Carolyn Keene_Nancy Drew Mysteries 021

by The Secret in the Old Attic

  “Shall we break the door down?” she asked Mr. March.

  He nodded.

  Together they pushed against the door. Suddenly there was a splintering sound, and the barricade gave way.

  Nancy and Mr. March fell forward. There was no floor beyond the door. Man and girl pitched into space!

  Mr. March and Nancy pitched into space!

  For a second Nancy thought she had hurtled to the outdoors. But suddenly, with Mr. March beside her, she crashed onto something hard.

  The two, their breath knocked from them, lay still for a few moments. Then Nancy roused herself.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, getting up and helping Mr. March to rise.

  “Yes,” he panted. “Guess we missed some steps.”

  The candlelight was still visible at a distance, but most of its beam was cut off by the massive wardrobe. As Nancy’s eyes became accustomed to the dimness, she groped toward the doorway of the attic to retrieve the light.

  She found three steps leading from the secret room to the attic and climbed up. Effie was standing there, trembling.

  “I heard a crash—” she began.

  “Everything’s all right,” Nancy assured her. “Mr. March and I had a fall, but we weren’t hurt —just a few bruises.”

  “Thank goodness!” Effie cried. “Oh my, you could have killed yourselves! Did you find anything?”

  “Not yet. We’ll let you know as soon as we do.”

  Effie went downstairs again. Nancy got the candle and returned to the secret room. Her first thought was to find out how the person who had bolted the door from the inner side had gained access to the room. Nothing showed up until she looked above her.

  “A skylight!” she said aloud, and played the candle on the low arched ceiling. “Look, Mr. March, it has been entirely covered with a large black cloth.”

  “A person could step in and out of that window easily,” Mr. March remarked. “The fellow put the dark cloth over it to keep anyone from seeing a light in here. And come to think of it, Fipp often went to his bedroom early. Probably he came up here instead of going to bed.”

  Nancy was not entirely sure the elderly man was correct in his surmise about the skylight being the entrance. There was no evidence outdoors that an intruder could possibly gain access to the steep roof without a long ladder.

  “And that certainly would have been noticed,” Nancy thought.

  She and Mr. March searched for another opening, but were unable to find one. Nancy had to conclude that Mr. March’s theory probably was correct, yet a strong hunch told her it was not.

  “Now let’s look for Fipp’s music,” said Mr. March.

  The only pieces of furniture in the room were a small antique piano-desk and a drawerless table. Nancy inquired if Mr. March had ever seen them before.

  “Yes, long ago,” he replied. “But I seem to recall that they stood along a wall in the attic at that time.”

  Nancy began to examine the unusual piano-desk, feeling that if Fipp’s music were hidden any place, it would be there. Lightly she struck a few of the yellowed keys, and then her heart sank.

  “These harplike notes are the very ones I heard the other day!” she exclaimed.

  “Are you sure?” Mr. March asked.

  “Positive.”

  To herself Nancy said, “I’m afraid the intruder knew the secret of this old attic and has found all the music. One by one the songs will be published, and there won’t be a scrap of evidence to bring suit against the thief! The one clue we found under the wallpaper on the staircase won’t help us much.”

  Mr. March shared her feeling of discouragement as they pulled out one drawer after another of the piano-desk. They contained nothing.

  “Perhaps there’s a secret drawer under the keys,” said Nancy, taking heart suddenly. “Those musical notes I heard may be part of some special combination that’s used to open a hidden compartment.”

  “Didn’t you say you heard rapping sounds as well?” Mr. March reminded her. “Maybe you have to rap on something while you strike the notes. But what’s the use of bothering if all the music is gone?”

  “We don’t know that all of it is gone,” Nancy told the elderly man. “Maybe the thief was only experimenting, just as we are, and didn’t find the combination.”

  Nancy tried to imitate the sounds exactly as she had heard them. Again and again she played the musical notes, while rapping first on one part, then another of the wooden framework with her free hand.

  She was just about to give up when a drawer shot out just above the piano keys.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Trapped

  “THERE’s nothing in the secret drawer!” Mr. March groaned in disappointment. “The thief got here first and took it all!”

  “Here’s a card with writing on it,” said Nancy, reaching in and taking out the message. “Maybe it gives further directions.”

  “Read it to me,” Mr. March directed.

  Nancy was so excited that the words tumbled from her mouth. Here, in telltale handwriting, was a splendid clue to the man who had stolen the March songs and to the person who had them published as his own original compositions! Mr. March requested that the girl repeat it.

  “‘Riggin,

  Can’t you find another good song?

  D.’”

  “‘D’ for Dight, you think?” Mr. March asked.

  “I’m sure of it,” Nancy replied, elated at the discovery. “But who can Riggin be? Whoever he is he must have dropped this card when he was searching for the songs.”

  At that instant Effie appeared in the doorway. “Isn’t anybody going to eat supper? It’ll be stone-cold pretty soon.”

  The maid’s words brought the searchers back to reality.

  “Why, yes, Effie. We’ll be right down,” Mr. March said.

  “You two look awful funny. Did something happen?” Effie inquired.

  “We’ve had a surprise, that’s all,” Nancy answered. “But we didn’t find what we’d hoped to.”

  Before leaving the secret room, Mr. March decided to nail up the skylight so the intruder could not get in again. He called to Effie to bring hammer and nails from his toolbox in the basement.

  “But it’s like locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen,” he said dolefully.

  “Maybe not,” said Nancy, a new thought coming to her. “You know the intruder hasn’t been back since we frightened him away. Whatever he wanted hasn’t been taken yet.”

  “True enough,” the elderly man agreed. “There’s still a ray of hope.”

  “Just where to look next puzzles me,” said Nancy. “I’d like to sit down quietly and think things out.”

  Effie returned with hammer and nails. The skylight was securely fastened. Then they all went downstairs.

  During supper no mention was made of the secret room. Susan was eating with her grandfather and Nancy, and they did not want to excite the child. It was not until the little girl had gone to the kitchen after the meal to talk to Effie that Mr. March divulged to Nancy what he proposed to do that evening.

  “I have a hunch that fellow Riggin is going to come back here tonight. Well, he’ll be my prisoner before he knows what’s happening.”

  “You mean you’ll notify the police?”

  “Indeed not. This old soldier is going to capture the thief alone!”

  Nancy was aghast, and started to object.

  “Nothing would please me more than to get my hands on the fellow who stole Fipp’s work!” Mr. March insisted.

  Nancy could not persuade him to change his mind. She offered to accompany him, but he would not let her.

  “You said you wanted to think things out,” Mr. March reminded her. “Maybe an idea will come to you and you’ll go back to the old attic and search for the rest of my son’s music.”

  “At least, let’s arrange a signal,” Nancy pleaded. “Couldn’t you imitate some kind of an animal sound to let me know if the man shows up?”
<
br />   Mr. March grinned. “I can try hooting like an owl.”

  “Good! I’Il listen for it.”

  Saying he would post himself near the old servants’ quarters, Mr. March went outdoors quietly. Nancy had some misgivings about his going, but said nothing.

  She put Susan to bed, then came downstairs. Effie soon finished her work and retired. The young detective was left alone.

  For an hour Nancy sat in the living room, thinking. She reviewed the various angles of the two strange cases in which she and her father had become involved.

  “The hardest work is yet to come,” she mused, “and that will be to go into court and prove that the two Mr. Dights are guilty. They’ve both stolen something, but how different the two products are!”

  Realizing it would cost Mr. March a great deal of money to carry out his plan of prosecuting the plagiarist, Nancy could not help but wish that there were some way to locate more of Fipp’s music. Her thoughts turned suddenly to the piano-desk.

  “Why, there may be another secret drawer in it!” she concluded suddenly.

  Excited, Nancy jumped up and started for the attic, carrying a candle. As she reached the third floor a clock chimed.

  She smiled. “The witching hour of midnight! And I hope all’s well,” she quoted.

  Nancy started her new investigation of the piano-desk. The utter stillness and the close atmosphere had a depressing effect upon her. She began to breathe more quickly as first one sound, then another made her uneasy.

  “They seem so far away,” she thought. “I wonder if I would hear Mr. March if he should call.”

  For a long moment Nancy stood still, hesitant to go on with her work. Maybe she ought to run downstairs to be near the elderly man if he needed her.

  “I’ll hurry with my search,” she decided.

  Nancy pressed first one area, then another on the left-hand side of the old piece of furniture. No drawer came out. She tried again and again, then switched to the right-hand side. At last her efforts were rewarded.

  Slowly a shallow tray moved out from the middle of the old piano-desk. It was filled with papers.

  Nancy’s pulse was beating wildly, but she forced herself to be calm. She carried the tray to the table, then took out several scrolls and folded papers.

  Nancy scanned them hastily. As she had hoped, they were all musical compositions. The name Philip March Jr. was signed in a bold scrawl at the top of each song!

  “These have never been published!” Nancy thought elatedly. “That thief didn’t find them!”

  Her imagination was spinning as she hummed one lovely air after another and realized what hits they would make. Nancy could picture the shabby old mansion restored to its former grandeur. Little Susan would be getting a fine education. Mr. March ...

  Nancy was so absorbed in her thoughts she failed to notice that the piano-desk was moving slowly and silently across the floor. It stopped. Then noiselessly a man raised himself through a hole. He began to smile.

  “So she found them for me!” he gloated.

  Nancy, unaware that her every move was being watched, rolled up the manuscripts. As she started to pick up the candle, the young sleuth became aware of a sound behind her!

  Nancy froze to the spot. The stealthy intruder confronted her. Before she could scream, he grabbed her in a powerful grip and put one hand over her mouth.

  “Bushy Trott!” she gurgled behind his fat fingers.

  “Mr. Riggin Trott, if you please!” he corrected her with a sneer. “I see you remember me. Well, I remember you. Tried to spy on me at the Dight factory, didn’t you? Well, that didn’t get you anywhere!”

  Nancy fought to escape from the man, but his clutch was like an iron vise. He whipped out a handkerchief and stuffed it into her mouth. Deftly he produced two pieces of rope from his pocket.

  “Always carry these for emergencies,” he announced with a low chuckle. “Use them for people who don’t mind their own business. I threw a stone at old man March at your house to scare you from coming here. But I’m glad you came.”

  Nancy kicked at the man’s shins, and he winced with pain.

  “Goin’ to fight, eh? I’ll fix that,” he sneered.

  Having tied Nancy’s hands behind her, Trott now pushed the young detective down and bound her ankles. She fought desperately, but it was useless. When he had her completely at his mercy, he grinned evilly.

  “Many thanks for solving the baffling mystery!” he said. “For a long while I’ve been trying to learn where the rest of the March music was hidden. Now I’ll relieve you of your precious bundle.”

  He picked up the manuscripts, which had fallen to the floor in the scuffle, and put them under one arm. Then he reached into a pocket.

  “I’m sorry to leave you like this,” he said sardonically, “but I trust that this little creature will fix you so you’ll remember nothing of this episode.”

  Nancy, squirming and twisting, did not understand what the man meant. He removed a bottle from his pocket.

  “You wonder what this is?” he jested cruelly. “A black widow, my dear detective. Oh, you shudder? Then you know what it will do to you!”

  CHAPTER XIX

  Deadly Darkness

  BUSHY Trott’s eyes gleamed like a maniac’s as he laid the spider on a corner of the piano-desk. At once it started to crawl toward the floor and he gave a low laugh of satisfaction.

  Nancy rolled herself sideways to get out of its path. Her eyes focused for a second on the three steps to the attic.

  “If only I could pull myself up them, I might be able to escape!”

  “Don’t expect any help from the old man,” Trott said with a look of satisfaction. “March is sound asleep in the garden, and he won’t wake up for a long, long time!”

  The man chuckled, pleased with his accomplishment. Nancy’s heart nearly stopped beating. What had he done to Mr. March?

  “Now just to be sure nobody else comes here,” Trott continued, “I’ll fix that attic door so it can’t be opened.”

  Nancy’s heart sank as he moved to the opening through which she had hoped to escape. He swung the battered door shut, then rearranged the long, wooden bar which she and Mr. March had broken down.

  Thoroughly enjoying himself, Bushy Trott looked around. Seeing the spider, he scooped it up in the bottle and shook it, “Just to liven the thing up a bit,” he said. Once more the man held it above the piano-desk. The black widow crawled out and dropped onto the yellowed keys of the instrument.

  “I always carry one of these with me in case of need,” Trott explained. “Well, good night, young lady!” He grinned at Nancy. “And good-by. Good-by forever.”

  To her horror, he picked up the candle and retreated to the opening in the floor which Nancy guessed led to the old servants’ quarters. She struggled desperately to free herself.

  “You can’t escape,” Trott taunted her. “The black widow may not come quickly, but she’ll finally find you.”

  The man held the candle in the direction of the piano-desk. Nancy saw the spider climbing slowly down one leg of the instrument. It was not a dozen feet away from her.

  “Sweet dreams!” whispered Trott, blowing out the candle.

  He took a flashlight from his pocket, turned it on, then lowered himself into the opening. Before disappearing he pulled the piano-desk over the hole.

  The old attic was in complete darkness. Nancy knew the black widow was coming closer to her, but she had no idea which way to roll to avoid its deadly bite.

  Nancy expected the poisonous spider to strike any moment. Then a thought came to her. Perhaps if she lay very still, the spider might decide she was not going to harm it and leave her alone.

  Suddenly Nancy’s anger at Trott’s vile deed took possession of her. No one but herself could testify that he had stolen Fipp March’s music, and that he carried deadly black widows to use on anyone who might stand in his way.

  “I must get out of here!” Nancy told herself over and ov
er again. “That terrible man must be arrested at once.”

  She could not scream, nor could she loosen her bonds. Nancy found, however, that she was able to raise both her feet and thump them hard on the floor. Would the sounds carry to Effie’s room? And if they did, would the timid maid come upstairs, break down the door, and venture into the secret room?

  “I believe she’d do that if she thought I was in danger,” Nancy reassured herself.

  She rolled across the floor until reaching the steps to the main attic. Then she pounded on them with all her might. After waiting several minutes and getting no response, Nancy gave up hope of rescue from this source.

  “If I could only move the piano-desk and get down that hole!” she thought. “There must be a stairway.” Then Nancy realized that in the pitch blackness she would probably fall and be badly injured.

  Suddenly Nancy heard her name called. The sound was far away. Her heart sank. But in a moment hurrying footsteps came from somewhere.

  “Nancy! Nancy!” a male voice called out.

  “Oh, I hope I’m not imagining things,” she thought.

  “Nancy! Where are you?” a girl shouted.

  Now she could hear jumbled voices in the big attic. Again her name was called.

  Nancy thumped with all her strength. The next instant a body crashed against the door, and it burst open. A flashlight shone in her eyes.

  “Thank goodness you’re safe!” were the words Nancy heard. She could hardly believe her good fortune. The speaker was Ned Nickerson.

  Bess, George, and Effie crowded into the room after him. But Ned took complete charge of the situation.

  Springing forward, he jerked the gag from Nancy’s mouth. Then he cut her bonds with his pocketknife and helped the girl to her feet.

  “Nancy, if anything had happened to you—Who did this?” he demanded gruffly.

  “Bushy Trott. Oh, Ned—”