As the girls moved closer, the hammering ceased. Though they waited several minutes, it did not resume.
“We may have been seen by the men,” Nancy said. “I hope they haven’t left.”
When George and Nancy had pushed through to the end of the marsh, they saw that the front door to the factory stood wide open. Nancy peered inside. A long corridor opened into several offices and led to a large workroom at the rear. No one was in sight.
As the girls started along the hallway, they heard retreating footsteps. They glanced out a dirt-smudged window and noticed two men running in the direction of the river.
“Oh, Nancy,” George exclaimed, “they must have heard us!”
“They’re going to their boat!” Nancy said excitedly.
Already the men were well hidden by the high marsh grass. The girls ran quickly toward a rear door, with Nancy far in the lead. As they neared it, deafening sounds of an explosion filled the air. The walls of the factory rocked. A huge amount of plaster crashed down between the girls.
“Nancy!” George cried out in panic as she gazed at the high pile of debris that separated them. One whole corridor wall had caved in.
“Nancy must be buried underneath it!” George thought in horror.
The air was thick with white dust. Coughing and choking, George frantically began to pull away boards and chunks of plaster.
In the meantime the two men, who had paused in the tall grass, were just about to go back to the factory when they heard someone running up the path. Salty, fearful for the girls’ safety, was racing toward the building, clam rake over his shoulder. He passed within a few feet of the men, but did not see them.
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” he kept mumbling. “I hope nothin’s happened to the lassies!”
He found George still digging feverishly at the pile of debris.
“Salty!” the girl cried. “I can’t find Nancy! She must be buried!”
The old man began raking furiously at the pile of plaster that blocked the corridor. At that moment Nancy was lying stunned on the floor of a closet some distance from where her friends were working. The force of the explosion had hurled her into the large storage closet, then the door had slammed shut. The corridor ceiling had fallen, sealing off the entrance to the closet.
When she regained consciousness Nancy found herself in total darkness and wondered where she was. Slowly the dazed girl got to her feet and felt around her prison. At last she found a door and tried it. It would not budge, and there was no other exit.
“What’ll I do?” she thought. “And where is George?”
Suddenly Nancy heard her name being called. With all her strength she pushed against the door. It yielded slightly. Through the crack she shouted, “George!”
“Nancy! Where are you?” came a muffled reply.
“Here! In the closet!”
Salty and George leaped across the rubble. With the rake and their hands and feet they cleared away enough of the debris to free Nancy. As she squeezed outside, Salty mumbled:
“Thank goodness you’re alive!”
George embraced her friend in excited relief. “You feel all right?”
“I think so. What caused the explosion?” Suddenly Nancy recalled the two men who had run from the building. “What became of those men who were in here? Did you see them, Salty?”
The clam digger shook his head. “I saw no one.”
Nancy, George, and Salty plunged through the marsh grass toward the riverbank. The damaged motorboat was no longer there.
“Those rascals sneaked away, drat ‘em!” Salty muttered in disgust. “Do you think that makes ’em guilty, Nancy?”
“Guilty on two counts,” the girl replied. “Guilty of damaging the boat I rented, and most likely, guilty of causing the explosion.”
“But why set off an explosion?” George asked.
Nancy shrugged. She did not want to mention any of her theories just yet, but it occurred to her that Daniel Hector may have been covering up some incriminating evidence against himself. Mrs. Fenimore had vehemently declared that she did not trust the lawyer.
During the trip back to Salty’s dock, the clam digger and the girls kept their eyes open for the blue-and-white motorboat. But they did not see it.
“I’ll be glad to take ye on a trip again,” the amiable man offered when they reached River Heights.
Nancy thanked him. On the way home she was thoughtful, and could hardly wait for the moment when she could talk to her father. In his den after dinner she told about Daniel Hector’s apparent connection with the explosion at the Heath button factory.
“But why would Hector want to damage property he’s obligated to look after?” Mr. Drew asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m sure there’s a great deal more to the Heath case than Juliana’s disappearance,” Nancy declared. “The explosion today, for example. There may be something pretty sinister in back of it all.”
“I agree with you,” Mr. Drew said soberly. “Nancy, I know it’s useless to ask you to give up trying to solve a mystery—”
“Oh, it is, Dad!”
“At least I can ask you to be careful. Remember, you’re my one and only daughter.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, hugging him affectionately. “Now, about the Heath affair. Isn’t it possible that Hector has been investigating the property himself, hoping to discover the clue Walter Heath mentioned in his will?”
“You mean the one by which Juliana can identify herself beyond all doubt?”
“Yes, Dad. If a dishonest person stumbled upon that clue, it might be possible for him to have an impostor claim the fortune.”
“That wouldn’t be so easy, Nancy. A number of persons knew Juliana.”
“But,” Nancy countered, “if she has been through a terrible experience of some kind, she could have changed so much even her own sister wouldn’t recognize her.”
“True. I follow your reasoning. Nevertheless, any woman who put in a claim would have to satisfy the court that it was a just one.”
Nancy glanced steadily at her father. “Do you think Mr. Hector has really tried to find Juliana? If he isn’t honest—”
“Nancy, I don’t like to think the man would be involved in anything underhanded. I don’t approve of his methods in handling law cases, but there is no proof that he has actually done anything dishonest.”
“But you admit,” Nancy said, “that the Heath case looks suspicious?”
“Yes, I do, Nancy.”
His daughter went on, “I’ve even thought that maybe Juliana is being held a prisoner somewhere.”
Mr. Drew looked surprised. “In the castle?”
“Who knows?” Nancy replied. “Dad, I can’t decide where to begin looking for her. The explosion today kind of changed my plans.”
“In what way?”
“I heard that Walter Heath made scientific experiments at his estate. If Mr. Hector suspects there’s a secret within those crumbling walls—”
Mr. Drew gazed at Nancy. “Young lady, you’re leading up to something!” he declared with a twinkle in his eye. “Out with it!”
“I’m only trying to arouse your curiosity,” Nancy confessed with a laugh. “Why not go to the factory with me? You may find a clue I overlooked. I need your help, Dad.”
“Well, if you put it that way,” her father said, “Actually, I haven’t the time to spare, but I’ll go to please you.”
“Tomorrow morning then.”
“So soon?”
“Dad, don’t forget, I must solve this mystery in three weeks!”
CHAPTER VII
A Puzzling Message
NANCY and her father were up early the next morning. They hastily made breakfast before Hannah came downstairs, then drove to the lane Mr. Drew knew led to the damaged button factory. The road was in very bad condition, and there was no gate.
“I see why those men came by boat,” said Mr. Drew, stopping the car some distance from the buil
ding. “We’ll walk from here.”
Nancy led the way through the dew-laden grass to the scene of the explosion. There was no sign of anyone near the factory.
“The explosion did a good job of destruction,” the lawyer commented as the Drews cautiously entered the building.
“Here’s where the wall caved in between George and me,” Nancy explained.
“Looks as if it might have been dynamited,” her father remarked. “Let’s see if we can find any evidence.”
For the next half hour father and daughter scrambled among the rubble. When they discov ered nothing of importance in the corridor, they decided to investigate the large workroom at the rear. It was necessary to go outside and climb in through a window to reach the room, because the inside entrance was blocked.
“Oh, it’s like a ghost town,” Nancy said as she surveyed the rusted machinery covered with layers of dust. “To think that this once was a prosperous factory, Dad.” She pointed. “What was this machine used for?”
“Cutting,” her father explained. “The mollusk shell is placed inside. An operator moves a lever and down comes the circular steel saw. Presto! A little shell disk drops into the hopper. Another machine slices the disk into pieces of uniform thickness and there you have some pearl buttons !”
“How clever!” said Nancy.
“The buttons pass through still another machine which polishes them,” Mr. Drew went on. “In the last operation thread holes are drilled through them.”
“Dad! Look!” Nancy cried suddenly.
A scrap of torn paper was sticking from a corner of the rubble in the doorway. Near it, in a thick layer of dust, were several footprints. Nancy picked up the paper which had part of a message on it. The writing was bold and read:Dear C,
Some
cret which I
in a wall
famous
worthy
“Interesting,” Mr. Drew commented, scanning the paper. “But I can’t say that it makes much sense. The footprints might be a better clue.”
He stooped to examine them. “Freshly made, no doubt,” he said. “Perhaps the two men have visited here since the explosion.”
“If so, it proves they’re searching for something they think was hidden and could be found only by blasting it out.”
“Not necessarily. The explosion could have been an accident, or was set off for some other purpose and may have nothing to do with Juliana’s inheritance,” Mr. Drew remarked.
Nancy was staring at the torn note. “I believe I’ve stumbled upon a worthwhile clue just the same. I’m sure the partially missing word is secret.”
She pocketed the message and reluctantly left the factory with her father. At home, later on, Nancy spent more than an hour trying to figure out the missing words of the note. Who had written them? The paper appeared old, the ink slightly faded.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if Walter Heath had written this,” she told Hannah Gruen.
“I know how you might find out!” the housekeeper said.
“How?”
“Walter Heath was a member of the River Heights Historical Society before his death. I’m sure the society has specimens of his handwriting.”
“Hannah, you’re a genius!” Nancy cried, giving the woman a hug. “I’m off to the Historical Society this very minute!”
Luck was with the young detective. On labels, books, and pieces of furniture which Walter Heath had given to the organization’s museum she found several samples of the deceased estate owner’s handwriting.
“It’s the same as that in the note!” Nancy observed excitedly. “Now, if only I can find the missing part of the message! But Daniel Hector may have the rest!”
Nancy decided to seek her father’s aid once more and asked him to talk to the lawyer about the Heath case. Carson Drew did, and then reported to his daughter. “Hector certainly was reluctant to discuss the case.”
“Didn’t he tell you anything?” Nancy asked.
“Nothing worth mentioning. As soon as I spoke of Heath Castle and the button factory, he closed up as tight as Salty’s clams!”
“Did you mention Juliana’s name?”
“Yes. Mr. Hector stressed that he was still searching for her.”
The Heath Castle mystery was no nearer a solution than before. Eager as Nancy was to revisit the estate that afternoon, she found it impossible. Her father had made her promise not to go there alone. Neither Bess nor George was free to accompany her until the next day.
The next day, after Sunday church services, the three girls set out in Nancy’s car, carrying a picnic lunch. On the way Nancy explained the latest developments in the mystery. She added, “Nothing must drive us away from the castle grounds until we’ve investigated every nook and corner!”
Soon the familiar ivy-covered front boundary wall loomed ahead. Nancy parked beneath a cool tunnel of overhanging trees. The car was well hidden.
She and her friends got out and walked to the rusty gate and peered between the bars. The grounds seemed as deserted as ever, but suddenly the girls heard dogs barking.
“Listen!” Nancy exclaimed. An instant later she added, “They’re inside the grounds!”
“And coming closer,” Bess said nervously.
“That settles it. We can’t possibly go in now!”
She wanted to return to the car, but George and Nancy lingered, reluctant to leave. Soon they glimpsed two large black-and-white hounds.
“Dangerous-looking brutes,” George commented. “Evidently they’ve been left here on guard.”
When the dogs saw the intruders they barked louder than ever. One of them came to the gate, growled fiercely at Nancy, and clawed the iron bars with his front paws.
Instead of retreating, she spoke soothingly to him. “Hello, old fellow. When did you come to live here?”
To the amazement of Bess, the animal began to wag his tail. Nancy reached a hand through the gate and patted his head.
“Be careful!” Bess warned sharply.
The other dog had stopped barking and now came forward, too. Nancy stroked his head.
“These dogs are not vicious,” she said. “Girls, I’m sure we can explore the grounds safely.”
“I’m willing to try if you are,” George said.
Bess was afraid of the dogs but agreed to go.
“I’ll climb over first,” Nancy said. “If they don’t attack me, you two follow.”
George and Bess watched uneasily as their friend climbed the crumbling wall. On the ledge she hesitated a moment. The dogs had set up a loud barking again. Nancy realized that although the animals had been friendly to her on the opposite side of the enclosure, there was no guarantee they would let her enter the grounds.
“Don’t attempt it!” Bess called.
Nancy spoke gently but firmly to the hounds. Then, taking a chance, she lowered herself gradually. One of the dogs leaped up to her. Nancy’s heart began to beat wildly, but she showed no fear.
“Easy, boy,” she murmured. To her relief, the animal became friendly once more.
“It’s all right,” Nancy called to her friends, and continued to pat the hounds. She talked to them as George climbed the wall and leaped down. The dogs did not make a fuss. As soon as Bess’s head appeared, however, they began to snarl.
“They’ll leave you alone if you don’t show any fear,” Nancy assured her.
But it was impossible for Bess to do this. “Go on without me,” she said after two vain attempts. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“All right,” Nancy agreed, adding with a grin, “Don’t eat up all the lunch while we’re gone!”
She and George set off. The dogs remained behind. Soon the girls located the avenue of trees which led to the loggia.
“Here’s a path that may go to the castle,” Nancy said as they came to a forked trail.
“Maybe.” George smiled. “But here’s a sign that reads To the Goblin Gallery.”
“Let’s see where it goes,” N
ancy urged.
They passed a finely chiseled statuette in a wall niche, lingered a moment to gaze at a rose garden choked with weeds, then went on to a clearing. Before them rose an artistic structure. The sides were formed of slender twisted stone columns, while sprawling over them was a roof of un-trimmed vines supported by thick stalks.
“How pretty!” Nancy said dreamily.
George, surveying the gallery closely, remarked practically, “It looks as if Father Time has taken over here instead of the goblins. Those stone columns might tumble down any minute.”
Remarking that she was amazed stone could be damaged so greatly by weather, Nancy stooped to inspect the base of one of the pillars. “George!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Someone has deliberately tampered with these columns. See the marks? They’ve been weakened—probably with a pickax!”
“Why would anyone do that?” George asked.
As the girls looked over the other columns, Nancy told George about the note she had found at the Heath button factory and the words “in a wall.”
“I’m sure someone is searching various walls of that old building for an article of value,” she said.
“But why try to destroy these lovely columns?”
“Maybe the person didn’t find what he wanted in the walls, and was looking in the columns.”
George was not listening attentively to her friend. Instead, she was gazing down the path as if transfixed.
“What do you see?” Nancy asked in a low voice.
George motioned toward the bushes. “It’s an old man!” she whispered. “He’s pointing his finger at something ahead of us!”
Nancy was startled too when she saw the man amid the heavy shrubbery. Her pulse quickened as she moved toward the figure. Nearing it, she laughed softly.
“Why, it’s only a life-size statue, George!”
Embarrassed, her friend went over to inspect the figure.
“That pointing finger might have a special significance,” Nancy said, noting the path ahead. “Let’s see where this takes us.”
The trail had been nearly obliterated by weeds. It twisted in and out among the trees and seemed to lead nowhere. The girls were about to turn back when Nancy caught a flash of water in sunlight.