The Quest of the Missing Map

by Carolyn G. Keene

  They noted that a man named J. K. Trumbull had paid the lowest price. His address was given as Hope, a small city about twenty-five miles away. But to Nancy’s disappointment his telephone number was not listed in the directory.

  “I’ll have to drive there and try to find Mr. Trumbull,” she declared. “Maybe Bess and George will go with me.”

  When the girls were informed of the trip, both were eager to accompany Nancy. The cousins packed a picnic lunch and were waiting when she drove up in front of the Marvin residence.

  Within an hour the trio arrived in Hope and began making inquiries about J. K. Trumbull. A local shopkeeper finally directed them to a white frame house. Its owner was a short, curly-haired man.

  Introductions were exchanged and Nancy asked, “Mr. Trumbull, I understand you purchased a ship model of the Warwick. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “Say, are you the one who advertised in the paper saying a good price would be paid for the Warwick?”

  “Why, no,” Nancy replied, surprised.

  “Do you still have that paper?” George asked the man quickly. “And was there a name signed to the ad?”

  “No, I threw it away days ago,” he answered. “To your second question, there was no name, just a box number. I didn’t need to know it because I have no intention of selling the model.”

  The girls’ hearts sank at Mr. Trumbull’s statement. Nancy explained that they were trying to recover the model of the Warwick for Mrs. Chatham, whose first husband had sailed the original vessel.

  “May we borrow the model?” she asked. “We believe it contains a clue which may help solve a mystery for Mrs. Chatham.”

  “What sort of clue?” Mr. Trumbull inquired, his interest aroused.

  “I can’t tell you, for I’m not sure myself.”

  He remained silent a moment, studying the girls. Then, to their relief, he smiled broadly.

  “I thought you just wanted the little Warwick to sell at a profit. Now that I see otherwise, you may have the ship for exactly what I paid.”

  Nancy gratefully gave him the sum. With her two friends she delightedly carried the model to the car.

  “We’ll drive out of town and then examine the model,” she proposed.

  Unnoticed by the girls, a sedan which had been parked across the street followed only a short distance behind. The occupants had observed the three leave the Trumbull house with the Warwick.

  “Nancy Drew would never buy a ship model unless it has something to do with the parchment map!” the woman was saying to her husband. “If only we can get our hands on it! I’ll bet it’s the Warwick!”

  “I have a feeling this is going to be our lucky day,” the man replied. “The advertising trick didn’t work, but now we have Nancy Drew and the Warwick right where we want ‘em!”

  “Please be careful, Fred. Nancy has preferred a kidnapping charge against us and—”

  “Listen, Irene, you worry too much,” he retorted as he speeded up to keep Nancy’s car in sight.

  With no suspicion that they were being followed, the girls pulled into a shady lane. While Bess took the picnic hamper, Nancy and George examined the Warwick.

  “If the map isn’t in here, I’ll be very disappointed,” Nancy declared, her fingers exploring the ship’s hull. “It must be, unless Captain Tomlin’s letter meant something totally different.”

  “Can’t you find it, Nancy?” George asked, with growing impatience. Bess, silent, anxiously fastened her eyes on the little ship.

  While the search was in progress, Fred Brown parked his car some distance away. Noiselessly he stole among the trees until he was directly behind Nancy’s convertible. He listened closely to the girls’ excited conversation.

  “Look at this!” he heard Nancy exclaim. “A tiny door in the bottom of the ship!”

  “Try it!” George urged.

  “I can’t seem to get it open,” Nancy answered. There was a short pause, then she cried, “It’s coming now! I feel something inside!”

  “Is it the map?” Bess asked tremulously. “Is it, Nancy?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Yes, it is! Or a copy of it. We’ve found the missing directions!”

  The eavesdropper, still crouched behind the car, smiled with satisfaction. He nodded with even deeper satisfaction as he heard Bess suggest to Nancy that she replace the half map in the ship, so that they could eat their picnic lunch.

  Nancy did not reply. She was thinking, “I wish we could start on that cruise right away!”

  Bess exclaimed, “This excitement has given me a big appetite!”

  “Let’s carry the hamper over to a shady spot in the woods,” George added, pointing. “It’s too sunny here.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” Nancy said. “I suppose the ship will be safe in the car.” She looked about, then set the model on the front seat. Picking up’ a Thermos jug, she added, “Bess, please lock the car.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Fred Brown quickly ducked behind a clump of bushes, spreading their leaves, to watch Bess’s movements. She had trouble with one of the snap locks and called out to Nancy. But by now the other two girls had disappeared into the woods and did not hear her. She looked at the little ship.

  “I’m sure it’ll be safe,” Bess told herself, and started off to join the others.

  As soon as she was out of sight, Fred Brown crept from his hiding place. He stole around the car, opened the front door, and snatched the precious Warwick!

  CHAPTER XIV

  Sneak Attack

  IN the meantime Nancy and her friends were enjoying the picnic lunch under the trees. Bess had reported the balky lock on the car door.

  “I’ll have to get it fixed,” Nancy said, then smiled. “Don’t worry, Bess. There surely aren’t any thieves in this lovely place.”

  Bess reached for a second helping of potato salad. “Isn’t it wonderful! We’ve found the map and it may lead to buried treasure!”

  “Providing Mrs. Chatham doesn’t change her mind about financing the trip,” George reminded her cousin. “What do you think, Nancy? Will she go through with it?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Chatham is very enthusiastic. If we succeed in piecing the map together, she promised to ask both of you, and also Burt and Dave if you like,” Nancy added with a twinkle in her eyes. “And Ned, Ellen, and Bill Tomlin.”

  “Terrinc!” Bess exclaimed gleefully. “Four couples. What a houseparty!”

  “Four couples and Trixie,” said Nancy.

  It was growing late, so after Bess had consumed the last sandwich, the girls gathered up the picnic debris and returned to the car.

  “I’d like to look at that map again,” George remarked.

  Bess, who was a few steps ahead, swung open the car door. She gasped in astonishment at the empty seat.

  “Oh, no! We shouldn’t have left the ship model in here!” she wailed.

  “What’s happened?” Nancy asked.

  “Someone stole it while we were eating!” Bess exclaimed. “Nancy, will you ever forgive me?”

  George eyed her cousin disapprovingly. “Think of all the hours we spent trying to find that map.”

  Nancy gazed carefully about the clearing but could see no one. The thief was gone.

  In a tranquil voice she said, “Fortunately it’s not too serious.”

  “Not serious!” Bess cried. “We lost the treasure and our wonderful vacation trip and you say it’s not serious!”

  Smiling, Nancy opened her handbag and displayed the missing section of the parchment map.

  “I took it with me when we left the car,” she explained. “As for the little ship, it’s not a great loss.”

  “Nancy, I’m so happy I—” Bess laughed and cried, giving her friend an affectionate hug.

  “There’s only one thing that bothers me,” Nancy said. “I can’t recall the wording which was on the bottom of the Warwick!”

  “Wording?” George asked in surprise. “I didn�
�t notice any.”

  “Neither did I,” Bess declared. “What was it, Nancy?”

  “I can remember just one word-‘Little.’ No doubt it will come to me when I study the two pieces of map at home.”

  The girls had made only a casual inspection of the parchment, for even in a strong light the writing was difficult to make out. Nancy was eager to return home so she could look at it under a magnifying glass.

  “Shall we start for River Heights?” she proposed. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  “And make no attempt to trace the person who stole the ship?” George asked in surprise.

  “It wouldn’t do any good. We don’t have a single clue,” Nancy replied. “Let’s head back.”

  After loading the picnic hamper into the car, the three girls crowded into the front seat. Out of habit, Bess reached for the button lock and pressed it down. “It does work!” she exclaimed. George frowned at her cousin but refrained from making a comment.

  “On second thought,” Nancy interposed, “I’d like to stop and talk with Ellen’s father. I have a photograph to show him and he’ll want to hear the good news about the map.” She turned in the direction of Wayland.

  Mr. Smith was saddened to learn that his brother was dead. He readily identified the picture, saying, “John looked exactly like my dad at the same age.”

  Mr. Smith expressed great pleasure over the recovery of the long-lost section of the precious map and stared at it eagerly. “This is my brother’s torn piece,” he declared positively. “Now if only I had my own half!”

  “Just as soon as I get home,” said Nancy, “I’ll compare this with my copy of your section.”

  “Has Mrs. Chatham actually promised to pay for the expedition?” Mrs. Smith inquired. “I don’t like to think of her spending so much money on something which may turn out to be a disappointment.”

  “Mrs. Chatham wants to do it,” Nancy assured her. “The trip will not only be an expedition but a vacation for her and Trixie.”

  Before leaving the house, the girls learned that the police had not caught the thief who had burglarized the Smith home. Although Nancy did not need the stolen parchment, she feared that Spike Doty might get to the buried treasure first. That evening her father voiced a similar opinion.

  “After what happened to the model of the Warwick you must be on your guard more than ever,” he warned her. “The Browns and the others have demonstrated their ruthlessness. They will not give up, Nancy, until the fortune is theirs.”

  For a couple of hours she and her father studied the two sections of map, fitting them together and trying to decipher Captain Tomlin’s writing. Directions for reaching the southern Atlantic island were fairly clear, but one vital section of a word was missing.

  “It would be part of the island’s name,” Nancy commented ruefully. “Plainly it says, ‘Little—Im Island’, but it’s easy to see more letters appeared on the original.”

  “Little Island as a clue means nothing,” Carson Drew remarked, glancing up from an atlas.

  “Mr. Smith said the island was uncharted,” Nancy reminded her father.

  “That was a long time ago,” Mr. Drew replied. “No doubt it’s on the big maps today. Anyway, I’ll take another look at all the islands. Here’s one. Little Palm—”

  “That’s it!” Nancy cried out. “Little Palm Island!”

  “How do you know? How can we be sure? In this expedition a wrong guess could prove to be very costly.”

  “I’m not guessing, Dad. The name was carved on the bottom of the ship model which was stolen from my car today.”

  “Then everything seems to be cleared up,” Mr. Drew declared in satisfaction. “If Mrs. Chatham gives her approval, we can charter a ship.”

  Upon learning that the lost half map had been recovered, Mrs. Chatham was even more enthusiastic than Nancy had dared hope.

  “By all means have your father engage a captain,” she instructed. “And invite the Smith family and any friends you wish. We’ll have a marvelous time.”

  Nancy telephoned to Bill Tomlin, Ned, Burt Eddleton, and Dave Evans. They all instantly accepted and in a whirl of excitement Nancy began to plan her cruise wardrobe.

  On Monday her hopes were suddenly deflated by her father. “I’m afraid there’s not a single charter boat available now,” he announced at lunch.

  “Oh, Dad!” Nancy exclaimed. “Are you absolutely certain? How about a plane?”

  “I’ve tried everywhere and everyone. No chance. I’m sorry, Nancy.”

  “But the Browns or Spike Doty may get to Little Palm before we do and find the buried fortune!”

  That afternoon Carson Drew made several more unsuccessful attempts to find a suitable yacht. The few that were offered to him were either too large or much too small.

  “Remember, dear, the thieves don’t have Captain Tomlin’s section of the map,” Nancy’s father said encouragingly.

  “No,” she agreed. “But don’t forget that a copy of it was stolen by a member of the crew.” She reminded him of the letter found in the New Kirk bank.

  Days went by and Nancy chafed at the delay. She made frequent trips to Rocky Edge to discuss the situation with Mrs. Chatham. Ellen had finished school for the year and come to the estate as piano teacher. Already Trixie was much better behaved.

  One afternoon the child was not in sight when Nancy arrived. Ellen ran down the walk to meet the young detective, who sensed at once that something was wrong.

  “Trixie has disappeared!” Ellen cried. “I’m sure she has been kidnapped again!”

  CHAPTER XV

  Detective in Disguise

  HAD the kidnappers dared to abduct Trixie Chatham a second time? Nancy could not believe they would be so foolish.

  “Maybe Trixie has only wandered away,” she suggested.

  “Oh, I hope so,” Ellen said. “Mrs. Chatham isn’t here and I’m very worried.”

  “Did Trixie talk about going anywhere today?” Nancy asked.

  “Why, yes, she did. She spoke of going to see you. Of course I didn’t pay much attention. I told her you would be coming over but—”

  “Suppose she tried to walk to River Heights? She’d definitely get lost!” Nancy exclaimed. “Come on. Hop in my car.”

  The two girls had expected a long search, but to their surprise they spotted Trixie a few minutes later walking along the road. Beside her was a middle-aged man in a sea captain’s uniform.

  “I hope that isn’t Spike Doty!” Ellen exclaimed nervously.

  “I think not,” Nancy replied, easing on the brakes. “I can’t imagine who he is.”

  At a closer look Trixie’s companion seemed to be quite pleasant. The child herself explained the situation and introduced the man as Captain Stryver. She had seen him walking past the estate and noticed that his uniform looked like those she had seen in pictures of men on ships. Trixie had followed him to talk about boats.

  “I didn’t mean to take the child away from her home,” the man apologized, his weather-beaten face creasing into kindly wrinkles. “We’ve been gabbing a little about ships.”

  “He has one called the Primrose!” Trixie exclaimed, seizing Nancy’s hand.

  “I don’t own her,” the captain hastened to correct. “Mr. Heppel, my employer, is her master.”

  “Is the Primrose for rent?” Nancy asked.

  “Mr. Heppel has had a lot of bad luck the past year. I’m sure he’d be glad to rent the Primrose. Not a prettier yacht afloat. She’s tied up in New York now. I’m just here visiting my daughter.”

  Nancy and Ellen asked many questions, and soon were convinced that the ship was well worth an investigation. They liked Captain Stryver, and tactfully inquired if his services could be obtained for a voyage to an island in the South Atlantic.

  “I know that area like a book,” he said. “Nothing would suit me better than a cruise in those waters.”

  After talking with Captain Stryver for nearly half an hour, Nancy learne
d that Mr. Heppel was coming to Wayland the following morning to talk to the captain. She asked to meet him.

  “Come to my daughter’s house at ten o’clock.” He gave Nancy the address.

  Since Trixie had been responsible for calling the Primrose to their attention, neither Ellen nor Nancy felt like scolding her for wandering off. The girls brought Trixie home.

  Carson Drew was pleased to learn of the Prim-rose and Captain Stryver. He went with Nancy to call on Mr. Heppel the next day. The man was willing to rent his yacht for a fair sum. Pictures of it and a maritime commendation convinced the Drews of its seaworthiness.

  “You’ll have no problem with Captain Stryver at the wheel,” said Mr. Heppel. “He’s honest and dependable,” the owner declared, and the deal was concluded. The captain was promptly engaged and given the task of selecting a crew. Happy about the assignment, he left for New York.

  Nancy’s preparations for the trip were at their height later that morning when she received a telephone call from Chief McGinnis of the River Heights police force.

  “We have a lead, Nancy,” he said. The chief was a long-time friend of the Drews. “Spike Doty’s address.” He rattled off the number and name of the street. “It’s a rooming house.”

  “That’s in the worst district of town,” Nancy commented.

  “A couple of our men are down there now,” the chief said. “Dressed like town hoods. They’re waiting for Doty to appear.”

  “Are you sure he still lives in that apartment house?” Nancy asked.

  “The landlady verified it but said he hasn’t been to his room since night before last.”

  “I’d like to take a look around myself.”

  “If you want a police escort—”

  “Oh, no. I don’t want to scare Doty off or be too conspicuous. As a matter of fact—” She stopped speaking. “I’ll be okay. Thanks just the same.”

  Not wishing to reveal over the phone a plan she had suddenly thought of, Nancy assured him she would take no chances and said good-by. She went to her room and from the rear of her closet pulled out a dark-colored dress that was out of style, a pair of old brown shoes, and a bottle of gray dusting powder for the hair.