The Clue in the Crumbling Wall

by Carolyn G. Keene

  “Oh, come on!” Nancy laughed, taking her friend firmly by the arm. “It’s only a name. Besides, the walk may lead to something interesting.”

  Spreading lilac bushes canopied the trail. Their branches caught at Nancy’s hair and clutched at her clothing. Impatiently she pushed them aside and held back the branches for her friends to pass beneath.

  “I wish we’d gone some other way,” Bess complained. “This is no fun.”

  “I think it is,” Nancy replied. “It’s mysterious here! It’s so—”

  Her voice trailed away suddenly. George and Bess glanced at her quickly. Nancy was staring directly toward a giant evergreen.

  “What is it?” Bess demanded fearfully.

  “Nothing.”

  “You didn’t act as if it were nothing,” George said to Nancy.

  “I thought I saw something, but I must have been mistaken.”

  Despite their coaxing, Nancy would not reveal what had startled her. For an instant she thought a pair of penetrating, human eyes had been staring at the girls from behind the evergreen. Then they had blinked shut and vanished.

  “It must have been my imagination,” Nancy told herself.

  She walked on hurriedly. As Bess and George sensed her thoughts, they drew closer to the young detective. Nancy rounded the evergreen and saw that it partially hid a vine-covered, decaying summerhouse.

  The building was empty, but her eye quickly caught a slight quivering of the vines beside the doorway, although there was no wind. She stopped short, struck by the realization that someone had been lurking there! Quietly she told the others.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have chosen this walk,” Bess muttered. “It is haunted.”

  “Haunted by a human being,” Nancy said grimly. “I wish I knew who was spying on us!”

  There was no sign of anyone now. The girls heard neither the rustle of leaves nor the sound of retreating footsteps.

  “Let’s go back to the car,” Bess proposed suddenly. “We’ve seen enough of this place.”

  “I haven’t,” Nancy said. “I’m getting more curious every minute.”

  Not far from the summerhouse was a stone wall. It occurred to Nancy that the person who had observed them might have scrambled over it to avoid detection. She announced her intention of climbing up to make sure.

  While Bess and George watched uneasily, Nancy began to scale the vine-covered wall. Near the top, however, she lost her footing. With a suppressed cry, she fell backward!

  George and Bess helped Nancy to her feet. Although uninjured, she was visibly shaken.

  “I guess I’d better not try that again,” she said ruefully.

  “Those are the most sensible words I’ve heard you say today!” Bess declared. “Let’s get out of here before we find ourselves in real trouble.”

  “I’m with you,” George said. “I have an appointment in town, and anyway, it may rain.”

  Nancy was reluctant to leave the estate without exploring the castle, but she had noticed that clouds were darkening the sky.

  “All right,” she agreed. “But we’ll come back!”

  The girls retraced their way across the bridge. From that point on, however, they could not find the right direction to the road.

  “We’re probably a long way from the car,” George said finally. “I’ll climb a tree and see if I can spot it.”

  Nimble as a monkey, she went high among the branches. Then she shouted down that the river was close by and the road far away.

  “We’ve wandered a great distance from where we started,” George reported as she slid down the tree and pointed out the route. “We must cut straight through that woods ahead.”

  “Are you sure we won’t get hopelessly lost?” Bess asked.

  “Just follow me.”

  Nancy and Bess were quite willing to have George lead the way. She pushed ahead confidently, tramping down the high grass and thrusting aside thorny bushes. But as the going became more difficult, her pace slackened.

  “It seems to me we’re moving in a wide circle,” Nancy said at last.

  George paused to catch her breath. Her gloomy silence confirmed Nancy’s suspicion.

  “George, are we lost?” she asked.

  “I don’t know about you,” the girl answered ruefully. “Myself—yes.”

  “It’s going to rain any minute, too,” Bess said, sinking down on a mossy log. “Oh, why did we come to this horrible, gloomy place? Imagine anyone building a home here!”

  “If the roads were opened and some shrubs cut down, the estate would be very lovely,” Nancy pointed out.

  After resting for a few minutes the girls decided to continue their trek. Nancy proved a better pathfinder than George and before long they came to recently trampled grass.

  “Now I know where we are!” Nancy exclaimed jubilantly. “We’re near the front boundary wall.”

  A few hundred feet farther on they saw the wall itself and scrambled over it. The trio reached the shelter of the car just as the first raindrops splashed against the windshield. Fortunately Nancy was able to drive to the paved highway before the side road became a mire of mud.

  She dropped the cousins at their houses, then went home. Over a late lunch of milk and a sandwich, she thought about the mystery.

  “I might get some kind of a lead from Walter Heath’s will,” she decided, “and I’d like to find out where Juliana did her banking. There might be a clue in the last withdrawals.”

  Nancy called Lieutenant Masters. “The police couldn’t locate any bank accounts,” the officer told her. “A very large sum of money was found in Juliana’s apartment in New York. But she had several bills from stores, and by the time they were paid from this cash, there was nothing left.”

  “Then that’s a dead end,” said Nancy. “How about the will?”

  “I don’t know,” said the officer. She agreed to meet Nancy the next morning at the courthouse to examine the document. Daniel Hector was named as sole executor.

  A quick reading confirmed what Mrs. Fenimore had told her. The entire Heath estate had been bequeathed to Juliana Johnson on the condition that she claim it within five years of Walter Heath’s death.

  One clause in the will held Nancy’s attention. It read:

  “It is my belief and hope that Juliana still lives and will claim the property within the allotted time. She will be able to identify herself in a special way, thus insuring that no impostor can receive my estate.”

  “I wonder what that means,” Nancy mused.

  “I haven’t any idea,” Lieutenant Masters said.

  They went over the document again, but it gave no clue to the way in which Juliana might establish her identity.

  “I must find out what Mr. Heath meant by this,” said Nancy. “Obviously it’s a very important clue!”

  CHAPTER V

  Suspicious Figures

  NANCY suggested to Lieutenant Masters that they go at once to see Mrs. Fenimore. “She may know by what special means Walter Heath expected Juliana to identify herself.”

  The young officer agreed. She and Nancy drove to the Fenimore house in their own cars. They found the woman seated in the living room.

  “Good morning,” Mrs. Fenimore, who seemed to be feeling better, greeted the visitors warmly. She stared anxiously at the policewoman. “It’s—it’s not Joan again?”

  “No. In fact, my two rosebushes have been returned. We came to ask you a few more questions about your sister,” Nancy replied.

  The woman relaxed but spoke wearily. “I’ll tell you everything I can. A couple of years ago I gave up hope that she would be found, but I’ve never told Joan this.”

  “Then you believe that your sister may not be living?” Nancy asked soberly.

  “Oh no. I’m sure Julie is alive,” Mrs. Fenimore replied, “but I’m afraid she may have disappeared for good, and I’ll never see her again.”

  “Would you give us some personal information about your sister?” Lieutenant Mast
ers asked kindly. “Was she younger than you?”

  “No. Julie was seven years older. Our parents died when we were children, and we lived with an aunt who was pretty strict. I never minded Aunt Mattie’s scolding, but Julie, who was high strung, resented it. She took dancing lessons secretly, and when Aunt Mattie found out and punished her for it, Julie ran away.

  “For several years Julie danced wherever she could get an engagement and studied during her spare moments.”

  The policewoman asked, “Did you see Juliana often after she became famous?”

  “Only now and then. But she called me every week. I was so excited when she became engaged to Walter Heath. It was to be kept from the press, so of course I told no one.”

  “Could anything have happened between Juliana and Mr. Heath to make her unhappy enough to disappear?” Nancy asked.

  Mrs. Fenimore shook her head. “Julie was beautiful and talented. He was handsome, wealthy, and kind. They adored each other. I’m sure he had nothing to do with her disappearance.”

  Mention of the deceased estate owner reminded Nancy of the real purpose of her calL She asked Mrs. Fenimore about the strange identification clause in the will.

  “I wondered myself what that meant when I read it,” the woman replied.

  “Do you think Daniel Hector might have an answer?” Nancy asked.

  Mrs. Fenimore’s face darkened. “Please don’t mention that man’s name! I detest him. All these years he’s only been pretending to search for Julie.”

  “Pretending?”

  “Once in a while he would call to tell me about his attempts to find her but they sounded half-hearted. Now he doesn’t even phone. I’m sure he’s stopped trying. I’m counting on you, Nancy, to solve the mystery.”

  Nancy promised to do everything she could to trace the missing dancer. Secretly she wondered if she could find the woman in time to save the inheritance for her.

  “May I see a photograph of your sister?” she requested.

  “I have a number of excellent ones,” Mrs. Fenimore replied. “I’ll give you one. They’re in the drawer of this table.”

  She took them out. There were six, taken years before when the dancer was at the height of her career. Several were inscribed with her name and a greeting. The face was a distinctive one. Carefully Nancy noted the perfect features, the beautiful dark eyes, the straight nose and firm chin.

  “Julie may have changed a great deal since I last saw her,” Mrs. Fenimore remarked. “Ten years have gone by.”

  “Your sister is lovely,” Nancy commented. “Joan looks a little like her.”

  “Yes, she does. And certainly my daughter has Julie’s vivacious ways. She’s quite a little actress. Maybe someday—”

  Mrs. Fenimore looked sadly into space. Lieutenant Masters, fearing the conversation had upset the woman, said they must leave.

  “Please try not to worry,” Nancy urged Mrs. Fenimore who handed her a photograph as they said good-by.

  When she and the officer reached their cars, Nancy thanked Lieutenant Masters for her help.

  “Call on me any time,” the young woman said as she drove off.

  Nancy decided to take a walk and think about the case.

  As she wandered up the street, children were coming home from school to lunch. She saw Joan playing with an older boy in a vacant lot. They were tossing a ball for a dog to retrieve.

  “That boy looks familiar,” Nancy thought as she walked over to the children. Suddenly, in a fit of temper, the boy hit the dog with a stick.

  “Cut it out!” he shouted. “You’re chewing my ball to pieces!”

  Joan screamed.

  “Stop that!” Nancy ordered. “The dog hasn’t hurt your ball. He was only playing.”

  The boy gazed at her with hard, unfriendly eyes. “Is he your dog?” he asked impudently.

  “No.”

  “Then it’s none of your business if I hit him.”

  Nancy started to reply, but it was not necessary. The dog dropped the ball and slunk off. The boy picked it up. Then, giving Nancy a baleful look, he ran away.

  Nancy took Joan by the hand and led her off. As tactfully as possible she suggested that the child ought to find a girl playmate.

  “Teddy Hooper’s okay. He’s the only one that lives close to me,” Joan replied, skipping happily along beside her companion. “I don’t like him when he’s mean, but most of the time he’s a lot of fun. He always thinks up exciting things to do.”

  “You’d better hurry home to lunch,” Nancy said. “I’ll go with you. My car’s there.”

  When they reached the house, Joan hugged Nancy, then ran inside. Nancy was sure she had made a firm friend of the little girl.

  “I’m not far from Salty’s,” the young detective said to herself. “I’ll drive there and find out if he has seen that man who crashed into our boat.”

  “Stop that!” Nancy ordered.

  In a little while she came to the clam digger’s home. The sailor was on the shore repairing his rowboat.

  “Well, now, me lass, I’m glad to see you,” he said. “But I’m afraid I haven’t got good news.”

  “You mean about the boat?”

  “I’ve looked high an’ low for that damaged boat,” the man said regretfully. “It’s not tied up anywhere along here.”

  “How about Harper’s Inlet?” Nancy asked.

  Salty admitted he had not been there. “Too busy,” he explained. “Maybe I’ll go this afternoon. I need a mess o’ clams an’ there be some up the inlet. You want to come along? I’ll show you the Heath factory.”

  For Nancy the opportunity was too good to pass up. She was eager to visit the spot.

  “Just tell me when to be here,” she said.

  After settling on three o’clock, she remarked, “I’ll bring along one of my friends.”

  Nancy hurried home for a quick lunch, then telephoned George. Promptly at three o’clock the two girls met Salty at the waterfront.

  “I’ll put ye to work,” the sailor chuckled as he gathered together his fishing and clamming equipment. “Help me load these into the rowboat, will you?”

  The old man’s muscular arms rippled as he dug the oars into the tranquil waters of the Muskoka River. Presently he and his passengers were skimming along at a rapid rate. Behind the craft trailed a long copper wire which gleamed in the sunlight.

  “I’m trollin’ for my dinner tonight,” Salty explained. “There’s somethin’ yankin’ on my line right now, I do believe!”

  He rested the oars and pulled in the line. Finally a four-pound speckled bass flopped into the boat.

  “She’s a beauty,” he said, grinning.

  While the girls kept the craft from drifting downstream, Salty removed the hook from the fish and dropped his catch into a woven basket. Then he wound up the copper troll line and put it away.

  “Fishin’s not much good in the inlet,” he remarked. “But we’ll find clams.”

  The upper river was very still. As the boat entered Harper’s Inlet some time later, there was no sound except the occasional chirping of a bird. Nancy hunched low now and then, to avoid the overhanging bushes and watched the coves for a hidden boat. There was none.

  “It doesn’t look as if we’re goin’ to find your friend,” Salty remarked after he had rowed a quarter of a mile upstream. “We’re almost to Heath’s button factory now. I’ll anchor here.”

  The man had located a bed of clams in the shallow water. He asked the girls to balance his fish basket on the gunwale, then waded in to dig the clams from the mud and sand with his rake. As he tossed them, one by one, he kept singing snatches of familiar sea songs.

  “Basket’s full,” Nancy called several minutes later.

  Salty got into the boat and started off again. As they rounded a bend, the girls saw a large, square building set some distance back from the shore. The banks nearby were littered with discarded bits of clamshells.

  “That’s the Heath button factory,”
Salty said. “She’s sure gone to pieces.”

  Nancy gazed curiously at the neglected brick structure. Vines which had grown up the building’s walls lay thick on the shingle roof and all the windows were broken.

  Suddenly Nancy spotted two figures near the factory entrance. As they vanished into the building, Salty pointed to an object hidden near some bushes.

  “A boat!” he exclaimed. “And her prow’s damaged, too!”

  The bow of the boat had been drawn up on the sand. Nancy and George recognized it immediately as the blue-and-white craft that had struck them!

  “Oh, Salty, please pull in here!” Nancy begged.

  As he did, she told him about the men.

  “Humph!” Salty grunted. “I’ll bet ye a mess o’ clams they ain’t got no right in there!”

  Nancy nodded. “I want to talk to them. Will you stay here near the damaged boat? If the men come out, try to hold them until we get back.”

  The sailor did not like being left out of the search, but before he could protest, the girls were splashing through knee-deep water to shore.

  CHAPTER VI

  A Mysterious Explosion

  NANCY and George had to cross a stretch of low, marshy land in order to reach the old button factory. Their sneakers, already water-soaked, became caked with mud. The girls were grateful for the high wild grass that screened their approach.

  “You know,” Nancy said, “those two men looked familiar.”

  “Who are they?”

  “I’m not sure, but one of them was thin and wore a blue cap like the fellow who crashed into our motorboat. The other resembled Daniel Hector, the lawyer.”

  While still twenty yards from the factory, the girls were startled to hear the sound of hammering. The pounding noise came from inside the building.

  “I wonder what those men are doing in there,” Nancy said, cautiously pulling aside the tall vines.

  “Maybe they’re workmen who were sent to repair the place,” George replied.

  Nancy offered no comment. It was possible that Daniel Hector had brought another man to the property either to inspect it, or to do some work. But she seriously doubted this.