Nancy smiled. "I know what you mean."
After Peter Worden had taken his leave of the three girls, they walked across the marble lobby and out through the heavy bronze doors into the sunshine.
As they followed a flagstone path to the parking lot, Bess said, "Gee, I could really go for a milkshake right now. How about you two?"
Her companions smiled and George said, "Nancy, I can see this poor girl's about to faint. We'd better get her some nourishment fast!"
Each took hold of one of Bess's arms. Veering off across the museum park, they walked her quickly to a nearby ice-cream parlor, where they sank into the nearest booth, laughing and out of breath.
While they waited for their orders to be served, Nancy told her two friends about the museum break-ins.
"Wow!" exclaimed Bess. "Did they take anything, Nancy?"
"Apparently not. But I have a feeling they may be back. Which reminds me, I have a phone call to make. Hold down the fort a sec."
There was a phone booth in the back of the store. Slipping in a coin, Nancy dialed Emily Owsler's number. Fortunately the retired maid was home, and she remembered how angry Louise Duval had been when the painting donated by her family was taken off the museum wall.
"Could Miss Duval's research project have had anything to do with that painting?" Nancy asked.
Emily Owsler was silent a moment before replying. "Well, not that I know of. I remember she called in some famous art expert from New York about the painting. She wanted to get back at the museum curator and prove the painting was more valuable than he realized. But this foreign research thing was different. She was very secretive about that."
With a sigh, the maid ended, "It's too bad, dear, that I can't remember more about it. I wish I could help you."
"You already have, Miss Owsler," Nancy said gratefully. On a sudden inspiration, she added, "And maybe you can help me a bit more. Could you tell me what other interests Miss Duval had?"
"Of course. She was just crazy about playing bridge. She belonged to a club that was made up of the best women bridge-players in and around River Heights."
"Oh, great. I don't suppose you'd know if any of them are still alive?"
"As a matter of fact I do, Nancy. You see, they used to take turns playing in each other's homes, so I got to see them all quite frequently, and I remember one who was quite a bit younger than the others. Mrs. Leon Ferbury, her name was."
"And you think she may still be alive?" Nancy asked eagerly.
"Oh, I know she is," Emily Owsler declared. "I saw her picture in the paper just recently. She was giving a charity ball."
Nancy thanked the former maid and hung up with a feeling of fresh hope. Then she went back to the booth to enjoy her chocolate milkshake with Bess and George.
After driving her friends home, Nancy turned westward across town in the direction of Pierre Michaud's workshop. She felt it was time to report her progress on the case so far. She thought Pierre would be especially interested in hearing about Lisa Thorpe, and to learn that the attractive girl was still willing to help him.
Nancy parked on the cement apron outside the two-story brick building and went in. Nyra Betz, wearing a green pantsuit, looked up from her desk with a scornful sniff.
"Oh, back so soon?"
Ignoring the girl's catty tone, Nancy merely smiled and nodded. But suddenly Nyra seemed to lose her unfriendly attitude. Her glowering face took on a sly, amused look as if she were enjoying some secret joke.
Nancy was puzzled by her change in expression. Before she could take time to fathom what might be going on in Nyra's head, however, Pierre came striding out of the back room. He had on a shop apron to protect his shirt and slacks, and was carrying a toolbox in one hand.
"Ah, bonjour, Nancy!" he exclaimed eagerly on seeing the titian-haired young sleuth. "What good news do you bring us?"
"Nothing very dramatic," she chuckled. "Just thought I'd bring you up to date on what's happened so far."
"Excellent! It is almost noon, so why not tell me over lunch?"
Nancy hesitated, slightly embarrassed that she had dropped in without thinking of the time. "Actually, I just had a milkshake. . ."
"No matter," Pierre cut in with a smile before she could refuse. "If the food does not tempt you, simply talk and I shall listen. Just give me a few moments to finish what I was doing."
The Frenchman explained that he was assembling a desktop computer model containing his new memory device. Nancy watched him install its cover, then insert and tighten the screws to hold it in place. She could not help admiring his deft, precise workmanship with tools.
"Tout finiV he announced presently, then excused himself to go and wash up. When he returned, he had shed his apron and put on a tie and sports jacket. "Shall we go?"
Nancy felt Nyra's eyes burning a hole in her back as they went out of the workshop.
Pierre gallantly held the driver's-side door open while Nancy slid in behind the wheel, then went around the car to get in himself.
Nancy had just started the engine and was shifting into drive when Pierre exclaimed angrily, "Stop! Let me get out!"
7. The Secret Seal
Pierre flung open the car door, jumped out, and slammed it behind him. Then he strode off into his workshop.
Nancy was mystified by the young Frenchman's sudden rudeness. Up until this moment, he had always behaved with the utmost gallantry and politeness. Something must have upset him, she realized. I suppose I'd better find out what's wrong.
With a sigh, she switched off the ignition, got out, and followed him into the workshop. Pierre was standing with his back to the door, running his hands through a tray of electronic parts. From the way he would pick one up and toss it down again, he looked as though he was trying to get his temper under control.
Nyra Betz was still seated at the typewriter, tapping the keys as if unaware that anything unusual had happened. But from her smug, sidelong glance as Nancy entered the workshop and her poisonous, purse-lipped little smile, it was clear that she was thoroughly enjoying the situation.
"Do you mind telling me what's wrong, Pierre?" Nancy inquired mildly.
He swung around to face her, still flushed and fuming. "Are you implying you don't know?"
"I'm afraid I haven't the vaguest idea."
"Tres bien, I shall show you!"
He strode out the door again, toward Nancy's trim, blue sports car. She followed him outside. Pulling open the passenger door, he pointed accusingly toward the instrument panel. "Perhaps you would care to explain this, Miss Drew!"
At first Nancy could not imagine what he was talking about. But when she went around to the other side of the car and slid in behind the wheel, she saw that his finger was jabbing at a small, blue-and-white sticker. It bore the name DATA-LINC, written in stylized script as if it were a trademark.
"Where on earth did that come from?" Nancy murmured in surprise. When she scratched it with her fingernail, she saw that it was held in place by transparent tape.
"Are you trying to make me believe you know nothing about it?" Pierre demanded suspiciously.
"I'm not trying to make you believe anything. I never even noticed it until you pointed it out."
"Then how did that Data-Line seal get there?"
"Hm, good question." By now, Nancy had peeled off the tape and was examining the small piece of paper bearing the blue-and-white name or emblem. "Looks as though it might have been cut off an envelope or letterhead."
Suddenly she gasped and shot a startled glance at the young Frenchman. "Wait a minute! I've just remembered something!"
"Indeed? And what is that, may I ask?"
Nancy related how her two friends had seen an unknown girl poking into her car that morning. "I assumed she was probably trying to steal something, but couldn't because my glove compartment was locked. Now it's obvious she must have been sticking this on the dashboard."
"But why? Can you answer me that?"
"Not yet," Na
ncy said coolly, "but I might be able to make a guess if you'd tell me first why the sight of this made you so angry."
"I will certainly tell you," Pierre replied. "Data-Line is the name of a computer company which had tried again and again to snoop on my work and harass me in every way possible. They know that as soon as my memory device comes on the market, it will make their own products out of date. So naturally they wish to stop me at any cost."
Nancy nodded thoughtfully. "I see."
"If you are working for that contemptible company," he went on in a sharp voice, "I would prefer that you drop my case at once!"
It was clear that he suspected Nancy of industrial espionage. No doubt her investigation of the Duval mystery seemed to Pierre like a perfect cover for snooping on his computer work.
The young sleuth smiled. "Don't worry, I've never even heard of the Data-Line Company before."
Pierre's angry expression gave way to a puzzled frown. Nancy sensed that he wanted very much to believe her but was still afraid that he might be fooled. "And how do you explain the girl sticking that Data-Line emblem inside your car?" he queried.
"Someone wanted to get me in trouble,"
Nancy replied with a shrug, "by making it look as though I had some connection with Data-Line. Whoever did it hoped to make you so suspicious that you'd tell me to stop investigating the Duval mystery. And the plan nearly worked."
Privately, she was thinking that the mischief maker had to be someone close enough to Pierre to know about his trouble with the Data-Line Company. Nancy reflected that this made Nyra Betz a prime suspect, especially since she seemed so jealous and resentful of Nancy's close investigating relationship with the handsome Frenchman.
In fact, the more Nancy thought about it, the better Nyra seemed to fit the role. She could have cut the emblem off an envelope or advertisement and carried it around in her purse, along with a roll of tape, just waiting for the right opportunity. And on seeing Nancy's car parked on the street that morning, she could have seized her chance.
Bess's description of the culprit as "a tall, skinny girl with sort of light brown hair" certainly fitted Nyra Betz to a T!
Meanwhile, Pierre's frown was slowly changing, first to bewilderment, then to a sheepish grin. "I fear that I have made a very foolish and hasty mistake," he said with a contrite bow.
"Can you possibly forgive me, Miss Drew?"
Nancy's blue eyes twinkled. "Okay, you're forgiven . . . that is, if you promise to go on being suspicious of anything out of the ordinary, at least until we get to the bottom of this mystery. Now, how about finding a restaurant? I'm famished!"
Pierre smiled back. "I insist that you be my guest!"
As they drove away, Nancy glimpsed Nyra Betz watching them from one of the workshop windows. She looked furious.
Over a delicious lunch of chicken and avocado salad, the young sleuth filled Pierre in on the events since she had taken over the case. As Nancy expected, he was especially interested in hearing about Lisa Thorpe and pleased by the news that she still wanted to help him.
Pierre in turn related that his financial backer, Mr. Varney, was coming to the workshop tomorrow. He invited Nancy to meet him.
"Thanks, I'd like to very much," she replied. "Is he from New York City?"
"He may be. I am not sure. That is where he first got in touch with me, but now that you mention it, I am not sure where his office is located. As I may have mentioned, he seems a very modest, retiring sort of person."
Pierre explained that Varney's main interest in life appeared to be helping struggling young scientists and inventors turn their ideas into successful businesses. As long as his investment of money paid off, he seemed content to remain in the background.
After driving Pierre back to his workshop, Nancy found a public telephone. Leafing through the directory, she looked up the name of the woman whom the maid, Emily Owsler, had said was a member of Louise Duval's bridge club.
Mrs. Leon Ferbury herself answered Nancy's ring. She sounded delighted at the young sleuth's phone call. "Why, of course, Miss Drew," she gushed. 'Til be glad to tell you anything I can about my dear friend Louise. How soon shall I expect you?"
"In about the ten minutes it'll take me to drive to your house," Nancy responded with a smile, "if that's convenient."
"Splendid!"
Mrs. Ferbury turned out to be a stout, bright-eyed woman with a lively manner and hair so golden that Nancy suspected its color could only have come out of a bottle. But her manner was warm and sincere.
"How exciting to be interviewed by such a famous young detective! Do sit down, dear,
while I ring for tea. And I'm sure you'd like a few little cakes to nibble on."
Nancy smiled and shook her head. "Thanks, but I just finished lunch not long before I called."
"All the better! You'll love these, they're delicious little petit s four sY'
Nancy explained that she was looking into a mysterious research project which Louise Duval had embarked on shortly before her death.
"Oh yes, I know exactly what you mean," said Mrs. Ferbury. "Poor Louise was constantly dropping hints about it."
"Then you know what the project concerned?" Nancy inquired eagerly.
"Ah, no, I'm afraid not. One could see that Louise was practically bursting to tell our bridge club all about it. But she was determined to keep her secret until all the details were worked out. Once her research man completed the project, however—oh my! Then I feel sure Louise would have made it a very exciting occasion when she announced the results!"
"I don't suppose you happen to know who the man was?"
"Oh, but of course I do, my dear! He was a professor at Westmoor University. Let me see now . . . what was his name?" Mrs. Ferbury frowned and fingered her fluffy golden hair, then showed her teeth in a sudden smile. "Oh, yes, yes, of course—I knew it would come back to me! Professor Crawford, his name was!"
Nancy felt a thrill of excitement. "Thanks ever so much, Mrs. Ferbury. You've been a tremendous help!"
Before following up this new clue, Nancy Drew had another important matter to attend to. An idea had gradually been taking shape in her mind about how to catch the museum intruders. But in order to have any chance of success, her scheme would have to be tried promptly.
Her blue car whizzed through the streets of River Heights and soon turned into the parking lot adjoining the museum building. Hurrying inside, she made her way to the curator's office on the second floor.
As she walked in, Mr. Gregory rose to his feet and beamed at the young detective. "You certainly have an uncanny sense of timing, Nancy!" he announced.
"I didn't hear any alarm go off when I walked in the lobby," she chuckled. "What is it this time?"
"My staff has just discovered what those mysterious intruders were after."
Nancy was startled. "Congratulations !" she said. "It was some valuable item in the museum's collection, I presume?"
The curator shrugged. "Well, yes and no. They were after a painting, though I'm not sure how valuable it is. To be precise, it's the painting that was presented by the Duval family when the museum first opened."
8. A Dangerous Plan
Nancy caught her breath in surprise. The Duval family again! This had to be more than a coincidence, she felt.
"How did you staff find out the intruders were trying to steal that particular painting?" she asked the curator.
"Because it's gone."
Nancy was dismayed at this unexpected news. Now more than ever she was convinced that the stolen painting must be connected in some way with the mystery of Louise Duval's letter to Pierre's grandfather. But with the picture gone, she might never learn what linked the two cases.
"Exactly how was the robbery discovered?" she asked, probing for a clue.
Mr. Gregory explained that when the stack of crates was knocked over in the basement storage area during the second break-in, several were smashed open and their contents spilled out.
"It was rather a mess," he went on, "especially since the whole storage area is littered and long overdue for a cleanup. Anyhow, to make sure everything was restored to its proper place, my staff had to check and make sure each item got put back where it belonged."
"How did they do that?"
"When anything is assigned to storage," Mr. Gregory replied, "it's logged by its number in the museum collection. Its storage location is also entered in the logbook, and by that I mean the crate or rack or shelf on which the object will be placed. I'd already asked the staffers to bring up the Duval painting for you to look at, so while they were going through the logbook, they decided to attend to that at the same time. But when they went to get the painting, they found out it was missing from its slot in the rack."
Nancy knit her brow thoughtfully. "If that's the case, the robbers may have taken other things too," she said, "but perhaps your staff just hasn't discovered they're missing yet."
The balding curator nodded. "That's possible, of course. But, you see, something else happened which also indicates the thieves were after the Duval painting."
"What was that?" Nancy inquired with keen interest.
"One of my staff assistants, Miss Heron, now tells me she had a phone call about it on the afternoon before the second break-in."
Mr. Gregory related that the caller had asked where the Duval painting was hung, saying he had looked for it during a recent visit to the museum but hadn't been able to find it. Miss Heron then informed him that the picture was no longer on display, that it had been taken down to the basement storage area some years ago.
"This could have been what led the intruders to search the storage room," the curator surmised.
Nancy was inclined to agree. "Actually, I came to offer a suggestion. But from what you've just told me, I guess it's too late to do any good," she added with a rueful smile.
"What did you have in mind, Nancy?"
Before the pretty young sleuth could reply, there was a knock on the door.