The Clue in the Old Album

  “Why did Mrs. Struthers want you to come to this particular sale?” Bess asked as the girls walked toward the counter where the dolls were displayed.

  “Most of the dolls are old and valuable, so there’s a chance the stolen fan doll is here, and even the one Mrs. Struthers’ daughter wanted her to find,” Nancy explained.

  She examined the dolls carefully, but found none that she wanted. Nancy asked a salesman if he had any others for sale that were not on display —any that lighted up or had gems sewed on their costumes.

  “The most attractive dolls have been sold,” he answered. “One like the one you mention was among them. A king with a jeweled robe.”

  “Just my luck!” Nancy groaned. “Who bought the doll?”

  “The woman didn’t give her name. She paid cash. Oh, there she is—leaving with her package.”

  Nancy turned and caught a glimpse of the retreating figure who was now outside the galleries. Nitaka!

  Nancy ran after the gypsy, but was too late to stop her. Nitaka entered a taxi and already was far down the street before the girl reached the sidewalk.

  “This is the worst yet!” Nancy said when she returned to Bess and George. “That woman may have bought the very doll I’m trying to find!”

  The manager overheard Nancy’s remark. He introduced himself and said, “If you’re interested in fine dolls, perhaps you’d like to see one that is more valuable than any sold here today.”

  “Is it for sale?” Nancy asked, hope reviving in her.

  “No, and we never have displayed the doll. Wait here and I’ll bring it from the back room.”

  The manager was gone at least ten minutes. When he returned, the girls saw at once that something was wrong.

  “What became of that doll we kept in the office safe?” he asked several salesmen.

  “You removed it this morning,” one of the men reminded him.

  “Yes, one of the doll’s hands needed repairing. I took it out of the safe and put it on my desk. Now it’s gone! Someone must have sold it by mistake!”

  Each of the salesmen denied taking part in such a transaction.

  “Then the doll has been stolen!” the manager cried. “In the hands of the wrong person, it can be a very dangerous thing!”

  CHAPTER VI

  Upsetting News

  NANCY asked the manager of the Jefferson Galleries what he meant about the doll’s being dangerous, but he was reluctant to tell her.

  “Is the doll one of the poisonous types?” she asked.

  The man gave her a startled glance. “Why ... er ... yes. It is,” he admitted nervously. “We intended to sell the witch doll to a museum, and therefore hadn’t removed the poisonous powder from it. When you touch a certain spot, the powder sifts out. Its fumes induce deep sleep. An overdose could be fatal!”

  “Oh!” Bess cried.

  “You’ll notify the police and the newspapers at once?” Nancy suggested. “If the information is published, the thief or anyone else will be warned before he’s harmed.”

  “Yes. I’ll call them right now,” the manager promised. As he started away, he mumbled something about how it would serve the thief right if he were poisoned.

  The girls were about to leave the galleries when Nancy noticed a half-opened chest filled with dolls. A salesman came toward her and asked if she were interested.

  “There are some unusual items in this chest,” he said. “Here’s one that may interest you,” he added, offering Nancy a strange-looking figure with four different faces. “It dates back to about 1870.”

  One side of the bisque head laughed, one cried, another pouted, and the fourth had its eyes closed as if in sleep. The head rotated in a socket so that a child playing with the doll could choose whatever expression she desired.

  “How much is this one?” Nancy asked. She felt sure Mrs. Struthers would like to add it to her collection.

  The man mentioned a price below what Nancy had expected, so she quickly made the purchase. While the young girl waited for the package to be wrapped, her gaze fastened on a counter stacked with albums. Eagerly she looked among the old plush-covered books. Several were family albums decorated with raised, ornate words.

  “Albums like those aren’t unusual,” George said impatiently. “My grandmother has a couple of them. Please come!”

  But Nancy continued to look through the stack of albums. Then a name on one at the bottom of the pile caught her eye.

  Euphemia Struthers

  Eagerly Nancy flipped the pages, but was disappointed to find that every photograph had been removed. Nevertheless, hopeful that this Euphemia might have been related to Mrs. Struthers, and that the album might contain the clue Rose’s mother had spoken of on her deathbed, Nancy purchased the book.

  “Now, let’s leave before you find something else to buy!” George pleaded, pulling Nancy away.

  The girls lunched at a tearoom across the street. Later they went for a walk before returning to the airport.

  As they passed an empty lot at the end of a dead-end street, Bess kicked aside a soiled and stained piece of paper. George picked it up.

  “Looks like an old concert program,” she said.

  “That’s exactly what it is,” Nancy added as she read over George’s shoulder. “And see whose name is featured—Romano Pepito’s!”

  “The gypsy violinist!” Bess exclaimed. “How did it get here?”

  “From the looks of this lot a gypsy caravan could have camped here recently.” Nancy explained. She walked over to a pile on the ground and discovered it was a tattered old tent. There were also the remains of a fire.

  “Perhaps some of the campers knew Romano Pepito,” Bess said.

  “He may even have been here himself!” Nancy suggested. “Oh, I’d give anything to find the group and ask them about Pepito.”

  “No time to do that now,” George said. “If we’re going to catch the plane to River Heights, we’d better hop a cab to the airport.”

  The driver made such a quick trip to the terminal, that Nancy had time to call Mrs. Struthers and tell her about the purchases. Mrs. Carroll answered the phone.

  “Oh, Nancy, something dreadful has happened since you’ve been gone. Can you come here direct from the plane?”

  The young detective agreed to do that. When she reached the Struthers’ home, the housekeeper was waiting for her.

  “Matters are in a bad state,” Mrs. Carroll said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “A child in the neighborhood, Janie Bond, started a story that Rose’s father is a gypsy. To make it worse, she said all gypsies are thieves!”

  “Oh, how unfair!” Nancy exclaimed. “Rose’s father was a talented violinist.”

  “Yes, I know,” the housekeeper agreed. “Mrs. Struthers told me the whole story this morning, but she hasn’t mentioned a thing to Rose.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know, and naturally Rose believes what Janie says. Won’t you see what you can do with Mrs. Struthers?”

  “Is she in her room?”

  “Yes. She gets more beside herself by the minute. I wanted to call the doctor, but she wouldn’t let me.”

  Nancy hurried up the stairs and went direct to Mrs. Struthers, who was lying on the bed.

  “Oh, my dear, what am I going to do?” the anxious woman cried out.

  Nancy took Mrs. Struthers’ hand in her own and tried to quiet her. “Please don’t be so upset,” she said. “Children say things without thinking and forget them the next minute.”

  “But not this,” Mrs. Struthers said. “The disgrace of it! Things were bad enough before, but now to have everyone think my daughter married a thief!”

  “Please, Mrs. Struthers. Intelligent people know most gypsies are fine people, and wouldn’t believe little Janie Bond.”

  Nancy went on to say that what other people thought was of far less importance anyway than what the blow might do to Rose. “She’s a sensitive child, and if things aren’t st
raightened out in her mind she may do something drastic.”

  “In what way?” Mrs. Struthers asked.

  “Oh, run away, for instance.”

  The woman looked frightened. She did not speak for several seconds, then said, “Nancy, you are a wise person. I can see I lost my head. I’ll tell Rose everything at once!”

  As the woman rose from the bed Nancy laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to suggest to Rose that on account of her father’s work he was unable to return to his family, but that he will as soon as he can?”

  Mrs. Struthers smiled. “It is very good advice. I’ll take it. Will you come with me?”

  “No. I’ll wait in the living room.”

  Mrs. Struthers went to Rose’s room and stayed for half an hour. Then the two went downstairs, where Nancy was waiting.

  How changed both looked! They were actually smiling at each other! Nancy learned that the only barrier not crossed was that Rose stubbornly refused to return to school. She was afraid children might make fun of her.

  Again Mrs. Struthers appealed to Nancy, who thought a moment, then said, “Why don’t you arrange to have Rose tutored at home and add music and dancing to her studies?”

  “Oh, please let me, Granny,” Rose pleaded. “And I want to play the violin like my father!”

  “All right,” Mrs. Struthers agreed. “Whom do you recommend, Nancy? I don’t know any teachers in River Heights.”

  Nancy knew an excellent retired schoolteacher and gave Mrs. Struthers her name and address. She also wrote down those of the best music and dancing teachers in River Heights. Mrs. Struthers thanked her profusely for the help.

  As Nancy left the house, she decided to talk to Janie Bond. “How in the world did that girl learn Rose is part gypsy?”

  At the school Nancy found out from some little girls who Janie was and stopped her as she started home. The child became frightened when she realized she was being questioned about Rose.

  “I don’t know anything about her,” she said sullenly, “so let me go.”

  “Who told you Rose is a gypsy?”

  “I’m not going to tell!”

  “Then I’ll ask your mother.” Nancy walked off in the direction of the Bond home.

  “No, wait!” Frantically Janie ran after her. “Don’t tell Mom the story I started!” she pleaded. “I’ll explain anything you want to know.”

  “I’m so glad you changed your mind, Janie,” Nancy said. “First, tell me who told you Rose is a gypsy?”

  “A strange woman,” Janie explained. “I was in front of our school with some kids when she drove up. She asked us if Rose had come out yet.”

  “And you said?”

  “That Rose had gone home.”

  “Did the woman look like a gypsy?”

  Janie shrugged. “She was real dark and had red hair and wore big earrings. She asked us a lot of questions about Rose.”

  “What were they?”

  “She wanted to know what time Rose came to school and what time she went home. Then she told us Rose’s father was a gypsy. That’s all.”

  “But that’s not all. You told other children.”

  “I made up the rest,” Janie admitted. “I’m sorry. Honestly I am.”

  “Rose is the daughter of a great violinist,” Nancy told the girl. “I’ve heard too that he’s a Spanish gypsy, but that’s not to his discredit. Most gypsies are fine people. Some are excellent musicians and a few are movie stars.”

  Janie felt ashamed and wanted to leave. Nancy said, “Tell me more about the mysterious woman who said Rose’s father was a gypsy. Did the lady drive up in a black sedan?”

  “Yes, and she got real mad when Billy West upset her suitcase.”

  “Suitcase?”

  “She had a little one in her hand when she got out of the car. Billy pushed against the bag and it opened. Guess what she had inside?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Dolls! I thought she must sell them, only they didn’t look new. The kids all wanted to see them, but the woman was real cross. She closed the suitcase with a bang.”

  “Did you see the dolls yourself, Janie?”

  “Sure, I was standing right there all the time.”

  “What were they like?” Nancy asked, excited.

  “Oh, they weren’t like the dolls in the stores. One had a fan in her hand. Another was a little man playing a violin.”

  Janie’s information convinced Nancy that the woman was the person who had stolen Mrs. Struthers’ fan doll. The description Janie had given fitted Nitaka!

  “Did the doll with the fan stand on a velvet box?” Nancy inquired.

  “I think so,” Janie recalled. “The woman slammed the suitcase shut so fast we didn’t get a very good look at the dolls. Billy asked her if she sold them. She said yes. Then she jumped in her car and drove away.”

  Nancy’s suspicions were confirmed. She was certain that the woman with the dolls was Nitaka and that a plot was afoot to harm Rose.

  “May I go now?” Janie asked impatiently. “I promise I won’t make up any more stories about Rose.”

  “All right, Janie,” Nancy said. “But if you ever see the woman with the dolls again, please let me know right away.” She wrote her name and phone number on a slip of paper.

  Nancy was tempted to reveal what she had learned to Mrs. Struthers, then she thought better of it. The woman already was nervous, and knowing that Rose might be in danger would only upset her more.

  Instead, Nancy sought her father’s advise. He shared her alarm about Rose’s safety and said at once that a detective should be assigned to the Struthers’ grounds.

  “We can’t do that without telling Mrs. Struthers,” Nancy replied, “and I don’t want to worry her.”

  “Tell you what,” Mr. Drew decided. “I’ll engage the detective on my own and tell him not to let the Struthers know he is on duty. After this has blown over, if Mrs. Struthers feels the service has been worthwhile she can pay me for it.”

  Nancy visited the Struthers’ home the next day, where everything appeared to be running smoothly. Rose was bubbling with enthusiasm over her dancing and violin lessons. Her teachers had said she had talent, and Mrs. Struthers was pleased.

  “Perhaps a career in music is ahead for my granddaughter,” she predicted enthusiastically to Nancy when they were alone. “And I have you to thank, my dear.”

  “I’m glad I’ve done something helpful,” Nancy said, “even though I haven’t found the doll you want. But I did buy two things at the Jefferson Galleries.”

  She handed Mrs. Struthers the package containing the four-faced doll and the album with the name of Euphemia Struthers on it.

  “What an interesting doll!” the woman remarked after turning it round and round. “I haven’t seen one like this before. It will be a great addition to my collection. And this album—how quaint! Euphemia? Let me see. My husband had an unmarried cousin by that name.”

  “Where does she live?” Nancy asked eagerly.

  “In some suburb of New York City. I’ve forgotten exactly where.”

  Nancy examined the album thoroughly a second time but found nothing that might help her to solve the mystery. She looked up to find Mrs. Struthers with a faraway expression in her eyes.

  “Could you go to New York for me?” she asked abruptly.

  “New York? Why, yes, I guess so,” Nancy replied. “You mean to see Euphemia Struthers?”

  “If you can find her. But also to attend a large sale of exquisite old dolls,” the woman said.

  Nancy’s mind immediately flew to various possibilities in connection with the trip. First, her Aunt Eloise Drew, who lived in New York, had been coaxing her to visit. Also, her friend Alice Crosby, a social-service worker in the city, had expressed a desire to see the young detective.

  “How I wish I might go myself.” Mrs. Struthers sighed. “Alfred Blackwell is giving a recital.”

  “He is?” Nancy said. “I’d love to hear him
.” To herself she added, “And I’ll try to have an interview with him. Since he’s a violinist, he may have known Rose’s father and possibly can tell me where Romano is now.” Aloud she said, “Yes, I’ll go. When is the sale?”

  “In a few days.”

  The next morning Nancy left for New York. When she arrived in the city, she went at once to the suburban telephone directories and looked for the name Struthers.

  “Here it is! Euphemia Struthers.”

  She made a call and the woman herself answered.

  “This is Nancy Drew from—”

  “It is, eh? Well, it’s about time I heard from you!” the woman said.

  CHAPTER VII

  A Helpful Gift

  NANCY was so startled by Euphemia Struthers’ unexpected words that she was speechless.

  “I thought your conscience would bother you one of these days,” the tirade began. “I want that album of mine back and I want it right away!”

  Nancy was dumbfounded. How had the woman found out that she had bought the album? The thought struck her that she must have picked up some stolen property!

  As Miss Struthers paused for breath, Nancy said, “Please let me speak. I don’t know how you found out about the album. I don’t have it, but I assure you it’s in good hands. Mrs. John Struthers of River Heights is the new owner.”

  “What did you do with the pictures?” Euphemia screamed. “She hasn’t got them, too! Oh, no!”

  “There weren’t any in the album,” Nancy said.

  “What do you mean?”

  At last Nancy was able to describe the whole transaction. When she finished Miss Struthers asked in a subdued voice, “Who did you say you are?”

  Nancy gave her name very clearly. A great gasp came from the telephone along with a profuse apology.

  “Oh, my goodness, I thought you said ‘Nanny Dew,’ that thieving maid of mine! If I ever get my hands on that girl....”

  “Your time is up,” an operator’s voice cut in. “If you wish to talk longer, deposit....”