“How wicked!” Nancy exclaimed. “Mrs. Muller, there isn’t one word of truth in that story!”
“How can you be sure?” the woman asked.
“Because my father is handling the affairs of the Fontaines and knows all about their dealings. I’m sure you realize that I wouldn’t be involved with them if anything dishonest were going on. My friends and I have worked hard to keep the school running, and naturally our success depends upon the cooperation of the parents. Won’t you please allow your little girl to continue her lessons?”
Mrs. Muller finally agreed to send her child back. She suggested that Nancy call the other mothers and reassure them there was no truth to the letters. Nancy got busy on the telephone at once, explaining the situation to the women. They promised to allow their children to continue dancing lessons.
“Well, that’s cleared up,” Nancy said to Bess with a sigh of relief as she finished talking to the last person on the list. “They’ll go along with the present arrangement.”
“Thank goodness!” Bess said. But in a whisper she added, “Nancy, do you think there might be any basis for the idea that the Fontaines are wanted by the authorities?”
“I can’t believe it,” Nancy insisted. “And besides, I wouldn’t take the word of anyone who is afraid to sign his name to a letter.”
“Nor I,” said Bess stoutly.
The next morning, she and George arrived at Nancy’s house, and the three girls set off in the convertible. They reached Stanford a little after eleven o’clock and had no difficulty finding the Elite Dancing School.
Nancy went in alone and identified herself as the advertiser in the Gazette. The owner, Mr. Harlan, brought out the painting of the ballet dancer.
It was indeed a portrait of Helene and she was wearing the scarlet slippers!
“I bought this picture about six months ago,” Mr. Harlan told Nancy. “It’s very pleasing, but I’m remodeling and will have no room for it. I’d be willing to sell it to you for a small profit.”
Trying hard not to show her elation, she asked the price.
“Thirty-five dollars,” the Elite owner replied.
“I’ll buy the picture,” Nancy said. She opened her purse and paid him.
Nancy recalled the price Renee had paid Henri for the work. It was many times that amount. She was curious about the person from whom Mr. Harlan had bought the painting.
“Would you mind telling me who sold you the painting?” she asked.
“Not at all, but six months is a long time to remember details. A man with reddish hair came into the school and offered me the picture. The price was right, so I bought it.”
Reddish hair, Nancy thought. This did not fit Judson or Warte, who had fraudulently sold the bisque dolls, or Renee, but one of them might have been wearing a wig!
“Did the man have a foreign accent?” she said. “And did he give his name?”
“No,” Mr. Harlan answered to both questions. “Is something the matter with the painting?”
“Certainly not,” said Nancy quickly. “But it isn’t signed and I wondered if the man had claimed to be the artist.”
“I think not,” Mr. Harlan answered.
“Thank you,” Nancy said, and bidding him good-by, she carried the picture to the car. Bess and George exclaimed in delight and examined the portrait while Nancy took the wheel.
“It’s a wonderful likeness of Helene,” said Bess. “How did the Elite School get the painting?”
Nancy explained and then said, “I want to make sure this is the original. I’ll take the painting to Henri and Helene.”
“Perhaps they’ll be able to identify the red-haired man,” George suggested.
The girls stopped for a quick lunch and then went on to Cedar Lake. When they arrived and presented the canvas, the Fontaines were overwhelmed.
“Oh, Nancy, how did you ever find it?” Helene exclaimed. “You are so wonderful!”
“Indeed you are,” Henri echoed. “Please tell us everything quickly.”
“First, Henri, tell me whether this is the portrait you painted,” Nancy requested, “or a copy of it?”
After an examination in a strong light, the artist declared it was his original work.
“But someone has tampered with the picture!” he declared. “The original paint in several spots has been removed, and replaced with new pigment.”
The girls, amazed, looked at the areas of thickly applied impasto that the artist pointed out.
Instantly Nancy remembered the palette knife Judson had dropped at her house. Was he the one who had tampered with the painting? And if so, why?
CHAPTER XII
A Rewarding Hunt
HENRI Fontaine was excited and concerned about the portrait of his sister that had been tampered with.
“It spoils the whole outline of the ruffle, and look what it does to the toe of the slipper,” he said. “A botch!”
“Only an expert would know that,” George stated. “I think it’s a lovely painting.”
“It’s beautiful,” Bess said. “And it looks so real, Helene. Just like you.”
But the cousins’ remarks failed to mollify the Fontaines. “Someone ruined this painting,” said Henri angrily. “But why? Why?”
“Perhaps the paint was used to cover something that was smuggled into the country,” Nancy said. “A message, an important chemical formula, or even jewels.”
Bess looked skeptical. “How could jewels be hidden in paint?”
Before Nancy could answer, Henri cried excitedly, “Of course they could! I’ll show you.”
His eyes roved over the outfit each of the three girls was wearing. Finally his glance settled on a novelty pin Bess wore on her blouse.
“May I use this for an experiment?” he asked. “I’ll be glad to pay for it.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Bess, handing him the pin. “It’s just a piece of inexpensive costume jewelry.”
Immediately the young artist started prying loose the settings and took out several of the stones. They were of various sizes, the largest equal to a two-carat diamond.
Henri got a tube of green pigment and squeezed some of it onto a palette. Then he slowly rolled one of the stones around in the paint. When it was completely covered, the artist secreted the mass among the leaves of one of the trees on the canvas. It melted into the background as if it had always been there!
“Why, that’s wonderful,” Bess said.
Next Henri imbedded several stones into the dancer’s frilly tutu. Finally the young man concealed a stone in the toe of one of the scarlet slippers.
“Remarkable,” said Helene. “No one would detect this strange addition to my portrait. Nancy, what does this mean?”
“It’s my hunch that a smuggler brought jewels into the United States this way. It is more clever than hiding them in the frame because that would show up in an x-ray, while this method wouldn’t. It looks as though Henri’s paintings were ordered for the purpose of smuggling. You use the impasto technique, Henri, and that’s just what was needed for hiding the jewels.”
Henri examined every speck of the old pigment for anything that might still be in it but found nothing.
“Have you any idea about the identity of the smuggler?” Helene asked Nancy.
“Yes,” the girl detective answered. “It would explain why Mr. Judson, who isn’t an artist, carries a palette knife. As I told my father, I strongly suspect he’s really Raoul Amien. What I don’t know is how Amien got the painting from Renee and whether Renee is involved in the smuggling.”
“If the police want Renee,” said George, “he probably is involved. Well, where does the trail take us now?”
To everyone’s complete astonishment, Nancy laughed and said, “Into the lake. I’m so warm I can’t resist a swim. Does anybody want to join me?”
“In these clothes?” Bess exclaimed.
Nancy announced that during the summer she always carried a bathing suit in the trunk of the
convertible and right now she had two with her. Helene had an extra one, so the whole group spent an enjoyable half hour swimming in Cedar Lake.
Later, when Nancy was driving home with Bess and George, she remarked, “Maybe all twelve paintings were used by smugglers. Since the one with the scarlet slippers was sold to a dancing school in this part of the country, some of the others may have been, too. Let’s check!”
The girls decided to meet at the Drew home in the morning and take turns telephoning ballet-dancing schools in the state. By the time the cousins arrived, Nancy had a list of fifty. They divided the work and began telephoning.
About halfway through the names George, who was at the telephone, smiled broadly and bobbed her head at the other girls. Into the mouthpiece she said, “Thank you very much. We’ll be over to look at it.” She replaced the telephone, then said to Nancy and Bess, “One of the pictures is in Harwich. It was sold to the dance studio by a red-haired man.”
“Oh, that’s marvelous!” said Nancy.
“But Harwich!” Bess exclaimed. “That’s almost two hundred miles from River Heights.”
“What’s two hundred miles?” Nancy asked. “We’ll pack overnight bags and make a real trip out of it—that is, if we can leave our own school that long.”
Bess offered to forego the trip and take Nancy’s class that afternoon, but the others insisted that she go with them. Finally she arranged with the dancing instructor at a private school in town to conduct the classes.
Late in the morning the girls started out. They had the top down, took turns at the wheel, and enjoyed the bright-blue sky and delightful countryside along the way.
But Nancy did not completely forget the errand on which they had embarked. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the stolen ballet slippers that belonged to Helene’s mother,” she remarked. “They must have some special significance.”
“Maybe something was hidden in them, too,” Bess suggested.
“Possibly. But it’s strange that neither Helene nor Henri knew about it ”
The girls reached Harwich late in the afternoon and drove immediately to the attractive building that housed the Harwich School of the Dance. As Nancy and her friends walked into the reception room, they saw Helene’s portrait in a prominent position on the wall.
“How lovely!” Bess murmured.
The painting portrayed the girl in a graceful glissade. It was so realistic, Helene looked as though she were about to glide right off the canvas.
An attractive, blond woman in a ballet costume came forward and introduced herself as Miss Desmond, the director of the school. George identified herself as the one who had talked with her on the telephone that morning and introduced Nancy and Bess. Then she added, “Nancy is an amateur detective. She’s investigating a case we think involves the smuggling of precious stones. We believe that they were hidden in the pigment of certain pictures. Yours may be one of them.”
“Oh, dear!” Miss Desmond exclaimed. “I hope this won’t involve me. I know nothing about the smuggled gems.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that,” said George. She regretted having been so blunt.
“This must be a shock to you,” Nancy added understandingly. “But would you mind if we examine the picture closely?”
Her quick eye had detected a spot where the pigment had been tampered with.
“Go ahead,” Miss Desmond said.
Nancy took a small magnifying glass from her handbag and scrutinized the painting.
“Something has been removed from the picture, I’m sure,” she said after a moment. “And,” Nancy added, her voice excited, “if I’m not mistaken, there is still one stone hidden!”
“What!” Miss Desmond exclaimed in disbelief.
Nancy pointed to the spot and asked, “Will you let me prove it?”
“Why, certainly, but you don’t think I——” the worried director began.
Nancy smiled at the woman. “We believe you bought the picture without knowing all this.”
Miss Desmond looked relieved and watched as Nancy took the palette knife with the initial R on it from her bag and began to scrape the white pigment in one ruffle of the skirt. Finally a large lump came off in her hand. She scraped at it even faster. A moment later she uncovered a sparkling diamond!
“I just can’t believe it!” Miss Desmond cried, as Bess and George gasped. “I-I certainly got my money’s worth, didn’t I?” Then instantly an expression of alarm crossed her face. “But I may be holding stolen property! What shall I do with the stone?”
“I’d suggest,” said Nancy, “that you come with me to the Harwich Police Station and leave the diamond there until the case is cleared up.”
The dancing-school director said the sooner she got rid of the diamond, and the painting too, the better! Miss Desmond was glad to sell the painting to Nancy for ten dollars.
She accompanied Nancy to the police station, while the cousins remained at the school to admit the next class of pupils. The director sighed when the ordeal was over.
“Thank you, Nancy, for getting me out of an embarrassing situation,” she said. “And good luck in solving the mystery.”
Nancy, Bess, and George spent the night in a hotel in Harwich. They started on their return journey early the next morning, with the painting stored in the trunk. As they drove along—all three girls on the front seat—they discussed the various facets of the case.
Presently Nancy said, “I have a strange feeling that those little figurines that were sold to Mr. Howard, the jeweler, were also used to smuggle jewels into this country—maybe by the same group.”
“And Mr. Warte removed them and tried to patch up the cracks?” Bess suggested.
“Yes.”
Hours later, as Nancy took a road leading away from River Heights, George pointed out that Nancy had taken the wrong turn.
“I know,” said Nancy. “I thought we’d stop to see Helene and Henri and leave this picture.”
Presently they turned into the woods road leading to the Nickerson cabin. Nancy had to drive slowly because of the twists and turns on the winding trail.
Rounding a sharp curve, Nancy almost ran into a barrier across the road. A bridge over a stream was down and sawhorses had been set up to warn motorists.
As Nancy jammed on the brake, George said in disgust, “Well, of all things! Why didn’t they put up a sign where we entered this road?”
“What’ll we do, Nancy?” Bess asked. “Walk the rest of the way?”
“I suppose so,” Nancy said.
She had her hand on the door handle to turn it when a voice behind the girls called in a heavy French accent, “Do not turn around! You are my prisoners and will do exactly what I tell you!”
CHAPTER XIII
“Officer, Help!”
THE unseen speaker hopped into the rear seat of Nancy’s convertible.
Obeying his instructions, the three girls had not turned around, but in the rearview mirror Nancy had caught sight of the cruel-looking man. He was the person she had come to know as Judson!
“Clever of me, wasn’t it, to pick up your trail?” he boasted. “I’ve been following you for miles, hoping for a chance to stop you. I thought you might turn in here, because you’ve done so before. I knew the bridge was out and hurried ahead of you to take down the warning sign at the entrance to the road.” He laughed sardonically.
The next moment Bess screamed. Judson had shoved a sharp palette knife between her face and Nancy’s! He withdrew it, then said, “One false move and I’ll use this to advantage! You’d better believe me so don’t test your luck.”
Bess looked faint and George’s jaw was set grimly. Nancy, after the first shock was over, said evenly, “What do you want us to do?”
“You are going to be nice young ladies and lead me to the Fontaines!”
Nancy thought quickly. Her first idea was to get the man out of the convertible.
“What about your car?” she asked, wondering where it was. S
he could not see it in the mirror.
Judson laughed harshly. “I know how clever you are, Nancy Drew. I am not falling for your trick to get me out of this car so that you and your friends can escape. Now back up and don’t get any crazy ideas.”
Nancy nudged Bess and murmured, “Don’t worry!” She put the car into reverse and backed out of the winding road. Judson’s car was hidden just beyond the bend.
In spite of their predicament, the young sleuth felt a sense of satisfaction. Judson’s desperate action clearly indicated that he did not know where the Fontaines were hiding!
Nancy sensed, too, that one of the reasons he wanted to ride in the car was that he did not care to walk through the woods with the three girls. In a struggle to get free, his prisoners would be more than a match for him!
At the main road, Nancy decided to stay on the highway as long as Judson would allow it, hoping to meet a State Police patrol car. But she had driven only a short distance when Judson said, “I know the Fontaines aren’t hidden along the highway. Get off it and lead me to them! Be quick about it!”
George had surmised Nancy’s plan. Carefully concealing her action, she slipped a note pad and pencil out of her purse. Holding it on her lap where Judson could not see it, George wrote, “Do you want Bess and me to tackle him?”
Nancy glanced at the note. Slowly taking her right hand from the wheel, she wrote, “Not yet.”
As she continued to drive with one hand, Judson evidently noticed her right hand was out of sight. He placed the point of the palette knife between Nancy’s shoulders and barked, “Keep both hands on the wheel, where I can see them!”
Nancy complied immediately and turned into a side road. The knife was removed. The young detective knew the countryside around River Heights well. She recalled that Bert Fraser, a state trooper, lived on one of the back lanes in the vicinity.
“I’ll head for his house and hope he’ll be there,” she said to herself.