Bradshaw came over to look at it. He smiled broadly. “Now you’ve caught on, Nancy. This is excellent,” he said. “It has design, character, and good line structure, yet it is simple enough to make a good stained-glass window.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy looked at Alonzo Rugby. His face was scarlet, and he was casting angry glances in her direction.
“I’m so glad you like it, Mr. Bradshaw,” Nancy said with a lilt in her voice, as if she were saying to Rugby, “See, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The woman in this picture looks like Susan Carr. Is it?” Mr. Bradshaw asked.
“Yes,” Nancy replied, and added, “Do you suppose you could help me make a small stained-glass window from this? I’d like to give it to my cousin.”
“I think so,” the artist replied. “We’ll start tomorrow morning. I have to close shop now. I have an appointment in town.”
Alonzo Rugby took off his lightweight slippers, tucked them into his coat pocket, and put on his shoes. Nancy sighed. There would be no chance to compare either pair of his shoes with the paper pattern of the footprint in the Carr garden.
They all went out, and Mr. Bradshaw locked the door of the studio. Alonzo Rugby said good-by and strode off toward the road. Instead of staying on the gravel path, he stepped onto a little patch of soft earth bordering the driveway. Rugby left perfect imprints of his shoes!
Nancy smiled with satisfaction. The prints would be a good clue. “I’ll come back here after dark,” she told herself, “and compare the left footprint with my pattern.”
It occurred to Nancy that she had better leave something she could pretend to be searching for, in case anyone should find her there. As she walked toward the car with Mr. Bradshaw, Nancy unobtrusively opened her handbag and took out a compact. When he was not looking, she dropped it into some bushes.
“Good-by until tomorrow,” she said to the artist, climbing into the car.
At Seven Oaks, Nancy was eagerly questioned by Susan, Bess, and George as to how she had made out with her sketching and sleuthing. She told them what had happened.
“And tonight I’ll go back there—to pick up my compact,” she said with a chuckle.
Smiling, Bess said, “You’ll have an unexpected escort, Nancy.”
“What do you mean?”
Her friends explained that after Nancy had left, Ned Nickerson had telephoned. He was leaving Emerson College with Burt Eddleton and Dave Evans, friends of George and Bess. The three football players were on their way to Charlottesville for an annual collegiate conference.
Nancy was delighted. “That’s wonderful! And they’re coming out here this evening?”
George nodded. “Susan has invited them to dinner. If you really have to go sleuthing tonight, Nancy,” she added, winking at the others, “I’m sure Ned won’t let you go alone.”
“And I wouldn’t want him to,” said Nancy, grinning broadly.
At seven o’clock that evening the three boys arrived in a taxi. Susan, who had never met any of them, peeked through a window as they came toward the front door.
“That’s Ned in the lead,” Nancy told her. Ned was tall, broad-shouldered, and he had brown eyes and hair.
Dave Evans, who dated Bess, was behind Ned. The young man had a rangy build, dark hair, and flashing green eyes. George’s favorite escort, Burt Eddleton, was blond. He was a little shorter and heavier than the other two.
The girls ran out the front door to greet the new arrivals. Ned took Nancy aside for a moment and whispered in her ear, “Miss me?”
“Sure have,” she said, and added facetiously, “but I’ve been keeping myself busy with Mark Bradshaw.”
“Who’s he?” Ned demanded.
Nancy teased him, replying that she would explain later.
The boys followed their dates into the house and Nancy introduced them to Susan, then to Cliff, who had just come into the living room.
“Good to meet you all,” he said.
At dinner the conversation ranged from football to detective work. After dessert, Ned asked for a complete explanation of the mystery Nancy was trying to solve.
“Mysteries, you mean,” George corrected.
The boys were astounded to hear all that had happened. Ned was relieved to learn who Mark Bradshaw was, and asked if there was something he could do that very evening to track down the villain. Nancy told him what she had in mind.
“Perfect,” he said. “When do we start?”
“Let’s go at about eleven o’clock,” Nancy suggested. “The Bradshaws probably will be asleep by then.”
Shortly before eleven, she and Ned started out in the convertible. The moon would not rise until late, but the stars were shining brilliantly. Ned parked some distance beyond the Bradshaws’ driveway. Then the couple walked quietly on the grass along the driveway.
They passed the house without seeing anyone and went on toward the studio. About three hundred feet from it, Nancy whispered, “I suggest that you wait here, Ned. I’m trying to keep my sleuthing a secret. If Mr. Bradshaw or Alonzo Rugby should notice a strange man’s footprints alongside mine, they might question me.”
Ned agreed and stopped to wait for her in the shadow of some tall bushes. Nancy tiptoed across the driveway and continued to the studio. The young detective was just about to take her flashlight and paper pattern of the footprint from her bag when she became aware of a figure inside the studio.
At that instant the door opened and a flashlight was directed toward Nancy! Quickly she dodged behind the building and by a fraction of a second avoided detection. She heard the door close and footsteps inside.
For an instant Nancy was tempted to run back and get Ned. Then she realized that the intruder in the studio might leave and she would not be able to find out who he was. Cautiously she moved up to one of the windows.
By the time Nancy reached it, the light inside had been extinguished. For several seconds all was silent and dark. Then the light went on again. Nancy gasped!
Alonzo Rugby!
“What in the world is he doing here at this time of night?” Nancy asked herself.
Suddenly Rugby reached inside the fireplace and withdrew a crumpled paper. It was the sketch of the peacock Nancy had made that morning!
Rugby smoothed out the paper on the floor and studied the drawing.
“Why is he so interested in my sketch?” she mused.
As she watched, Alonzo picked up the drawing and slipped it into his portfolio, which he tucked under his arm, and left the studio. To Nancy’s amazement, he turned left and headed toward the woods.
“I’d like to know where he’s going,” Nancy thought, and she began to follow him.
She crept quietly behind the man. This was not difficult because the path among the trees was fairly smooth and Rugby’s flashlight, which he held close to the ground, was powerful enough to light her way. She remained a reasonable distance behind the man, who did not turn once.
Presently the path forked. Rugby took the righthand turn and in a few minutes reached the bank of Eddy Run. He pulled a canoe from the shadows and
shoved it into the water. He laid the portfolio on the bottom of the craft, then picked up a paddle and set off upstream toward Ivy Hall and Cumberland Manor.
“He must live up there somewhere,” Nancy told herself as she turned back.
Clicking on her own flashlight, Nancy started back through the woods to look for a clear impression of Rugby’s footprints. At the intersection of the two paths she found a deep one. She compared the paper pattern with it.
“It’s the same length and width!” she exclaimed.
Nancy knew it would be difficult to identify a suspect from just a shoe size. And there were no distinctive marks on the soles or heels of the shoes Rugby had been wearing. In contrast, the pair worn by the man who had pitched the stone at her had contained a small circle in the heel.
“Just the same, I believe that person was Alonzo Rugby,” Nancy concluded. “And I’m going to find out all I can about him to prove either his guilt or his innocence!”
The young sleuth had just made this decision when the stillness was shattered by the loud barking of a dog. Nancy soon realized that it was searching for her.
Worried, she decided to take refuge in a tree. Beaming her light around, she quickly shinned up a medium-sized oak tree. Just as she reached the first limb, a large Doberman pinscher bounded into view. He jumped up angrily, pawing the tree.
“Go home! Shoo!” Nancy commanded, but the dog showed no signs of leaving and growled loudly. “I’m literally treed!” she murmured ruefully.
The dog stopped growling long enough for Nancy to hear approaching footsteps. Someone was running in her direction.
“This beast’s owner, no doubt,” Nancy decided.
The pinscher, intent on his quarry, apparently was not aware that someone was coming. Nancy flashed her light as a guide. A moment later Ned appeared.
“Look out!” she exclaimed in warning.
At the same moment, the pinscher noticed Ned and lunged at him. But the football player neatly sidestepped the dog, Then, with a grip of steel, he grasped the animal by the collar with one hand. The dog snapped and yelped, trying his best to bite Ned.