The Clue of the Tapping Heels

The mousetrap was a new one and had a heavy spring. While Bess held the trap, Nancy pulled up the heavy wire with all her strength. When George pulled back her finger, Nancy let the wire go and the trap flew halfway across the room.

  Bess was incensed. “I’ll bet Gus Woonton put this here on purpose,” she said. “He has an evil mind.”

  She and Nancy were concerned about George. “You must put your finger in ice water right away,” Nancy told her. “I’ll get some ice for you.”

  “Oh, I can do it,” George assured her. “I guess I’m lucky that the trap didn’t break my finger.”

  She insisted upon taking care of the injury herself, so Nancy and Bess continued their hunt for hiding places in the secret bedroom. Nancy swung her flashlight into the area where the mousetrap had been. She could detect nothing but dust in the hidden recess. The rest of the cupboard yielded no clue either.

  “Nancy, I guess we’ll have to give up,” Bess told her chum. “Let’s go upstairs and see how George is making out.”

  “Just a minute,” Nancy requested. “Actually we haven’t investigated this room and the bath thoroughly.”

  Every inch of the ceiling, walls, and floor were inspected again. Finally the girls’ search was rewarded. They found a loose floor board under the bed. There was a small hollow space beneath it but no treasure lay within.

  “If there ever was anything in here,” said Nancy, “it has been taken out and I’d guess not long ago.”

  Finally the girls went upstairs. George was still soaking her finger in the ice water, but Mrs. Bealing had brought a bottle of witch hazel. She soaked a piece of cotton, wound it around George’s finger and put on a bandage.

  “That should do the trick,” she said. “Incidentally, I don’t see how any mice could get into that room downstairs. Besides, you say the trap wasn’t baited. This means that evil man put it there, hoping to harm somebody.”

  “And he did,” George said ruefully.

  Early in the afternoon Nancy telephoned the Beverly. Mr. Pratt told her that Gus Woonton did indeed know Morse code. “He learned it in our craft shop. Please tell me why you inquired about that.”

  “Because we think that possibly Gus is hiding in this house and may be responsible for the strange tapping-heel sounds we hear at night, sometimes in Morse code. He did spell out one sentence.”

  “That’s a unique situation,” Mr. Pratt remarked. “With you and the police and ourselves hunting for Gus, he should be caught soon.”

  Nancy said she would pass along the latest information about Gus to the authorities, then expressed her thanks and said good-by. Two minutes later she was talking with the sergeant on duty at Berryville Police Headquarters. He said that unfortunately it would not be possible to put a twenty-four-hour stakeout on the Carter home.

  “We’re short-handed with some of the men on vacation,” he explained. “I suggest that Miss Carter engage the services of a private detective agency. Of course we’ll take a look around the house every time we go through Amity Place.”

  Nancy was disappointed. She felt that the police were not taking the mystery seriously enough. Furthermore, she was sure Miss Carter could not afford the services of private detectives.

  “We girls will just have to do it ourselves,” Nancy decided.

  When she mentioned this to Bess and George, the latter said, “But you can’t watch tonight, Nancy. You have a rehearsal.”

  “Yes, I know. But how about you two detec tives standing guard?”

  The cousins looked at each other. Finally Bess said, “Of course we’ll do it, Nancy. George and I will take a nap this evening, then spend the night watching.”

  When Hannah Gruen heard that Nancy had to return to River Heights that evening and Ned would not be there to take her to the rehearsal, the housekeeper insisted upon going along.

  “You’ve had so many narrow escapes, I want to keep you from any more danger.”

  Nancy laughed. “You’re such a dear, Hannah,” she said. “Well, be prepared for anything.”

  Everyone had an early supper, then Bess and George went to take naps. Mrs. Bealing was to call them at nine o‘clock.

  Nancy and Hannah left. They were alert to danger all the way, but the ride to River Heights was without incident.

  “I’m afraid I cheated you out of some excitement,” Nancy told Hannah. “Nobody followed us or tried to harm either of us.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Hannah said.

  They entered the school auditorium. Mrs. Gruen insisted upon sitting in the second row.

  Nancy laughed. “The orchestra may make you deaf.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” the housekeeper said.

  In a few minutes the rehearsal began. The director said it was getting so close to performance time that he had decided to have the scenery set up.

  “I want you to get used to it so your movements through doorways and on the stairs will look natural.”

  As the rehearsal proceeded, Mr. Skank began to nod approvingly at the various performers. Nancy came in for her share of praise for her early tap number.

  Her second dance took place near a heavy side wall. It was not raised and lowered by pulleys; but had heavy braces behind it so that it could be pushed to wherever it was needed.

  Nancy was about halfway through her number when others on the stage became aware that the wall was teetering. Suddenly it began to fall toward Nancy.

  “Look out!” several actors warned.

  “Nancy!” Hannah Gruen screamed.

  Instinctively Nancy glanced over her shoulder. She was horrified at what she saw. It was not possible to escape the falling wall!

  Instantly four quick-witted young men sprang forward. Two caught the front end of the wall, the others the rear. Carefully they eased it to the floor.

  Mr. Skank rushed over. “Are you all right?” he asked Nancy.

  She nodded, then said, “I wonder what caused the set to fall.”

  “Somebody’s carelessness,” the director replied angrily. “I’m going to find out!”

  One of the young actresses, who had been backstage, came running forward. She said that a short, heavy-set man who was not connected with the play had been leaning against the wall.

  “The next thing I knew the scenery was falling. It almost seemed as if he had done it on purpose.”

  “Where is he now?” the director asked.

  The girl said he had run away as soon as the wall had started to tumble.

  Everyone rushed from the stage to find the man, but he had disappeared. Nancy said nothing to the others but she had a strong hunch he might have been Gus Woonton and that he had intended to harm her.

  “He’s really dangerous,” she told herself. An involuntary shiver went down her spine as she thought of perhaps meeting him face to face.

  Suddenly the wall began to fall toward Nancy!

  The wall was put back in place and the rehearsal continued. By the time it was over, Nancy had begun to feel hungry. It had been hours since the early supper at Miss Carter’s house.

  As she and Hannah started off in the car, Nancy said, “Let’s stop at Finch’s Soda Shop for ice-cream sundaes.”

  Mrs. Gruen laughed. “I’m kind of hungry myself,” she admitted. “But Finch’s is a place for young people.”

  Nancy patted Hannah’s hand. “There’s always room for you with this young person.” Mrs. Gruen beamed.

  When they walked in, all the tables were taken, so the two seated themselves on stools at the counter.

  “Hi, Roscoe!” Nancy said to the clerk. “Two vanillas with fudge sauce, please. We’re starved. How about some of your good cookies, too?”

  “Coming right up,” Roscoe replied. Then he leaned across the counter and whispered to Nancy, “The police were here looking for you. They missed you at the school and thought you might stop here.”

  “Did the officers say what they wanted?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes. The sergeant is expecting you at headq
uarters to identify a burglar.”

  CHAPTER XV

  The New Lead

  ROSCOE had the sundaes ready in a jiffy. “Eat up,” he said. “You’ll need your strength to face that burglar!” A broad grin spread over the clerk’s face.

  Nancy smiled back. “I’d say I have the advantage because he’s behind bars.”

  “You win,” said Roscoe. “I might have known better than to try getting ahead of you. Working on a new mystery?”

  “Yes. Got any clues?”

  “What kind?” the clerk asked, his eyes twinkling. “I have all sorts of clues filed away.”

  The subject was not pursued, because new customers came in and Roscoe had to wait on them.

  “We’d better hurry,” Nancy told Hannah. “I wonder if the suspect the police are holding is Gus Woonton.”

  She and Mrs. Gruen ate quickly. Nancy paid the clerk and they left the soda shop.

  When they reached headquarters, a sergeant, named Scott, whom Nancy had never seen before, was on duty. She introduced herself and Mrs. Gruen, and the officer said he would call a man to take them to the cell block.

  “A pudgy man was brought in a short time ago,” he explained. “He hasn’t gone to bed yet. Tell me if you recognize him or have ever seen him around here or in Berryville.”

  The two visitors were led along the cell block. Most of the prisoners were asleep. The guard stopped in front of the cell in which the suspect sat. His light was still on.

  Nancy got only a quick glimpse of his face because he instantly turned his back. The guard ordered the prisoner to come forward but he refused. The officer tried to make him talk, but got no response.

  “Never mind,” Nancy whispered to the guard. “I’m sure I haven’t seen this man before, either here or in Berryville. How about you, Hannah?”

  The Drews’ housekeeper shook her head. She and Nancy were ushered back to the main room and told Sergeant Scott that they could not identify the suspect.

  “What name did he give you?” Nancy asked.

  “He refused to give any,” the sergeant replied. “He was picked up tonight trying to rob a jewelry store. Chief McGinnis told us you’re looking for a pudgy suspect, so I thought this man might be the one.”

  “I don’t believe so,” Nancy said, “but you might try a trick on him. The one we’re looking for knows Morse code. If you could have someone casually tap out words on a telegrapher’s key and make a mistake while the prisoner is listening, he might involuntarily speak up and give himself away.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” the sergeant said. “We’ll try it. If we have any luck, I’ll let you know.”

  Nancy and Mrs. Gruen went home. Mr. Drew was still up, waiting to tell them what he had learned that day about the case. First, the lawyer listened eagerly to his daughter’s story, then said he had some news of his own for her.

  “Toby Simpson was a great help to me and came up with some good leads. He learned that Mr. and Mrs. Woonton, although they had lived in St. Louis, had passed away in Chicago.

  “After calling two of my lawyer friends there,” Mr. Drew went on, “I found out that an administrator had been appointed for their son Gus. And guess what the administrator’s name is?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Nancy replied. “Who is it? Man or woman?”

  “A man named W. F. Bunce.”

  Nancy was startled and leaned forward eagerly. “You mean he might be the Mr. Bunce who lives next door to Miss Carter?”

  “He could be,” the lawyer answered, “but let’s not jump to conclusions. At the time he was appointed administrator W. F. Bunce lived in St. Louis.

  “After I’d made several more phone calls, it seemed evident that he had moved away from there sometime ago. No W. F. Bunce was listed in the St. Louis telephone directory nor did he have an unlisted number. And the post office had no forwarding address.”

  “How did you find out he had been appointed administrator?” Nancy queried.

  “William Woonton’s will was probated in Chicago. W. F. Bunce was left in total charge of the estate. He was both executor and administrator. You know I don’t like to be suspicious, but when I learned that payments to the Beverly stopped at the time of the Woontons’ deaths—they were killed in an automobile accident-I began to wonder about this W. F. Bunce.”

  Nancy was excited by the latest clue and eager to pursue it. Her father said he must be at his office early the next morning and would leave the follow-up to her. First she looked in the phone book covering Berryville. No W. F. Bunce was listed; only Frederick Bunce.

  The idea of a ruse to trap him popped into Nancy’s mind. She said to Mrs. Gruen, “Will you do me a big favor, Hannah?” Nancy glanced at her wrist watch. “It’s only eleven o‘clock. Will you please telephone Fred Bunce’s house and ask if it is the residence of W. F. Bunce.”

  “Suppose the person who answers says yes,” Hannah remarked. “Then what do I do?”

  “Say that someone will bring an important message to Mr. Bunce tomorrow morning.”

  Mrs. Gruen was a bit nervous about making the call, but she dialed the number and waited.

  Mrs. Bunce answered the phone. “Hello?”

  Hannah Gruen spoke in as deep a voice as she could and asked, “Is this the residence of W. F. Bunce?”

  There was a startled cry from the other end of the wire, then Mrs. Bunce said, “Uh—no. You have the wrong number.” She hung up.

  “Ah-ha!” said the housekeeper. “Nancy, I think you’ve hit upon something important. Do you suppose Fred Bunce really is the W. F. Bunce you’re looking for?”

  Nancy thought this quite possible. The question was, Why had he moved next door to the Woontons’ former residence? Could he be the person who was entering mysteriously and hunting for some hidden treasures?

  The housekeeper sighed. “This thing is getting so mixed up I can’t make head nor tail of who’s who or what’s what. When is it ever going to be straightened out?”

  “I feel the same way,” Nancy agreed. “I can’t wait to follow up this new lead.”

  Before Nancy started off for Miss Carter’s the next day, Mrs. Gruen said, “Do be careful. Put up the top of your convertible and lock yourself in.”

  “All right and don’t worry. I hope the next time I talk to you, I can report that the mystery’s solved.”

  Nancy packed a few extra clothes, then kissed Hannah good-by and drove to Berryville. Bess and George were waiting in the driveway when she reached Miss Carter’s house.

  “Hi, girls!” Nancy called out. “I’m surprised that you’re still up. You should be getting some sleep. Tell me, did anything happen last night?”

  “Not a thing,” Bess replied. “No cat thief, no tapper, nobody sneaking around.”

  “The only thing interesting,” George put in, “were the lights in the Bunces’s house.”

  “What do you mean?”

  George said she doubted that the Bunces went to bed at all. “Lights were popping on and off in various rooms most of the night. I wonder what they were doing.”

  Nancy told about her latest lead in the mystery which concerned a W. F. Bunce, whom she suspected might be Fred Bunce. The other girls were amazed.

  “What are you going to do about it?” Bess asked her.

  “You say the couple was up during the night?” Nancy replied with a faraway look. “Well, maybe they’re asleep now. All the shades on this side of the house are drawn.”

  George told her that the shades had been drawn throughout the house. “A couple of times I went out of the garage and walked around for exercise. I noticed that every shade in the place was down.”

  Nancy wondered how long to wait before going next door to learn what she could about the couple. It was now nine forty-five.

  “I think ten o‘clock is late enough,” she decided.

  Fifteen minutes later the girls knocked on the rear door. There was no response. They tried the front doorbell. The Bunces did not answer this, either.
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  Nancy used the door knocker. It resounded loudly. Still no one appeared.

  “Do you suppose they’re still asleep with all this racket?” Bess asked.

  Nancy shrugged. “George, would you go back to Miss Carter’s and phone the Bunces? That should wake them up.”

  George hurried inside but returned in a few minutes, saying there had been no response.

  “Maybe the couple has gone out,” Nancy said. “I’ll look in their garage.”

  The doors were closed but she peered through a window. There was no car inside.

  It occurred to Nancy that possibly Hannah Gruen’s telephone call to the Bunces the night before had frightened them and they had left. At that moment a neighbor on the other side of the house came out.

  “Are you looking for Mr. and Mrs. Bunce?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Nancy replied. “We’re staying with Miss Carter and wanted to speak to them.”

  “Well, I’m afraid that’s impossible,” the neighbor said. “About six o‘clock this morning a truck came here. The driver loaded it with a lot of boxes and bags. The Bunces followed in their car.”

  “By any chance do you know the license number of the Bunces’s car?” Nancy asked the woman.

  “Funny you should ask that and I can say yes. I remember it because the letters in it happen to be my initials and the numbers are the reverse of those on my car.” She gave the full license number.

  “Thank you very much,” Nancy said. “And now please excuse me. I must hurry inside and make a phone call.”

  She dashed into the house and dialed her father. “Oh, Dad, we’ve missed again!” she said woefully. “But here’s the Bunces’s license number. Perhaps you can check to whom it was issued and maybe the police can stop the car before it disappears.”

  Mr. Drew said he would check the name of the owner. As for stopping the couple on the road, he had no right to ask this.

  “We have no concrete evidence against Mr. Bunce, nothing but suspicions,” he reminded his daughter. “But I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  When Nancy finished talking, Bess asked, “Do you mind if I use your car? I have some errands to do downtown. Marketing—and I must buy more cat food for the pets.”