The Clue in the Diary

by Carolyn G. Keene

  “Big truck right in back of you, Nancy,” George observed.

  “I know. Well, the driver will just have to wait. He can’t pass me on this narrow stretch.”

  But the blowing of the truck’s horn continued until Nancy became irritated, then indignant.

  “What is the matter with that man?” Nancy increased her speed, hoping to leave the impatient driver behind. But he speeded up, keeping close to the convertible. Honk! Honk!

  Honk!

  “If he doesn’t s-stop that, I’ll s-scream!” Bess complained. “And if we g-go any faster, I’ll l-lose all my teeth.”

  The convertible was now bumping up and down unmercifully. George turned around in her seat to glare at the horn-blowing driver. “Don’t give him an inch!” she told Nancy.

  “Wouldn’t do him any good if I did. His truck’s too big to pass, and I’m certainly not going into a ditch to let him get by! He’ll have to wait until we reach the end of this detour!”

  “What’s his big hurry, anyhow?” George grumbled. “Probably just trying to make us nervous.”

  “Well, he’s certainly succeeding so far as I’m concerned,” Bess said.

  Just then the girls came within sight of a wooden bridge—the end of the torturous road.

  “Thank goodness!” Bess cried.

  With the truck still bearing down on the convertible, Nancy drove onto the bridge.

  “It doesn’t look very safe,” Bess remarked uneasily. “No wonder they’re building a new bridge.”

  “It doesn’t sound safe, either!” George cried out as the loose planks creaked alarmingly under the weight of the car. “If that truck tries to pass us, we’ll all crash through!”

  But at that moment the girls heard the heavy truck clatter onto the wooden planks. “He’s crazy!” George exclaimed. “This bridge will never hold us both!”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when there came a cracking, splintering sound.

  “Nancy!” Bess shrieked. “Look out!”

  CHAPTER VI

  Nancy’s Strategy

  AT BESS’S warning, Nancy glanced at the rear-view mirror and saw that the driver of the heavy truck did indeed intend to pass her! There was only one way for her to avert an accident: take her car full speed ahead.

  “Here goes!” she cried out, and the convertible shot forward.

  The three girls held their breaths, praying that the bridge would be strong enough to hold both vehicles. The old bridge creaked and groaned but held up despite a plank cracked by the truck.

  Nancy had barely reached the far end when the truck sped past her at an alarming rate. It grazed her car and tore off part of the bridge railing. The driver rushed on pell-mell.

  “That fellow’s a madman!” George exclaimed angrily. “He should be arrested for reckless driving!”

  “I wish I had taken his license number so we could report him to the police!” Bess added.

  Nancy sighed. “At this point I’m just glad my car doesn’t have to go into the repair shop again! I have a lot of work to do trying to solve the mystery of the Raybolt fire.”

  As the girls drove on toward Sandy Creek, they finally forgot their indignation. When they reached the town, Nancy asked a policeman for directions. Following these, she arrived at a section near the river where small houses were crowded together. Bess and George carefully scanned the weather-worn cottages, searching for one with the name “Riverwood.”

  Bess caught sight of it first. “I see Honey out front!” she said eagerly. “Look! Isn’t she sweet?”

  As Nancy halted the car before the old house, she saw that the child had fallen asleep under a tree. A large dog lay at her feet as though on guard. At the girls’ approach he jumped up and growled.

  Nancy and her friends scarcely knew whether to advance or retreat, for the dog looked vicious and seemed determined to protect his tiny charge from the strangers. As they were hesitating, the child awoke. She recognized the girls at once, and scrambling up from the grass, ran toward them.

  Despite her faded play suit and badly scuffed shoes, Honey was an attractive youngster. Her real name was Helen Ebba Swenson, but she had always been called Honey because of her sweet disposition. Her eyes were a bright blue, her fair skin was dotted with brown freckles, and her golden hair curled in a hundred ringlets.

  “Hello, Honey,” Nancy greeted her. “Is your mother at home?”

  The child shook her head. “Mommy’s gone to the post office to get a letter from Daddy. I wanted to go, but she said it was too far for me to walk.”

  “Isn’t your father at home?” Nancy inquired softly.

  “Oh, no,” Honey replied in her most grown-up manner. “He’s been gone a long time. Mommy’s worried. That’s why she went to the post office today.”

  Nancy and her friends exchanged quick glances. Mrs. Swenson apparently still was awaiting word from her husband.

  “Mommy’ll be coming home soon,” Honey went on, “‘cause it’s suppertime. I’m hungry, too.”

  With a pang Nancy saw that the youngster looked thinner than ever.

  “Mommy said if she could sell some of the eggs from our hens, she’d bring me something good to eat. I’m tired of eggs. We eat them all the time since Daddy left.”

  “Haven’t you anything else?” George asked bluntly.

  “We have a little bread. Mommy says we must make our money last until we hear from Daddy. She doesn’t know where he went and she cries a lot.”

  Honey went on to tell the girls about her dog, Hans. “Daddy and I used to take him walking. Hans misses Daddy same as I do. Nancy, let’s all go in the house. I want to show you my toys Daddy made.”

  Honey led the way inside. The living room was neat and smelled fresh and clean. There was little furniture, one very small rug, and no draperies at the windows. Nancy’s eye was attracted to a photograph that stood on a small table.

  “Whose picture is that?” she asked Honey.

  “My daddy!” Honey answered proudly.

  Nancy’s heart sank. It was a photograph of the stranger she had seen running away from the fire!

  “Oh, dear!” she thought. “This is the worst situation I’ve ever been in!”

  By this time Honey had brought out her toys from a cupboard. All were homemade, and several were mechanical, each one cleverly fashioned.

  “My daddy’s an in-ven-tor.” The little girl had trouble pronouncing the word. “That’s why he went away—to get back one of his in-ven-tions.”

  Nancy, Bess, and George looked at one another horrified. The same thoughts raced through their minds. Mr. Swenson an inventor! The Swedish diary Nancy had found at the scene of the fire! Mr. Raybolt’s broken promises to inventors!

  Bess, to hide tears that were gathering, walked into the kitchen. On impulse she opened the refrigerator and cupboards. They were practically empty. She came back and whispered to the others.

  “Something must be done,” Bess declared. “Why, Honey and her mother haven’t enough to keep them from starving.”

  “It’s up to us,” Nancy announced firmly. “I have an idea! We’ll all eat supper here!”

  As George and Bess looked puzzled, Nancy hastily explained her plan. She would drive to Sandy Creek, pick up Honey’s mother, and purchase enough food for supper.

  “We’ll have a regular feast,” she promised. “How much money do you girls have with you?”

  “Two dollars and ten cents,” Bess said, opening her purse.

  “I have only one dollar with me,” George announced apologetically.

  “With what I have that will be enough,” Nancy said briskly. “I’ll pay you both back when we get home.”

  “No you won’t,” George protested. “We’re all in on this.”

  “Fine!” Nancy smiled. “You girls stay here with Honey. I’ll hurry back as quickly as I can.”

  “Honey’s mother may not like our interfering,” Bess ventured doubtfully.

  “I’ll be tactful,” Nanc
y promised.

  Honey followed her to the car, eying Nancy with worshipful eyes.

  “I like ice cream,” she ventured with a timid smile.

  “I’ll bring some,” Nancy said. “And plenty of other good things. A bone, with meat on it, for Hans, too!”

  She drove away swiftly. A quarter mile down the road she caught sight of a woman trudging along dejectedly. Honey’s mother!

  Nancy was quick to observe the downcast expression on the woman’s face and guessed that she had received no word from her husband. Undoubtedly Mrs. Swenson had hoped that he would send money so that she might purchase food.

  “Poor thing!” Nancy thought. “I don’t believe I can ever bring myself to tell her about the diary. If her husband has done wrong, it will break her heart.”

  Pulling over to the side of the road, she called a cheery greeting. Mrs. Swenson started in surprise as she recognized Nancy.

  “Won’t you let me drive you home?” Nancy asked her.

  “But you’re going in the opposite direction,” Mrs. Swenson protested.

  “Oh, that’s perfectly all right,” Nancy replied, as the woman wearily climbed in beside her.

  “I’m on my way to town to buy some things,” Nancy explained, “but as soon as I’ve purchased them, I’ll take you straight home. You won’t mind the extra ride, will you?”

  “Indeed I won’t.” Mrs. Swenson smiled faintly. “I don’t feel as though I could walk another step. I must get home soon, though, for my little girl hasn’t had her supper.”

  Nancy wondered what would be the best way in which to broach the plan to Mrs. Swenson about the “feast.”

  “Well, here goes!” Nancy thought. “If she refuses, there’s nothing the girls and I can do except return home.”

  CHAPTER VII

  A Disclosure

  AFTER outlining her plan for the supper party, Nancy waited expectantly for Mrs. Swenson’s response. During the moment of silence, she clearly read the woman’s thoughts. She was battling with her pride.

  “How kind of you to take an interest in us!” Mrs. Swenson said at last. “I appreciate it more than I can tell you.”

  “Then I may go ahead with my shopping?” Nancy asked eagerly.

  “Yes, it will be wonderful to have a ‘feast,’ as you call it. We haven’t had one since my husband left.” Mrs. Swenson caught herself quickly, and said, “Joe is away looking for work. I’m sure he’ll send me money in a few days and then I can repay you for—”

  “Oh, but this is a special party,” Nancy interrupted gaily. “You mustn’t think of repaying me.”

  During the ride to town, Mrs. Swenson seldom spoke. She leaned wearily against the cushion, a half-smile playing over her pale face. Her weary blue eyes were kind, but the privations brought on by poverty and worry had stamped grim lines about her mouth.

  Nancy parked the convertible on the main street of Sandy Creek and insisted that Mrs. Swenson assist her in selecting the food for the feast. They chose a quantity of staples, then Nancy added as many luxuries as she could afford —ice cream, a thick juicy steak, fresh fruit and vegetables, cake and an assortment of melons.

  “You’re buying enough to last a week!” Mrs. Swenson declared.

  That was exactly what Nancy had intended to do. Not until she had practically exhausted her funds would she listen to the other’s protests.

  “If it weren’t for Honey, I never would permit you to spend money on us,” Mrs. Swenson said as they climbed into the car. “We’re not accustomed to accepting charity. When my husband was employed, we lived well. We should still be well off if he hadn’t been cheated out of his rights!”

  This gave Nancy an opening, and as they drove back toward Riverwood Cottage she diplomatically questioned the woman. Mrs. Swenson, however, revealed very little about her husband. She seemed eager to impress Nancy with his kindness, rather than his apparent irresponsibility.

  “Joe has always been good to me and he adores Honey. Some folks say he’s lazy, but that isn’t true. He’s always worked—harder than most folks. He’s an inventor, and if he hadn’t been cheated out of his patents, we’d be wealthy—”

  She broke off as the convertible turned a corner and a voice called out, “Hi, Nancy!”

  “Ned Nickerson!” she exclaimed, and pulled to the curb behind Ned’s parked car.

  With a pleased grin which spread over his entire face, Ned jumped from behind the wheel and came hurrying toward the convertible.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Oh, just prowling about.” Nancy laughed. She introduced Mrs. Swenson, then said, “What are you doing in Sandy Creek?”

  “On an errand for my mother. I’m about to rush home for something to eat. I’m nearly starved.”

  “Better come with us,” Nancy proposed impetuously. “We’re having a feast at Mrs. Swenson’s.”

  Ned accepted the invitation without an instant’s hesitation, and promised to follow in his car as soon as he had phoned home.

  It was only a short distance to the cottage, and Mrs. Swenson showed no inclination to resume the interrupted conversation. Nancy had hoped that she would tell more about her husband’s work, but the woman did not volunteer any additional information.

  “I’ll talk to Mrs. Swenson about it before I leave the cottage,” Nancy promised herself. “I must get to the bottom of the mystery.”

  The few hints that Mrs. Swenson had dropped only served to trouble Nancy further. Since Joe Swenson was an inventor, it seemed reasonable that he had gone to Mr. Raybolt to retrieve something of his. If no one were home, he might have become a housebreaker, then an arsonist. Nancy suddenly chided herself.

  “I mustn’t have such thoughts! Time enough to draw conclusions when I’ve heard Mr. Swenson’s side of the story! Right now, I’ll say nothing to ruin our little party.”

  As Nancy parked in front of Riverwood Cottage, Bess, George, and Honey came running to see what she had brought. The little girl squealed with delight as she peered into the various packages.

  “You didn’t forget Hans’s bone?” she asked.

  “I should say not,” Nancy told her. “The butcher gave us the best one he had.”

  Ned arrived, and everyone helped carry in the bundles. As Nancy stepped into the cottage it was her turn to be surprised. During her absence the girls had decorated the living-dining room with flowers from the garden and had brought out the best china, a lovely set of delftware.

  “What beautiful dishes!” Nancy exclaimed admiringly.

  “They’re all I have left of our good possessions,” Mrs. Swenson said. “The set was given to me as a wedding present. I must sell the dishes soon, but I keep putting it off.”

  “It seems a shame to sell a wedding gift,” Bess remarked sympathetically. “Especially such a lovely one as this.”

  Under the influence of the young people, Mrs. Swenson brightened. It was impossible to be downhearted around Ned and Nancy, who kept up a constant stream of good-natured banter. Mrs. Swenson, an excellent cook, took charge of preparing the meal, but she had four able assistants. Honey and Hans hovered near the stove where the steak was sizzling.

  “Hans has his canine eye on another bone!” Ned laughed. “Well, he won’t get it until we’ve picked it bare.”

  Nancy had not misnamed the supper, for it really was a feast. There was plenty of everything and it was a pleasure to see Honey’s eyes grow big at the sight of each steaming dish that was brought to the table.

  It was a happy meal, and Ned proved to be a very interesting dinner companion. Even Mrs. Swenson’s sober face lighted up and she ate her food with enjoyment. Nancy entered into the lighthearted conversation, but her mind was far from carefree. Several times during the meal George gazed at her significantly as though to ask what she intended to do about the diary. The girls had come to Sandy Creek to learn certain facts, but now that they realized how affairs were at the Swenson cottage, it seemed unkind to bring further trouble upo
n the family.

  “I want to show you my little baby chicks,” Honey announced when the meal was over. “I have ten yellow ones—all my own.”

  Ned, Bess, and George obligingly followed the child outside.

  “Coming?” Bess asked Nancy.

  “No, I’ll stay and help with the dishes.”

  Nancy felt that it was her opportunity to talk with Mrs. Swenson alone. Yet, after the others had gone, she did not know how to launch the important subject. As she scraped the dishes, she cautiously broached the subject of nationalities.

  “We’re Swedish,” Mrs. Swenson declared. “You probably guessed that.”

  Nancy had, but her heart sank at the definite assertion.

  “You speak perfect English,” she replied.

  “My husband is a university man,” the woman returned proudly. “He has always corrected my English and helped me with it.”

  “What were the other names in your families?” Nancy asked, smiling.

  “My maiden name was the same as that of Joe’s mother—Dahl.” Nancy stifled a gasp. The ring with the initial “D” must have been inherited by Joe Swenson! Now she must find out about the diary!

  “I’ve often heard that people who move to this country keep diaries. Did your family follow the custom?” Nancy inquired, trying to make her question sound uninquisitive.

  “The Swensons always did, even at home. My husband kept a diary in which he also told of his inventions. He hoped that this would help keep his ideas safe. But—” Mrs. Swenson stopped speaking and gazed into space.

  Nancy pretended not to notice the long pause. Finally she asked, “Did your husband always carry the diary with him?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  At this affirmation of her suspicions, Nancy almost dropped a plate. She quickly caught it, but thought, “Evidence is piling up against Joe Swenson at an alarming rate!”

  Presently Mrs. Swenson spoke again. “Nancy, I can’t understand why I haven’t heard from my husband,” she confided. “Joe has been gone a month. He was sure of finding work and promised to send money home. But I haven’t had a single letter from him. That’s the reason I went to the post office today. But there was no mail for me. Oh, Nancy, I’m so worried about Joe. Something may have happened to him!”