The contract, Pierre added, would bring him huge sums in royalties every year.
This news was evidently all that was needed to bring about a further drastic change in Norton Thorpe's attitude toward the young inventor. "Well, my boy, it seems congratulations are in order," he beamed, offering Pierre a firm handshake. "It would appear that you're headed for a highly successful industrial career!"
The excited reaction to Pierre's announcement had barely died down when Nancy returned to the subject of the original mystery. "I believe I now know why Miss Duval sent that letter to your grandfather, Pierre," the teenage detective said. "Unfortunately, other people know too, and I think that's why such unpleasant things have been happening to both of us since I began investigating this case."
"Don't keep us in suspense, Nancy!" Bess begged. "Clue us in on the mystery!"
But the pretty young sleuth smiled and shook her head. "Not yet. Before I make any brash statements, I want proof—and I think I know where to look for it."
Nancy was hoping that Professor Crawford's desk in the old mill near Peachtown might still hold some records or notes of the historical research he had done for Louise Duval. If so, this material could either confirm or disprove her theory.
After explaining all this to the others, she pointed out that much of the professor's information had probably come from French sources. Therefore Pierre might be able to help her translate and sort through such material more quickly.
"Would you be willing to come with me?" she asked him.
"Of course, Nancy. When would you like to go?"
"Peachtown's quite a drive from here. So the sooner we leave, the sooner we'll be back."
Pierre chuckled and shrugged. "In that case, let us leave tout de suite!"
The two started out in hopeful high spirits. But an annoying delay was in store. Halfway to Peachtown, Nancy's car overheated and stalled. After it had been towed to the nearest repair garage, the trouble was traced to a broken water pump, and a new one had to be sent for. While this was being put in, Nancy and Pierre ate an early dinner of hamburgers and french fries at a roadside drive-in. It was after dark when they reached their destination.
The old mill, with its water wheel and mill-race, was located in a rural setting which might have been delightful to explore on a sunny summer afternoon. But now, as they pulled up outside the old building, with a chill night wind rustling the autumn leaves, a gloomy and forbidding atmosphere pervaded the scene.
Nancy shivered as they got out of the car. "Let's hope this doesn't take too long," she murmured to Pierre.
After opening the mill door with the key that Mrs. Grale had lent her, they mounted a rickety wooden staircase which spiraled upward to a loftlike room above the mill's machinery and grindstones.
The room, which was dusty and evidently seldom used, had been fitted out into a com-
fortable den and study. Nancy uttered a little cry of excitement as she saw an old desk in one corner near a window. Her excitement increased when, after checking two drawers, she came upon a well-filled loose-leaf binder labeled Report to Louise Duval.
"Look!" she cried jubilantly, holding it up to show Pierre. "This should give us all the answers!"
The young Frenchman beamed a look of admiration at the teenager. "You are indeed an amazing detective, Nancy! And have you already guessed the contents of that report?"
Nancy nodded as she glanced through its opening pages. "I think I can guess the gist of it, anyhow, though I won't know for sure until I read all of this. If my theory's right, Pierre, you're the present Count d'Auvergnel"
His jaw dropped open in astonishment. "Are you saying I am a ... a French nobleman?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. And, hopefully, this report by Professor Crawford should supply the proof."
"You're quite right, my dear Miss Drew," boomed a familiar voice. "Which, I'm afraid, spells bad news for both of you!"
The two young people whirled in surprise and saw that a burly figure had just burst into the room. He was Pierre's financial backer, Mr. Varney! Beside him stood a short, muscular, apelike man clad in a checked suit and green turtleneck with a cap pulled jauntily low over one eye. He was carrying something in his hand.
"Mr. Varney!" Pierre exclaimed. "How did you get here?"
"No problem, mon ami! 9 With a chuckle, Varney gestured to his apelike companion. "My garqon here, Louie Bousha, managed to slip into the repair garage where Miss Drew's car was being fixed after its downhill crash in the storm. While the mechanic was busy in the front of the shop, he slipped an electronic beeper under its rear bumper, so that we had simply to follow your radio signal. A most convenient way of trailing you without being seen!"
"Very well," Nancy said, trying to appear cool. "So you've followed us here, and you just heard me tell Pierre about Professor Crawford's report. What good will it do you?"
"It will enable me to get rid of you both, Miss Drew, before you cause me any more trouble. Louie, do you have the anesthetic ready?"
"Right here in this can!" The apelike man grinned, slipping a mask over his nose and mouth. "One whiff will put them out fast!"
Varney turned back to face Nancy and Pierre. "You will then be taken outside and put in Miss
Drew's car, with the engine running and all doors and windows closed. Louie, who is an excellent mechanic, will make sure there is an exhaust leak into the passenger compartment. You can imagine, I am sure, what will be the state of your health after inhaling those deadly fumes!"
20. History Lesson
Nancy caught her breath in dismay, but tried not to let her fear show in her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she retorted. "You can't possibly get away with such a crazy scheme!
"But why not, Miss Drew?" Varney's lips curved in a mocking smile. "A wind is blowing, the night is getting colder. And there is certainly no heat in this old mill. So naturally, if the two of you should decide to sit and talk in your car, you would let the engine run and turn on the heater in order to keep warm. Unfortunately, it will appear that you sat there chatting too long, with the windows closed, unaware of the dangerous exhaust leak. Enfin, the unhappy result can only be called an accident, n'est-cepas?" The financier broke offwith a harsh laugh.
Pierre Michaud stared at him in angry bewilderment. "What is all this you are saying, Varney? Before tonight, you have helped me and supported my work! But now you come here acting like an enemy! Like a criminal who wishes to get rid of me and my friend, Nancy Drew! Have you lost your mind, monsieur? And why," Pierre added, frowning intently, "are you now speaking like a Frenchman, instead of an American?"
"Because he is a Frenchman," said Nancy. "Don't ask me why he's able to speak English so well, or how he managed to pass himself off as an American so successfully. But I'll bet he followed you over to this country from France, Pierre—and for a very good reason!"
"For what reason?" Pierre shot a puzzled glance at the girl. "I do not understand, Nancy . . ."
"To stop you from becoming the Count d'Au-vergne. Am I right— Monsieur Vernet?"
The financier eyed her coldly. "Perhaps you would care to explain why you call me by that name, Miss Drew?"
"Certainly! Why not? When I glanced through the opening pages of Professor Crawford's report just now, I noticed that Yvette Duval's first married name was Yvette Vernet. And I strongly suspect that you belong to the same family as her first husband, which means your real name is also probably Vernet. N'est-ce pas, monsieur?"
This time it was Nancy who spoke in a mocking tone. She was trying to keep the conversation going, in the desperate hope that she or Pierre could find some way to overtake their captors.
The man who called himself Varney chuckled again. "You are even smarter than I thought, my dear Miss Drew. Which makes it clearer than ever that I must get rid of you both!"
No doubt Pierre would have been more confused than ever by this latest exchange of remarks, had he been listening. But his attention had just wandered.
While Nancy and Varney were speaking, he noticed that both crooks had their eyes focused on the girl detective. Cautiously, he reached out and took a firm grip on the desk chair . . . and suddenly hurled it at the burly financier!
The chair sent Varney toppling sideways against his apelike henchman! Louie Bousha too went down!
Before the crooks could recover, Pierre pounced on them, lashing out furiously with his fists as they struggled to their feet!
Bousha was still clutching the deadly canister. Nancy sent it flying from his hand with a swift kick in the wrist.
Just then, footsteps came pounding up the stairs and another man rushed into the room. He was dark-haired and tough-looking. Nancy's heart sank as she recognized him as her swarthy shadow. But a moment later, her dismay changed to excited relief. He was helping Pierre fight Varney and Louie Bousha!
There were tense moments as the struggle surged back and forth across the room. Then Nancy suddenly saw her chance. Grasping the overturned chair which Pierre had thrown, she gave it a hard shove. It slid across the floor, banging into Vamey's left ankle. Startled, he lost his balance, and a second later a hard punch by Pierre knocked him sprawling!
The fight was soon over. Battered and subdued, with their hands tied behind them, the two crooks glared at the victors. Pierre, who was still panting from his exertions but also grinning in triumph, gave Nancy a quick hug and kiss.
"Forgive the liberty, ma cherie, but without your help, we might never have won!
Nancy smiled and squeezed his hand, then turned to their swarthy ally. "I think we both owe this gentleman a vote of thanks, Pierre. His name is Andre Freneau. If you'll remember, we saw him outside the restaurant on that day you and I met in my father's office. Perhaps now he'll tell us how he came into this case."
Freneau was startled to learn that Nancy already knew his name. He took out his passport and official identification to show the two Americans. "As you see, Mademoiselle Drew, I am a French private detective," he said, then smiled and bowed and held out his hand. "But may I offer my congratulations to one who is obviously a much better detective than I am ever likely to be!"
Both Nancy and Pierre shook his hand warmly.
"May I also apologize for any trouble I may have caused," Freneau went on, "especially on that night in front of your house, Mademoiselle Drew. You see, I trailed your friend here, Pierre Michaud, and also that fellow Vernet, over to this country from France. I knew Vernet was a scoundrel, so when it appeared that he and Pierre Michaud were working together, I wrongly concluded that all three of you were engaged in some criminal scheme."
Pierre's dark eyes kindled with interest on hearing Freneau mention Vernet-alias-Varney. "What can you tell us about him, monsieur?" he asked.
The French detective smiled grimly. "I feel quite sure this shrewd young lady already knows the most important fact about his identity. Am I correct, Mademoiselle Drew?"
Nancy smiled back, then glanced at the scowling face of Vernet. "Since he's tried so hard to keep Pierre from discovering his true birthright, I'm almost certain he himself must be the former claimant to the title."
Freneau smiled approvingly. "Correct, mademoiselle. He is fitienne Vernet, and up until tonight, he has been able to call himself the Comte d'Auvergne!"
Later, after the two crooks had been turned over to the state police, Nancy and Pierre returned to the Thorpes' house, with Andre Freneau as an additional guest. Bess and George were also on hand to witness the outcome of the case.
By this time, Nancy had been able to read through Professor Crawford's report. So when the group clamored to hear her solution to the mystery, she was able to fill in the previously missing details.
"Your ancestress, Yvette Duval," Nancy told Lisa, "was originally married to a French nobleman—Philippe Vernet, who held the title of Comte d'Auvergne. Their son was that little boy shown on the miniature. Unfortunately, France was plunged into revolution just about that time, and the royal government was so hated that almost every member of the nobility that the mob could lay hands on was put to death. So Yvette and her husband made plans to flee across the Channel to England to save their lves.
Yvette's sister Charlotte, the teenage sleuth explained, had previously married an Englishman and was already living in that country.
"I knew from Charlotte's letter," Nancy went on, "that Yvette had had to leave some 'precious treasure' behind in France. Then when we found the miniature, I began to wonder if that little boy on it might have been her lost treasure. After all, what could be more precious to any mother than her child? And when we noticed the family resemblance between that little boy and Pierre, the whole jigsaw puzzle began to fit together."
"But wait!" Bess Marvin spoke up in a puzzled voice. "Why on earth did she hide that beautiful miniature away in a shabby old gown?"
Nancy smiled. "Because that shabby old gown was the disguise she wore during her escape from France. The Vernets didn't dare risk their son's life—there was too much risk of being caught. So they left him behind in the care of a kind-hearted village notary and his wife, named Michaud. Even the possession of such a valuable object as that miniature might have given the couple away as aristocrats. That's why Yvette sewed it in the hem of her gown—to keep it from being discovered, and also, of course, so she could have that cherished picture of her little boy to remember him by until she could see him again."
Nancy's face saddened as she described the tragic events that followed.
"Before they could escape from France, Philippe was recognized as a nobleman and carted off to the guillotine in Paris. Yvette, however, managed to avoid capture, thanks to her disguise as a peasant girl, and boarded a ship at Calais that took her across the Channel. But as a result of her terrifying ordeal, she suffered a loss of memory and landed in England in a state of total amnesia."
Luckily, Nancy added, her sister Charlotte identified and took care of the unhappy young woman. Eventually Yvette regained most of her memory and married Paul Duval, a banker of mixed Anglo-French parentage. But ever afterward, she preferred never to think or talk about the terrible circumstances that had cost her first husband his life.
Lisa exclaimed softly, "So that's why her story was never passed down in the family, from generation to generation!"
Nancy nodded thoughtfully. "You'll be interested to know, too, that according to Professor Crawford's papers, Paul Duval was a widower with one son when he married Yvette.
It was that son who carried on the Duval name. Only daughters were born to Yvette and Paul after their marriage, and I suspect they may have learned about her escape from France during the Reign of Terror. But the details probably soon got blurred and were forgotten. I guess most of us never bother to ask our parents and grandparents much about the past until it's too late.
"Because of the disturbed conditions in France due to the Revolution and the Napoleonic wars that followed, Yvette never recovered her lost child. The Michauds, who had long since moved from their native village, brought up the little boy as their own son.
"The only other relic of the past was the portrait of Yvette's first husband. Apparently her sister Charlotte was somehow able to retrieve this from the Comte's chateau and have it smuggled to England, soon after Yvette's flight to freedom. Perhaps seeing it helped Yvette recover her memory," Nancy mused.
"Since nothing was known about their little son's fate, a cousin of the count claimed his chateau and estate and became accepted as the new Comte d'Auvergne. Like other nobles who swore allegiance to the Revolutionary government, he was allowed to keep his title.
"By the time the River Heights art museum opened a century later, the Duval family did not even know whom the oil portrait of Philippe Vernet represented. So they donated it to the museum.
"I suppose the whole story might never have come to light," Nancy told her audience, "if one day the curator hadn't had the picture taken down and placed in storage. Miss Louise Duval was so annoyed that she called in an art expert to
prove the picture was valuable. It was through him that she learned the painting was a portrait of the Comte d'Auvergne . . . which in turn made her realize her family might be descended from French nobility.
"Miss Duval," Nancy went on, "then hired Professor Crawford to trace her family's history and try to prove her exciting secret hunch. His summer's research in England and France uncovered the fact that Pierre's Grandfather Michaud was a direct descendent of the count and countess's lost little son. This made him— and later Pierre—the true present-day Count d'Auvergne and therefore the rightful inheritor of the Chateau d'Auvergne and all its surrounding vast estate.
"Unfortunately, Etienne Vernet, like his forefathers, had grown used to being the count and enjoying the wealth that went with the count's estate. He had no intention of giving up the title.
"From what Monsieur Freneau told us," said Nancy, "we know now that Vernet did away with a French private detective whom the professor had hired to gather evidence in the case.
"Under grilling by the state police/' Nancy added, "Vernet also admitted that he had flown to this country and tried to run down Miss Duval with a car in order to stop her from pursuing her investigation.
"His effort, in fact, succeeded. Louise Duval succumbed to a heart attack, and as a result, Professor Crawford simply left his unfinished report lying in his desk drawer.
"At the time of the professor's research, Etienne Vernet was twenty-six years old. From that point on, he kept careful tab on the Mi-chauds in order to thwart any future attempt they might make to claim the title.
"After reading a French newspaper interview with Pierre Michaud, the false count went into action. The interview told how Pierre was coming to America to develop and market his computer device, and also to find out why Louise Duval had written the mysterious letter to his grandfather thirty years ago.
"Vernet—who had been educated in the
United States and spoke English fluently— posed as 'Mr. Varney' in order to keep in touch with Pierre's activities, and also to obstruct and discredit him in any way possible. This included starting the fire in his workshop, planting the booby trap, and spreading malicious lies about him while posing as a French lawyer.