The Clue in the Old Album

  Nancy bought the album and left the shop with mingled feelings of elation and defeat. Because of the strange quotation she was convinced that the unknown Henrietta Bostwick must have some connection with the Pepito family. How could she trace her?

  Nancy passed the public library and on impulse went in. For two hours she pored over records on genealogy but could find no Bostwick family listing Henrietta as a member. After she had perused all the volumes on this subject, she returned to her aunt’s apartment.

  “Oh, Nancy, I’m so glad you’ve come!” Miss Drew exclaimed as her niece entered the foyer. “I’ve been so worried.”

  “Worried? Why, Aunt Lou, you know I can find my way around New York without a bit of trouble.”

  “I haven’t been worried about you, Nancy. It’s a package that came.”

  Nancy looked at the package lying on the table. It was addressed to her.

  As she reached for it her aunt cried out, “No! No! Don’t touch it!”

  “Why not, Aunt Lou?”

  “A woman telephoned less than half an hour ago,” her aunt explained, excited. “She refused to give her name, but she warned me that it would be very dangerous for you to open the package!”

  CHAPTER IX

  A Strange Dismissal

  NANCY looked closely at the package without touching it. Although clearly addressed to her, the sender’s name did not appear, and it had not been sent by mail or express.

  “How did it come?” she asked her aunt.

  “Up the dumbwaiter. Fifteen minutes after the package was delivered the mysterious phone warning came. Nancy, we must call the police!”

  “Yes,” her niece agreed and reached for the telephone.

  Within a few minutes two detectives were at the apartment. They examined the package.

  “There might be a bomb in it,” one officer announced.

  “But there’s no ticking sound,” Nancy protested. “In spite of the warning, the package may be perfectly harmless. I’d hate to ruin the contents unless it were necessary.”

  “I agree,” the other detective said.

  “Okay, we’ll open it,” his companion agreed, “but not here. We’ll take it back to headquarters for a test.”

  Nancy and her aunt went along. They were fascinated by the detection gadget.

  “Guess the package won’t pop,” the police officer said. “If the contents are dangerous, it’s for some other reason.”

  The man untied the string, and removed the heavy brown wrapping paper.

  “Can’t see a thing yet,” he muttered. “Well, here goes!”

  He raised the cover of the box an inch and peered into the crack. Then with an exclamation of disgust, he threw off the top.

  “Look what’s inside! Nothing but a doll! You’ve called the police for this!” he chided the Drews.

  With a gesture of contempt, the detective started to pick up the doll. Nancy darted forward and cried, “Don’t touch that! It’s dangerous!”

  “Dangerous? What do you mean?” the officer asked.

  “It contains a drug! This witch doll was stolen a few days ago in Jefferson.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I never saw the doll until now,” Nancy answered, “but I believe it’s the one. Perhaps you’d better check with the owner of the Jefferson Galleries to make sure.”

  “We’ll do that,” the detective decided as he replaced the box cover.

  “Any idea who sent you the package, and why?” his buddy asked.

  Nancy was evasive. In her own mind she was satisfied that the doll was the stolen one and had been sent as an offering of ill will by Nitaka. Since she had no proof, the girl detective did not want to give the gypsy’s name to the police.

  She wondered who could have telephoned the friendly warning. It was evident that her present address was no secret to at least two people who did not wish to make themselves known to her.

  After leaving police headquarters, Nancy said to her aunt, “Nitaka probably saw me on the street and followed me to your apartment,” she said. “But I can’t imagine who my unknown friend is.”

  “Whoever she is,” Miss Drew replied, “I’m thankful to her, and certainly relieved that no harm came to you.”

  Nancy spent another day in New York and had lunch with Alice Crosby. Then the following morning, despite her aunt’s insistence that she stay longer, Nancy felt that she should get back to River Heights and work on the mystery. She caught an afternoon plane and reached home in time for dinner. After telling her father and Hannah Gruen of her adventures, she telephoned George.

  “I’m back from the big city,” she said. “How’s everything?”

  “Bess and I have lots to tell you. Suppose we stop by in the morning?”

  “I planned to see Mrs. Struthers,” Nancy explained. “I brought her an interesting old album with that strange ‘source of light’ message in it.”

  “Well, I may have a clue for you,” George said. “Want to know the location of a gypsy camp with a violinist?”

  “Do I!”

  “Then Bess and I will pick you up about ten o’clock and show you where it is.”

  George and Bess arrived at the Drew home exactly at ten. Nancy hopped into the car and the three were off on a search.

  “We knew you’d be interested,” Bess said, as they rode along. “Someone was playing a violin when we passed the camp the other day. We didn’t see who it was, but the music was beautiful. »

  Nancy asked a dozen eager questions, but the cousins could tell her little about the group. They had noticed it while driving through a distant town two days before.

  “I hope the gypsies are still there!” Nancy said.

  In a short while the girls reached their destination and climbed out of the car. Several gypsy children were playing close by. They began chattering, and some ran off, evidently to tell their parents that visitors had arrived.

  Nancy walked over to the remaining group. As the children stared at her, she asked if they knew a man named Romano Pepito. Soberly the children shook their heads.

  Nancy took a package of gum from her pocket. “This is for the first boy or girl who tells me the name of your violinist!” she announced.

  “Murko!” several cried in unison.

  Nancy split the package of gum, so that each child received a stick. “Now lead me to Murko,” she requested.

  “Nobody but gypsies can see him,” one little girl said. “It’s not allowed.”

  At this point a pretty woman, with bangles in her ears and bracelets jingling, appeared from a tent and came swiftly to the group. The girls expected to be ordered to leave. Instead, the gypsy smiled and offered to tell their fortunes.

  “Have you a license to tell fortunes?” Nancy inquired.

  “Yes, I have,” the woman answered. She reached out as if to take the girl’s hand. “Shall I read your future?”

  “No thank you. I’ve had my fortune told recently,” Nancy replied.

  Just then the strains of violin music came from one of the trailers at the far end of the camp. Nancy’s expression revealed her interest.

  “I’d like to meet Murko,” she said.

  The gypsy woman looked at her intently, shook her head, and whispered, “Gypsy music fills the air. Listen and you will learn. But never try to pierce their secrets, or misfortune will befall you!” She turned and walked swiftly toward the cluster of trailers.

  “Now what did she mean by that?” Bess asked nervously.

  “I think she was telling us to move on and ask no more questions about the violinist,” George remarked.

  “Then let’s make tracks,” Bess urged.

  “Not so fast,” Nancy pleaded. “I’ve not learned half enough.” She searched in her pocketbook and pulled out some lifesavers. She held them up for the children to see and asked, “How many of you have dolls?”

  All the little girls bobbed their heads.

  “Show them to me, will you please, and then I’ll
give you some candy,” Nancy coaxed.

  With a shout, the children ran off to the trailers. Soon they returned with their treasured possessions. One quick glance and Nancy knew none of them was the special doll Mrs. Struthers wanted. Most of them were made of rough, unpainted wood. One, with a wax face, had a ludicrous expression. The wax had evidently been cracked in places by cold weather and melted in others by the sun.

  “You must have lots of fun with these babies of yours,” Nancy said kindly.

  “They’re not very pretty,” one little girl spoke up. “You ought to see Nitaka’s dolls! They’re beautiful.”

  Nancy was careful to keep her voice steady as she asked, “Where is Nitaka?”

  “Gone,” the child said with a shrug.

  “Nitaka always comes and goes,” another child contributed as she sucked on a lifesaver Nancy had offered. “She never stays long.”

  “Nitaka comes and goes alone?” Nancy probed. “Sometimes, perhaps, with a man?”

  “With Anton,” the child with the wax doll answered.

  “And Zorus? Does he live here?”

  “The king of the gypsies?” the little girl said with awe. “He went—”

  Before she could say any more, a bell tinkled and all the children scampered off, Nancy wondered if they had been called away purposely.

  “Let’s go before someone comes after us,” Bess urged nervously.

  At that moment the violinist began to play again, this time “Gypsy Love Song.” The music seemed to come from the farthest tent.

  “Never try to pierce the gypsies’ secrets, or misfortune

  will befall youl” the woman whispered.

  “Girls, I must meet that man!” Nancy exclaimed. “He may be Romano using another name!”

  “No! Don’t try it!” Bess warned. “No telling what might happen to you!”

  “Remember the gypsy woman’s warning,” George added fearfully. “Please don’t.”

  But Nancy was gone. Fearlessly she hurried toward the musician’s trailer.

  CHAPTER X

  Complications

  BEFORE Nancy could reach the trailer the violin music was coming from, a stout, ugly woman ran toward her.

  “Go!” she ordered harshly. “You are not welcome here!”

  Dogs began to bark. Men and women poured from the trailers and walked toward Nancy. She found herself completely hemmed in by unfriendly faces.

  “Go!” the woman shouted again. “And do not return!”

  “I mean no harm,” Nancy said, stalling for time. “I only wish to meet the violinist.”

  “It is forbidden.”

  Nancy realized from the grim faces about her that argument was useless. Accordingly she left.

  “Let’s get away from here as fast as possible!” Bess pleaded as George started the car.

  “The violinist probably wasn’t Romano anyway,” George said philosophically. “And say, I’m about starved. What say we stop at Wrightville for a bite?”

  Half an hour later they ate in a pleasant tearoom, and then went to look in the windows of several quaint stores. One antique shop with dolls on display drew their attention. As they started to go inside, a man came out of the store. He clasped a small bundle against his coat pocket.

  Startled, Nancy said to her friends, “Girls, that’s the purse snatcher!” She darted after him. “Come on! We mustn’t let him get away this time!”

  The fellow realized that Nancy had recognized him and ran to the corner, where a blue sedan had just stopped. He jumped inside, and a second later the vehicle pulled from the curb.

  “We must follow him!” Nancy exclaimed.

  Bess suggested that she wait in town while Nancy and George track down the thief. The other girls agreed and jumped into George’s car.

  From the outset, the chase was hopeless. There was a traffic tie-up and when that cleared, George could not find the blue car. She insisted that they turn around and pick up Bess.

  When they found her, she giggled. “Who says I’m not a super detective? While you two were gone, I went back to the antique shop where we saw the purse snatcher and got some information about him.”

  “What was it?” Nancy asked eagerly.

  “The man sold a doll to the dealer for one hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “Did you see the doll?” Nancy asked, excited.

  “Yes, it was an Early American rag doll. Its hands were made of kid gloves and it had shoe buttons for eyes. The dealer said that the face had been painted on with vegetable dyes. For the life of me, I can’t see why anyone would pay such a fancy price for a rag doll!”

  “Because they’re so rare,” Nancy explained.

  “It was kind of cute at that,” Bess admitted.

  “The doll’s hair was made of yellow string. Its dress was an India-print skirt with a little home-spun linen jacket.”

  “I remember seeing one like that in Mrs. Struthers’ collection!” Nancy exclaimed. “I wonder if the thief stole it from her.”

  “He had a package with him when he left the shop,” George reminded the others. “What do you suppose was in it? Something else he stole?”

  “The shopkeeper,” Bess went on, “said the man had another doll with him to sell, but the dealer didn’t want to buy it.”

  Nancy decided to telephone Mrs. Struthers to find out if the doll just purchased by the antique dealer belonged to her. When she described the doll, Mrs. Struthers said it did not.

  “I have one exactly like it except for the India-print dress,” the woman said. “My doll is safe. The one sold must be—”

  Before Mrs. Struthers could continue, Rose cut in on an extension telephone and eagerly told Nancy about her music and dancing lessons.

  “Oh, I just love them!” she shouted. “My teacher says I’m a natural. I’m to have an audition for television or the movies if Granny will say it’s okay.”

  “Granny hasn’t said so yet,” Mrs. Struthers interrupted. “Rose is not doing so well with her other lessons, Nancy, and until she does I couldn’t think of such a thing.”

  “I can’t study all the time!” Rose exclaimed. “Anyway, it’s just like being in jail here. I can’t leave the house without being watched.”

  “Why, what do you mean?” Mrs. Struthers asked.

  “I know you put a detective on the grounds. He watches me all the time. I don’t like it. Everybody in this house is being watched.”

  Dismayed that Rose had learned about the detective Mr. Drew had employed, Nancy tried to calm the girl and her grandmother. Of course Mrs. Struthers professed her innocence.

  “Please don’t worry,” Nancy pleaded. “I’m responsible for this, and I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

  Alarmed at the turn affairs had taken, Nancy and her friends returned home. Several hours elapsed before the young detective reached the Struthers’ house.

  When Nancy arrived, she learned that her telephone call had caused a lot of confusion in the household. Rose’s conversation had been overheard by Mrs. Carroll, who had promptly repeated it to her husband.

  Convinced that a detective had been employed because the couple was thought to be dishonest, the woman had announced that they were leaving at once. To pacify them, Mrs. Struthers had ordered the detective off the grounds.

  Nancy’s explanation of why her father had engaged the man without first speaking to Mrs. Struthers cleared matters somewhat. Rose’s grandmother said she appreciated the Drews’ good intentions, but did not want the detective to return.

  Nancy changed the subject. “I’ve brought some purchases, and also a photograph of Romano Pepito,” she said.

  Mrs. Struthers’ eyes opened wide. “I’ve never seen a picture of him. Is he—”

  Nancy smiled as she handed over the picture. “He’s very handsome and kind looking. I’m sure he wouldn’t harm anyone intentionally. No doubt he was forced to leave his family against his will.”

  Mrs. Struthers gazed at the photograph for severa
l seconds before speaking. Tears filled her eyes. “I—I do so wish things had been different,” she said. “Yes, he is handsome. Rose looks like him and no doubt inherits his musical talent. But the fire in her—”

  “What fire?” asked a voice, and Rose danced into the room. Seeing the photograph, she cried out, “Who’s this? Don’t tell me! I know! It’s my father!”

  “What makes you think so?” Nancy countered, giving Mrs. Struthers a chance to decide whether or not to tell her granddaughter the truth.

  “Because I look like him!” Rose said.

  Nancy glanced at Mrs. Struthers, who put her arm around the child and said, “Yes, he is your father.”

  “I want to see him!” Rose demanded. “Take me to him.”

  “We do not know where he is—or do you, Nancy?” the woman asked hopefully.

  Nancy shook her head.

  “Oh, please find him,” Rose begged.

  “I’ll try to,” the young detective promised.

  As Rose claimed the picture for herself and went off with it, Nancy explained to Mrs. Struthers how she had obtained the photograph and what she was doing to locate Romano Pepito.

  “Have you ever heard of a Henrietta Bostwick?” she asked.

  “No,” Mrs. Struthers answered as Nancy opened the package with the old album in it, and showed her the strange message, which was a duplicate of the one in her own album.

  The source of light will heal all ills, but a curse will follow him who takes it from the gypsies.

  “What a coincidence!” Mrs. Struthers exclaimed. “I never heard of the woman.”

  “This Henrietta Bostwick may have sent the same quotation to your daughter.”

  “That’s so,” Mrs. Struthers agreed.

  She and Nancy discussed the mystery from various angles, but arrived at no conclusion. Nancy then told her how she had chased a man in Wrightville whom she thought was the purse snatcher.

  “Sorry I didn’t catch him,” she said.

  “Oh, Nancy, I meant to tell you,” Mrs. Struthers interrupted. “The police telephoned this morning. They know the thief’s name.”