Carolyn Keene_Nancy Drew Mystery Stories_01

by The Secret of the Old Clock

  The three prisoners, their faces sullen, were crowded into the car. One of the troopers took the wheel, while the one beside him kept the handcuffed trio closely covered.

  Officer Cowen, a strapping, husky man, turned to Nancy. “I’ll ride with you,” he said. “You’re going past headquarters on the main road?”

  “I’m on my way to River Heights,” she responded.

  “Then the station is on your route. You can drop me off if you will.”

  “Why—why, of course,” Nancy stammered. “I’ll be glad to.”

  At once she had thought of the Crowley clock. What if Officer Cowen should not accept her explanation as to why she had helped herself to the heirloom and its strange contents? If this happened, her progress in solving the mystery might receive a serious setback! Even as these disturbing ideas raced through her mind, the trooper started toward the blue convertible.

  Nancy braced herself. “I’ll just have to ’fess up,” she said to herself, “and take the consequences!”

  CHAPTER XVII

  Strange Instructions

  FOR THE next few seconds Nancy’s mind worked like lightning as she rehearsed what she would say to Officer Cowen. One idea stood out clearly: the police were concerned in the theft of the furniture, so she would hand over the clock. But they were not involved in locating Mr. Crowley’s missing will. For this reason the young sleuth felt justified in keeping the notebook. She would turn it over to her father, and let him decide what disposition should be made of it.

  “After all,” Nancy told herself, “Dad is handling the Crowley case for the Hoovers, and even the Turners and Mrs. Rowen, in a way.”

  By this time she and the trooper had reached her car. “Would you like me to drive?” he asked.

  “Why—er—yes, if you wish,” Nancy replied. “But first I want to show you something,” she added, as he opened the door for her. “I have some stolen property here.”

  “What!”

  Quickly Nancy explained that she had taken the responsibility of trying to learn whether or not the van held the stolen furniture. “I recognized a few of the pieces, and possibly this clock which the Tophams had told me about. I took that out to examine it. Then I never had a chance to get it back without being caught. I’m sure the Tophams will identify the old clock as their property.”

  Nancy’s explanation seemed to satisfy the officer. “I’ll take it to headquarters,” he said. “Let’s go!”

  He laid the clock on the rear seat, then slid behind the wheel and drove off.

  It was nearly midnight when Nancy, tired and worn from her long ride, reached the Drew home in River Heights. As she drove into the double garage, she noticed that her father’s car was gone. A glance at the house disclosed that the windows were dark, with the exception of a light in the hall. Hannah Gruen must be in bed.

  “Of course she’s not expecting me,” Nancy reasoned. “I wonder where Dad can be? Oh, I hope he’ll get home soon. I want to tell him about my discovery right away.”

  After locking the garage door, she went to the kitchen entrance and let herself in.

  Her eyes lighted on the refrigerator and suddenly Nancy realized she was very hungry. Many hours had passed since she had eaten. “Um, food!” she thought.

  Just as Nancy opened the refrigerator door, she heard steps on the stairs and Hannah Gruen, wearing a sleepy look, appeared in robe and slippers.

  “Nancy!” cried the housekeeper, instantly wide awake.

  “Surprise, Hannah darling!” Nancy gave the housekeeper an affectionate hug and kiss. “I’m simply starved. Haven’t had a bite since lunch-time.”

  “Why, you poor dear!” the housekeeper exclaimed in concern. “What happened? I’ll fix you something right away.”

  As the two prepared a chicken sandwich, some cocoa, and Hannah cut a large slice of cinnamon cake over which she poured hot applesauce, Nancy told of her adventures.

  The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Nancy, you might have been killed by those awful men. Well, I’m certainly glad they’ve been captured.”

  “So am I!” declared Nancy fervently as she finished the last crumb of cake. “And I hope the Turners get back their silver heirlooms.”

  “How about the Tophams?” Hannah Gruen questioned teasingly.

  “Somehow,” said Nancy with a wink, “that doesn’t seem to worry me.” Then she asked, “Where’s Dad?”

  “Working at his office,” Hannah Gruen replied. “He phoned earlier that something unexpected had come up in connection with one of his cases.”

  “Then I’ll wait for him,” said Nancy. “You go back to bed. And thanks a million.” The sleepy housekeeper did not demur.

  Left alone, Nancy tidied the kitchen, then went to the living room.

  “Now to find out what became of Josiah Crowley’s last will,” she thought excitedly, as she curled up in a comfortable chair near a reading lamp.

  Carefully she thumbed the yellowed pages, for she was afraid they might tear. Evidently Josiah Crowley had used the same notebook for many years.

  “He certainly knew how to save money,” she mused.

  Nancy read page after page, perusing various kinds of memoranda and many notations of property owned by Mr. Crowley. There were also figures on numerous business transactions in which he had been involved. Nancy was surprised at the long list of stocks, bonds, and notes which apparently belonged to the estate.

  “I had no idea Josiah Crowley was worth so much,” she murmured.

  After a time Nancy grew impatient at the seemingly endless list of figures. She skipped several pages of the little notebook, and turned toward the end where Mr. Crowley had listed his possessions.

  “Why, what’s this?” she asked herself. Fastened to one page was a very thin, flat key with a tag marked 148.

  Suddenly a phrase on the opposite page, “My last will and testament,” caught and held Nancy’s attention. Eagerly she began to read the whole section.

  “I’ve found it!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I’m glad I didn’t give up the search!”

  The notation concerning the will was brief. Nancy assumed the cramped writing was Josiah Crowley’s. It read:

  To whom it may concern: My last will and testament will be found in safe-deposit box number 148 in the Merchants Trust Company. The box is under the name of Josiah Johnston.

  “And this is the key to the box!” Nancy told herself.

  For several moments the young sleuth sat staring ahead of her. It seemed unbelievable that she had solved the mystery. But surely there could no mistake. The date of the entry in the notebook was recent and the ink had not faded as it had on the earlier pages.

  “There is a later will!” Nancy exclaimed aloud. “Oh, if only it leaves something to the Turners, and the Mathews, and Abby Rowen, and the Hoover girls! Then Allison could take voice lessons and little Judy would be taken care of, and—”

  Nancy hurriedly read on, hoping to learn something definite. But although she carefully examined every page in the book, there was no other mention of the will, nor any clue to its contents.

  “No wonder the document didn’t come to light,” Nancy mused. “Who would have thought of looking for it in a safe-deposit box under the name of Josiah Johnston? In his desire for safe-keeping, Josiah Crowley nearly defeated his own purpose.”

  Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard a car turn into the driveway. Rushing to the window, Nancy saw her father pull into the garage. She ran to meet him at the kitchen door.

  “Why, hello, Nancy,” he greeted her in surprise. “If I had known you were here, I’d have come home sooner. I was doing some special work on a case. Back from Moon Lake ahead of schedule, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Nancy admitted, trying to hide her excitement. “But for a good reason.”

  Before her father could hang up his hat in the hall closet, she plunged into the story of her adventures and ended by showing him the notebook which she had found inside the mantel clock. When
she had finished, Carson Drew stared at his daughter with mingled pride and amazement.

  “You’re a good detective, Nancy. You’ve picked up an excellent clue,” he said.

  “Dad, I thought it best not tell the police about the notebook. We don’t want to reveal the secret of another will to the executor mentioned in the old one.”

  “You mean Mr. Topham. I agree,” the lawyer replied. “The new will may name someone else as executor.” He smiled. “I think you and I should try to see this will. But,” he added, “which Merchants Trust Company is it in? There must be dozens of banks by that name.”

  Nancy suddenly snapped her fingers. “Dad, I believe I know. You recall that Judge Hart and his wife told me they had seen Josiah Crowley in Masonville a couple of times. And there’s a Merchants Trust Company there.”

  Mr. Drew looked at his daughter admiringly. “I believe you have the answer, Nancy. And Judge Hart is just the man to help us. I’ll phone him in the morning. Well, I guess we both need some sleep.”

  As the lawyer kissed his daughter good night, he added, “My dear, you were in serious danger when you encountered those thieves. I don’t like to have you take such risks. I am very grateful indeed that you are back home safe.”

  “The Tophams aren’t going to thank me when they find out what I have done,” Nancy said, as she went up the stairs ahead of her father. “In fact, we may have a battle on our hands, Dad.”

  “That’s right, Nancy. And it will be just as well that they don’t learn the details of how the will was found until the matter is settled beyond a doubt.”

  “I’m certainly curious to find out if the new will left anything to the Tophams,” said Nancy.

  “If not,” her father put in, “your discovery will strike them at an especially awkward time.”

  Nancy paused on the stairs and turned to face her father. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there’s talk about town that Richard Topham has been losing heavily in the stock market this past month. He has been getting credit at a number of places on the strength of the inheritance, and I suspect he is depending on Crowley’s money to pull him through a tight spot. He’s making every effort to speed up the settlement of the estate.”

  “Then we’d better hurry,” said Nancy, resuming the climb.

  “Don’t build your hopes too high,” Mr. Drew advised her wisely. “There may be a slip, you know.”

  “How?”

  “We may fail to find the will in the safe-deposit box.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe it, Dad. The notebook says it’s there!”

  “Then,” the lawyer continued, “there is a chance that Josiah Crowley didn’t dispose of the fortune as the Turners and the Hoovers and others expected he would.”

  “But he promised all those people—”

  “I know, Nancy. But there’s just the possibility that the notation in the notebook was wishful thinking and Mr. Crowley never got around to making the new will.”

  “You can discourage me all you want to, Dad, but I’m not going to stop hoping!” Nancy said. “Oh, I can scarcely wait for morning to come!”

  Her father laughed. “You’re an incurable optimist! Now put Josiah Crowley out of your mind and get a good night’s sleep.”

  At the door of her bedroom Nancy hesitated, then turned back toward the stairs.

  “What’s up?” Mr. Drew asked.

  Without answering Nancy ran down to the living room, picked up the notebook which lay on the table, and hurried back up the carpeted steps.

  “After all I’ve gone through to get my hands on this,” she told her father, “I’m not going to take any chances!” Nancy laughed. “Tonight I’ll sleep with it under my pillow!”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A Suspenseful Search

  WHEN Nancy awoke the following morning, bright sunlight was streaming through her open bedroom window. As her eyes turned toward the clock on her dresser, she was alarmed to see that it was a little after nine o’clock.

  “How could I have overslept on a morning like this?” she chided herself.

  Quickly running her hand under the pillow, she brought out the Crowley notebook and surveyed it with satisfaction.

  “What a surprise the Tophams are going to get!” she murmured softly.

  After hastily bathing and dressing, Nancy hurried downstairs looking very attractive in a blue summer sweater suit. She kissed Hannah Gruen, who said a cheery good morning and told Nancy that Mr. Drew had already left for his office.

  “Oh dear,” Nancy said, “I wonder if he forgot our date?”

  “No indeed,” the housekeeper replied. “He phoned Judge Hart and expects word from him by ten o’clock. He’ll let you know the result. My goodness, Nancy, you’ve really made a big discovery. I do hope everything turns out for the best.”

  She went into the kitchen but returned in a moment with a plate of crisp, golden waffles.

  “Better eat your breakfast,” she advised. “Your dad may call any minute.”

  Nancy ate a dish of strawberries, then started on the waffles. “These are yummy,” she stated, pouring maple syrup over a second one.

  She had just finished eating when the phone rang. Mr. Drew was calling to say Judge Hart had made arrangements at the bank. “Come to my office with the notebook and key, Nancy. We’ll start from here.”

  “I’ll be right down, Dad.”

  Nancy went upstairs for her purse, then drove to her father’s office.

  “I have the notebook with me,” she told the lawyer. “Do you want it?”

  “We’ll take the book along. I want to show it to the head of the trust department at the bank,” Mr. Drew said. “It’s our proof we have good reason for taking a look in Mr. Crowley’s box.”

  After leaving a number of instructions with his private secretary, Carson Drew followed his daughter from the office. He took his place beside her in the convertible.

  “I’ll never get over it if we don’t find a newer will,” Nancy declared, as they drove along. A flush of excitement had tinted her cheeks and her eyes were bright.

  “You must remember one thing, Nancy,” returned her father calmly. “Crowley was an odd person and did things in an odd way. A will may be there, and again it may not. Perhaps he only left further directions to finding it.

  “I remember one case in Canada years ago. An eccentric Frenchman died and left directions to look in a trunk of old clothes for a will. In the pocket of a coat were found further instructions to look in a closet of his home. There his family found a note telling them to look in a copper boiler.

  “The boiler had disappeared but was finally located in a curiosity shop. Inside, pasted on the bottom, was what proved to be a word puzzle in Chinese. The old Frenchman’s heirs were about to give up in despair when a Chinese solved the puzzle and the old man’s fortune was found—a bag of gold under a board in his bedroom floor!”

  “At least they found it,” said Nancy.

  The trip to Masonville was quickly accomplished, and Nancy parked the car in front of the Merchants Trust Company.

  Father and daughter alighted and entered the bank. Mr. Drew gave his name and asked to see the president. After a few minutes’ wait they were ushered into a private conference room. An elderly man, Mr. Jensen, arose to greet them.

  The introductions over, Mr. Drew hastened to state his mission. Before he could finish the story, the bank president broke in.

  “Judge Hart has told me the story. I’ll call Mr. Warren, our trust officer.”

  He picked up his desk phone and in a few minutes Mr. Warren appeared and was introduced. Nancy now brought out the notebook, opened it to the important page, and handed it to the men to read.

  When they finished, Mr. Jensen said, “What a mystery!”

  Mr. Warren pulled from his pocket the file card which the owner of Box 148 had filled out in the name of Josiah Johnston. The two samples of cramped handwritings were compared.

  “I would say,” Mr
. Drew spoke up, “that there is no doubt but that Crowley and Johnston were the same person.”

  “I agree,” asserted Mr. Jensen, and his trust officer nodded.

  “Then there’s no reason why we shouldn’t open the box?” Mr. Drew asked.

  “None,” Mr. Warren replied. “Of course nothing may be removed, you understand.”

  “All I want to see,” Nancy spoke up, “is whether there is a will in the box, the date on it, who the executor is, and who the heirs are.”

  The bankers smiled and Mr. Jensen said, “You’re hoping to solve four mysteries all at once! Well, let’s get started.”

  With Mr. Warren in the lead, the four walked toward the rear of the bank to the vault of the trust department. A guard opened the door and they went through. Mr. Jensen took the key from Mr. Crowley’s notebook, while Mr. Warren opened the first part of the double safety lock with the bank key. Then he inserted the key from the notebook. It fitted!

  In a moment he lifted out Deposit Box Number 148. It was a small one and not heavy, he said.

  “We’ll take this into a private room,” Mr. Jensen stated. He, Nancy, and Mr. Drew followed the trust officer down a corridor of cubbyhole rooms until they reached one not in use.

  “Now,” said Mr. Jensen, when the door was closed behind them, “we shall see how many—if any—of the mysteries are solved.”

  Nancy held her breath as he raised the lid of the box. All peered inside. The box was empty, except for one bulky document in the bottom.

  “Oh, it must be the will!” Nancy exclaimed.

  “It is a will,” Mr. Jensen announced, after a hasty glance at the first page. “Josiah Crowley’s last will and testament.”

  “When was it written?” Nancy asked quickly.

  “In March of this year,” Mr. Jensen told her.

  “Oh, Dad,” Nancy cried, “this was later than the will the Tophams submitted for probate!”

  “That’s right.”