Password to Larkspur Lane

by Carolyn Keene

  Down, down, down! The little girl squirmed, but Nancy held her firmly. Looking up through the green water, she saw the black keel of the speedboat whiz past in a froth of bubbles.

  Instantly Nancy shot to the surface. Barely thirty seconds had elapsed but it seemed like an eternity. Sunlight dazzled her eyes as the strong arms of Bess and George reached down and lifted the child to the dock.

  “Marie!” Nancy panted. “Is she—is she all right?”

  “She’ll be okay,” said George as the child began to cry. “Marie swallowed some of the lake, that’s all.”

  By this time the two women had rushed over. “Mommy!” cried Marie. Mrs. Eldridge scooped up her small daughter and hugged her.

  “My baby!” the woman murmured. As she fondled the sobbing child she looked at Nancy. “How can I ever thank you?”

  “Please don’t,” Nancy replied softly. “I’m so glad I was here.”

  “I want to do something for you,” said the grateful woman. “I live in the white cottage at the north end of the lake.”

  Nancy smiled. “Perhaps you can, Mrs. Eldridge. I would like to ask you something.”

  “Anything—anything,” the woman said warmly. “Come sit down.”

  She led the girls to the beach chairs and settled down comfortably with Marie on her lap. The little girl had stopped crying and cuddled up drowsily.

  The girls introduced themselves, and Nancy said, “Tell me, are you from St. Louis?”

  The woman looked amazed. “Why, yes, I am. How did you know?”

  “I’ve heard that an Eldridge family settled in Missouri many years ago,” said Nancy. “They were originally from New York.”

  “That could have been my husband’s people,” the woman said, looking puzzled. “What’s the matter?” she added quickly, for there was a strange half-smile on Nancy’s face.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Nancy said. “This must be my lucky day.”

  “What do you mean?” Mrs. Eldridge asked.

  “A short time ago,” Nancy began, “under rather unusual circumstances, I came into possession of an old-fashioned gold bracelet with a coat of arms on it, which I traced. It belongs to the Eldridges.”

  “A gold bracelet!” the woman exclaimed, her cheeks flushing. “Was there an inscription on it?”

  “ ‘To my darling Mary from Joe,’ ” Nancy replied.

  The woman grew pale. “Where is the bracelet now?”

  “Safe in my home in River Heights,” Nancy replied reassuringly.

  “It must belong to my husband’s Aunt Mary!” Mrs. Eldridge exclaimed. “How did you get it?”

  As Nancy told the story, the woman listened intently, then said, “I must call my husband at once.” She explained that he was in Richmond, Virginia, searching for his aunt.

  “She has been missing since early spring. Our aunt is a very wealthy woman, rather eccentric at times. Several months ago she disappeared from her home, leaving a letter. It said she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and was going to a sanatorium for a long rest. Aunt Mary asked us not to try finding her.”

  “I’m sure she is being held not far from here,” Nancy said. “I, too, am trying to find her.”

  “And Nancy will!” George declared. She and Bess told Mrs. Eldridge of their friend’s success as an amateur detective.

  “Miss Drew has already done me one great service,” Mrs. Eldridge said with a smile. She shifted the drowsy child to her shoulder and rose. “I can never thank you enough,” she said as she started to leave.

  Suddenly Mrs. Eldridge stopped and looked back. “I forgot to tell you: Aunt Mary has a necklace which matches the bracelet. She wore the set almost constantly from the moment Uncle Joe gave it to her sixty years ago.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” said Nancy. “It may be a helpful clue.”

  As Mrs. Eldridge walked away, Nancy said to her friends, “This has been a day of surprises!”

  George grinned. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” She pointed out to the lake. “Take a look at that!”

  A long canoe with three young men was heading toward shore. A shrill whistle split the air as one of them waved.

  “Ned!” exclaimed Nancy.

  “And Burt and Dave!” Bess added. “That was our secret!”

  “The boys called us last night,” said George, “and when we told them we were coming here, they decided to paddle over today. Ned wanted to surprise you, Nancy.”

  “He certainly did and it’s a grand surprise,” she said with a broad smile.

  The canoe grated ashore and the three athletic-looking boys jumped out. All wore dark-blue Bermuda shorts with white shirts bearing the name Camp Hiawatha.

  “Here we are!” husky, blond Burt Eddleton exclaimed with a grin. “The world’s greatest camp counselors!” He was George’s special friend.

  Dave Evans was a rangy boy with fair hair and green eyes.

  Ned Nickerson, who was tall and handsome, grinned. “Now with us at the lake you girls can have some excitement!”

  George and Bess burst into laughter and even Nancy had to chuckle.

  “Nancy’s way ahead of you today,” said George.

  “She usually is,” Ned remarked. “Tell us about it. More mystery?”

  “Two of them,” said George. “And a rescue!”

  Walking up the hill to the Comings’ house, Nancy told the boys all that had happened, passing lightly over the speedboat episode.

  Ned gave a low whistle. “You’re on two dangerous cases, I’m afraid, Nancy.”

  “Don’t forget you can count on us,” Burt said as they entered the utility room.

  Through an open door straight ahead they saw Mrs. Corning in the kitchen. She was happy to meet the boys and at once invited the three couples to the yacht club dance across the lake the next night. “My husband and I belong and would love to have you go as our guests.”

  “I’m sure we can get time off from our camp duties,” said Ned. “We’ll accept. Thank you.”

  Presently the boys said good-by. “We have to get back to our young charges,” Dave remarked. “See you tomorrow.”

  The girls dressed quickly and helped their hostess prepare a dinner of steak, potatoes, green beans, and watermelon. Afterward, they insisted upon tidying the kitchen without her assistance.

  It was twilight by the time they finished. Nancy excused herself and slipped out the front door. Carrying a flashlight, she headed for the spot in the woods where she and Helen had seen the blue fire. After examining the singed leaves, Nancy concentrated on the ground beneath them. There were some bits of scorched brown wrapping paper. Picking them up, she wondered if they might help to explain the fire display. Nancy then hurried to her room and put the pieces away in an envelope.

  “Maybe Ned can analyze them,” she said to herself. “I’ll check with him tomorrow night.”

  Though the group watched intently, the blue fire did not appear that evening. Before going to bed, Nancy told the Comings that she was afraid Morgan might have been kidnapped. “Perhaps you ought to inform the police.”

  Mr. Corning shook his head. “Morgan asked us not to,” he said. “I’ll give him another thirty-six hours.”

  Next day there was still no sign of the missing houseman and Nancy asked for permission to search his room.

  “Go right ahead,” said Mrs. Corning.

  It was an attractive room with a large window overlooking the lake. Quickly and efficiently Nancy searched, but could find no clue to the man’s whereabouts. She observed that the servant could leave the house by going through the utility room and out the side door without anyone seeing him.

  “Has he a key to the doors?” Nancy asked Mrs. Corning.

  “Oh, yes. He usually came and went by the side door so he wouldn’t bother us.”

  “Did he have many friends?” Nancy inquired.

  “None that we know of. He was a quiet man and liked to stay by himself.”

  Nancy looked thoughtful
. “The friendship card Morgan received makes me feel that an old acquaintance is after him for some reason. There may be a clue to this person in his references. If you still have them, may I examine the letters?”

  Mrs. Corning was not sure where the papers were. “I’ll look for them tomorrow.”

  After lunch Nancy, Bess, and George drove to the eastern outskirts of River Heights to search for the larkspur house. They were riding along a shady country road. Nancy stopped in front of a small home where a woman was trimming the hedge. Under a nearby tree sat an old lady, shelling peas.

  “Excuse me,” said Nancy, “we’re trying to find a large house in this area that has lots of larkspur or bluebells around it. Do you know of such a place?”

  “Can’t say I do,” the woman replied.

  “What’d she say?” the old lady asked loudly.

  “Nothing, Mother. Just some house they’re looking for. She’s deaf,” the woman added to Nancy.

  “I heard that!” the mother said tartly. “And I heard ‘house’ and ‘bluebells.’ They’re lookin’ for the bluebell house. And I know just where it is!”

  CHAPTER X

  An Unwelcome Gift

  “You girls listen to me!” the old lady shouted. “The house you want is over in the next township, just outside of Milford. Go right down Elm Road. You can’t miss it.”

  The woman standing by the hedge shook her head. “I never heard you mention that place before, Mother.”

  The old lady’s black eyes snapped. “I know lots I don’t tell,” she said.

  The girls thanked the two women and drove off, excited at the lead. But as they neared the small town of Milford, Bess looked worried. “I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed home,” she said. “I really don’t want to meet any kidnappers.”

  “Now don’t be a snob,” George teased her cousin.

  “It’s all right for you to make jokes,” Bess replied, “but I can’t help it if I’m not brave like you two.”

  Nancy smiled. “I can remember times on some of my cases when you were way ahead of us.”

  “I surprised myself,” Bess admitted.

  Nancy spotted the sign marking Elm Road and turned into the narrow, treeless street.

  “There it is!” exclaimed George. In the middle of the block was a yard full of bluebells.

  “You mean there it isn’t,” Nancy said gloomily as she pulled up in front of the white cottage. A faded sign BLUEBELL HOUSE hung by the door. “No mansion, no fence, no gate!”

  “But whoever lives here must be interested in bluebells,” said Bess. “Maybe they could help you.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said, and the three girls went up the walk to the door.

  Their knock was answered by a thin, young woman wearing an apron. “Hello, girls,” she said cheerfully. “I guess you want to see the china. Come on in!”

  She walked quickly into a room off the hall, beckoning them to follow. Nancy tried to explain, but stopped short at the door of the room. Shelves and tables were filled with flowered china.

  “All hand-painted,” the girl said. “The prices are marked.”

  “Oh, how beautiful!” Bess exclaimed.

  While she and George looked around, Nancy explained to the girl why they had called.

  “There’s no place like that around Milford,” she said, “but have you tried the Brookdale section west of River Heights? I’ve heard there used to be lots of estates out that way.”

  Nancy thanked her and Bess bought three hand-painted cups and saucers.

  “There’s one for each of us,” she said when they reached the car. “A souvenir of a wild-goose chase.”

  “It may not have been so hopeless after all,” said Nancy, and repeated what the girl had said.

  George looked thoughtful. “You told us Dr. Spire rode about an hour to get to the house. Can’t we narrow the search by going only to places that are about an hour from the road where the old sedan was parked?”

  “We could,” Nancy said. “But the chances are that the kidnappers drove a little longer than necessary just to confuse the doctor.”

  George grinned. “Nancy, you never miss a trick!”

  A further search continued for some time but without success. Finally Bess reminded Nancy of the dance that night. “We’d better go home,” she advised.

  Hours later Nancy was seated with Ned on a bench outside the gaily lighted porch of the yacht club. Lively music and singing came pulsing out the wide open doors and windows.

  “On a hunch I brought something for the chemistry expert,” she said, and handed him the envelope containing the bits of paper she had picked up in the woods.

  “I’m no expert,” he protested. Ned’s eyes filled with mischief. “You don’t expect me to look at this, do you, when I could be looking at you?”

  Nancy blushed and laughed. She was wearing a simple rose-colored formal and her hair was piled high with a gardenia tucked in it.

  “Please be serious,” she said. “I have a hunch that the burning circle is made of fireworks which are carried by someone. I remembered that you once helped make a fireworks display at college.”

  Ned spilled the bits of paper into his palm. He looked at them carefully.

  “Your hunch is right, Nancy. These are fragments of quickmatch.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “The fuse which is used to light fireworks.” He explained that it was a string coated with a mixture of gunpowder and glue and enclosed in a brown paper tube. “Then that’s attached to the lances.”

  “And what are they?” Nancy queried.

  “Paper tubes filled with chemical mixtures which burn different colors. The circle you saw is probably a wooden frame with long nails sticking out of it about an inch apart.

  “The lances are forced upright onto the points of the nails. Then the quickmatch is nailed across the tops of the lances. It’s rough to do,” he added, “because the lances are very hard, and many times the nail goes into your finger instead. Well, does that help you?”

  “Yes. If I can find out where the fireworks were bought and by whom, I may have a good lead.”

  The rest of the evening was pure fun and ended with supper on several of the members’ yachts moored to the club’s dock. While taking their dates home, the three boys invited them to a swimming meet at the camp the next afternoon and the invitation was accepted.

  By one o’clock the girls were ready for bed. Bess and George dropped off to sleep at once, but Nancy lay awake. Suddenly she sat up. There had been a noise downstairs. Quickly she put on robe and slippers, then grabbed a flashlight from her suitcase.

  Slipping past her sleeping friends, Nancy went quietly down the back stairs. At the bottom she heard a scraping sound in the utility room.

  Softly she opened the door and flashed on her light. Caught in the beam was a white-faced, frightened figure on his hands and knees. He looked up. The missing man!

  “Morgan!” Nancy exclaimed. “What are you doing? Where have you been?”

  “I—I dropped the door key,” he stammered.

  Nancy spotted the key and picked it up.

  “Thank you. I was moving things, feeling around for it. Sorry I disturbed you.”

  “Morgan, we’ve been very worried about you,” Nancy said. “Won’t you please tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong!” the man said quickly. “I’ll explain in the morning.”

  He opened the door to his bedroom, stepped inside, and locked the door behind him. Nancy wondered if she should awaken her hostess to report the servant’s return, but decided against this.

  In the morning, before breakfast, Mrs. Corning told the girls Morgan had already talked to her and her husband. She said he had begged forgiveness, and had told a rambling story about going to help a friend.

  “I’m afraid it’s not true, but we don’t want to discharge him.” She sighed, then said, “Here, I almost forgot.”

  She handed Nancy the names
of the three persons who had written letters of recommendation for the houseman.

  “If you don’t mind,” said Nancy, “I’ll phone these men after breakfast.”

  An hour later she came down from the second-floor phone and reported to the Cornings in the living room.

  “Well, what did they say?” asked the old gentleman.

  “None of these people ever heard of Morgan.”

  The couple sat thunderstruck.

  “Morgan!” Nancy exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

  “Then the letters were forged?” said Mrs. Corning.

  “I’m afraid so,” Nancy told her.

  “Impossible!” snorted Mr. Coming. “I remember talking to one of those men on the telephone.”

  “You must have spoken to an impostor,” said Nancy.

  “But—but why would Morgan do this?” asked Mrs. Corning.

  “Maybe his past made it impossible for him to get recommendations any other way,” said Nancy. “Whoever helped him must feel he has a hold over Morgan. Perhaps that is the ‘friend’ who has come back into his life.”

  Mrs. Coming said presently, “Now that Morgan has returned, maybe it’s all over.”

  “I doubt it,” said Nancy. “He’s still frightened.”

  Her host spoke up. “Morgan’s always been honest and a hard worker. I say we give him another chance. Do you agree, Emily?”

  His wife nodded. The girls said nothing.

  After church and lunch Nancy looked through the advertising pages of the telephone directory for fireworks companies in the area, but found none. As she put the book away, there was a sharp knock on the front door. Nancy went to open it.

  No one was there, but on the stoop was a long, narrow parcel wrapped in brown paper. It was addressed to Morgan. Suspicious, Nancy went to tell the Comings about it.

  “Under the circumstances,” she said, “would you like to open this before Morgan does?”

  “No,” her hostess said firmly. “I feel that what’s Morgan’s business is his business. Take the parcel to him, Nancy.”

  With misgivings, she carried the package to the kitchen and handed it to the houseman. He stared at it and began to tremble. With shaking fingers Morgan removed the string and paper. He seemed lost in thought and unaware that Nancy was still in the room.