The Twin Dilemma

by Carolyn Keene

  Remembering the page Mr. Reese had taken from another copy, she hunted for it and again studied the lovely gowns. When she saw the personnel manager coming out of the room with George, she had a sudden inspiration.

  “These pictures are just beautiful,” she said to the woman. “Do you know who photographed those gowns?”

  The woman looked at the catalog. “Most of this collection, including those dresses, were done by Chris Chavez,” she responded. “Doesn’t he have a terrific flair?”

  Bess nodded. She was as flabbergasted as George. Was Chris Chavez, Mr. Reese’s personal friend, an accomplice to the thefts?

  11

  Puzzling Information

  Meanwhile, Nancy had filled out an application at Millington. When the manager, whose name according to a sign on his desk was T. Iannone, reviewed it, he looked at her closely.

  “So you want a job, eh? I think, Miss Drew, it’s more likely you’re here to snoop!”

  His biting remark hit Nancy unexpectedly, and she decided to tell him the truth. “Could we speak privately?” she suggested, glancing at a nearby secretary who was pretending not to listen, but Nancy could see she was interested in the conversation.

  “This way,” the manager said, leading Nancy into an inner office. “I happen to know that you were Jacqueline Henri’s replacement in the fashion show the other night—and that Richard Reese has asked you to help track down a dress thief. News travels fast in this business.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” The girl detective knew it wouldn’t help to disguise her motive for being at Millington’s and went straight to the point. “How do you explain the fact that copies of Mr. Reese’s original dresses turned up in your spring catalog before the originals were made public?” Nancy asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “But you admit the Millington dresses are copies of Mr. Reese‘s,” the girl reiterated.

  “I’m not admitting anything. We run a very clean business here. Anyway, the Reese name doesn’t appear with any of our merchandise, so obviously we’re not making extra money off it.”

  That was an interesting clue, Nancy thought. Without the name of the designer attached to the clothes, they wouldn’t be so valuable. So perhaps the thief cared less about the designs themselves and more about destroying Mr. Reese’s business!

  “Mr. Reese is very upset,” the girl continued. “He’s determined to get to the bottom of this and to sue whoever is involved in the matter.”

  The man yielded reluctantly. “What do you want me to do about it?” he asked.

  “I want you to hire me so I can get to know a few of the people who work around here.”

  Again there was a long pause.

  “Tell me what kind of work you’re capable of doing,” Mr. Iannone sighed.

  As he spoke, Nancy was aware of someone eavesdropping outside the door, but the person moved away upon realizing the manager was in conference.

  “I’ll gladly take any job that will provide contact with your staff.”

  “In that case, I suggest you help out as a stylist,” he said, “You can begin tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll introduce you to someone who’ll show you what to do.”

  He led the girl to a windowless workroom filled with a large table, dressing mirrors, an ironing board, and racks on which hung dresses with tags. In one corner stood a small desk.

  “Now wait here,” the manager said, closing the door.

  “Thank you,” Nancy said.

  She peeked at the dresses, which were made of a rough cotton material, and noted the uneven stitching along the seams. Unlike the apparel in the Chalmers book, these clothes were cheap-looking.

  Nancy went to a chair at the far end of the room and sat down. Suddenly, the lights went out, throwing her into total darkness!

  A moment later, she heard shouts in the hallway. Doors were slamming, people were yelling, and it seemed to Nancy that a general panic had broken out.

  The electricity must have gone off in all the offices, the girl said to herself. I’d better get out of here!

  She groped her way through the room, careful to avoid the clothing racks, but then grazed against the corner of the table.

  “Ouch!” Nancy winced and rubbed her hip. “That hurt!” From then on, she hesitated before every step. Finally, she made it to the door and fumbled for the knob. When she turned it, a flash of fear stabbed through her. The door was locked!

  The young detective paused a moment, her mind whirling. Did someone lock her in on purpose? Mr. Iannone, perhaps? It must have happened after the lights went out, when all the noise started, she reasoned. Otherwise, she would have heard the click.

  Who else knew I was in here? Did Mr. Iannone tell the person who was to train me? Nancy asked herself.

  She banged her fist against the door and called out, but no one came.

  Bess, in the meantime, was struggling through her own typing test. She went along more slowly than George, careful not to make any mistakes. But she had finished only half the assignment when the personnel manager stopped her.

  “Time’s up, dear,” she said. “Now let me see what you’ve done.”

  Her smile faded rapidly when she realized that Bess had filled less than a page.

  “It’s very neat,” she said, “but you’ll have to build up your speed if you want to work here.”

  “Yes, ma‘am,” Bess replied, adding hopefully, “Is there something else I could try?” George had raised the same question.

  “I don’t think so,” the woman said. “Let me check my files, though.”

  She disappeared briefly, letting the girls chat during her absence. Bess quickly told George that Chris Chavez had done the photos for the store catalog.

  Soon the personnel manager returned with a folder. “Have either of you had any bookkeep ing experience?” she asked.

  “Not a bit,” Bess said promptly.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve nothing for you.”

  Before the cousins left, however, George decided to ask about Chris Chavez. “We met him at a benefit fashion show the other evening,” she explained.

  “Here in New York?” the woman replied in bewilderment. “Are you sure it was Chris?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because he’s been on assignments for us in Europe. He only flew back to New York yesterday!”

  The girls were surprised, but did not press the conversation further. Their job applications had just been turned down and they didn’t wish to create undue suspicion about themselves. So, after thanking the woman for her evident kindness to them, they said good-bye and headed for Jacqueline Henri’s apartment.

  “Too bad we didn’t get jobs at Chalmers,” George said.

  “I feel terrible,” her cousin mumbled as their cab came to a halt in front of a building marked “15.”

  “Well, don’t. Look at it this way,” George said. “We picked up that great piece of information about Chris Chavez.”

  “Doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Even so, it adds another intriguing aspect.”

  The girls stopped speaking as they opened the door of the apartment building. To their right was a bank of mailboxes and a small television screen. Ahead was another door that was locked.

  “They sure believe in security, don’t they?” Bess commented, pressing a button next to the name Henri.

  A few minutes passed. Nothing happened and the girls concluded that the model was not at home.

  “Let me try again,” Bess said. This time she held the buzzer half a second more and a voice responded.

  “Who is it?” The voice was distorted by the loudspeaker.

  “Jacqueline, is that you?” Bess replied.

  “Who?”

  “I’m looking for Jacqueline Henri,” Bess continued.

  “There’s no one here by that name,” the voice said and clicked off.

  George rechecked the address. It was correct! They scanned the names on the wall directory, discov
ering there was only one Henri listed.

  “Maybe there’s something wrong with the buzzer system,” Bess said.

  George tended to doubt that, but she was determined not to leave the building without visiting 3-C. As a couple came out through the locked doors, she quickly stepped up and held them open for Bess.

  They rode the elevator to the third floor and turned left around a corner. There were no names on the apartment doors, only brass knockers. George was about to lift the one on 3-C when they heard a man’s voice filter through.

  “It’s your job to keep Nancy occupied,” he said, as he was walking toward the door.

  “He’s leaving!” George whispered. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Quickly, the girls scooted back toward the elevator. They heard the apartment door slam, and Bess grabbed George’s hand. “He’ll see us once he comes around the corner. What’ll we do?”

  “Let’s hide on the other side,” George gasped, and pulled her cousin in the opposite direction from apartment 3-C. They rounded another corner and pressed themselves closely against the wall.

  The man’s footsteps could be heard approaching the elevator. “I’m going to take a look,” George declared boldly, and, for a second, she stuck her head around the corner. Then she pulled back with a little gasp, covering her mouth at the same time to stifle the sound.

  Bess tugged impatiently on her cousin’s hand. “Well, who is it?”

  “Chris Chavez!”

  “The first one or the second one?”

  “The first one!”

  They heard the elevator doors open. The man entered, and soon all was quiet as the elevator descended.

  “Oh, I wish we could follow him!” Bess murmured.

  “We can. Come on, down the stairs!”

  George led the way to the stairwell. The girls flew down, taking two steps at a time, hoping the elevator would stop on another floor to delay Chavez. However, when they reached the lobby, the elevator was there, empty, and there was no sign of the photographer. Quickly, the young detectives hurried out into the street and looked in both directions. Nothing!

  12

  The Culprit

  “We lost him!” George exclaimed angrily between gasps for air.

  Bess shrugged. “Well, we tried. Let’s go back to Aunt Eloise’s and tell Nancy about this.”

  George nodded. “There’s a bus pulling up on the corner. We’ll have to run to catch it.”

  Bess groaned. “I’ll never make it! I’m out of breath as it is!”

  But George wasn’t listening. She was already running toward the bus, with Bess trailing behind. They just managed to squeeze through the door before it closed.

  “How do you know this is the right bus?” Bess panted.

  “I don‘t, but let’s hope so.”

  To the girls’ chagrin, however, they soon discovered that they were heading away from Aunt Eloise’s apartment. It was getting dark, too, and a damp chill had seeped into the bus.

  “We’ll get off the next stop,” George said, but it proved to be a desolate corner, causing the two passengers to debark at the following one which seemed livelier.

  There they caught a taxi and were home in less than fifteen minutes. Surprisingly, they discovered that Nancy had not yet returned.

  “Where is she?” Aunt Eloise questioned when she saw that her niece wasn’t with Bess and George. “She ought not to wander around the city alone at night.”

  Bess explained how they had tossed a coin which had sent Nancy to the Millington Company.

  “Well, I’m sure they’re closed now,” Aunt Eloise said fearfully. “George, will you call their number?”

  George complied at once, but there was no answer.

  “The switchboard operator must have gone home,” she said.

  “Did you dial the right number?” Bess asked, observing the worrisome look on Eloise Drew’s face.

  “Of course, I did,” the girl said. She dialed again, however, to satisfy everyone, and again all she heard was a steady ring.

  Nancy had been beating her fists on the workroom door in the Millington office, hoping someone would come to free her. But in the general confusion outside, no one seemed to hear. After a while, the shouts and footsteps died down as the office emptied out, and Nancy was left in the room all alone.

  She stumbled through the darkness, bruising herself on the leg of an ironing board as she searched for the desk.

  I have to find something flat, a letter opener perhaps, that I can use to force the lock! she said to herself.

  She opened a side drawer and her fingers ran over pencils and paper clips before coming to rest on a slim cardboard box that contained filing tabs of some sort. Nancy took one, then went back to the door, shoving the tough sliver into the crack between the door panel and the frame. She pushed it down slowly, trying to slide it over the tumbler. But it jammed. Desperately she tried again. This time, the lock slipped and released.

  Dropping the tab, Nancy opened the door and felt her way into the adjoining stock room, where she groped for a light switch. She found one finally and pushed it, but nothing happened. Through the window she noticed that lights were on in the surrounding buildings. Their glow filtered dimly through the dusty glass.

  Apparently, the blackout is restricted to this building, Nancy thought. Well, I’d better call Aunt Eloise.

  She made her way slowly to the main office, letting her hands trail over a desk top until they settled on a telephone. To her dismay, however, she couldn’t make a connection. All calls were apparently controlled by a switchboard that was closed.

  Trying to remain calm, Nancy headed for the door that led to the reception area. To her relief, it was open!

  The elevator is right across the hall from here, she thought. I hope it works!

  When her outstretched hands made contact with the metal doors after she had crossed the corridor, she fumbled for the button and punched it. A slight hum indicated that the elevator was indeed operating!

  “Thank goodness,” the girl detective murmured, and stepped inside the car.

  When she arrived on the ground floor, she found the main entrance unlocked. Instantly, she rushed outside to hail a taxi. The driver gabbed cheerfully, trying to engage her in conversation, but Nancy felt so tired all of a sudden she could only raise enough energy to suppress a series of yawns. By the time she reached the apartment, she was ready to fall asleep.

  “Nancy!” Aunt Eloise cried upon seeing her. “Where have you been?”

  The torrent of questions that followed from Bess and George woke the girl up immediately.

  “We were just about to call the police!” George exclaimed.

  “Oh, I’m glad you didn‘t,” Nancy said, dropping into a chair.

  She spun out her story as fast as she could, then listened to the others. Bess and George had made phenomenal discoveries, she told them.

  “So it seems that the guy we saw in the restaurant today is the real Chris Chavez,” Bess said.

  “And the one who introduced himself to me at the party is someone else,” Nancy put in. “Just who is he?”

  “Well, we know he’s a friend of Jacqueline‘s and he knows her brother,” George commented.

  “If I’d never heard about Ted Henri, investigative reporter,” Nancy said, “I’d wonder if he weren’t a figment of her imagination.”

  “Maybe Jacqueline’s involved in the design thefts and when she heard you were coming to town, figured she had to cover up somehow,” Bess suggested.

  “But taking off the way she did before the fashion show and leaving Aunt Eloise in the lurch only drew attention to herself,” Nancy replied.

  “That’s for sure,” George said. “It made everybody suspicious.”

  “Us in particular,” Bess concurred. She grap pled with her bewilderment. “Jackie’s behavior doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “Precisely,” Nancy responded, “and I’m too tired to worry about it tonight. Let’s tr
y to figure out things tomorrow.”

  Before going to bed, however, Aunt Eloise spoke to Nancy alone.

  “What are you going to do about that job you supposedly have at Millington?”

  “Oh, I’m going back there tomorrow morning.”

  “After all that’s happened to you? I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Aunt Eloise objected. “Of course, you realize you were locked in that workroom on purpose.”

  Nancy nodded. “But I want to find out who did it and why!”

  Aunt Eloise still looked doubtful. “At least promise me you’ll discuss it with your father first.”

  “I’ll call Dad in the morning. And please don’t worry, Aunt Eloise.”

  In spite of her exhaustion, the young detective slept fitfully that night. When she awoke the next morning, her eyelids were puffy and she had trouble keeping them open.

  “Didn’t you sleep?” George asked Nancy.

  “Not very well.” She yawned.

  “This will wake you up,” Bess said, putting a glass of grapefruit juice and the morning newspaper in front of her.

  Nancy sipped the juice, allowing her eyes to fall on a small headline. Bess and George watched them pop.

  According to the newspaper, Russell Kaiser’s co-op apartment had been burglarized the night before! No mention was made about the nature of missing items, but Nancy wondered about the medallion. Had it been stolen and was there a connection between Kaiser’s impostor and the robbery?

  “I’d say it’s a good thing we came along on this visit,” George said. “Otherwise, Nancy, you’d be working forty-eight hours a day on these mysteries!”

  Nancy laughed, dropping a piece of bread in the toaster. “You’re absolutely right,” she said, “and I have a hunch I’m going to need lots of energy again today!”

  “Are you heading back to Millington?” Bess inquired.

  “Definitely. I want to see Mr. Iannone first thing.”

  “What should we do?” George asked.

  “How about visiting Russell Kaiser?” Nancy said.

  “Which one?” Bess giggled.