The Clue in the Old Album

by Carolyn G. Keene

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER I - A Stolen Purse

  CHAPTER II - The Doll Collector

  CHAPTER III - Nancy’s Assignment

  CHAPTER IV - The Child Bride

  CHAPTER V - Foiled

  CHAPTER VI - Upsetting News

  CHAPTER VII - A Helpful Gift

  CHAPTER VIII - The Fortuneteller’s Trick

  CHAPTER IX - A Strange Dismissal

  CHAPTER X - Complications

  CHAPTER XI - A Warning

  CHAPTER XII - An Interrupted Program

  CHAPTER XIII - A Strange Present

  CHAPTER XIV - The Mannequin’s Hint

  CHAPTER XV - A Detective Fails

  CHAPTER. XVI - The Television Clue

  CHAPTER XVII - Double Disappearance

  CHAPTER XVIII - An Unexpected Reunion

  CHAPTER XIX - The Source-of-Light Doll

  CHAPTER XX - Two Victories

  THE CLUE IN THE OLD ALBUM

  Nancy Drew witnesses a purse snatching and runs after the thief. She rescues the purse, but not its contents, then is asked by the owner, a doll collector, to do some detective work.

  “The source of light will heal all ills, but a curse will follow him who takes it from the gypsies.”

  This is one of the clues Nancy is given to find an old album, a lost doll, and a missing gypsy violinist. The young sleuth never gives up her search, though she is poisoned by a French-swordsman doll, run off the road in her car by an enemy, and sent many warnings to give up the case.

  Fans will enjoy Nancy’s clever ways of finding all she seeks, and bringing happiness to a misunderstood child and her lonely grandmother.

  “Nancy has been poisoned!” the doctor announced.

  PRINTED ON RECYCLED PAPER

  Acknowledgement is made to Mildred Wirt Benson, who under the pen name

  Carolyn Keene, wrote the original NANCY DREW books

  Copyright © 1977, 1974, 1947 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset Group,

  New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster,

  Inc. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 74-10461

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07725-2

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  The Clue in the Old Album

  CHAPTER I

  A Stolen Purse

  THUNDEROUS applause echoed through the crowded concert hall of the River Heights Art Museum.

  “Oh, Dad, isn’t the violinist marvelous?” Nancy Drew whispered to her father. “The gypsy music he just played—”

  A hush came over the audience as Alfred Blackwell tucked his violin under his chin. When he began the melody, Nancy was startled by a stifled sob from a white-haired woman who sat across the aisle. She was listening with rapt attention and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Nancy also saw something else. A dark-haired man on the aisle seat next to the woman reached for a jeweled purse that lay unguarded in her lap. Slyly he dropped it into his pocket, got up, and started quickly for the lobby.

  “Dad, that man’s a thief!” Nancy whispered. “I’m going after him!”

  Before Mr. Drew could recover from his surprise, Nancy had scrambled past him and hurried up the aisle after the thief. He pushed past an usher and fled into the lobby. Nancy reached it a moment later, but the thief was out of sight.

  Doorways opened into corridors in three directions and led to various exhibition rooms. Nancy chose the nearest one. The only person in sight was a watchman.

  “Did a man in evening clothes come this way just now?” she asked.

  “No one’s been through here in the past twenty minutes, miss.”

  “He stole a jeweled purse! Please help me catch him!”

  “You bet I will!”

  The guard hurried into the second corridor and Nancy took the third. As she rounded a turn, she saw the thief far ahead. He had stopped to examine the purse.

  “Drop that!” Nancy cried out, running toward him.

  The man pulled out the contents, flung the bag away, and darted through a door opening into an alley. Nancy snatched up the purse, then resumed the chase. The alley was dark and she could not see the man. Disappointed, but aware that it was hopeless to pursue him, she turned back.

  “Drop that purse!” Nancy cried out.

  From the museum lobby came the sound of voices. Among a group of people Nancy saw the guard. Behind him were her father and the elderly lady whose bag she had retrieved.

  When the woman saw the purse in Nancy’s hand, she exclaimed, “Oh, I’m so thankful you recovered my bag. The contents are precious to me.”

  “I’m sorry the thief escaped,” Nancy said. “And I’m afraid he took whatever was inside the purse.”

  She handed it over. Nervously the woman opened the bag. It was indeed empty!

  “Oh, my money is gone! And a letter and a photograph that mean a great deal to me!” she cried.

  “I’ll call the police,” the guard offered.

  “No!” the woman insisted. “Thank you, but I do not want any publicity.”

  Mr. Drew said the authorities should be notified. “No thief should be allowed to go free.”

  “Very well,” the woman agreed reluctantly. “I suppose the report must be made in my name. I am Mrs. John Struthers of Kenwood Drive.”

  Mr. Drew asked if she could identify the purse snatcher.

  “I scarcely noticed him,” she confessed.

  Nancy spoke up. “He was about thirty years old with a mottled complexion and piercing black eyes. He walked with a slight stoop and wore evening clothes that were too large for him.”

  “You’re observant, miss,” the guard said. “Come to think of it, I know a fellow who looks like that. Let me see—it must have been when I was custodian at the bank. Yes, that’s it.”

  “He worked there?” Nancy asked, amazed.

  “No. He used to come in to see one of the tellers. They got mixed up in some crooked scheme. The teller was fired. I don’t know what happened to his buddy, but I heard he was a professional pickpocket.”

  “How long ago was that?” Mr. Drew asked the custodian.

  “Six months or more. Excuse me. I’ll phone the police.”

  Mrs. Struthers had regained her poise but a faraway look had come into her eyes. “If it hadn’t been for that gypsy music—” She broke off as if she regretted having revealed something.

  The woman turned to Nancy and added, “I am very remiss. I haven’t thanked you for all your trouble, and I really am most appreciative. May I know your name?”

  “Nancy Drew,” the strawberry blond, blue-eyed girl replied. “And this is my father,” she added, introducing tall, handsome Carson Drew.

  Mrs. Struthers smiled and said, “I see now why it was you, Nancy, who spotted the thief. You are often written up in the papers for your cleverness in tracking down unscrupulous people.”

  Nancy laughed, brushing aside the compliment. She asked if the Drews could be of any further help to Mrs. Struthers.

  “I believe not, thank you,” the woman replied. “I must find my granddaughter, Rose, who came with me. We were invited to Madame Mazorka’s reception for Mr. Blackwell. But I hadn’t planned to go on account of Rose.”

  “You really shouldn’t miss it,” Nancy said. She felt that the social affair might take the woman’s mind off her loss. “Perhaps—”

  The y
oung detective’s remark was cut short by a strikingly pretty girl of about twelve years of age, who unexpectedly pirouetted among them. Coal-black wavy hair fell to her shoulders and dark eyes sparkled brightly, though they looked as if they were capable of blazing with temper.

  Mrs. Struthers said to the Drews, “I should like you to meet my granddaughter Rose.”

  “Hi,” Rose said as she finished her dance with a pert curtsy. “Wasn’t the recital super?”

  “It certainly was, Rose,” Nancy remarked. “I’m thrilled that we’re going to Madame Mazorka’s to meet Mr. Blackwell.”

  “We’ve been invited, too, so we can all go together!” Rose suggested.

  “Please, dear,” Mrs. Struthers remonstrated.

  “Perhaps the Drews have other plans. We can take a cab.”

  “We’d be delighted to have you ride with us,” Mr. Drew said. “I’ll get the car.”

  Without waiting for the others, Rose went along with him and hopped into the front seat. While she chatted gaily with Mr. Drew, Mrs. Struthers sat in the back with Nancy and confided to the girl that she would like her assistance in solving a mystery.

  “Would it be possible, my dear, for you to come to tea at my home tomorrow afternoon?” Mrs. Struthers asked eagerly. “I’d like to talk to you privately.”

  “I’d love to. May I bring a dear friend along? She often helps me on cases.”

  The woman agreed and suggested that they meet at four o’clock. There was no chance for further conversation as Mr. Drew pulled up in front of Madame Mazorka’s home.

  The charming hostess received her guests graciously. She introduced them to the violinist. As he shook hands with Nancy, Alfred Blackwell’s eyes twinkled. “Are you not the young lady who was carried away by my encore?” he teased.

  “That’s a very kind way of looking at my interruption,” she replied, laughing. “I wish I’d been as skillful in my performance as you were in yours.”

  As Nancy told the artist she hoped to have the pleasure of hearing him play again soon, Rose suddenly rushed forward. “How about my meeting Mr. Blackwell?”

  She shook hands with the musician, then spun away, twirling dangerously close to a portly gentleman who was trying to carry a plate of sandwiches and a glass of punch in one hand. To the strains of a three-piece orchestra Rose began to dance in the middle of the floor.

  Many of the guests were staring coolly at her exhibition. Nancy realized that the best way out of the awkward situation would be for the girl to depart. She turned to the distressed grandmother.

  “I believe my father is ready to leave now, Mrs. Struthers,” she said. “We’ll be glad to take you home.”

  The woman, greatly relieved to escape, retrieved Rose. After the Drews had left them at their home, Nancy told her father of Mrs. Struthers’ invitation to talk over a mystery.

  “Have you any idea what it might be?” she asked.

  “I’ve heard very little about Mrs. Struthers,” the lawyer said. “I understand she and her granddaughter have lived in River Heights two years. Mrs. Struthers is reputed to be wealthy and has traveled a lot. But it’s said she now stays at home all the time. She’s sad and very secretive about her affairs.”

  “It should be an interesting case,” Nancy speculated. “I wonder if it could have anything to do with Rose.”

  “That child should be taught to behave better,” Carson Drew declared, frowning.

  “Maybe her actions are the result of pent-up energy,” Nancy ventured. “Who knows, she may have some hidden talent!”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Mr. Drew said.

  The following day Nancy drove to the Struthers’ home, accompanied by slender, attractive George Fayne. She was as excited as Nancy over the prospect of a new mystery.

  Nancy parked the car in front of a large brick house, which stood some distance from others in the neighborhood. It was surrounded by lawns and a high iron fence.

  The two friends started up the long walk to the front door. Suddenly a shout behind them made Nancy and George turn.

  Too late! Before they could tell who or what was coming, the girls were knocked to the ground.

  CHAPTER II

  The Doll Collector

  “HYPERS!” George exclaimed, as she scrambled to her feet and rubbed her knee. “Where’d the cyclone come from?”

  Nancy brushed the dirt from her clothes and pointed down the path. Rose was precariously jerking to a halt on a bright-red motorbike. “There’s our culprit!”

  The young girl hopped off the vehicle and skipped toward them. “Jiminy crickets! When you get up speed on that thing, it’s hard to stop,” she explained, then added, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  Nancy assured Rose that fortunately both she and her friend were all right, and introduced Rose to George.

  “Aren’t you a little young to be riding around on a motorbike?” George asked.

  “Regular bikes are too slow,” Rose declared.

  “I traded mine for this one, but it doesn’t work right.”

  “Does your grandmother approve of your having it?” Nancy asked.

  “Granny doesn’t approve of anything I do.” Rose pouted, then laughed. “She couldn’t interfere in this deal. I traded my two-wheeler for this secondhand motorbike before she could say no.”

  “Your name ought to be Wild Rose,” said George, disgusted.

  Rose frowned. “You’re a meanie. You’re a girl and they call you George!”

  “Have you a license for the motorbike?” George asked her.

  Rose’s face grew red. “No.”

  “Then it’s against the law to ride it.”

  “I’ll watch out for the police.” Rose giggled. “Say, did you come to see Granny?”

  “Yes, she invited us to tea,” Nancy replied.

  “Well, don’t let her get you into her clutches—not with all those funny dolls of hers!” Rose warned.

  Before the girls could ask what she meant, Rose ran off to retrieve her motorbike.

  “You heard what she said?” George asked in a hushed voice. “Maybe we’re heading straight for trouble!”

  Nancy nodded but did not offer to turn back. Always fascinated by an intimation of something unknown or mysterious, she had, in the past, become involved in many exciting adventures. Friends often declared that she was good at finding the key to a baffling enigma partly because she was a “chip off the old block,” referring to her brilliant father.

  Nancy was quick to share the credit for her successes with her friends. Now, as she rang the bell of the Struthers residence, Nancy was glad that George was along. She could participate in what the young sleuth sensed was to be an unusual assignment.

  “How nice to see you again, Nancy,” Mrs. Struthers greeted her, as she opened the wide door. “And this must be the friend of whom you spoke. Come right in.”

  Introductions were acknowledged and the hostess led the girls into a tastefully decorated living room. Several bowls of flowers were attractively arranged, and a silver tea service had been set out on a low, carved antique table.

  Although eager to hear about the mystery Mrs. Struthers had mentioned the evening before, Nancy restrained herself from bringing up the subject. “We met your granddaughter outside,” she said. “Rose mentioned something about your dolls. Do you have a collection?”

  “Does she!” cried Rose, who popped in the door. “Jiminy crickets, there are hundreds of dolls!”

  “Rose, dear, don’t shout so,” Mrs. Struthers remonstrated quietly.

  She turned to Nancy and George and told them that collecting dolls had been her hobby for the past few years. She had acquired them from nearly every country in the world.

  “Perhaps you’d be interested in seeing them,” she offered. “There’s a great deal to be learned from dolls, even after we have given them up as playthings.”

  “Why is that?” inquired George, who had seldom played with dolls.

  As Mrs. Struthers led the way do
wn a long hall, she explained, “One can learn about people of long ago and about other countries from dolls.”

  Nancy caught her breath as the woman pushed a door open. Straight ahead against one wall of a large room was a tremendous rosewood cabinet with glass windows. On the shelves was Mrs. Struthers’ collection.

  “How lovely!” Nancy exclaimed. “You must have some real treasures here!”

  Mrs. Struthers reached into the cabinet and selected a little old lady dressed in a red cape and black silk bonnet. Over her arm was a tiny basket.

  “I have been fortunate in getting some unusual dolls,” she told her guests. “This is one of the original peddlar dolls made in London in the nineteenth century. Notice the contents of her basket.”

  The girls were fascinated to see so many miniature objects, including musical instruments, ribbons, and laces.

  “Oh look!” George marveled. “There are even little pots and pans!”

  “Imagine making something like this!” Nancy interjected. She reached into the basket and picked out a tiny set of knitting needles holding a half-completed miniature sock.

  Just then the girls’ attention was diverted by the sound of a tinkling melody. Rose motioned toward a small table where a beautiful doll stood on the velvet-covered box from which the music was coming.

  “Watch!” she directed.

  The doll began to move her head from side to side in time with the music. To add to her charm, she brought up one hand to smell a wee bouquet of flowers she was holding, while with the other she demurely waved a tiny, jeweled fan.

  “She’s darling,” Nancy said.

  Mrs. Struthers was delighted by her visitors’ reaction, but suggested they return to the living room and have tea.

  “Not for me,” Rose sang out and left them.

  “I’m afraid I have very little control over my lively granddaughter,” the hostess lamented as she poured the tea. “Perhaps it’s because she does not have the strong hand of a father.