His remark seemed to imply that he and Lisa were romantically involved, and that Nancy was intruding. But from the look on Lisa's face, she could see that this was far from the truth. Nancy suspected that he felt somewhat embarrassed over her having witnessed his unpleasant scene with Peter Worden, so now he was trying to assert an air of suave superiority.
To change the subject, Nancy asked politely if he had done any more painting recently.
"Oh yes! I have two or three exciting new canvases under way." Springing up from the sofa again, Lee Talbot began to describe his new works of art with elaborate gestures. "I rather think my next exhibit wil cause quite a stir in the art world," he informed the two girls with a smirk.
Nancy found him unpleasantly smug and boring. So did Lisa, apparently. When he paused by her chair and casually slipped an arm around her shoulder, Lisa gently but firmly disengaged herself.
Undeterred by her coolness, Talbot went on in his self-satisfied way to relate how impressed the judges at the recent art show had been by his prize-winning picture.
"I've seen a photograph of it since we met," Nancy put in. "You certainly chose an exotic and unusual subject. May I ask where you got the inspiration for your painting?"
Instead of looking pleased at her question, Lee Talbot's face darkened with anger. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped. "I suppose you've been talking with that ignorant lout, Worden. Well, you can tell him from me he's asking for trouble and a possible lawsuit!"
With a curt apology and good-night to Lisa, he stalked out of the room. A moment later, the startled girls heard the front door slam, then a car engine rev up and zoom off.
As if to punctuate his departure, a violent thunderclap rumbled through the sky, and the storm burst in full fury!
12. A Ghost in the Attic
The outbreak of the storm seemed to relieve Lisa Thorpe's pent-up emotional tension. She gave a nervous giggle of relief. "It's awful ofme to say so, Nancy, but I'm glad he's gone!"
Nancy grinned understandingly. "I was about to apologize for driving your guest away. But if you don't mind, I guess I don't either."
Lisa shook her head in mock regret. "Poor Lee. He's such a stuffed shirt and doesn't even realize it. He thinks he's the art world's gift to women."
"Actually, I got the impression he considers you two practically engaged."
"My father wishes we were," Lisa confided unhappily. "Lee's quite rich, you see, so Daddy thinks we'd be a good match. But personally I can't stand him—he's such a bore! All he ever talks about is himself and his great artistic talent."
"Does your father often try to make decisions for you?" Nancy inquired gently.
"All the time!" Lisa seemed only too eager to pour out her troubles to a sympathetic listener. "Daddy's always been like that, ever since Mother died when I was ten—I mean, bossing me around, telling me how to act, where to go, what to do and what not to do."
She went on less resentfully, as if trying to see both points of view. "He means well, I suppose. He probably tries to be both a mother and father to me. The trouble is, his idea of mothering is overseeing everything I do—nagging me to do this or that—pecking at me like a mother hen. Or a mother rooster, if you can imagine such a thing!" Lisa added with another nervous giggle. "I guess you can't really know what it's like, though, unless you've lost your own mother."
"As a matter of fact, I have," Nancy responded quietly. "My mother died when I was three. But we have a very kind-hearted, motherly housekeeper, who helped to make up for the loss. And being a lawyer, Dad tends to persuade people rather than boss them around. Your father's a business tycoon, isn't he? ... so
I suppose he's probably more used to issuing orders and having them obeyed."
"That's Daddy, all right!" Lisa nodded vigorously.
From the other girl's timid yet outspoken manner, as if she were saying things she'd never before dared to express openly, Nancy sensed that Lisa was scared of her father and his dictatorial ways. At the same time, a bond of sympathy was already forming between the two girls because both had been motherless since an early age.
Lisa related that her mother was the daughter of Louise Duval's twin brother, Louis, who had moved abroad with his family while pursuing his career as a diplomat. Later, after his daughter grew up, she had returned to River Heights and married Norton Thorpe.
Even though the latter was rich and autocratic, it was still not clear to Nancy why he had taken such an instant dislike to Pierre Michaud.
"Since your mother lived abroad for so long," Nancy remarked, "maybe she would have been more friendly toward Pierre than your father seems to be."
Lisa nodded reflectively. "Yes, I think she might have. Somehow I feel Great-Aunt Louise
would have approved of him too, even though from what Mother used to tell me, she was quite regal and stuffy in her own way."
Lisa said that after Louise Duval's death, the family decided her mansion was too large and costly to keep up, so it was finally sold and torn down to make way for an industrial park.
"There must have been many old possessions of the Duval family in her mansion," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Do you know what happened to them when the house was sold?"
"I believe most of the furnishings were sold along with it. But Mother probably had the family items moved here. Anyhow, there's certainly a lot of old-fashioned junk and paraphernalia up in the attic, Nancy, and you're welcome to look through it."
The storm was still raging outside, though not as loudly as before. During a lull in the conversation, the girls suddenly heard creaky footsteps somewhere overhead.
"What was that?" Lisa exclaimed.
From her startled expression, Nancy saw that the sounds were quite unexpected.
"Footsteps, I think. Is anyone else in the house?"
"Just Booker. He's Daddy's old valet and manservant. But he's out in the kitchen, I'm sure! And those footsteps sounded high up—almost as if they were coming from the attic!"
Lisa's timid nature was apparent from her look of growing alarm. Putting the situation into words seemed to frighten her even more— especially after she went to check on Booker and found him shining silverware in the pantry.
Just as Lisa returned to the drawing room, followed by the elderly servant, several more faint creaks were heard from above.
"I think we should call the police, Nancy, don't you?" she said anxiously.
The young sleuth agreed, if only to reassure the nervous girl. "Maybe that would be wisest, Lisa."
Nancy concealed her own impatience as the servant went off to the telephone to carry out Lisa's instructions.
Tense moments dragged by while they waited for a scout car to arrive. Several more sounds were heard.
Nancy fretted inwardly that some unknown intruder might be going through the last remaining personal effects of Miss Louise Duval. She herself had come to the Thorpes' house hoping to find in their attic a clue that would help her solve the mystery of Miss Duval's letter to Pierre's grandfather. But someone else may have had the same idea.
At this very moment, the intruder might be
making off with important evidence!
"Lisa, I'm going upstairs and find out who's there," the teenage detective announced abruptly.
"Oh, Nancy! Are you sure that's safe?" Lisa quavered.
"I'll be careful," Nancy promised.
Booker insisted on accompanying her, armed with a flashlight and rolling pin, while Lisa brought up the rear.
The three ascended to the second floor, then quietly opened the attic stairway door. Nancy thought she heard another faint creak of footsteps above, but cautioned the others with a finger to her lips.
The trio now tiptoed hastily up another flight of stairs to the topmost level of the house. From the chilly draft of air on their faces, and the audible patter of rain outside, it was evident that one of the attic windows must be open; otherwise, silence reigned.
Booker switched on his flashlight and
shone the bright yellow beam all around. There was no one in sight! However, he checked around carefully among the cluttered items.
Satisfied at last that no housebreaker was crouched in hiding, he went back down to the foot of the stairs and switched on the lights.
With the attic now brightly illuminated, the two girls could see that a casement window was flapping open. But if any intruder had indeed entered this way, they had obviously failed to take him by surprise.
Door chimes sounded from below.
"That must be the police!" Lisa exclaimed in relief. The girls and Booker hurried downstairs to let them in.
The two patrol-car officers who had answered the call wiped their feet carefully and apologized for any tracking. Their uniform slickers were streaming with moisture from the storm.
After accompanying the girls upstairs and looking around, they seemed doubtful that any intruder had broken into the attic.
"Sure you weren't just imagining things?" one policeman said, pushing back his cap and scratching his forehead.
"What we heard certainly sounded like footsteps," Lisa said hesitantly.
"This window was open," Nancy pointed out, "and as you can see, it doesn't fit its frame very tightly. Someone could have climbed up that tree just outside and slipped in a knife to open the latch."
"But on a rainy night like this, he sure would have left wet footprints," the officer argued, "and I don't see any around."
Nevertheless, the two policemen promised to report the incident to headquarters and also to scour the neighborhood for any suspicious characters. After they had left, the girls went back upstairs to search for clues to the mystery Nancy was trying to solve.
The attic was crowded with discarded furniture, piles of back-issue magazines, boxes, crates, and old-fashioned luggage. Much of the clutter was furred with dust, but in places the dust had been freshly rubbed away!
"Nancy, this certainly looks as though someone's been up here!" Lisa declared.
The young detective nodded, frowning slightly. "Yes, and I've just realized why there were no wet prints, Lisa. The intruder could have pulled heavy socks over his shoes to avoid tracking, or else simply have taken off his shoes or rubbers before he climbed in."
The distant sound of a door opening and slamming, followed by a voice drifting up from below, indicated that someone had just arrived.
"That must be my father," Lisa murmured. From her pale-wide-eyed expression and sudden nervousness, Nancy realized she was worried over how he might react to her visitor.
Presently Norton Thorpe came stalking up the attic stairs. He stopped short on seeing Nancy Drew and glared at her angrily for a moment. Then with an ill-tempered snort he turned on his tremulous daughter. "Now I know you should stay from that worthless, scoundrel of a Frenchman!" Mr. Thorpe declared in a loud, contemptuous voice.
13. Phantom Fashions
Nancy realized at once that Norton Thorpe's rude outburst could refer to only one person, Pierre Michaud. But his choice of words seemed unusually harsh, even for a blustering bully like Thorpe. She wondered what had provoked this latest display of bad temper.
Evidently, so did Lisa. After a moment's hesitation, she murmured, "Daddy, I don't think you've any call to talk that way about Pierre, especially in front of a friend of his."
"Oh, you don't, eh?" her father retorted. His face took on a mockingly sarcastic expression. "Then maybe Miss Drew here hasn't told you the latest news about her pushy young French friend. I just heard it on the car radio, driving home."
"What news, Daddy?" Lisa said anxiously.
"He almost blew himself up while he was showing off his brilliant new invention."
"Oh, no!" Lisa gasped, and a shocked look came over her lovely, ivory-skinned face.
"Don't worry, he wasn't hurt, aside from a few scratches and bruises," Nancy assured her.
"Hmph, too bad. Might've taught the young fool a lesson," grunted Norton Thorpe.
This heartless remark was too much for Nancy. "If you'll forgive my saying so, Mr. Thorpe," she said mildly, "I don't see why Pierre's accident is any reason to dislike or despise him. It doesn't prove anything at all about his character."
"That's what you think, young lady. If you were a little older and more experienced, you'd realize it proves a good deal about his character. It shows that he's either a crackpot, who knows nothing about engineering, or else that he's mixed up with a bunch of dangerous foreign crooks who probably followed him over to this country!"
"Actually, Mr. Thorpe, the explosion was due to sabotage," Nancy Drew responded in a calm voice. "There was definite evidence indicating that the computer he was using to demonstrate his device had been bobby-trapped—perhaps because his invention's so good it may outdate other equipment on the market. I know" Nancy added, "because I was there when the blast occurred and discovered the evidence myself."
The heavyset businessman had been about to heap scorn on her defense of Pierre Michaud. But Nancy's last words robbed him of any effective retort and left Thorpe gaping in speechless irritation.
Flushing darkly, he turned to vent his anger on Lisa. "Make up all the excuses for him you like. I say that scheming Frenchman's up to no good! And I trust we've seen the last of him around here!"
Lisa looked pale and nervous, but said bravely, "I think you're being unjust, Father. Pierre may or may not be successful, but it must've taken courage for him to come over here and try to make good in a foreign country with nothing more than faith in his own idea. Personally I think he's an example of what you always call the best American tradition."
Nancy realized that it had also taken courage on Lisa's part to differ with her father. Both girls wondered anxiously how he would react.
Norton Thorpe looked startled at first, then incredulous, as if he could hardly believe his daughter would dare to disagree with him. His face had taken on a scowl like a thundercloud.
But gradually, much to Nancy's and Lisa's relief, his scowl faded and gave way to a new look of grudging respect.
"Hmph! We're all entitled to our own opinions, I suppose," he grumbled. Then he turned and stalked off down the attic stairs, without demanding that Lisa's guest leave the house.
The two girls looked at each other. Lisa rolled her eyes and heaved a soft sigh of relief. "Whew!" Then both laughed quietly.
"Well, come on! Let's see what's up here!" Lisa said with a fresh burst of enthusiasm.
Since the girls did not know exactly what they were looking for, they realized the task might take hours. After all, the jumble of old objects and containers had taken years to accumulate. They could hardly hope to examine it all in a single evening.
Nancy pointed out that any of Louise Duval's effects would no doubt have been packed when the family mansion was sold after her death thirty years ago. Any of Paul and Yvette Duval's possessions, on the other hand, would more likely have been stored over a century and a half ago.
"I'm not sure that helps us much," the pretty young sleuth admitted with a rueful smile. "Still, it may give us a rough guideline."
"I see what you mean, Nancy." Lisa nodded.
"Sounds like a good idea. We'll concentrate on stuff that looks either that old or that recent."
The labels or markings on some of the boxes enabled the girls to judge when they had been packed. Also, in some cases, the contents had been wrapped in newspapers which gave a more exact storage date. Going by such indications, they were able to eliminate a number of items.
Even so, they found themselves searching luggage and crates of family keepsakes, clothing, and household goods that were of no help at all. Some of the stuff looked to be from the period of World War I or World War II; others seemed to date far back into the nineteenth century.
"Fascinating," Nancy sighed as they gave up on yet another box, "but we're still clueless."
"Wait, this looks interesting!" said Lisa, turning to an ancient, brass-bound trunk. "And it must be a hundred years old at the very least!"<
br />
"You're right, that's a real antique!" her companion agreed.
A small, brass key was sticking out of the keyhole of the clasp. It turned fairly easily and the clasp sprang open. As Lisa pushed up the trunk lid, its hinges squeaked in protest.
"Oh, Nancy, look! It's full of old gowns!" the
Thorpe girl exclaimed. "Aren't they beautiful?"
Nancy caught her breath as Lisa pulled out a lace-trimmed evening gown of shimmering, rose-red taffeta, then a graceful, puff-sleeved chemise dress in classic Grecian style, made of filmy light green muslin.
"They must have been Yvette Duval's!" the young detective declared. "At least, the period is right. Those high-waisted styles were popular just around 1800!"
Both girls were thrilled at the thought that these garments had doubtless been worn by the beautiful young woman whose portrait hung in the downstairs hall.
"What a treasure trove!" said Lisa, awestruck as they probed through the contents of the trunk. "To think of these lovely creations being buried away up here all these years!"
Besides the musty assortment of gowns, there were silken petticoats, several scarves, a velvet cloak, long-sleeved gloves, even a satin bonnet.
"How odd!" Nancy murmured as she came on quite a different sort of garment. This was a simple, crudely sewn dress of coarse, dark jersey cloth with a lace-up bodice. It was soiled and stained and seemed the kind of dress that had probably been worn with an apron.
"What on earth is that doing in with all these rich gowns?" Lisa puzzled.
"I'm wondering too," Nancy mused. "It looks more like a dress that a peasant girl or workwoman might have worn."
As Lisa lifted out some of the more beautiful clothes so they could examine the peasant dress, there was a metallic tinkle. Something had struck the trunk clasp while falling to the floor. Nancy bent to pick it up, and gasped.
"It's a gold wedding ring!"
"Is there a name on it?" Lisa asked excitedly.
Nancy held it up to the light and peered at the tiny engraved lettering inside the golden circlet. "Yes, two names," she announced. "Yvette and Philippe. And the year 1789."