The Secret in the Old Attic

by Carolyn G. Keene

  “I haven’t much time to spend here,” he said snappily. “Are you Miss Nancy Drew?”

  “I am,” the young detective replied calmly.

  Mr. Jenner did not waste words. He spoke of the letters which she had sent to him. “Although you didn’t say anything definite, you hinted at an accusation.”

  “What do you know about Mr. Banks?” Nancy began.

  “Very little. Most of our contact has been through correspondence.”

  “What can you tell me about a composer named Harry Hall?” Nancy asked. She had a hunch that he, too, published through Jenner.

  “He’s another of my songwriters—a very talented person. I’ve never met him. He always sends his work in by mail.”

  “Can you vouch for his honesty?”

  “What is this, a quiz program?” the publisher demanded, getting red in the face. “I’ll admit I don’t know much about either of the men, but their music is equal to the best that is being put out today.”

  “And for good reason, perhaps.”

  “What do you mean? Don’t tell me you think someone else wrote it!”

  “Maybe you should make sure no one else did,” Nancy replied, “before you publish it.”

  “Tell me who has been making such insinuations?” the man snapped.

  “I thought I’d give you an opportunity to explain what you know about the matter,” Nancy replied.

  “I’ve nothing to explain! I publish the music in good faith. I’m satisfied that the men with whom I deal are the composers of the songs they submit to me.”

  “And are you prepared to prove it?”

  “Certainly I am,” Mr. Jenner returned wrathfully. He glanced at his watch. “I made a special trip here to see you, and my valuable time has been wasted.”

  “You may not think so later.”

  “What are your reasons for believing that Banks and Hall may be plagiarists?”

  “I can’t tell you at this moment,” Nancy responded. “I do suggest that you buy no more music from either of those men until the matter of the rightful composer has been straightened out.”

  “What is the name of the person you claim wrote the music?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Well, it doesn’t worry me in the least,” the publisher retorted. “Stupid of me to waste so much time coming here.”

  Abruptly Mr. Jenner left the house. With mingled feelings of annoyance and contempt, Nancy watched him drive away.

  “Has your caller left so soon?” Bess questioned when Nancy returned to the attic. “We haven’t opened the secret compartment yet.”

  “When we do, I hope it will contain something I can use against Mr. Jenner,” said Nancy, and relayed the man’s remarks.

  Bess and George were incensed. “All I can say is that he’d better look out!” George exclaimed, her eyes blazing.

  “Well, after all, I do need evidence.” Nancy sighed. “Come on. Let’s get at this compartment again.”

  Nancy gave the knob a quick jerk sideways. A little door pulled up, revealing a recess below.

  “It’s open!” she cried in delight. “Let’s hope Fipp’s songs are here!”

  Excitedly Nancy thrust her hand into the hole. “Papers!” she exclaimed.

  Quickly she pulled out a handful. It was difficult to look at them by candlelight, so the girls took everything out of its hiding place and carried the contents to one of the bedrooms. Mr. March had returned and eagerly helped Nancy look through the mass of old letters. Bess and George began sorting the other papers.

  Suddenly Bess cried out, “Here’s a piece of original music! It says ‘by Fipp March. Based on a melody composed by his grandmother.’ ”

  The group stared at the double sheet.

  “Thieves didn’t get this, thank goodness!” the elderly man muttered. “I’d like to hear it. Will you play it, Nancy?”

  Everyone went downstairs to the music room. Nancy did the best she could on the old piano, while Bess and George hummed the melody.

  “It’s lovely,” Bess said dreamily.

  “It would be a hit if it were published,” George declared.

  “My father knows a reputable music publisher,” Nancy said. “Maybe he would buy it.”

  “Take it home with you,” Mr. March urged, “and send it to him.”

  She had lunch with Mr. Drew and Hannah Gruen, then played the selection for them on her own piano. Both shared her enthusiasm for the lovely music, and declared that it was the equal of the best popular songs on the market.

  “I can’t make rash promises, but I believe Mr. Hawkins will buy the song,” Mr. Drew told his daughter. “I’ll take the music to him this afternoon. He’s a good friend and a client as well, and we may get some excellent results.”

  Satisfied that her father would do what he could for Mr. March, Nancy now told him of her plan to try capturing the intruder at Pleasant Hedges.

  “I’m sure he’s getting in by some secret entrance. But I can’t locate it. So tonight we girls plan to watch for him if possible.”

  “Promise me you’ll all use utmost caution,” Mr. Drew said.

  “All right, Dad. And now tell me about your case. Has the chemical fluid I brought been analyzed yet?” Nancy asked.

  “Mr. Booker is having his chief chemist examine the solution and compare it with preparations used in his own plant. So far I’ve received no report.”

  “I wish they’d hurry,” Nancy said impatiently.

  “If you want some action, why not see Mr. Dight again?” her father teased. “He probably was annoyed about the way you disappeared while on the factory grounds.”

  Nancy made a grimace. “Do you think he found out I was in the lab?”

  “Mr. Dight is thorough in his methods. I shouldn’t be surprised if he has called in several experts to take fingerprints and solve the riddle of the light you turned on in the laboratory.”

  “Fingerprints!” Nancy gasped. “Why, I left them everywhere—in the lab, in the spidery, even the tunnel!”

  “Then I advise you to steer clear of Mr. Dight unless you’re looking for trouble.”

  “That’s just it,” Nancy replied with a little moan. “I’ll have to see him. Mr. Dight still has those valuable old bottles belonging to Mr. March. If I don’t go back for them, he’ll be doubly suspicious. He may even move his secret lab before you can prosecute.”

  The more Nancy thought of interviewing Mr. Dight, the more she dreaded it. On second thought, though, she doubted that the man had looked for fingerprints.

  “Still there’s no telling what he found out,” she reflected.

  Despite her concern, late that afternoon Nancy drove to the factory grounds. With no outward display of nervousness, she greeted Miss Jones, the private secretary.

  “May I see Mr. Dight, please?” she requested.

  The secretary, formerly so friendly, gazed at the caller without smiling.

  “Yes, Mr. Dight very much wants to talk to you, Miss Drew,” she replied with emphasis.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Warning

  WITH sinking heart Nancy realized she must play her part convincingly if she expected to keep out of trouble.

  “Your sudden disappearance from Mr. Dight’s office the other day disturbed him very much,” Miss Jones continued.

  Nancy pretended not to understand. “My disappearance? Why, didn’t Mr. Dight think that when I left his office I was going home?”

  “Apparently he didn’t. He thought you went off somewhere in the factory.”

  “Well, no wonder you were concerned!”

  “I’ll tell Mr. Dight you’re here,” the young woman said, rising.

  In a moment she returned to say that he would see Nancy in his private office. The factory owner sat at his desk, writing. For several seconds he kept on, paying no attention to his young visitor. Finally he looked up.

  “Well?” he barked, trying to place Nancy on the defensive. “Did you learn what you were sent her
e for?”

  Nancy knew that Mr. Dight suspected she had been assigned by someone, perhaps her father, to spy on him, but she pretended otherwise.

  “Oh, you mean about the bottles?” she said brightly. “I’m sorry I ran off the way I did, but I saw someone in the courtyard I thought I knew. Then it was so late I decided to go on home.”

  Lawrence Dight gazed quizzically at Nancy.

  “And did you go directly home from here?” he questioned sharply.

  Nancy was not to be trapped so easily. “Well, you know how it is.” She laughed. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone, but I stopped to see some friends. I’ll confess I didn’t get home until rather late. Our housekeeper was quite upset.”

  “I can imagine,” replied Mr. Dight.

  The man believed Nancy’s story. She figured he had decided that the light in the laboratory must have been left on by one of the workmen in the plant. Bushy Trott had found nothing out of order. He had apparently not even seen the black widow Nancy had killed.

  Leaning back in his swivel chair, Mr. Dight suddenly relaxed. In a friendly tone he began to discuss Mr. March’s collection of bottles.

  “I’ve taken quite a fancy to some of that glassware. Now if you’ll name your price, young lady, perhaps we can do business.”

  “The blue bottle was intended as a gift.”

  “I’ll buy the others. Suppose I offer you thirty-five dollars for the entire collection?”

  Nancy’s face fell. She had expected Mr. Dight to make a low offer, but certainly not one under a hundred dollars.

  “Only thirty-five?” she asked. “Oh, I couldn’t sell them for that.”

  “I might make it fifty,” Mr. Dight said. “You’re a friend of Diane’s, so I’ll throw in the extra fifteen for good measure.”

  Nancy arose, glad of an excuse to withdraw in good grace.

  “I couldn’t think of letting friendship influence me in this transaction, Mr. Dight, ”because I’m selling the bottles for someone else. I don’t believe the person would be willing to part with them for thirty-five dollars.”

  “I’ll pay you fifty, but not a cent more.”

  “I’ll find out if that’s satisfactory,” Nancy said, standing firm. She had already decided to consult Mr. Faber the antique dealer. “May I have the bottles, please?”

  Obviously unwilling to let the fine collection out of his possession, Mr. Dight raised his price another ten dollars. When Nancy would not sell them, he reluctantly returned the box of glassware.

  Nancy gave a sigh of relief as she got into her car. She hoped never to have to face Lawrence Dight again!

  She drove directly to Mr. Faber’s shop, and carried the glassware into the quaint little place. The owner was there.

  “Well, well,” he said. “And what have you brought me this time?”

  “Some old bottles. I’d like you to tell me what they’re worth.”

  As Nancy lined them up on the counter, Mr. Faber’s blue eyes began to sparkle.

  “These bottles are old and fine!” he exclaimed, appraising them at a glance. “I’ll pay you a very good price for them.”

  “Friendship mustn’t enter into this,” Nancy cautioned him. “Tell me frankly, are the bottles worth more than fifty dollars?”

  “I’ll pay you double that amount gladly! If you’re in no hurry for the money, perhaps I can sell them to a collector who will pay an even higher price.”

  “The bottles are yours to do with as you wish,” Nancy decided instantly. “Perhaps, though, you’d better write a check now for a hundred dollars to Mr. Philip March. Let me know if you manage to sell them for more later.”

  “You are always busy helping someone.” Mr. Faber beamed at the girl as he handed her the check.

  At home Nancy found a telegram awaiting her. It was from Mr. Jenner, the music publisher.

  The message both disappointed and annoyed her. Curtly the man informed her that she had made a great mistake in assuming the songs he had published had been stolen.

  “Further accusations will lead to a libel suit,” Nancy was warned. “Advise you pursue matter no further. Otherwise expect immediate action against you.”

  Nancy was not fooled by the threat.

  “He’s frightened and is just trying to scare me,” she thought. “Mr. Jenner, Ben Banks, and Harry Hall must be closely associated. I must find some proof that Fipp wrote those songs—and soon!”

  Bess and George had decided to go back to Pleasant Hedges for the night, so the three girls drove out there after an early supper. They found Mr. March following his usual custom of relating stories to his little grandchild.

  When Susan had been tucked in, Nancy told him of her plan to watch the house from outside that evening, hoping to catch the mysterious intruder.

  Mr. March was concerned. “I don’t know that I should let you do this,” he said. “It’s very risky.”

  “Three of us girls ought to be able to handle one man!” George boasted.

  Nancy assured the owner of Pleasant Hedges that they would take no unnecessary chances. She had suggested that the three of them wear dark dresses and cover their hair with black kerchiefs. When they left the house and stealthily took the separate posts which Nancy had assigned, they seemed to be only ghostly shadows.

  Within the house, life went on in the usual routine. Effie cleared away the supper dishes and went upstairs. Mr. March seated himself in the living room to listen to the radio for clues to any songs stolen from his son. Finally he turned off the radio, put out the light, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  Nancy and the other girls shifted their positions in the darkness outside. There had been no sign of a trespasser.

  It had been decided that if no one appeared by dawn, the chances were that nobody would. Then the three girls were to give up the watch.

  From somewhere in the old mansion a clock began to strike, breaking the stillness of the night. Nancy, posted near the old servants’ quarters, counted eleven.

  From a distance came another sound. Something was stirring. Nancy stood erect, listening intently.

  Nancy was not fooled by the threat

  She was puzzled. One moment she thought she heard a soft padding, as if someone were sneaking among the pine trees toward the house. The next minute she was sure light footsteps were approaching from the front of the mansion.

  “Maybe the thief has an accomplice,” she said to herself.

  There was no doubt of it. Two figures were coming nearer and nearer. Nancy held her breath!

  CHAPTER XV

  Wallpaper Clue

  As Nancy waited, the two shadowy forms crept closer. The one coming across the lawn appeared first. Then suddenly the voice of the other cut the air from among the trees.

  “Nancy! Where are you?”

  Mr. March!

  His ill-timed call from the pine grove served as a warning to the intruder. Instantly he turned and fled.

  Nancy dashed from her hiding place. As she pursued the running figure, the young detective shouted to her friends to join in the chase.

  They came quickly, but the race was futile. The night swallowed up the stranger. As the discouraged girls returned to the house, Nancy explained what had happened.

  George was annoyed. “It’s bad enough to have missed capturing the thief, but now he’s been warned that we’re looking for him.”

  “We’ve probably missed our chance, too, of finding out how he gets into the house,” added Nancy in disappointment.

  “Oh, why did Mr. March have to pick out just that moment to look for us?” Bess complained.

  “I suppose he meant well,” said Nancy.

  The elderly man was apologetic over his untimely appearance. He had grown uneasy about the girls, he explained, and had come outside to make sure they were all right. When he could find no one, he had become fearful that something had happened to them, and had called out, unaware of the nearness of the intruder.

  It was agreed that th
e mysterious stranger certainly would not return that night, so the girls went to bed. Upon awakening the next morning, Nancy heard faint music from a distance.

  “Mr. March has the radio on early,” she thought.

  When Nancy reached the dining room, she found him already at the breakfast table with Susan. But neither of them was eating. They were listening to a man singing.

  “One of my Daddy’s pieces, Nancy!” cried the little girl.

  As Nancy listened, she realized this composition was somewhat different from the others Mr. March attributed to his son. It was a beautiful love song in waltz time. Three words caught the girl’s attention. “My heart’s desire—”

  “Where have I heard that phrase before in connection with this mystery?” she mused.

  For nearly an hour the melody continued to haunt her. Then suddenly she knew why. Running to Mr. March, she exclaimed:

  “I believe you were right in the first place about the clue to the missing music.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Why, those letters written by your son to his wife! The words ‘My heart’s desire’ appear in one of them!”

  “So they do,” the elderly man agreed.

  Nancy was eager to read the love letters again. Since they were still at her own home, she decided to go there at once.

  But before Nancy could leave, Susan called her upstairs to admire the child’s “dress up” costume. Holding up a trailing skirt with one hand, she flourished a silk parasol in the other.

  “I found these in a hall closet. Let’s go down and show Grandpa!” Susan said eagerly. “Do I look like a real grown-up lady now?”

  “Those high-heeled shoes certainly make you seem taller.” Nancy smiled. “Watch out, or you’ll trip!”

  As they started down the stairway, the child stumbled on the steps. Nancy, who was only a few steps behind, grabbed Susan just in time. But the sharp-pointed parasol got out of control and tore a jagged hole in the wallpaper. It revealed several bars of music.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to do it!” Susan cried in dismay. “What will Grandpa say?”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Nancy assured her. “Fortunately you weren’t hurt. And you’ve uncovered a clue!” she exclaimed.