The Scarlet Slipper Mystery

by Carolyn Keene

“Then it’s settled. As soon as we finish breakfast, we’ll pick the right spot and I’ll begin work.”

  Half an hour later they set up a studio in Hannah’s second-floor sewing room. Nancy, wearing a dainty ice-blue blouse, sat quietly while Henri made several rough pencil sketches.

  Finally he selected one that Helene declared looked exactly like Nancy.

  “I like the expression, because it’s serious and yet Nancy has a little smile,” she said. “To me that is just the way she looks.”

  After she had posed for two hours, Nancy was glad to stretch a bit. She telephoned the dancing school and found that things were running smoothly.

  Soon afterward, George arrived. “Hypers, Nancy!” she exclaimed. “I thought you’d be in bed. Where did you learn to fall down a whole flight of stairs and come up with nothing worse than a few bruises and a twisted ankle?”

  “It takes a lot of practice,” Nancy answered with a laugh.

  “Anyway,” said George, “I just dropped in to see if I could be your chauffeur.”

  “I certainly would like to go out and do some work on the case,” Nancy replied. “Suppose you have lunch here and we’ll start right afterward.”

  At two o’clock Nancy and George were on their way. Their first stop was the Civic Center, where George ran in to tell Mrs. Parsons that Nancy would be unable to rehearse for a few days.

  “Now I’d like to cruise around,” Nancy said, “on the off chance that I might see Mrs. Judson or that man who stopped me the other night.”

  Though George drove around for half an hour, the girls did not spot either of the people they sought. Next Nancy wanted to check hotel lobbies and restaurants.

  “But you can’t do that yourself,” George objected, “and I don’t know the man.”

  Nancy had an idea. “You go in, and if you find anyone who seems to fit the description, I’ll take a look.”

  George investigated hotels first, but saw no one who resembled either Mrs. Judson or the mysterious man. Next they tried a number of restaurants, where George looked over the clientele and asked cashiers and hat-check girls if anyone who ate there resembled the people they sought. All the replies were negative.

  “Let’s try one more,” said Nancy late in the afternoon. George pulled up in front of a small dining place called the Regal Restaurant.

  Both girls went inside. Nancy described the couple they wanted and told the cashier that the two would not necessarily have been together.

  The woman thought for a few seconds, then said, “There was a couple in here last night that sounds like your description. The woman was an American. She was dressed in loud clothing and talked in a whiny voice. The man had a French accent.”

  “Did you overhear their names?” Nancy asked.

  “The woman called the man Rowl—or something like that.”

  “Rowl?” Nancy repeated. “That might be Raoul. What were they talking about?”

  The cashier thought for a moment. Then she said, “I didn’t hear much. Apparently they were finishing a conversation they’d started before they got here. But the woman said, ‘You’d better come across with a nice bit of jewelry for me or I’ll spill the beans!’ ”

  “That sounds like her!” said Nancy. “Do you remember anything else?”

  “Only that the woman handed the man a letter when they were eating dessert.”

  At this point the cashier called to a waitress who had served the couple. The girl remembered them well.

  “When the man read the letter,” she said, “he looked plenty mad. And he gave the woman an awful scolding for losing the stamp.”

  “Have you any idea where they live?” Nancy asked.

  The waitress said that she had heard them mention the big apartment house on Oakwood Avenue. “But I don’t know that they live there.”

  Nancy thanked the cashier and the waitress, and the girls hurried off.

  When they reached the apartment house, Nancy looked at every name on the letter boxes. Not one of them was Judson. She rang the superintendent’s bell. There was no reply, but the front door opened and a woman came out. Nancy asked her whether a couple named Judson lived in the building. The woman said she did not know.

  “Mr. Judson’s a Frenchman,” said Nancy with a smile. “Would that mean anything?”

  “There’s a Frenchman here. He lives in 1A.”

  The two girls walked down a corridor and knocked. The door was opened by a thin, sallow-cheeked man with a waxed mustache.

  “Ah, charmant!” the Frenchman said. “The so pretty American girls.”

  The girls were amused by his exaggerated mannerisms. George asked, “Is there another Frenchman in this building who might be using the name of Judson?”

  “I see you are not interested in poor Guion,” said the man. “But yes, we have a Mr. and Mrs. Judson here for some weeks.”

  Nancy asked for a description of the couple. It sounded as though the woman was Mrs. Judson, and her husband might well be the man who had stopped her on the deserted road!

  “Where are they living?” she asked.

  Mr. Guion pointed down the corridor. “They have sublet down here, while the tenant is away in Canada. However,” he said, shrugging, “I do not know where they are now. This morning they most quickly moved out.”

  CHAPTER VI

  A Strange Mix-up

  “To think we came so close to finding the Judsons and then missed them!” George fumed when she and Nancy were back in the convertible, heading for the Drew home.

  Nancy, too, was discouraged, although it was interesting to know that she had been correct in suspecting that the man and woman who evidently had a major role in the Fontaine case had been living in River Heights.

  “We could call the apartment superintendent to learn whether they left a forwarding address,” the girl said. “But since they’ve been receiving mail at the General Post Office, that doesn’t seem likely.”

  When George dropped Nancy at her home, Hannah Gruen greeted the young detective with a smile. “You have company!” she announced.

  Nancy hobbled into the living room to find Ned Nickerson seated on the sofa.

  “Hello!” he said. “Say, what’s this I hear about a busted ankle?”

  Nancy told him it was only a mild strain. “Then if you’re okay,” he said, “how about a double date tonight with the Fontaines?”

  “All right. But we’ll have to stay here,” said Nancy. “It would be dangerous for them to leave the house. Won’t you have dinner with us? I can promise apple pie.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  The drapes were drawn throughout the first floor and the Fontaines came downstairs. Ned liked them at once, and they conversed freely.

  During dinner Nancy told the group what she had learned at the Oakwood Avenue apartment house. Afterward, Mr. Drew excused himself and went to his study. The four young people sat in the living room and talked.

  Suddenly the doorbell rang several times. The Fontaines looked worried and Nancy advised them to hide in the kitchen. As Helene and Henri hurried off, Hannah went to answer the bell.

  Nancy and Ned watched from the living room while the housekeeper opened the door. They were amazed to see a man of medium build, his face concealed by a handkerchief he held in his hand, force his way in. He pushed past Hannah and shut the door behind him!

  Ned ran into the hall, intending to tackle the intruder. The man stood still and whisked the handkerchief away from his face.

  “What’s the idea of forcing your way in here?” Ned demanded.

  Nancy had hobbled to the hall and stood staring at the man in blank amazement. He was the one she had met on the plane—the person they suspected of having sent the warning note to the Fontaines!

  He was thunderstruck when he recognized Nancy. “You live here?” he asked.

  Before she could reply, there was a frantic pounding on the front door.

  “Don’t let anybody in!” the stranger cried. “I was followed!�
��

  “Open the door!” cried a girl’s voice, which Nancy recognized at once as George’s.

  Nancy opened the door and her friend rushed in. “Oh, I tried to warn you!” she exclaimed. “But this man—he got here ahead of me!”

  “Warn them about what?” the stranger asked.

  “About you,” George said bluntly. “Nancy, get the police!”

  “Police?” the man asked. “I don’t know what this is all about. I didn’t come here to cause any trouble.”

  “Then why are you here?” George demanded.

  “I’ve come to see Mr. Carson Drew,” the man answered. “I understand that he is an attorney. I have a case for him.”

  Mr. Drew had stepped out of his study when the commotion began. He now came forward. “I’m Carson Drew,” he said. “And your name?”

  “Johann Koff.”

  “Millie Koff’s father?” Nancy exclaimed.

  “Yes.”

  “I understood from Mrs. Parsons that you and Millie had left town and no one knew where you had gone,” said Nancy.

  Mr. Drew added, “You will forgive us if your mysterious disappearance seems suspicious to us?”

  “I will explain everything,” Mr. Koff said.

  “You mean I’ve been shadowing you for nothing?” George exclaimed, sagging weakly against the door frame.

  Mr. Koff laughed. For the first time he recognized George as the young woman who had demanded an interview of him the night before last.

  “I assure you, the Drews do not need protection from me,” the caller said. “Because I need your trust, I’d like to offer proof of my identity.”

  He took out a wallet and several letters, which he showed the lawyer. When Mr. Drew seemed satisfied with them, Mr. Koff added, “And now may we talk alone?”

  Mr. Drew led the way into his study and closed the door. Nancy went to the kitchen and explained to the Fontaines what had happened. She advised that they remain there until Mr. Koff left the house.

  Five minutes later Mr. Drew came to the door of the study and called to his daughter.

  “Please come in, Nancy,” he said. “I want you to hear an amazing story.”

  As Nancy seated herself in a chair alongside her father’s desk, he told her that the caller was a writer for newspapers and magazines.

  “I’ve come to your father,” Koff explained, “with a law case that may also need a little detective work.”

  Mr. Koff leaned back in his chair, then went on, “I became excited on the plane, fearing it would crash, because I have much work to do for my native land of Centrovia, from which I escaped.

  “I was so upset that I picked up a briefcase that I thought was my own. When I reached my hotel, I discovered that it belonged to someone else. The papers inside indicated that the owner was a Mr. Buzby in New York, so I sent the case to him, air mail, special delivery, at once.

  “Then the trouble started. I received a phone call the following day from a man in River Heights who said that the briefcase belonged to him. Buzby had notified him and was sending it along. The man here is David Judson of Oakwood Avenue.”

  Nancy was startled to hear this name but felt it was best to reveal nothing at this time.

  “This David Judson,” the Centrovian went on, “told me that Mr. Buzby was a business competitor of his. As a result of seeing confidential material in the briefcase, he had learned business secrets and made a profit from them by getting several large orders. Mr. Judson claims he has suffered considerable financial loss because of it and is demanding damages from me.”

  “Could he collect?” Nancy asked her father.

  “Under certain circumstances,” the lawyer replied. “But listen to the rest of the story.”

  Koff continued, “Well, Judson was aggressive. He frightened me. My daughter and I packed at once and moved to the hotel in Cliffwood.”

  “But he found you?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes, and tonight he made a new demand by phone. He said he had proof that I had deliberately taken his briefcase. A girl on the plane near me would swear to it.”

  Nancy was startled. Did Judson mean her? There had been no other girl sitting nearby.

  “If he produces this witness,” said Nancy firmly, “she’ll be a phony. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I feel that the whole thing is a frame-up,” Mr. Drew stated. “This Judson hopes to get some money easily. We’ll try to put a stop to the threats at once. Suppose you drop a note to Mr. Judson, telling him that you have turned the matter over to me. If he still wishes to bring suit against you, I’ll agree to accept the case.”

  “But I understand through a friend who spoke to the superintendent that Mr. Judson has left Oakwood Avenue and did not say where he was going,” Koff objected.

  “You might try General Delivery at the post office,” Nancy suggested.

  “I will do that,” the Centrovian agreed.

  Mr. Drew asked, “Did you get your briefcase back?”

  “No. Mr. Buzby wrote that he knew nothing about mine. It contained both my name and address but has not been returned.” Koff’s face grew grim. “There are many valuable things in it and I am concerned that the information may fall into the wrong hands.”

  “The wrong hands?” Nancy repeated.

  “In my briefcase,” he explained, “were a number of letters from the Centrovian underground in various countries. Through them, the occupying authorities might trace the loyal people who are working for us. I am sick with worry.”

  Nancy felt sorry for Koff. “I hope everything will soon be straightened out,” she said, “and that your daughter can return to the charity show. I understand she’s a wonderful dancer.”

  “Yes,” Koff agreed, relaxing a moment. Then his voice rose excitedly. “Before the occupation there were many wonderful dancers in Centrovia. But no more. No, no more. The hearts of our people are crushed. They do not have the time or the spirit for singing and dancing.”

  “Did you know many of the famous Centrovian dancers?” Nancy asked.

  “Indeed I did,” Koff replied. “Most were killed, but a few fled the country at the time I did. I remember one family in particular, the Provaks, who went to Paris. The mother, an exquisite beauty, died there, and her husband did too. I learned from the underground that the children might be in grave danger.”

  “What are their names?”

  “They’re known as Helene and Henri Fontaine.”

  Nancy heard his words with mixed feelings. Her old suspicion that Koff might be playing a double role flashed across her mind.

  The young sleuth glanced at her father’s puzzled face. Evidently he, too, was trying to decide whether they ought to call in the Fontaines.

  Catching Nancy’s eye, Carson Drew shook his head slowly as if to say, “Give nothing away!”

  But the decision not to reveal the whereabouts of their guests was suddenly taken from them. Helene and Henri Fontaine hurried into the room I

  CHAPTER VII

  Masked Intruders

  FOR the next few minutes there was near pandemonium in Mr. Drew’s study. Mr. Koff and the Fontaines were speaking Centrovian at the tops of their voices, their eyes flashing and hands waving.

  As Nancy and her father stood by helplessly, Ned Nickerson, Hannah, and George rushed in. “I knew there’d be trouble! I just knew it!” Hannah cried.

  By the sound of the Centrovians’ excited voices, the onlookers fully expected Koff and Henri to come to blows. To their amazement, nothing of the sort happened. But when Mr. Drew caught the word Judson, he stepped forward and took Henri by the shoulder.

  “Please speak English,” he said.

  The young man looked embarrassed. He bowed slightly and said, “I beg your pardon, sir. We Centrovians are excitable people. We were saying nothing you should not hear.”

  The interruption quieted the three Centrovians. Helene and Mr. Koff also apologized, explaining that they were talking about conditions in Centrovia. Henri had
also mentioned Nancy’s suspicions about the Judsons.

  Helene and Henri, who had overheard part of their countryman’s conversation with the Drews, had not been able to remain in hiding when they heard Mr. Koff mention their names.

  Nancy addressed herself to the Fontaines. She asked them frankly, “Do you want to tell Mr. Koff your whole story?”

  “Oh, yes,” Henri replied.

  From an inside pocket of his jacket he pulled out the warning note that had been left at the dancing school and showed it to the caller. After reading it, Mr. Koff remarked, “This just proves what I have been telling the Provaks—they are in danger.”

  “We thought you sent that note!” George blurted out.

  “Me!” Koff exclaimed. Then he smiled at George. “Is that why you’ve been following me?”

  She admitted that it was.

  “Well, I’m glad we’re getting things straightened out,” said Koff. “And now I must go.” He turned to Mr. Drew. “You will take my case against Mr. Judson?”

  The lawyer nodded, then said, “Since I am handling your case, there are a few things I would like you to do. For one, everything that took place in this house tonight must be kept in strictest confidence.”

  Koff nodded.

  “Also,” Mr. Drew went on, “I see no reason for your hiding. If you wish to move back to the Claymore Hotel, I think it will simplify matters. It might bring Mr. Judson into the open, and I should like very much to meet him.”

  “My daughter and I will come back to River Heights tomorrow,” Mr. Koff promised. “I know Millie will be pleased. She can resume her part in the charity performance.”

  Nancy smiled. “Mrs. Parsons will be glad to hear it. I’ll tell her.”

  The Centrovian said good night and left the house. The others sat down to discuss this newest development.

  “I just can’t make up my mind about that man,” George said flatly. “One minute I trust him and the next I don’t.”

  The Fontaines were confused by this observation. They trusted the man implicitly.

  Mr. Drew and Nancy said that they felt a bit wary about Mr. Koff. Undercover agents were very clever. Helene and Henri admitted that perhaps they had told him too much.