The Clue of the Leaning Chimney

by Carolyn G. Keene

  Nancy whirled sharply. Standing in the doorway was a short, gentle-faced Chinese with spectacles and a tiny goatee. He wore a richly brocaded mandarin coat and beautifully embroidered Chinese slippers. His eyes twinkled, and his slippers shuflied softly as he advanced into the study.

  “I hope I did not frighten you.”

  Nancy smiled. “I’m afraid you did, just for a moment! You’re Mr. Soong?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Nancy Drew, a friend of Dick Milton’s.”

  “Oh yes, the illustrious Drew family. I’ve heard of you and your father. Please sit down.”

  After giving him the package, Nancy mentioned last night’s robbery. She told Mr. Soong about the strange man on the road. Mr. Soong showed intense interest when she mentioned the dragon’s-foot design on the vase.

  “This tapestry you found so fascinating,” he said, indicating the cloth over the mantel, “bears the identical design that is glazed on the vase.”

  He rose and went to the fireplace. “The dragon you see here was an emperor’s emblem. It has five claws. Only the emperor and his sons and Chinese princes of the first and second rank were allowed to have emblems showing dragons with five claws. Lesser princes had to be content with four-clawed dragons.”

  “How interesting!” Nancy murmured.

  Soong fixed his gentle eyes on Nancy. “Did you notice the number of claws on the vase?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Nancy admitted. She stood up. “I must go now. I’ll let you know if I find another clue.”

  Mr. Soong nodded and smiled. “It was good of you to come,” he said in his soft, musical voice. “I have heard much about your detective abilities and I am flattered that one so charming and capable should wish to help me recover the vase.” He paused. “Perhaps you can aid me in still another matter, Miss Drew—you and your father.”

  “What sort of matter is it, Mr. Soong? I’d like to be of service in any way I can, but if it’s a legal problem Dad will know how to solve it better than I.”

  Mr. Soong hesitated. “To tell the truth, I am not certain at this moment what kind of problem it is, although it has legal aspects. Suppose I call on Mr. Drew and tell him about it.” His eyes twinkled. “With the condition, of course, that he repeat the story to you.”

  Nancy laughed. “That’s the kind of condition I like!”

  Mr. Soong tinkled a tiny Chinese bell and the servant silently appeared.

  “Ching will show you out,” the elderly Chinese gentleman said. “Good-by.”

  Nancy returned to Dick’s shop and told him of her visit. “Mr. Soong’s a fine person,” she added.

  “He certainly is,” Dick replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “That’s why I want to repay him as soon as possible. It probably will take a long time,” he commented forlornly. “The vase and elephant were worth an awful lot of money.”

  “I’m going to hunt for them,” Nancy said with determination.

  “But if you don’t find them, I’ll pay Mr. Soong back somehow,” Dick declared. “I must! And I’m sure I could do it if only—”

  His fist hit the top of the counter so hard that the little clay dishes jumped. “If only I could find the leaning chimney!” he exclaimed.

  “The leaning chimney?” Nancy asked quizzically. “What’s that?”

  “I wish I knew.” Dick frowned. “It’s a clue to some valuable clay. The leaning chimney may be part of a house, part of a factory—or it may exist only in someone’s imagination.

  “I learned of it by accident. I was in a phone booth one day when I overheard a man talking in the adjoining booth. I didn’t pay any attention until I heard ‘unusual China clay,’ then ‘Masonville’ and ‘leaning chimney.’ I tried to hurry my call so I could ask him about the clay, but when I hung up he had disappeared.”

  Dick sighed. “I’ve hunted for such a chimney in what little time I could take away from the shop, but all the chimneys I’ve seen are as straight as a flagpole!”

  Nancy laughed, then grew serious once more. “China clay is the main ingredient for making fine pottery, isn’t it, Dick?”

  “It’s the best there is!” he replied. “Why, if I could locate a valuable deposit of China clay nearby, I might buy it cheap, and make the finest of porcelains like the ancient Chinese! Then I could repay Mr. Soong!”

  Dick’s eyes glowed at the prospect and the worried frown vanished from his face. Seeing the change in him, Nancy determined to do everything in her power to locate the valuable pit.

  “Maybe I can help you find the clay, Dick,” she said. “I’ll try, anyway.”

  He stared at her in surprise for a moment, then his mouth broke into a wide grin. “Would you?” he exclaimed. “That’s mighty swell of you!”

  “If what you overheard the man say is true,” said Nancy, “the chimney must be somewhere in or around Masonville.”

  “If it only were!” There was a dreamlike look in Dick’s eyes. “I’d enlarge my place, install extra kilns, and do a thriving business. I can just visualize it all—Dick Milton, Inc., Fine Potteries.”

  Then he smiled. “Please forgive me for such silly daydreaming. But, you see, I would like my wife and baby daughter to be proud of me.”

  “A little girl? How nice,” Nancy said with a smile. “How old is she?”

  With a fatherly air of authority he said, beaming, “Susan’s her name and she’s fifteen months. I’d like you to see her, and meet my wife Connie, too, sometime.”

  “I’d love to,” said Nancy. “But, right now, before I start for Masonville to look for the leaning chimney and the China clay, I’d like to learn more about how you make pottery.”

  Dick led Nancy into the workroom back of the shop, where the thief had jimmied the window.

  In the center of the room stood two long benches crowded with plaster of Paris molds, unfinished clay pieces, a potter’s wheel and various jars and cans. Stacked in a corner were huge, round crocks. Dick explained that these contained ordinary moist clay which he had prepared for his classes.

  “But one can get much finer results with China clay,” he remarked.

  “What are those big black boxes?” Nancy asked, pointing to three square, ovenlike vaults on benches to one side of the room.

  “Oh, they’re my electric kilns for baking.” Dick smiled. “I’m firing a piece now. I’ll let you have a preview.”

  He led Nancy over to one kiln. Through a small peephole, she could see a bright-red glow. Inside was a small pyramid-shaped object and beyond that was a vase about seven inches high.

  “This is the biscuit stage,” Dick informed her. “When that little cone which you see in front of the vase starts to bend, I’ll know my piece is finished and turn off the heat. After the vase is completely cool, I’ll put on a coat of glaze and refire it. Then it will be ready for sale.”

  As Nancy and Dick returned to the front of the shop, she thanked him for his instructive demonstration.

  “Bess wants me to join your class,” Nancy remarked. “Maybe I will—after I find the leaning chimney!”

  At that moment a customer entered the store, and Nancy said good-by.

  “Keep me posted,” Dick called as she went out.

  Nancy walked to her car and started off. As it rolled along the road toward Masonville, she tried to figure out what a leaning chimney would have to do with a clay pit. Perhaps the man whom Dick had overheard was talking about two different things. Maybe there was no link at all between them!

  “I may be on a wild-goose chase,” Nancy thought. “But it’s worth the try.”

  Almost without realizing it, she found herself on the back road which she and Bess had taken the night before from Masonville. Nearing Hunter’s Bridge, she slowed down, then stopped at the side of the road.

  “I’ll look around,” she decided. “Maybe I’ll find some kind of clue to the thief’s identity.”

  Sliding across the seat of the convertible, she stepped onto the soft dirt shoulder of the road.
The earth was still slightly damp after the rain. Various sizes of heavy shoe marks here and there indicated to Nancy that the police had made an investigation.

  Nancy walked into the underbrush a few feet, searching carefully for anything the officers might have overlooked. As she ducked under a bush, a large drop of water slid from its leafy cup and dripped onto her neck. Nancy hunched her shoulders as a chill ran down her back.

  Suddenly she heard a faint rustling. Behind the shrubbery a thorny bush with long, prickly branches was quivering violently, as if a moment before someone had brushed against it.

  Her breath coming quickly, Nancy glanced at the damp ground behind the bush. Clearly imprinted in the soft earth were a man’s footprints!

  Was she about to come face to face with the thief who had stolen the vase?

  CHAPTER III

  The Secret Panel

  NANCY advanced a few steps, then stopped to listen. She might hear the thief, she figured, if he were lurking in the woods. But the only sound in the ominously silent thicket was the sudden, chirping of a robin.

  “I must be careful,” Nancy thought. “I’d be foolish to try tracking the thief alone. But if I don’t follow him, I may lose a valuable clue.”

  As she pondered, her thoughts were jarred by the screech of brakes, accompanied by the skidding of tires on pavement.

  Nancy’s heart skipped a beat. A sickening thought flashed through her mind. Maybe someone was coming to meet the man in the woods!

  “I may be trapped!” she chided herself. “What a goose I was to walk right into it!”

  She hastened toward the road, carefully concealing herself from the newcomer. When Nancy saw the other car she gave a sigh of relief. In it were Bess and another girl, with the boyish name of George Fayne.

  “Hi!” George called gaily. “What’s the idea of going sleuthing without us?”

  George, as well as Bess, had shared many of Nancy’s exciting adventures. George, athletic and outspoken, was a striking contrast to her mild-mannered cousin Bess.

  Nancy did not answer her dark-haired friend. She motioned for the two girls to get out of the car quickly and follow her.

  “I think I’m on the trail of the person who stole the vase,” she explained, starting off.

  Bess locked her car and followed the others. Footprints were clearly visible in the woods. But fifty feet farther on they vanished in the thick undergrowth. There was no sign of the man.

  “Oh dear!” Nancy said, disappointed.

  George grinned. “What did you expect—that he was going to wait for you?”

  Reluctantly Nancy turned back. “I know one thing about the man who was here,” she said, “whether he’s the vase thief or not. He’s not very tall.”

  “How do you know?” Bess asked.

  “By the small footprint and the short stride. Also, he wears lifts in his shoes,” Nancy replied.

  “Hypers!” said George, using one of her pet expressions. “You slay me!”

  “Tell me about the shoes,” Bess demanded.

  Nancy explained. “These imprints are deeper than the usual footprints, and here’s the trademark, anyway.” She pointed to the heelprint. “I just happened to read an ad yesterday about this make of elevator shoes.”

  “Nancy, what are you up to?” asked George. “Bess told me about the stolen vase and elephant. Is that why you came here?”

  “Not exactly. I was on my way to Masonville to look for a leaning chimney.”

  “A what?” George demanded.

  Nancy explained about the clue to the China clay pit, and that it might be in Masonville.

  “That’s where we’re going,” said Bess. “To that darling dress shop next to the inn. How about having lunch with us?”

  “Love to,” Nancy replied. “Meet you at the inn at one o’clock.”

  Bess and George hopped into their car and followed Nancy. Entering the outskirts of Masonville, Nancy slowed her car and motioned she would leave the girls and start her sleuthing.

  She drove around the city slowly in ever-narrowing circles, her keen eyes alert for a chimney that leaned, bent, curved, or was anything but perpendicular. At the end of half an hour, she was convinced she had never seen so many smokestacks in her life.

  Then suddenly she saw it. A chimney that clearly leaned at an angle of several degrees!

  “This is luck!” she told herself elatedly.

  The chimney was on a house next to the corner dwelling in a row of old-fashioned, red-brick homes. The chimney was the only feature that distinguished the house from the others. The adjoining corner house was boarded up.

  Nancy parked the car at the curb in front of the house with the leaning chimney. As she climbed the creaking steps to the porch and rang the bell, she saw a sign in the front window: ROOMS FOR RENT.

  After a short interval, a white-haired, elderly woman came to the door, wiping her hands on an apron. She adjusted her spectacles and looked at Nancy inquiringly. The young detective smiled and said a trifle self-consciously:

  “I know this sounds a little silly, but I’ve been looking for a leaning chimney and the first one I’ve found is yours. I’ve been told the chimney may have some connection with China clay.”

  The woman looked puzzled. “China clay?” she repeated slowly. “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps I’d better introduce myself,” said Nancy. “My name is Nancy Drew—”

  “Nancy Drew!” the woman interposed with surprise. “From River Heights?” When Nancy nodded, she added, “Is Mrs. Gruen your housekeeper?”

  It was Nancy’s turn to show surprise. “Yes, do you know Hannah?”

  The white-haired old lady chuckled. “Land sakes, yes! I helped Hannah’s mother take care of her when she was a little girl.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come in and sit for a while. I’m Mrs. Wendell.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard Hannah speak of you.” Nancy smiled. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”

  Nancy went into the neat, old-fashioned living room and sat down. Hastily removing her apron, Mrs. Wendell settled herself in a rocker.

  “How is Hannah? I haven’t seen her in so long.”

  “Oh, she’s fine,” Nancy answered politely. Then she steered the conversation back to China clay.

  Mrs. Wendell was thoughtful for a moment, then she said:

  “I’ve been living in this house for several years, Nancy, and never saw nor heard of a pit of China clay anywhere in the neighborhood. But—now let me see,” she added, moving gently back and forth in the rocker. “I have something that may help you.

  “There’s an old trunk in the attic room. It belonged to Mr. Petersen, who sold me the house. He’s dead now. The trunk’s got some old papers and maps in it. I’ve been hankering to read them, but somehow never got around to it. Getting old, I guess. No curiosity left.”

  Nancy laughed.

  “Seems to me if the leaning chimney’s got anything to do with the China clay you’re looking for,” continued Mrs. Wendell, “the papers might mention it.”

  Nancy listened with mounting interest. “I’d like to look at them,” she told Mrs. Wendell.

  “All right,” the woman agreed. “I’ll fetch my keys.”

  She went to the kitchen, then returned and they started slowly up the long, narrow stairs. Arriving at the third floor, Mrs. Wendell knocked gently on a door.

  “I’m sure Mr. Manning, who rents this room, isn’t home,” she said. “He hardly ever is around during the day.”

  When there was no answer, she turned a key in the lock. Just then the front doorbell rang.

  “Seems every time I come upstairs the bell rings!” Mrs. Wendell sighed. “You go along inside. The trunk is in the closet.”

  Nancy entered the small, one-windowed room. It was simply furnished with an iron bedstead, a chest of drawers, and two straight-backed chairs. A washbasin sat on a wooden stand under a mirror next to a closet door. She walked across the room and opened the door.


  “Oh!” Nancy gasped.

  A man was just stepping through a panel in the rear of the closet!

  Quick as a flash he stepped back. The panel slid across the space and a lock clicked into place.

  “Mrs. Wendell! Come here!” Nancy cried at the top of her lungs.

  Nancy quickly thrust aside a couple of suits that dangled on a rack and tried to open the panel. It would not budge. She examined the faint cracks in the closet wall that outlined the panel. They might easily go unnoticed in the subdued light. Then she turned to see the startled landlady.

  “A man just sneaked through a panel in the back of this closet,” said Nancy.

  “Well, I never—!” Mrs. Wendell exclaimed in astonishment, then she began to tremble nervously.

  Nancy dashed to the window and looked out to see if anyone would leave the adjoining vacant building. Glimpsing no one, she raced downstairs and looked on the street. The intruder did not appear.

  “He must be hiding back of the panel,” Nancy decided, and reported this to Mrs. Wendell. “Shall we break through?”

  “If you think we should,” the woman said shakily. “There’s a hatchet in the basement.”

  Nancy got it and returned to the attic.

  “Stand back, Mrs. Wendell,” she warned, raising the hatchet.

  Nancy gave the secret panel several hard whacks. The partition sagged. Then a final bang sent it flying into the space beyond.

  She stepped through the narrow opening. After a second’s hesitation, Mrs. Wendell followed. They stood in the attic of the corner house. The room was empty. Whoever had closed the secret panel had disappeared!

  Nancy went to the door. It was locked, but the key was on the inside. Apparently the thief had not gone out that way.

  She investigated a closet, Mrs. Wendell holding her breath in fear. No one was inside the cobwebby space.

  Puzzled as to where the man had gone, Nancy noticed that the room’s single, dirty window was half open. Lifting it all the way, she looked out just in time to see a man’s hand grip the top of the high back-yard fence, then disappear!

  Pursuit, Nancy figured, would be useless. The man had too much of a head start.

  “We’d better call the police,” she suggested.