160 The Clue On The Crystal Dove

by Carolyn Keene

  your pipe.”

  “I'm so sorry.” The man's gruff voice cut through the

  darkness, which seemed to envelop everyone like a

  stiflingly hot blanket. “I always smoke when I'm

  nervous,” he continued apologetically.

  Several taps sounded from nearby, and Nancy

  guessed the man was extinguishing his pipe. “There,

  that's done,” he said.

  “Even if there is no fire,” Bess said quietly, “we're

  still stuck here in the dark. And the air is really hot.

  How long do you guys think oxygen lasts in a situation

  like this?”

  “Don't worry, Bess,” Nancy said, placing a com-

  forting arm around her friend's shoulder. “The train

  crew will fix the problem, or if worse comes to worst,

  they'll evacuate the train through the tunnel. But I

  doubt it will come to that. In any case, we definitely

  won't suffocate.”

  Bess took a deep breath. “Thanks for the reassur-

  ance, Nan. I mean, I wouldn't want to miss out on

  wearing my hot new dress to Dell's party,” she added

  wryly.

  After a tense ten minutes, light flooded back into the

  car. The passengers jumped in their seats, some closing

  their eyes from the sudden brightness. Nancy, George,

  and Bess blinked at one another in surprise, then

  squinted to see what was happening.

  A door opened at the far end of the car, and two

  conductors hurried through it. An anxious silence fell

  over the passengers as they waited to hear what the

  train officials would say.

  “Please don't worry, ladies and gentlemen,” the first

  conductor called out. “Some circuit breakers tripped,

  but we've fixed 'em and now this train is back in the

  running.” As if to illustrate his words, the train began to

  lurch forward.

  “We're running a half hour behind schedule,” the

  second conductor announced, “but we'll try to make it

  up by putting on a little extra steam.”

  The moment the conductors moved into the next

  car, the dining car erupted into mixed comments of

  relief and annoyance.

  “Thanks heavens the problem was only a circuit

  breaker, and we'll only be a half hour late,” said a

  woman.

  “Don't believe it for a moment,” said the pipe

  smoker. “They're just feeding us a line so we won't

  panic—or sue.”

  “Well, ladies,” the maître d' said, approaching

  Nancy, Bess, and George. “What do you say to some

  dinner? You must be starving after our little adventure.

  Why don't I send over a waiter to take your order?”

  Bess smiled at him as she took a menu. “Thanks.

  There's nothing more soothing than a good dinner and

  a piece of chocolate cake to finish it off,” she said

  brightly.

  “Aha! I will reserve a piece of our double chocolate

  walnut cake especially for you,” the maître d' promised.

  The door to the dining car was suddenly opened. A

  tall brown-haired young man with light hazel eyes

  stepped through it and approached the maître d'.

  Dressed in a white tie, black tails, and a top hat, he

  looked both elegant and strange.

  “I can't figure out whether he looks handsome or

  dorky,” Bess whispered to Nancy and George. “I mean,

  why is he dressed up like that just to have dinner on a

  train?”

  “He looks like one of those symphony orchestra

  musicians,” George said, staring at him as if he were a

  creature from another planet.

  “Or like an ad for men's clothes from a hundred

  years ago,” Nancy remarked.

  Before they could say another word, the man and

  the maître d' approached them.

  “I would like to introduce Mr. Alden Guest,” the

  maître d' said. “He's the gentleman I mentioned who

  gives tours of the Van Hoogstraten railway car. Since

  the rest of my dining car is full, would you mind if Mr.

  Guest dines with you? He has to eat now because later

  he'll be conducting tours.”

  “Have a seat,” Nancy said, smiling at Alden as she

  made room for him on her side of the table.

  The girls introduced themselves, and then the waiter

  took everyone's order.

  “We were wondering why you're dressed like that,”

  George said to Alden after the maître d' had left. “Is it

  because you're a tour guide?”

  Alden grinned, showing a set of brilliant white teeth.

  “You guessed correctly, George. I'm really a New York

  banker, but I've volunteered some vacation time over

  the next couple of weeks to publicize the opening of

  the Van Hoogstraten museum. Right now I'm in charge

  of the Van Hoogstraten railroad car. It's been attached

  to certain trains to promote the museum, which opens

  in five days.”

  “Wow!” Bess said. “So Dell is moving out of her

  house in five days?”

  The expression on Alden's handsome face was one

  of surprise. “Dell?” he said. “How do you know my

  cousin Dell?”

  Nancy quickly explained about her aunt Eloise's

  friendship with Delphinia Van Hoogstraten. “Aunt

  Eloise also told me about Dell's great-grandfather's

  mansion and his collection of glass birds,” she finished.

  “Julius Van Hoogstraten was my great-grandfather,

  too,” Alden said. “Dell's father and my mother were

  brother and sister, though many years apart in age.

  Dell is in her early forties, while I'm twenty years

  younger.”

  Bess smiled shyly at Alden. “It's too bad that you

  have to slave away all evening giving people tours of

  your great-grandfather's car. Otherwise you could have

  hung out with us.”

  “Some other time,” Alden promised, fixing Bess with

  a dazzling smile. “But why don't I take you on your

  own personal tour of the car before I get busy with the

  tour groups at eight? We've got plenty of time—it's

  only six now.”

  “That would be great,” Bess gushed, and Nancy and

  George nodded in agreement.

  The waiter brought their dinners, along with their

  soft drinks. As Nancy dug into her lasagna, Alden

  turned to the girls and asked, “How long are you going

  to be in New York?”

  “A week,” Nancy said. “We'll be able to see the

  museum after it opens. But if Dell invites us to see it

  earlier, we'll jump at the chance.”

  “You don't need her to invite you,” Alden said

  dismissively. “I'd be happy to let you into the museum

  any time. And by the way, how much has your aunt told

  you about Julius's collection?”

  “Not a whole lot,” Nancy said. “Just that he kept his

  glass birds in a room that looks like a greenhouse.”

  Alden nodded. “Julius called it the aviary, and he

  divided it into a bunch of different regions of the

  world, like a tropical rain forest or a northern wood. He

  gave each bird its own habitat using silk trees and

&nbs
p; flowers.”

  “It sounds really cool,” Bess said, her blue eyes

  shining. “How did Julius get to be so talented? It's

  amazing that a rich businessman would also be an artist

  type.”

  “Julius loved ornithology, which is the study of

  birds,” Alden replied. “After he became rich, he would

  travel all over the world to exotic places to birdwatch.

  He'd record each new species he saw in his diary.

  Some of his rich friends only cared about money, but

  birdwatching was Julius's passion.”

  “How did he learn to blow glass?” George asked.

  “That sounds like a really hard skill.”

  “When my great-grandfather was a young man in

  Holland, he served as an apprentice to a famous

  glassblower named Gustav Kinderhook,” Alden said,

  spearing a piece of lettuce with his fork. “He learned

  his craft from Gustav. But after Julius brought his birds

  to America, he no longer had time to make new ones.

  He had to be satisfied with displaying the ones he'd

  already made in Holland.”

  “He must have been so proud of them,” Bess said.

  Alden finished his salad and said, “He was extremely

  proud of them—more than he was of his huge railroad

  empire. In one of his letters, he said that anyone could

  get rich with a little luck and hard work, but very few

  people can be artists, no matter how hard they try.”

  “So was he famous for his collection when he was

  alive?” Nancy asked.

  “He didn't allow the public to see it,” Alden an-

  swered. “After all, he kept the birds in his private

  house. But the few glass experts who saw his collection

  considered it to be extraordinary. They wrote books on

  the subject and raved about the Van Hoogstraten

  Collection—which is what we're calling our museum.”

  After dessert was served, Bess asked, “How do you

  have time to know about banking and glass birds? You

  must be a chip off the old block. I mean, you're exactly

  like Julius—multitalented.”

  “Give me a break, Bess,” George said, rolling her

  eyes. “Or rather, give poor Alden a break.”

  “No, it's okay,” Alden said, squaring his shoulders

  proudly. “I'm flattered to be compared to my great-

  grandfather. Of course, I don't deserve it.”

  “Now you're fishing,” Bess teased, pushing aside the

  remains of her chocolate cake. “But speaking of your

  great-grandfather, why don't you show us his railway

  coach? I'm dying to see for myself how he lived.”

  After signing their checks, Alden, Bess, George, and

  Nancy headed for the end of the train. They passed

  through another sleeping car before walking inside

  Julius's coach—the last car on the train.

  Nancy looked around, awestruck. She felt as if she

  had entered another world. The mahogany paneling of

  the walls was a rich burnished red-brown. The maroon

  velvet upholstery on the sofa and armchairs looked as

  soft as a cat's fur. The crystal chandelier and wall

  sconces imparted a golden glow. And the framed sepia

  photographs of Victorian men and women adorning the

  walls spoke hauntingly of people who had lived long

  ago.

  Nancy traded glances with Bess and George. She

  could tell they all agreed that Julius's coach was a sight

  to behold.

  “I thought our train compartment was pretty cushy,”

  George said, shooting a grin at Alden. “But now you've

  totally spoiled me.”

  “It is incredible, isn't it?” Alden said. “Look at this.”

  He pulled a wooden handle that stuck out of a nearby

  wall, and a bed eased itself down on top of the sofa.

  With its antique wooden headboard, puffy mattress,

  and lace bedspread, it reminded Nancy of an

  illustration she'd once seen of the bed in “The Princess

  and the Pea.”

  “Look at this headboard,” Nancy breathed, fingering

  the carved wood. Eight squares, each filled with a

  different kind of carved bird, decorated it.

  “Try it out,” Alden offered, gesturing grandly at the

  bed. “The mattress is made of pure goosedown—

  awesomely comfortable.”

  “Is this guy Julius?” Bess broke in from across the

  room. As Alden and George moved to a portrait in the

  opposite corner, Nancy sank down on the bed. Without

  meaning to touch the headboard, she tapped her head

  lightly against one of the middle squares.

  Was she dreaming—or was the square giving way?

  Maybe the wood is rotten, she thought, as she

  straightened up and turned around to look.

  Nancy blinked. The square was sliding open!

  3. Mystery Lady

  “Look, guys!” Nancy exclaimed. “A secret compart-

  ment.”

  Peering inside, Nancy saw some yellowing en-

  velopes. Addresses had been scrawled on them in ink,

  now faded with age. Old letters, she concluded—

  probably Julius's.

  Bess, George, and Alden moved quickly to her side.

  Reaching over her head, Alden shut the panel.

  “Very interesting, Nancy,” he pronounced. “I'll have

  to check that out later. Now, where was I? Talking

  about Julius, I think.”

  As he returned to the portrait with Bess and George,

  Nancy thought about his response to her discovery. He

  doesn't seem surprised by the panel, she thought.

  Maybe he already knows about it.

  Nancy stole a look behind her. Alden, Bess, and

  George were busy studying a portrait of a gray-haired

  man in his sixties with an aquiline nose, steely blue

  eyes, and a stern expression. Bushy mutton-chop

  whiskers on the sides of his cheeks and a starched col-

  lar marked him as being from a totally different era. On

  the tip of his forefinger perched a crystal dove.

  He must be Julius, Nancy reasoned. But despite his

  grim expression and old-fashioned hair, Nancy could

  tell that Julius must have been quite handsome in his

  youth, with his strong jaw, piercing eyes, and chiseled

  features.

  She glanced back at the secret panel, feeling sud-

  denly intrigued by Julius's Gilded Age world. It would

  take only a few seconds to skim through one of the

  letters, she thought, but Alden had clearly put them off

  limits.

  Fighting her curiosity, Nancy memorized which bird

  decorated the secret panel—an eagle, she observed.

  Climbing off the bed, Nancy walked over to join

  Bess and George as Alden pointed out a print of the

  Van Hoogstraten mansion in New York. But her

  thoughts were wandering far from what he was saying.

  Maybe I'll sneak back here later tonight and take a

  look at those letters when no one's around, Nancy

  mused, her mind clicking away as Alden spoke. Julius

  seems like such a complicated guy, she thought. From

  everything Alden had said and from what she knew of

  his life, Julius was a tough businessman as well as a

  sensitive artist. How c
ould such opposite types exist in

  one person? she wondered.

  Even though he'd been dead for several generations,

  Nancy couldn't help but be curious about such a

  contradictory and powerful character. In trying to

  figure out Julius, she almost felt as if she had stumbled

  across a type of mystery.

  Nancy glanced again at the portrait. She could easily

  trace the Gilded Age tycoon in Julius's haughty

  features, but nowhere in his bold face could she detect

  any hint of the nature-loving artist.

  There's only one real way to get a sense of this guy,

  she concluded—by studying his letters and diaries.

  Alden's gaze suddenly flew to his watch. “It's almost

  eight,” he announced. “I'm due to give a tour now. I'd

  much rather hang out with you guys, of course, but

  you're welcome to stay while the tour comes in.”

  “Thanks, Alden,” Nancy said, “but I'm pretty tired.

  Maybe Bess and George will take you up on your

  offer.”

  Bess stifled a yawn. “I'd love to stay, but you gave us

  such a great private tour, Alden, that it wouldn't be the

  same with a crowd.”

  “Exactly my thoughts,” George said. “Thank you so

  much, Alden. Will we see you at Dell's dinner party

  tomorrow night?”

  Alden flashed his brilliant smile. “You can count on

  it. But only if all three of you promise to dance at least

  once with me.”

  Nancy gave him the thumbs-up sign. Then they all

  thanked him again and moved toward the car door

  while an elderly couple, two young women, and the

  man with the pipe streamed into the car. Once the girls

  reached their compartment, they found the beds

  pulled down for them.

  “Perfect!” Bess said. “I can get my beauty sleep be-

  fore hitting the dance floor at Dell's tomorrow night.”

  Nancy curled up on her bed with a book. “You know

  what, guys?” she said. “I'd love to read those letters in

  the secret compartment. I'm really curious to know

  more about Julius.”

  “But what if Alden catches you?” Bess asked. “While

  you were busy with the secret panel, he mentioned to

  me and George that his compartment is in the coach

  next to Julius's. He might hear you open Julius's door.”

  “I'll be careful, Bess,” Nancy promised. “I've got a

  flashlight, so I won't need to turn on any lights. And I'll

  wait till it looks like everyone's asleep.”

  A few hours later Nancy woke up from a doze, still