The Swami's Ring

by Carolyn Keene

  The young collegian blushed and dug his spoon deeper into the ice cream, catching some of the fudge sauce that floated in the bowl.

  When they were almost finished, Nancy grinned mysteriously. “You said you needed help on something,” she began to say.

  “Oh, yeah—well, it’s nothing really,” Ned stumbled in embarrassment. “I was just trying to send a little of your attention my way.”

  “Oh, I see,” Nancy said as her companion went on.

  “Now that we have this big investigation ahead of us, I’ll be too busy to feel sorry for myself.”

  “Have I been that neglectful?” Nancy asked sheepishly.

  The young man smiled in response, but chose not to pursue the subject. It was after eleven o‘clock, and he suggested they leave. When they reached the Drew home, however, they were surprised to see a visitor in the light of the living room window.

  “It’s Angela Pruett, and she’s talking to Dad!” Nancy exclaimed.

  She and Ned darted toward the front door that had been left unlocked. They stepped inside, aware of a sudden hush in the conversation.

  “Is that you, Nancy?” Mr. Drew called out.

  “And Ned,” she replied, walking into the room. She smiled pleasantly at the harpist.

  “I gather you all met at the performance this evening,” the attorney commented.

  “I was hoping we would see you again,” Nancy told the harpist.

  The musician leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes momentarily.

  “Miss Pruett has been trying to find her sister for several days,” Mr. Drew revealed. “It seems she went on some sort of spiritual retreat last weekend, but never returned.”

  “Where was the retreat being held?” Nancy inquired.

  “Somewhere in the hills outside of River Heights,” the harpist replied. “I don’t know exactly. Phyllis is very interested in Transcendental Meditation.”

  “We didn’t realize you were from River Heights, Miss Pruett,” Ned commented.

  “I’m not. And please call me Angela,” the harpist said. “As I told your father, Nancy, I took the festival job because I wanted to see my sister again. She ran away from home last year, and it was only a month ago that she wrote to me. She begged me, though, not to tell anyone where she was.

  “The minute I had her address, I scouted around for some way to spend the summer here. Of course, I was hoping to convince her to come home before I left River Heights. She’s not quite seventeen yet.”

  “Has she been living at the retreat?” Nancy asked.

  “No. According to her letter, she took a room in someone’s house. I believe it belonged to their son, but he’s away at school now. I called Mrs. Flannery the minute I arrived. She said that Phyllis hadn’t been home all weekend.

  “I contacted the police, but they don’t have any leads,” Angela Pruett went on. “When I met you tonight, I realized that maybe I needed to hire a private detective, and I was wondering—”

  Nancy’s face broke into a soft smile. “I’m afraid you can’t hire me, Angela,” she said.

  “Then you won’t help me?”

  “On the contrary. I will help you, but I won’t if you insist upon paying me.”

  “We’ll find your sister,” Ned said confidently.

  “That’s right,” Nancy joined in, slipping her arm into his. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

  But as she made the commitment, she thought of Cliff, the missing ring, her hospital work, and Tommy Johnson. Somehow, she would have to make time for everything!

  Ned called her early in the morning. “What’s our schedule today?” he asked cheerfully. “I mean, are you ready for a hike in the hills of River Heights?”

  Nancy laughed. “Maybe after I hike the halls of Rosemont Hospital!” she said. “I’m supposed to bring Cliff home—to our house, that is. »

  There was dead silence at the other end of the line, then Ned cleared his throat. “Well, when would that be?” he asked.

  “Oh, probably around one o‘clock.”

  In the back of Nancy’s mind was a visit to Dr. DeNiro’s office at Oberon College. But she refrained from mentioning it, since she would have to find out the professor’s schedule before making an appointment to see him.

  “Ned, would you like to come by about two?” Nancy said.

  “Okay,” he said with renewed enthusiasm. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to back out on our plans for today.”

  “Me? Never!” she said. “See you later.” She then called Bess and George to fill them in on the events of the night before.

  Their mothers, they said, were going shopping and had invited the girls to accompany them.

  “I didn’t want to disappoint Mom,” Bess said. “Neither did George. But if you need us—”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” Nancy insisted. She told them of her plans for the day, adding that by the end of it she would be in touch again. “That is, unless Ned and I get lost! ”

  The morning at the hospital seemed to fly. Tommy Johnson had made considerable progress, and in between small errands, Nancy would stop in to see him. On her last visit, she brought him a big picture book filled with riddles.

  “These are funny, Nancy,” the young patient said, giggling at the pictures.

  “Hickory dickory dock,” Nancy said, pointing to the first one, “the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one and down he came. Hickory dickory dock.”

  “What time is it now?” Tommy asked.

  “It’s not quite twelve-thirty.”

  “Then the mouse has thirty minutes to go,” he laughed.

  “And so do I,” Nancy said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She darted down the corridor and took the elevator to Cliffs floor. He had recovered from the episode of the day before and was fully dressed, waiting for someone to bring a wheelchair in which to take him downstairs.

  “I’m so grateful to you,” he said, “but I hope this won’t be an imposition on you and your father.”

  “Nonsense,” Nancy remarked. “You need to be in a different environment.”

  “I need some fresh air, too,” he said, as the pungent odor of antiseptics floated down the hall.

  The girl detective had deliberately not said anything about the Drews’ concern for the young man’s safety. Why compound his anxiety ? she thought.

  When they finally arrived at the Drew house, Cliff seemed almost happy. Although he still felt somewhat weak, he greeted Hannah enthusiastically. She and Nancy showed him to his room, where he sank into a chair.

  “You rest now until dinner,” the housekeeper suggested, closing the door quietly.

  Nancy briefly explained that she would be gone most of the afternoon but would make certain to be back before six.

  “Where have I heard that before?” Hannah said.

  “From me, of course.” Nancy grinned.

  She changed into her oldest jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, then answered a call from Angela Pruett, who was just leaving for a performance.

  “Ned’s coming over soon and we’re going to try to find that retreat,” Nancy told her.

  “Then I’m glad I caught you. One thing I did today was to reread Phyllis’s letter. She described the retreat a little bit. Apparently it’s near a large la—”

  Suddenly the line went dead. They had been cut off! Nancy clicked the receiver several times, but nothing happened. She redialed, but got only a busy signal.

  “I’ll call the operator, she said to herself, and dialed zero.

  “I will place the call for you and credit your previous call,” the operator said in a matter-of-fact tone. “We regret the inconvenience.”

  Nancy hung on the phone, anxiously waiting to hear Angela’s voice again.

  “I am sorry.” It was the operator again. “That number is out of order.”

  Now what? Nancy wondered. She had just missed hearing possible clues to the location of the retreat!


  8

  Tangled Trail

  As Nancy stood by the telephone in the Drew hallway, her eyes darted to the figure hurrying up the driveway. She pulled open the door and let the warm breeze sweep inside.

  “Hi, Ned! ” Nancy cried. The glaze of disappointment disappeared from her face temporarily.

  “All set?” he replied with a quick glance at her loafers. “If I were you, I’d put on sneakers for this trip.”

  “You’re right—I guess,” Nancy said with a faraway look.

  “Is something bothering you?” Ned asked.

  That was enough to make the girl detective give a detailed account of what had just occurred. “I’m positive Angela was about to mention the name of some lake when we were cut off,” Nancy said. “If only she weren’t tied up at the theater now—”

  “All we have to do is look at a large map of River Heights,” Ned interrupted, following the girl into the house.

  “I wish,” Nancy said in an unhappy tone. “Do you have any idea how many lakes there are in this area?”

  Ned shrugged. “A hundred?”

  “No, not a hundred, but there are at least three or four big ones. It’ll take days to scout each one.”

  “So?”

  “So—we don’t have that much time,” Nancy went on. “Every day we spend searching for Phyllis Pruett will be one less spent helping Cliff find out who he is.”

  The girl’s voice rippled a little, causing Ned to set his hands on her shoulders. “The important thing is that Cliff has a home now,” he said gently.

  Nancy lifted her face in a smile and sighed. “Guess I’m just a bit edgy these days.”

  Ned did not comment, but he sensed that Mr. Drew’s trouble with the townspeople of River Heights was the source of Nancy’s continuing distress. She hurried upstairs to change her shoes, pausing on the landing long enough to call down to Ned.

  “How many lakes do you think we can cover by midnight?” She grinned.

  “At least a dozen.” Ned chuckled.

  When Nancy returned, she was carrying a road map of River Heights.

  “This has everything on it—even major landmarks like our new shopping mall on Oak Boulevard,” Nancy said brightly.

  “Does it also show Phyllis’s retreat?” Ned teased, watching the map unfurl on the dining room table.

  “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Nancy remarked. She cast a glance at the two bodies of water indicated on either side of a mountain ridge near the River Heights Airport. A third one lay farther south near Castleton.

  “They always say to try and kill two birds with one stone,” Ned quipped.

  “So we’ll start with these two first,” Nancy said, pointing to Swain Lake and Green Pond.

  In less than an hour, the couple was following a steep road that led to the latter. At the top of the hill they found a lookout point where they stopped the car.

  “There it is—Green Pond!” Nancy exclaimed as she gazed at a shimmer of greenish-blue water below that spread out fish-like behind an outcrop.

  “See anything that looks like a retreat?” Ned asked.

  “No, but there’s a little bunch of stores at the bottom of this road,” Nancy observed, “and people who visit the retreat do need supplies once in a while.”

  “Right on,” Ned said as they leaped back into the car.

  First stop was a delicatessen that offered an array of salads, cold cuts, and household items. The twosome were of only moderate interest to the few people standing in line at the counter. As soon as the customers left the store, Nancy spoke to the clerk, asking if he knew of any retreat in the area.

  “Can’t say that I do,” he replied immediately, then pursed his lips. “But I have heard of something like that over on Swain Lake.”

  A surge of excitement pulsed through the girl. “Do you know where it is exactly?” Nancy asked.

  “No, I don‘t, but you might take a ride over there. Someone’s bound to be able to tell you.”

  “Thanks a lot! ” the couple exclaimed, dashing outside.

  “See, I told you we’d find it just like that,” Ned said, snapping his fingers.

  “It almost seems too easy,” Nancy replied.

  As they rode through the countryside, Nancy kept her eyes on the landscape, thinking that by chance she might glimpse a house or perhaps a hotel that had been converted into a retreat. All she saw, however, was an elderly man working in a garden carved out of the woodsy hillside.

  “According to the map, Swain Lake should be no more than a few miles on the other side of the ridge,” Ned remarked. Almost immediately, he spotted a road sign in the distance. “Maybe that’s it.”

  He pressed down on the accelerator and within a few seconds reached the entrance to a motel lodge. Several cars were parked outside, and a young couple with two small children, an assortment of suitcases, and fishing gear emerged from one.

  “Which way to the lake?” Nancy called out to the visitors.

  “Down there,” the man said, pointing to a trail behind the lodge.

  Ned was eager to investigate, but Nancy suggested they inquire further.

  “Who knows, maybe someone in the lodge can tell us exactly where the retreat is,” Nancy said, “and save us a long walk.”

  “Not to mention a romantic hike through weeds,” Ned concurred as he noticed a tangle of overgrowth along the trail.

  The lodge was as rustic inside as it was outside. Gingham curtains hung on the windows, and there were straw rugs on the old floor that creaked under the visitors’ feet as they approached the hotel desk. The young couple whom they had spoken to earlier had just finished registering, and the clerk glanced briefly at Nancy and Ned.

  “May I help you?” he asked pleasantly, causing Nancy to explain the reason they were in the area.

  When she finished speaking, her listener said, “I moved here only a little while ago. But let me ask one of the fellows in the back office. He may know about the retreat.”

  As he excused himself, the couple took advantage of the time to look at the handful of people seated around the lobby. All were dressed casually, with the exception of one man who was in a business suit. But as the desk clerk returned with a co-worker, the man disappeared upstairs.

  “This is Mr. Keshav Lal,” the clerk said by way of introduction. The man’s mocha complexion, large, brown eyes, and name suggested to Nancy that he was probably from India.

  “You are looking for Ramaswami?” Lal inquired.

  “I don’t know, am I?” Nancy said in surprise.

  Her heart was thumping fast as she realized that she was on the brink of an important discovery !

  “Yes, we are,” Ned said, seizing the information instantly. “Where can we find Mr. Ramaswami?”

  “We call him Swami,” Lal corrected. He laughed quietly. “But I’m afraid that is all I can tell you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nancy said, adding, “If you attend his retreat, you must—”

  Before Nancy could finish the sentence, however, the man in the business suit suddenly reappeared. He leaned over the counter, tapping his fingers in irritation.

  “My calls have been disconnected at least twice,” he complained to the desk clerk.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Flannery.”

  Flannery! That was the name of the woman whom Phyllis Pruett had been staying with. Were the two related?

  For an instant, Nancy glanced at him. There was a familiarity about his face, but she couldn’t place it.

  “Excuse me,” she said, addressing the man. “I’m looking for a girl by the name of Phyllis Pruett. I believe she’s been living with people named Flannery—”

  “Don’t know her,” he said abruptly, letting Mr. Lal resume his conversation with the girl.

  “Give me your name first, please,” he said.

  “I’m Nancy Drew, and this is my friend, Ned Nickerson.”

  As Nancy spoke, Lal flashed his eyes away from her at someone else—Fl
annery, perhaps.

  “Now will you tell us where the swami is?” she asked, pretending not to have noticed Lal’s reaction to her.

  “By all means. You will find a large cabin at the foot of these woods near the lake,” the man said. “There is a trail—”

  “I think we saw it,” Ned interrupted.

  “Well, it is a fairly long walk—almost a mile.”

  “In that case, we ought to get going,” she told Ned, adding as they left, “Don’t look back, but that guy Flannery is watching us.”

  “And don’t look ahead either,” Ned remarked, “‘cause the sky’s about to burst wide open.”

  “It’s not going to rain!” Nancy said. “Come on, I’ll race you to the lake!”

  The couple darted toward the trail that had buried itself in an overgrowth of vines and almost disappeared entirely. Now and then they paused to glance down the slope of trees, waiting for a glimpse of the cabin retreat.

  “I hope we’re on the right track,” Ned said as he felt a drizzle of water on his neck. “Because if we’re not, we’re in for a flood.”

  “Oh, Ned, it’s only a light sprinkle,” Nancy insisted, but, as the boy had predicted, in less than a minute rain began to pour.

  It tore leaves and small branches off the trees, obscuring the trail and the hikers’ vision. How much farther did they have to go?

  “Let’s turn back! ” Ned shouted through the torrential rain.

  Nancy, who was ahead of him, said something in reply, but Ned did not hear it. He hung back, ready to head for the lodge again and hoping Nancy would follow. She plunged deeper into the woods, however, glancing around only for a second.

  The rainwater had seeped through Ned’s clothes. “Where are you going?” Nancy cried out.

  “Back to the motel,” Ned said. “Come on!”

  But the girl detective was determined to stay on the path to the lake. What difference did it make if she got wetter? She was already soaked to the skin.

  Reluctantly, Ned yielded and trekked after her. The rain let up in spurts, and finally the couple reached a small clearing at the edge of the woods.

  “That must be the place!” Nancy exclaimed when a cabin came into view.