The Quest of the Missing Map

by Carolyn G. Keene

  The child gave a muffled shriek!

  “It’s that same ghost!” she cried. “Take it away, please! Even the picture scares me!”

  Nancy hugged the little girl and spoke soothingly to her. In a moment Trixie’s fears were gone. Soon Mrs. Chatham and Mr. Drew came out of his private office.

  “Everything is arranged,” the widow declared happily as she turned to Nancy. “Your father prepared the papers I’ll need in New Kirk and made an appointment with the bank’s president. Nancy, you’re to go with me.”

  “Wonderfull” Nancy exclaimed, flashing her father a grateful glance. “When do we leave?”

  “In two hours, if you can be ready.”

  “I can be ready in fifteen minutes.” Nancy laughed. “How about plane reservations?”

  “I made them by phone,” Mr. Drew put in.

  “Did you hire guards to watch your home?” Nancy asked Mrs. Chatham.

  “Yes, two men are there.”

  Nancy looked at Trixie, then drew the woman aside. “Perhaps Ellen Smith could come to your house and take care of Trixie while we’re away.”

  Mrs. Chatham was pleased at the suggestion. Fortunately Nancy was able to reach Ellen by phone. She said she would gladly stay with Trixie. Ellen could barely contain her excitement when told of Mrs. Chatham’s generous invitation to go on a cruise in search of the treasure island.

  Then she said, “About Trixie, I’ll have to leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  “We’ll be back by that time,” Nancy replied, then hung up. “Mrs. Chatham, it’s all arranged.”

  The grateful woman relayed the news to Trixie, who was delighted.

  After the Chathams had gone, Mr. Drew turned to his daughter. “Besides Ellen, have you told anyone else about going to New Kirk?” he asked.

  “I discussed it with Hannah. That’s all.”

  Mr. Drew nodded approval. “I’ve advised Mrs. Chatham to keep the reason for her trip a secret.”

  “You think someone may follow us?”

  “I doubt that, but it’s better to be cautious,” her father said. “The Browns have demonstrated their intense interest in the map, Nancy. That’s why I want you to be careful.”

  “I will, Dad. And now I have something for you.”

  She handed him the crayon sketch of the Ship Cottage “ghost” and told him of Trixie’s positive identification.

  “I’ll tell the police,” he offered, studying the face. “I hope Trixie was sure and not just frightened by the sinister-looking face.”

  “She is very bright,” Nancy replied. “I believe we can depend on her. Well, I must hurry to catch the plane!”

  Aided by Mrs. Gruen, Nancy quickly packed an overnight bag and changed into traveling clothes. A short time later she and Mrs. Chatham were winging toward New Kirk. At the end of a speedy but uneventful trip, they checked into a hotel and then proceeded to the bank.

  No sooner had they entered when Mrs. Chatham began to display signs of nervousness. While she and Nancy waited to see the president, the widow fingered the legal papers Mr. Drew had given her.

  “Now what was it your father told me to say?” she asked in panic. In the same breath she continued, “Won’t you do the talking, Nancy?”

  “I’ll be glad to if you wish, Mrs. Chatham.”

  Nancy had only a few moments to glance over the material before she and Mrs. Chatham were ushered into the private office of Mr. Dowell, the president. Nancy made a simple presentation of the case, offering proof of Mrs. Chatham’s identity. She also gave the man a letter requesting the opening of Captain John Tomlin’s safe-deposit box.

  “For a long time we’ve tried to locate Captain Tomlin or his heirs,” Mr. Dowell said. “Rentals on the box have accumulated, you know.”

  “I’ll be glad to pay whatever amount is due the bank,” Mrs. Chatham said. “May we look at the contents today?”

  “I fear that will be impossible,” the banker answered. “However, if we find your papers in good order, it’s possible the box can be opened tomorrow in the presence of someone from the surrogate’s office.”

  After making an appointment for nine o’clock the following day, Nancy and Mrs. Chatham returned to the hotel. Despite their disappointment, the two thoroughly enjoyed the evening at a fine restaurant.

  At bedtime Nancy was summoned to the telephone. Mrs. Chatham, who had been calling her home, said Ellen Smith wished to speak to her.

  “Oh, Nancy,” Ellen said in a strained voice, “please don’t stay away any longer than you have to. I didn’t want to frighten Mrs. Chatham, but her place is terribly spooky, with creepy shadows in the garden. Twice I’ve called to the guards but no one answered. I don’t believe they’re even on duty.”

  For the sake of Mrs. Chatham, Nancy kept calm. “Ellen, why don’t you ask Hannah Gruen to come over? Dad has to be away tonight and tomorrow, I know, so she’s alone. Please do that.”

  The girl promised, relief in her voice. Nancy went to bed but found it hard to sleep and was awake early. She hoped Mrs. Chatham’s business could be attended to at once and an early return made to River Heights. When the two reached the bank, Mr. Dowell greeted them cordially and presented an official from the surrogate’s office.

  “The box will be opened without further delay,” he assured them. “I’ve arranged for an inheritance tax man to be here this morning. He’ll list the contents for tax purposes.”

  He personally conducted Nancy and Mrs. Chatham to an underground room and sat at one end of a long table.

  The tax official directed Nancy and Mrs. Chatham to sit at the far end of the table. Then he and the bank official sat down with the box before them. As the government man raised the lid, the bulky papers that filled the box crackled. He picked up the top envelope and exclaimed, “Hm! What’s this?... ‘Clue to a Treasure’!”

  CHAPTER XII

  Triple Alarm

  “THAT must be it,” Nancy thought, trying to control her mounting excitement. She and Mrs. Chatham exchanged looks of apprehension. They hoped the official would not ask questions about the treasure. Both were quickly relieved when the men merely glanced at the enclosed sheet, put it back, and went on to examine the rest of the papers. Finally the contents were listed. Nothing was taxable. At length Mrs. Chatham and Nancy were left alone.

  “Thank goodness!” Mrs. Chatham murmured in relief. “Now we can look in that envelope. Surely it must contain the missing map.”

  With trembling fingers she took out the contents.

  “It’s a letter,” she said, unable to hide her disappointment.

  “Is it signed by Captain Tomlin?” Nancy asked. “Yes, this is his handwriting.”

  Did the letter tell what became of the missing treasure map? Nancy wondered.

  Her voice vibrant with emotion, Mrs. Chatham read the entire note aloud. In it her first husband revealed details of his early life never before disclosed to her, including the fact he had dropped the name Abner because he did not like it. There were other facts sufficient to prove that he and Tomlin Smith were twin brothers.

  “So that part of the mystery is solved!” said Nancy.

  The letter concerned itself mainly with the inheritance originally secreted by Captain Tomlin’s seafaring grandfather.

  “Listen to this!” Mrs. Chatham exclaimed as she came to a particularly significant paragraph.

  “‘All these years I have kept the torn section of a treasure map given me by my father. Fearing theft I made a copy of it. Only a month ago, this very copy was stolen from my cabin, unquestionably by a member of the crew.’ ”

  “What is the date of the letter?” Nancy asked as the widow paused to catch her breath.

  “It was written only a week before my husband’s death. He continues:

  “‘I have taken the original map and hidden it on the Warwick. This map, if combined with the section in the possession of my missing twin brother, will lead to the discovery of our grandfather’s great treasure.’ ”

/>   “That doesn’t add up!” Nancy exclaimed. “Wasn’t the Warwick the name of the vessel your husband sailed?”

  “You’re right, Nancy, it was.”

  “Then how could he have removed the parchment map from his own ship and still have hidden it there?”

  “Perhaps he meant he hid it somewhere in another part of the vessel—away from his cabin,” Mrs. Chatham suggested.

  “That doesn’t seem likely,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “No, I’m sure Captain Tomlin never would have risked having the original found by members of his crew. Especially after the copy had been stolen.”

  Mrs. Chatham furrowed her brow in bewilderment as Nancy went on, “Apparently he thought you would understand where the map was hidden.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea!”

  Nancy was silent for several moments as she reread the letter. Then suddenly her face brightened.

  “I get it!” she exclaimed. “Captain Tomlin owned the ship models you have at the studio on Rocky Edge, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. He had many of them custom-built.”

  “And they were sent to you from the ship after his death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Among the collection was there a replica of the Warwick?”

  “Oh dear! I can’t remember,” Mrs. Chatham said. “There were so many of the little boats. I sold a few of them.”

  Nancy was worried. Mrs. Chatham might have sold the Warwick!

  “You think my husband hid his half of the map in a model of the Warwick?” the widow asked.

  “Doesn’t that seem reasonable?” Nancy replied.

  “Oh, it does!” the woman cried in despair. “And to think I may have disposed of it unwittingly! I’ll have no peace of mind until we find out. We’ll take the first plane home,” Mrs. Chatham decided instantly.

  The two were soon en route to River Heights. Aided by a strong tail wind, their plane arrived ahead of schedule.

  They hailed a taxi and rode to Rocky Edge. As the cab rolled through the open gate, Nancy observed that no guards were on duty.

  “Shouldn’t at least one of the special detectives be stationed at the gate?” she inquired.

  “They aren’t detectives,” Mrs. Chatham replied. “My gardener knew two strong men who were out of work, so we gave them the job. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

  Shortly the taxi pulled up in front of the main house. As Nancy and Mrs. Chatham stepped out, a servant rushed up to them.

  “Oh, Mrs. Chatham,” the young woman said, puffing, “what are we going to do? What are we going to do?” she repeated hurriedly. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry.”

  The widow put a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders and tried to remain calm. “Now tell me what the problem is,” she said. “No one’s had an accident I hope.”

  “No, no,” came the sobbing reply.

  Mrs. Chatham’s face grew stem. “Well, then tell me what’s going on,” she said, raising her voice abruptly.

  “Trixie is missing!”

  “What!”

  “Your daughter is missing. We can’t find her anywhere.”

  The words ringing loudly in her ears, Mrs. Chatham made no response. She stumbled up the porch steps to a chair.

  Nancy had been silent, not wishing to interrupt the woman’s conversation with her employee. But now she inquired if Ellen Smith and Hannah Gruen had left.

  Tears trickled down the young woman’s face. She answered, “They both went away right after lunch. Miss Smith had to leave because of a singing lesson. And your housekeeper, Miss Drew, left because she couldn’t get anything to eat. The cook resented her being here and wouldn’t even make her a sandwich, much less let her into the kitchen to fix her own meal.”

  “Where are the guards?” Nancy asked.

  “Oh, they got better jobs, so they left.”

  Nancy coaxed the girl to tell as much, as she could about Trixie’s disappearance.

  “She’s been gone close to two hours,” was the reply.

  Mrs. Chatham spoke up. “Have you searched everywhere? Over the cliff—and down by the river?”

  “Yes, Madam, everywhere.”

  Mrs. Chatham seemed relieved by this statement. “Then Trixie has run away! Well, this isn’t the first time. She’ll come home.”

  “I don’t wish to alarm you, Mrs. Chatham,” said Nancy, “but I’m afraid she may have been kidnapped.”

  The widow gasped. “Then we must call the police at once!”

  As the child’s mother started toward the house, Nancy followed closely. When they entered the hall both noticed a sheet of paper lying near the telephone.

  “What’s this?” Mrs. Chatham asked, picking it up.

  At a glance she saw that it was a ransom note. Written in a bold scrawl was the alarming message :

  If you want to see your kid again have this amount ready when our messenger arrives. Do not notify the police or you’ll be sorry.

  At the bottom of the paper was a request for thousands of dollars.

  “Oh, no!” Mrs. Chatham groaned.

  For a moment Nancy thought the woman was going to faint but she managed to steady herself and sat down.

  “I don’t want to pay the money,” Mrs. Chatham stated, then said, “But what will happen to Trixie if I refuse?”

  “Please don’t worry about that—at least not yet,” Nancy said, studying the ransom note again. “The kidnapping could be an inside job.”

  “I don’t agree with you,” Mrs. Chatham returned with conviction. “While my servants may be careless, they’re all dependable. Whoever left this note here did so without the knowledge of my employees.”

  Nancy tactfully withheld her own opinion.

  “I think I should call the police,” Mrs. Chatham said nervously.

  “Please wait until we’ve had an opportunity to search the grounds thoroughly,” Nancy advised. “I have an idea.”

  Without explaining her hunch, Nancy hurried from the house. She ran down the path, a question burning in her brain. Was Trixie a prisoner somewhere on the estate? Perhaps in Ship Cottage with its secret room and sliding panels?

  Cautiously Nancy opened the door of the music studio and peered inside. The room was vacant, but on a chair lay a child’s hair ribbon.

  Nancy groped for the peg which opened the secret panel. As the wall slid back slowly she was almost certain she heard a movement in the dark chamber.

  “Trix—” she started to call.

  At the same moment a hard object struck Nancy and she blacked out.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Tracing the Warwick

  WHEN Nancy Drew opened her eyes, the room was spinning. A little girl, her mouth gagged with a white handkerchief, was staring down at her.

  “Trixie!” Nancy murmured weakly and slowly got to her feet.

  She removed the handkerchief and the child began to sob. “Oh, I didn’t mean to hit you!”

  “You hit me? But why and how?”

  In bewilderment Nancy looked at the cords binding the child’s ankles and hands which were crossed in front of her. She unknotted them as Trixie answered:

  “I thought you were that awful man coming back. So when you opened the panel, I knocked this big stick off the shelf. It fell on top of you.”

  She pointed to a croquet mallet lying on the floor.

  “Trixie, who put you in here? Tell me quickly.”

  “That horrid ghost you drew a picture of!”

  “And he brought you to the cottage?”

  “No, I came by myself,” Trixie admitted. “I didn’t think the ghost would bother me since the guards were around.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “With the key. I saw where my mother put it after she locked up the place.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I was playing the piano when that bad man—the ghost—grabbed me. I couldn’t yell ’cause he put his hand over my mouth. He tied me up and carried me in here
.”

  She gulped and started to cry again but Nancy gave her a comforting hug. Hand in hand they walked back to the house. Mrs. Chatham was so relieved to see her daughter she barely listened to Nancy’s explanation of what had happened to Trixie.

  When the excitement had subsided, Nancy mentioned the ransom note. “I wonder why the messenger hasn’t come yet. I should think the kidnappers wouldn’t lose any time sending someone over here, Mrs. Chatham.”

  “You’re right, Nancy. I’ll call the police right away so they can capture him.”

  “Perhaps,” Nancy said, “the man has been here and already left.”

  Seeing the woman’s confused expression, she explained, “Whoever was sent to get the money from you may have spotted Trixie and me outside, and knew the game was up. Please don’t worry any more, Mrs. Chatham. Get a good night’s rest and in the morning, if it’s all right, I’d like to resume the search for Captain Tomlin’s map.”

  Police were stationed at the house and the cottage. In the morning they reported to Nancy, who had stayed overnight, that no one had shown up.

  She and Mrs. Chatham went to the studio to examine the various ship models. Each bore a small brass plate with a name engraved on it, but the Warwick was not there. Moreover, a thorough examination of the miniature ships did not reveal a single hiding place.

  “Mrs. Chatham, how many did you sell?” Nancy asked.

  “About ten or twelve,” the woman said. “I listed the purchasers.”

  “You did?” Nancy cried, her spirits reviving. “And the names of each model?”

  “I don’t remember about that. Perhaps I can find the record book.”

  Mrs. Chatham returned to the main house, and within moments came back with a small black book.

  “Apparently I didn’t write down the names of the ship models,” she said, glancing through the book. “Only the prices paid and the eleven purchasers.”

  “Was Captain Tomlin’s vessel very well known?” Nancy asked.

  “No. It was a small ship and rather old.”

  “Then a model of it would be less likely to command a high price. I’m tempted to start our investigation with the purchasers of the least expensive ones.”