The Clue in the Jewel Box

  “I have a hunch the pickpocket is hiding in there,” Nancy whispered.

  The argument grew hotter, but suddenly the window was slammed down and the girls could hear no more.

  At once Nancy turned to her friends. “George, you and Bess get a policeman! I’ll go into the apartment house and see what I can find out.”

  “Please be careful,” Bess warned her friend.

  The instant the girls had gone, Nancy entered the building. The outer lobby was deserted. Finding the inner door unlocked, she went into the hallway.

  “I wonder which apartment the men are in,” she mused, tiptoeing down the hallway.

  Suddenly a door a little distance away from her opened. A man rushed out, slamming it behind him.

  He resembled the pickpocket!

  Nancy wanted a closer look at him and gazed about for a place to observe him unnoticed. Near her was a telephone booth. She darted inside.

  “If he is the pickpocket, I’ll follow him!” she decided.

  Unfortunately the man spotted Nancy and recognized her. Angrily he ran toward her.

  “This is the pickpocket,” she concluded. “He saw me and knows I heard what was said!”

  Fearful that the man meant to harm her, Nancy slammed shut the glass-paneled door of the booth. To her consternation he took a piece of wood from his pocket and wedged it under the crack.

  “There! How do you like that?” the pickpocket sneered. He dashed back to the room, opened the door, and shouted a warning to someone inside. Then he ran from the building.

  Meanwhile, Nancy pushed with all her strength against the door, but it would not move. The wedge held fast. She was trapped!

  Instinctively she searched her purse for a coin to deposit in the telephone and get help, but had none. Thoroughly alarmed, Nancy pounded on the door, but her cries went unheard.

  “Oh dear! That pickpocket will be blocks away before I get out of here!” she thought.

  The wedge beneath the door could not be moved, even when she pried at it with a nail file. The bit of steel broke in her hand.

  Nancy’s frustration changed to desperation. “I’ll smash the glass with the heel of my shoe!”

  Fortunately at that moment Bess and George arrived with a policeman. Nancy’s shouts drew their attention.

  “The thief escaped!” she gasped as the officer jerked open the door. “He locked me in here, and then ran out the front door.”

  “Front door? Why, when we were up the street,” said George, “we saw a man climb through one of the windows. Officer Kelly chased him, but he had too big a start.”

  “That must have been the pickpocket’s pal in the apartment,” Nancy replied, adding, “When the thief warned him about me, he escaped through the window so I couldn’t identify him later.”

  “Which door did the fellow you saw come out of?” Officer Kelly asked.

  Nancy pointed. “I think it was the third one.”

  The officer rapped sharply on it. For several seconds there was no answer. Then the door opened a crack. A woman peered into the halL “What do you want?” she asked, frightened. The policeman walked into the untidy room. “There’s no one here except me,” the woman whined. “Who are you after?”

  “A pickpocket who hid in this building.”

  “Not in my rooms,” the woman maintained.

  “Didn’t someone jump from a window here?”

  “No!”

  “Do you live alone?” the officer inquired.

  “Well, no, I got a husband,” the woman answered. “He has a cousin who sticks around here sometimes when he’s in trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Cordova has a way of gettin’ mixed up in things,” the woman answered with a shrug. “But I ain’t sayin’ it’s dishonest.”

  “This man Cordova—” Nancy put in, “he’s about thirty, isn’t he, medium height and walks with short, quick steps?”

  “Yeah, that sounds like him,” the woman muttered.

  Officer Kelly asked a few additional questions before leaving, but he could not get an admission from her that either the husband or the cousin had been there a few minutes before.

  “I’ll check up on her,” the policeman promised as he said good-by to Nancy and her friends. “We’ll watch this building and try to catch that pickpocket.”

  Shortly afterward, Nancy left Bess and George at the library, then decided to stop at Mr. Faber’s shop. She was nearly there when she met her father.

  “Fancy meeting you here!” she said, grinning.

  “I’ve been interviewing a client in this neighborhood,” Mr. Drew told her.

  “Have you a free moment, Dad?” Nancy asked.

  “Sure do. I’m between appointments.” He smiled affectionately.

  “Then I have an idea!” Nancy cried, her gaze roving to the creaking business sign which bore Faber’s name. “You must see this shop.” To herself she added, “Maybe I can find out what Dad would like for a birthday present.”

  “I’m not going to buy anything!” insisted the lawyer.

  Giving Mr. Drew no opportunity to protest further, his daughter steered him inside. Mr. Faber seemed genuinely pleased to meet the lawyer, and at a wink from Nancy immediately asked about his likes and dislikes in art objects.

  “Oh, anything goes with me,” Mr. Drew replied pleasantly. “But I’d like to look around.”

  The little man beamed. As Mr. Drew moved off to view the collection in the cluttered shop, Mr. Faber whispered to Nancy, “A gentleman’s box would be exactly right for your distinguished-looking father.

  “In ancient times a gentleman was known by the personal chest he carried when traveling,” the dealer went on, warming to his subject. “A lady was judged by her jewel box. Jewels always have been a convenient kind of wealth to carry—far easier than money. Rulers forced to flee from their countries in time of war usually saved part of their fortunes that way.”

  “And sold them to get money?” Nancy asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Speaking of jewels,” said Nancy, “how could Mrs. Alexandra bring so many valuables with her when she fled from her country?”

  “Madame is a very clever woman,” the shop owner replied. “She carried a small fortune secreted in a jewel box. It was so unique that it deceived everyone. Her only other possession was the handsome Easter egg case.”

  “But I saw so many lovely things in her home,” Nancy declared as her father rejoined them.

  “All those treasures were recovered after Mrs. Alexandra reached America. For years I was busy locating her family possessions around the world. She wanted them so badly that she sold many of her jewels to obtain them.”

  “How was she able to leave Europe?” Nancy inquired. “Did she wear a disguise when she crossed the border from her country?”

  “She dressed as a peasant woman,” Mr. Faber explained. “That was why the soldiers were not suspicious when they examined the Easter egg and the jewel box. They didn’t open them. The men assumed that both objects were copies of real pieces.”

  “You say Mrs. Alexandra was able to save a fortune?” Mr. Drew’s curiosity was aroused.

  “A small one. She had many jewels, and by selling them one at a time, she has been able to live comfortably.”

  Mr. Drew nodded and glanced at his wrist watch. “I must leave now for an appointment,” he said, and left the shop.

  Nancy lingered. “Mr. Faber, I hope that someday Mrs. Alexandra will show me her jewel case,” she said wistfully. “I did see the inside of the Easter egg. The singing nightingale is unique.”

  “Singing nightingale?” Mr. Faber echoed. “But the little bird does not sing.”

  “It sang for us. My friends heard the song too. However, we all thought it did not sound just right.”

  “That is very strange,” murmured the shop owner. “When my father made the enameled egg years ago the nightingale did not sing. I shall ask Madame Alexandra about—”

  At that
moment there was a terrific crash against the front door. The cab of a truck burst into the shop, scattering wood and plaster. Nancy and Mr. Faber leaped to safety!

  CHAPTER V

  Pickpocket’s Double

  A LOUD groan came from the street as the truck driver stopped in the doorway. Had he hit someone?

  Instantly Nancy hurried to his side. “You hurt?” Nancy asked him.

  “I guess not,” the man answered, “but what a mess I’ve made! My steering wheel went out of control.”

  Nancy did not wait to hear any more. She climbed over the debris to the street and glanced around to see if anyone had been injured. A woman stood looking at a ruined shopping cart of meats and groceries.

  “What I do?” she wailed in broken English. “No more money for food!”

  Nancy put an arm around her. “Be glad you weren’t killed,” she said kindly. “And I’m sure the truck driver will give you the money to buy more food and a cart. Come with me.”

  When the two climbed into the shop, the truck driver was asking Mr. Faber if he might use the telephone. Quickly Nancy explained the woman’s plight.

  “I’m sorry,” the driver said. “I’ll pay for the food and cart.” He took out his wallet and gave her money for the total loss. The woman went off smiling.

  Nancy felt she could be of no further use regarding the accident, and told Mr. Faber she would return another time. When she reached home, her thoughts reverted to Mrs. Alexandra and the singing nightingale. She decided to call on her that evening.

  After reporting that she had made a little progress in searching for Francis Baum, Nancy tact fully brought up the subject of the bird.

  “Oh, I think the little nightingale always has sung,” Mrs. Alexandra answered. “For many years I did not realize this. Then one day I accidentally touched the spring that controls the mechanism.”

  “Mr. Faber thinks that his father did not intend the bird to sing.”

  “I fear that he is mistaken.”

  “Then there’s no mystery connected with it?” Nancy’s voice showed her disappointment.

  “Not to my knowledge,” Mrs. Alexandra replied. “In my life there is only one mystery. The mystery of what became of my beloved grandson. Find him for me and my gratitude will be boundless.”

  Mrs. Alexandra’s plea stirred Nancy to greater effort in her search for the missing Francis Baum. She set off early the next morning with George and Bess to the town where the Eagle Home Service laundry was located. There she obtained the young man’s new address.

  “I hope he’ll be there,” George said excitedly.

  A few minutes later the girls arrived at 35 Cornell Avenue, a guest house covered with vines. In response to their knock, a stout woman, whose hands were red and puffy from work, came to the door.

  “You want to rent rooms?” she asked abruptly.

  “No, we are trying to trace a young man by the name of Francis Baum,” Nancy explained. “I understand he lives here.”

  “Yes, he rents a room upstairs,” the landlady said. “But he’s not here now. He had to go away for a few days on business.”

  Nancy was disappointed. “I believe I’ll leave a message,” she said. “When Mr. Baum returns tell him that I have a picture for him—one which I think he lost from his wallet. My name is Nancy Drew.

  “Please ask him to call me at once in River Heights or come for the photograph.” Nancy wrote her phone number and address on a slip of paper and handed it to the woman.

  “I’ll tell him, but whether or not he’ll do it I couldn’t say,” the landlady replied.

  Nancy looked questioningly at her.

  “Oh, he keeps so much to himself,” the woman said. “It seems funny to me that he always locks his suitcase and takes the key. You can bet that man has something to conceal.”

  “Does Mr. Baum have many callers?”

  “A man once in a while—never any girl friends,” the landlady replied pointedly.

  Behind Nancy’s back, Bess and George giggled. It amused them that the landlady had assumed their friend was romantically interested in Francis Baum.

  “Just give Mr. Baum my message, please,” Nancy requested.

  Blushing, she turned away, walking ahead of Bess and George, who grinned broadly.

  “Now, none of your smart remarks!” Nancy said, trying to forestall any needling by the girls.

  “Why, Nancy,” George said in mock reproach, “we didn’t know you were trying to track down a husband of royal blood!”

  “Have your fun,” Nancy said cheerfully.

  After a leisurely lunch in an attractive restaurant on the riverbank, the girls took the ferryboat back to the opposite shore and returned to their homes. When Nancy reached hers, she found two girls seated in the living room.

  “Helen Corning Archer!” Nancy greeted her old friend. “When did you and your husband get back?”

  “Only yesterday,” Helen answered, giving Nancy an affectionate hug and kiss, then introduced her companion as Katherine Kovna. “What an exciting trip Jim and I had in Europe!”

  “I’d say you visited some of the best dress shops!” Nancy said. “That’s a fantastic suit you’re wearing!”

  “Katherine designed and made it for me,” Helen said proudly. “We met in Europe, and I talked her into coming to this country and staying with Jim and me for a while.”

  Nancy learned that Helen’s guest hoped to open a fashion shop in town.

  “Each time I go any place I’ll wear a dress designed especially for me,” Helen said. “Everyone will ask where I bought it, and I’ll tell them of Katherine’s work. The orders should roll in!”

  “You Americans!” The European girl smiled. “You sweep me off the feet!” The others laughed.

  “I could use a new dress,” said Nancy, grinning. “Would you make one for me?”

  “Katherine can measure you now,” Helen said at once. “As her business manager, I accept the order. We’ll give you a special discount.”

  Nancy went to get a tape measure from the sewing basket. Katherine made various notations on a slip of paper, and sketched a few ideas. As Nancy tried to decide which one she liked best, she casually hummed a few bars of the nightingale’s song. The young designer listened attentively.

  “That melody!” she murmured. “What is its name?”

  “So far as I know, it has none,” Nancy answered. “I’ll try to sing the words, but I don’t know what they mean.” She sang a few syllables.

  “They sound like words in my native language,” Katherine announced. “But they make no meaning to me.”

  Nancy gazed at the girl with startled eyes. Did the nightingale’s song contain a message?

  “Katherine, you’ve given me a wonderful idea!” she exclaimed. “You may be able to help me solve a mystery!”

  “I gladly do anything.”

  “You’re a dear,” Nancy said, squeezing the other’s hand. “There is someone I want you to meet—Mrs. Marie Alexandra. I’ll ask her if I may take you to see her tomorrow.”

  After the two girls had left, Nancy lost no time in telephoning Mrs. Alexandra. The woman graciously assured Nancy that she might bring her friends to tea any afternoon she chose, but asked that her real identity not be revealed.

  “I should like to come tomorrow,” Nancy replied and said good-by. As she stood near the phone wondering about the meeting, Mrs. Gruen called:

  “Nancy, if you can descend to earth for a moment, I wish you’d go to the soda shop for some ice cream.”

  “Glad to,” Nancy replied.

  She found so many customers in the store there was a long delay before it was her turn to be waited on.

  “I guess Dad will be home by the time I get back,” Nancy thought as she reached the house.

  She was right. His car stood in the driveway. As Nancy walked toward the kitchen door, she noticed her father in his study. She was just about to call “Hi” through the open window when she saw a frightening sight.
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  A man seated in a chair opposite Mr. Drew was pointing a revolver at him!

  “You’ll be sorry if you don’t pay my price!” the man was saying to Mr. Drew.

  Nancy did not wait a second. Dropping her package, she seized a rock from beneath the window and threw it at the gun. The weapon went spinning from the man’s hand.

  In a flash Nancy scrambled through the window, snatched up the gun, and handed it to her father.

  “Why, Nancy,” said Mr. Drew, “you—!”

  “This man is the pickpocket who stole Francis Baum’s wallet!” she told her father.

  Nancy threw a rock at the gun

  “No, I’m not,” the man said quickly. “That gun isn’t loaded, and I meant no harm.”

  Nancy was unconvinced, even when her father opened the weapon to show it contained no bullets.

  “I guess my life wasn’t in danger,” Mr. Drew said, trying to relieve the situation, “but I do appreciate your trying to save me, dear.”

  “It’s all a mistake,” the caller insisted. “I came here to meet you, Miss Drew.”

  Nancy was bewildered. “But I did see you pointing the revolver directly at my father!”

  “I was merely trying to sell the gun to him. It’s a rare one.”

  “That’s true,” said Mr. Drew. “He noticed my collection of antique firearms on the wall, and thought I might like to add this one to it.”

  “He’s wanted by the police,” Nancy insisted. “Or is it possible,” she said, turning to the caller, “that you’re the man who looks so much like the pickpocket?”

  The stranger crossed the room and she noted that he walked with a long stride and not short, quick steps.

  “Yes, I am. My name is Dorrance—David Dorrance. You saved me from arrest. I asked the policeman for your name and address and came here to thank you.”

  “Nancy, I think you owe Mr. Dorrance an apology,” Mr. Drew said. “I’m afraid this time you’ve made a mistake in your sleuthing.”

  “I truly am sorry,” she replied.

  “Oh, I can’t blame you for acting as you did,” the caller said, accepting the revolver which Mr. Drew handed him. “I’ve been mistaken for that other fellow several times.”