The Secret in the Old Lace

by Carolyn G. Keene

  “Thank goodness,” Bess sighed.

  “You and your makeup,” her cousin needled her. “Why wear rouge at all when you know I can keep your blood pressure sky-high!”

  By now, the boatman had picked up their luggage and was leading the way to the door of the house. It opened, revealing a tall, slender woman with silver-gray hair wound into a knot at the nape of her neck.

  “Madame Chambray?” Nancy inquired.

  “Mais oui,” she said in French. “Yes, and welcome.”

  The girls introduced themselves, and Nancy paid the schipper. Once they were seated in the living room, the visitors were struck by its charm. It contained numerous pieces of intricately carved furniture and heavy brocade draperies. Many of the paintings on the walls had been done by very fine artists, some of them famous.

  Nancy was eager to see the diamond and lapis lazuli cross but decided to wait for Madame Chambray to mention it first.

  “I am so glad you could come,” the woman said. “You know I’ve been living in this house only a very short while but already it has produced—how you say—a mystery?”

  “Yes, you wrote to Mother about it,” Bess said.

  “Then you understand I am looking for the owner of a beautiful cross,” Madame Chambray continued.

  Nancy felt obligated to warn her not to tell her story to too many people.

  “No?” the woman replied, raising her eyebrows. “But how will I ever find the owner? I must tell you I put an article in the newspaper about it. Let me show it to you.” The well-meaning woman excused herself for a moment and returned with a news clipping which she handed to Nancy.

  Immediately the girl detective’s eyes fell on her own name. “You mentioned my visit here as well,” Nancy said in disbelief.

  “It isn’t every day that a famous young detective comes to Brugge.” The woman chuckled.

  “Oh, dear,” Bess moaned. “All your chances of working under cover, Nancy, just vanished into thin air!”

  Madame Chambray caught the look of disappointment on Nancy’s face. “Is there a problem?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  George replied first. “No, but—”

  “But what?” Madame Chambray said anxiously.

  “Nancy may not be able to solve your mystery,” Bess declared boldly.

  9

  The Ghost

  Nancy was less pessimistic than her friends and smiled at Madame Chambray. “Let’s just say you’ve given me—all of us—quite a challenge,” she said. “The more people who know about the diamond cross and your search for its owner, the more chance there is that someone will put in a false claim.”

  The woman chided herself. “How stupid I am!” she exclaimed. “That never occurred to me.”

  It was obvious to her visitors that Madame Chambray was scrupulously honest and very trusting. No doubt she could be easily swayed by the sympathetic tale of a con artist.

  “Where did you find the cross?” Nancy inquired. She gazed toward the narrow hallway where steps led to the second and third stories and tried to imagine how Madame Chambray had stumbled upon the glittering piece in some medieval nook upstairs.

  “It was in a most unlikely place,” the woman said, pausing. “In the cellar.”

  “The cellar?” George repeated in surprise. “Was it in a box or just lying on the floor somewhere?”

  “Actually it was wrapped in a piece of linen that was caught in the stonework—”

  Madame Chambray stopped speaking for a moment and went into another room. When she returned, she held a small purple velvet box in her hand. “You must see it—it is so beautiful,” she said, giving the box to Nancy to open.

  Bess and George gathered near the young detective as she lifted the cover. Inside lay the dazzling cross.

  “It’s exquisite!” Bess exclaimed while Nancy removed the piece from the box to examine it closely.

  The oblong diamonds and lapis lazuli stones were set in- solid gold. But there were no unusual markings on the setting.

  “The linen I found it wrapped in,” Madame Chambray said, “is folded under the mount in the box. ”

  George took the cross from Nancy, enabling her to remove the linen. “There’s something stitched on it,” Nancy commented as she stared at the line of French words embroidered on the soiled material. Below them was the name Antoinette Tissot.

  “Maybe the cross belonged to King Louis XVI,” Bess suggested with a grin.

  Madame Chambray interrupted the conversation, asking Nancy if she could interpret the message.

  “I think so,” the girl detective replied. “Doesn’t it say, ‘God protect you wherever you go’?”

  “That’s correct,” the woman said with admiration.

  “Have you shown this to anyone else?” Nancy questioned.

  “Other than some friends, I did ask an expert appraiser of antique jewelry to look at the cross. He estimates it to be more than one hundred years old.”

  “Which means,” George said, “Antoinette is not living anymore.”

  “Possibly,” Nancy put in, “but not necessarily. After all, the cross could have come into her possession years after it was made.” She stifled a yawn, suddenly feeling extremely tired after their adventure in Brussels.

  “I can see you are a very smart detective, Nancy,” said Madame Chambray, “but I don’t want you to trouble your mind about all of this right now. You need your sleep. You all do.”

  She took the little velvet box from the girls and replaced the linen and beautiful cross.

  “I am having a small dinner party this evening to introduce you to my friends. They are so eager to meet all of you,” the woman went on. “So—”

  “But I have nothing appropriate to wear,” Nancy murmured worriedly. She told Madame Chambray about her missing luggage, adding, “Is there a dress shop nearby?”

  “There are plenty of shops,” Madame Chambray replied. “But you must rest. I will find something for you to wear. Don’t worry.”

  Madame Chambray led the girls upstairs to their rooms, each one charmingly decorated with silk-covered beds and matching drapes. George lent Nancy a robe which she changed into before collapsing on her pillow.

  The girl detective’s mind whirled endlessly about the new, exciting mystery. To whom did the antique cross belong? Someone—apparently Antoinette—had given it to someone else, but when and why? There were few clues to go on, fewer than those about the secret in the old lace.

  When Nancy awoke, she felt a surge of energy.

  We ought to investigate the cellar, she decided, quickly getting out of bed. Maybe we’ll find an important lead down there.

  Except for the sound of an approaching motorboat, the house was very quiet. Nancy pressed her nose against the casement window. She noticed Madame Chambray at the dock, waiting to board the boat. Maybe she’s going shopping for the party tonight, the girl thought, then went to the room next door.

  “Wake up, Bess!” she called. “We have work to do!”

  Her friend was sleeping peacefully, oblivious to Nancy, who was jostling her now. “Wha-what is it?” Bess finally mumbled.

  “Come on, lazybones, get up. We’re going on a hunt for clues!”

  Next Nancy knocked on George’s door, then went back to her own room where she put on her skirt and sweater. The young detectives, their flashlights in hand, gathered in the corridor at the top of the steps.

  “Where do we start?” Bess asked.

  “In the cellar,” Nancy said, “since that’s where Madame Chambray found the cross.”

  The girls noticed a heavy wooden door off the kitchen. It creaked noisily as Nancy swung it back on its hinges and saw that it led below. Before descending, Nancy thought she heard something underneath the stairwell but dismissed it when the noise was not repeated. Step by step she guided her friends into the eerie darkness.

  “I’m scared.” Bess shivered. “Nancy, why don’t we wait for Madame Chambray to return before we go a
ny farther?”

  “Sh!” George quieted her cousin. “Stop pretending to be a chicken detective.”

  “Who’s pretending?” Bess laughed nervously.

  As they stood in the musty, dark room, they beamed their lights on the stone walls, looking unsuccessfully for a switch to turn on an overhead light.

  “Oh!” Bess cried out suddenly while Nancy and George walked ahead of her.

  “What’s the matter?” Nancy asked.

  “I hear weird noises. Don’t you?”

  “No,” the other detectives whispered back.

  “Stick closer,” George said, but her cousin continued to lag behind.

  Nancy swept her flashlight across a deep stony crevice in one wall while George examined the floor beneath it. “Swing your light over here, Bess,” George requested, unaware that her cousin was not with them. But when no response came, George spun around. “Bess, where are you?”

  Instantly Nancy flashed her light toward the cellar steps where they had started their investigation. Bess was nowhere in sight. A couple of tense minutes later, they saw a ghostly figure in white standing beyond the fringe of light!

  Nancy turned her flashlight on the mysterious apparition, noticing it wore leather boots. “Who are you?” she cried out.

  There was no answer.

  “Let’s get him, George!” Nancy hissed, feeling the two girls had a good chance to overpower the lone ghost, who seemed to be a tall, slender man.

  “Right!” George said, and both charged toward the figure, diving for the sheet that covered him. The ghost threw out his arms and with a powerful thrust flung both girls to the floor. Their lights fell out of their hands and went out. Now they were in total darkness.

  George screamed, expecting the ghost to pounce on them at any moment. All they heard, however, were a few shuffling noises that quickly faded.

  A bit shaken, the young detectives groped for their flashlights. George found hers first and beamed it toward Nancy, who had noticed a small hole right next to where she had fallen. “I—I think my light rolled in there,” she said.

  “Where’s the ghost?” George asked, now beaming her light in the direction where the apparition had stood. All she could see was the cellar wall.

  The ghost had vanished. Was he hiding nearby ready to attack them again? And where was Bess?

  Had he kidnapped her?

  Panic-stricken, both girls shrieked, calling out, “Bess! Bess!”

  10

  The Water Tunnel

  Nancy and George called Bess’s name several times but there was no response. “What could have happened to her?” George asked in bewilderment.

  Then they heard a muffled sound. Keeping quiet, Nancy took George’s flashlight and edged toward the cellar steps. There, under the staircase, was a door made of heavy wood and painted the color of the stonework.

  “George, help me!” Nancy said, tugging on the iron bolt. Her fingers, wet with perspiration, slipped.

  George grasped the bolt firmly and yanked it back. The door swung open, revealing a small closet. Inside was Bess, a gag stuffed across her mouth, her wrists and ankles bound tightly. She sat on the floor, leaning against the cold stone wall, where spiders had fastened their cobwebs.

  “Oh, Bess!” Nancy gasped.

  “Are you all right?” George cried, quickly bending over her cousin to remove the gag from her mouth.

  “Who did this to you?” Nancy asked as she went to work on the ropes that were tied around the girl’s wrists and legs.

  “A—a man!” Bess murmured. “He was dressed like a ghost. Oh, it was horrible!”

  “Poor Bess,” George said sympathetically, massaging the red welts where the rope had cut into her cousin’s wrists.

  “He—he came out of that closet,” Bess went on. “He grabbed my flashlight, then put the gag over my mouth.”

  “Did he say anything to you?” Nancy asked.

  “No, nothing.”

  “We must report this to the police,” George said resolutely as Bess slowly stumbled to her feet.

  Despite the ache in her ankles, the girl insisted on climbing the stairs without help. “I don’t want to stay down here one more second.”

  When they emerged into the kitchen, the girls heard the back door open and close.

  “That must be Madame Chambray,” Nancy said, calling out her name.

  “Yes, dear, I’m home,” the woman replied, joining her young guests. Madame Chambray’s smile quickly changed to a deep frown when she saw the smudges on Bess’s face and the stains on her skirt. “Did you fall?”

  Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes as she said no and explained what had happened.

  “Ma pauvre chérie,” the woman said, hugging Bess briefly. She rinsed a small towel in lukewarm water and patted the girl’s face. “There, there, you will be fine again.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Bess said. “I do feel better.”

  “How did this terrible man get into my house?” Madame Chambray asked. “Maybe we should call the police.”

  “Well, he’s gone now,” Nancy said, adding, “Is there some sort of connection between the basement and the canal?”

  “Not that I know of. I haven’t lived here very long and I am still learning about the house. It seems to be full of little doors and nooks and crannies so there may well be an underground passage.”

  That was all the young detectives needed to hear. “Are you game to go back down?” Nancy asked George, knowing that Bess was not up to it.

  “Why not?”

  “Please don’t,” Bess pleaded. “The ghost may try to stick you both in that awful closet!”

  “We’ll be careful,” Nancy promised. “And we’ll send up a report every ten minutes. Okay?”

  As she and George hurried below, Bess asked to be excused.

  “By all means,” Madame Chambray said. “Take a good hot bath and relax. You want to look your prettiest tonight!”

  She winked at the girl, causing Bess to wonder if she was planning to introduce her guests to some charming young Belgian men. “Oh, I will!” Bess giggled, leaving her hostess alone in the kitchen.

  Madame Chambray busied herself with some last-minute dinner preparations. Then, glancing at the package she had brought home for Nancy, the woman smiled happily.

  I think she will like it, Madame Chambray thought. I’ll put it on her bed, so when she comes up she’ll find a nice surprise.

  She stepped out into the hallway and was about to go upstairs when she spied someone staring through the living room window.

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  The figure ducked quickly out of sight, prompting Madame Chambray to drop the package and run to the door. She opened it and stuck her head outside.

  “Is anyone there?” she repeated.

  But the only response was the water of the canals gently lapping against the walls of the house.

  How strange! she said to herself.

  Nancy and George, in the meantime, were exploring one end of the cellar where they discovered another door. It opened onto a short tunnel of water.

  “I’m sure this is how the ghost got in,” Nancy remarked. “I wonder how deep the water is. Maybe he waded in and out.”

  “Did his boots look wet to you?” George questioned.

  “I couldn’t tell—they looked dark to begin with. ”

  “I’ll go upstairs and get a yardstick,” George volunteered. “That way we can find out how deep it is.” She rushed off.

  Nancy, however, became impatient and went down to the lowest step. Maybe I can tell by sticking my hand in, she thought.

  She kneeled down, lowering her arm into the water. Her fingers did not touch bottom. Guess I’ll have to stretch out, she decided.

  The stone step shifted slightly as she lay flat, then slipped forward ready to sink into the murky pool!

  Oh, no! Nancy panicked, trying to hold her position until George returned. “George!” she cried loudly. “Help
me!”

  George could not hear her friend from upstairs where Madame Chambray was telling her about the stranger at the window.

  Oh, why doesn’t she come? Nancy thought in alarm as she tried to grab the dry step above her, praying it would not also give way.

  Fortunately, George had not lingered too long in conversation with Madame Chambray and was on her way back downstairs. She raced to the tunnel door, shouting to Nancy, “Wait until you hear what—” and then broke off when she saw Nancy’s predicament.

  George dropped the yardstick on the top step and gripped Nancy’s arm, helping her up, as the stone step crumbled into the water.

  “Where would I be without you, friend?” Nancy said gratefully.

  “Swimming,” George quipped.

  Nancy laughed as the other girl lowered the yardstick into the water. It was shallower than she had estimated. When George pulled the stick out, it was covered with weeds and muck up to a foot and a half.

  “That man could have waded out of here very easily,” Nancy concluded. “And a boat could have been waiting for him out on the canal. Of course, the big question is why—Why did he come here at all?”

  Had he planned to burglarize Madame Chambray’s house while she was out? Was he pursuing the diamond cross or something even more precious? The girl detectives tried to piece the puzzle together.

  “But what could be more valuable than the cross?” George said to her friend. “Of course, the furnishings and paintings must be worth a lot—”

  Nancy snapped her fingers. “Didn’t Madame Chambray mention in her letter to Mrs. Marvin something about a document and—and a treasure?”

  “Yes, you’re right. I completely forgot about that. ”

  “I almost did too.”

  “But how would the ghost know the contents of the letter?” George asked.

  “He wouldn’t unless he’s André Bergère,” Nancy said grimly.

  “Not necessarily,” George said after thinking for a moment. “Since Madame Chambray talked so openly with her friends about these things, they may have inadvertently passed the information along to another would-be thief!”