“Five gallons, please,” Nancy said. When the attendant finished putting it in, she paid him, then pulled out the photograph of Edgar Nixon.
“Has this man ever stopped here for gas?” she asked.
The attendant studied the picture a few moments. “Yes, he’s been in several times. For a moment I didn’t recognize him. When he comes here, he’s always wearing a hat and overcoat.”
“Are they camel’s hair?” Nancy asked quickly.
“That’s the man.”
Nancy inquired if the attendant knew his name and where he lived.
“No. He’s not the talkative type. Somehow I got the idea, though, that he lives in some distant town but comes to River Heights quite often. He never says why.”
“How recently has he been here?”
The man’s answer startled Nancy. “Come to think of it, he stopped yesterday. I suppose you’re trying to find him. Maybe this will help you. He made a phone call from that booth over there and as I went by I heard him say ‘Miss Drew.’ ”
“Is that all you heard?” Nancy asked, astounded.
“That’s all.” The attendant turned away to serve an arriving customer.
Nancy drove off, wondering whether Edgar Nixon could have been talking about her.
As Nancy let herself into the Drew house about twenty minutes later, she was just in time to answer the telephone. Her father was calling.
“Nancy, I’d like you to come down here immediately. I have something amazing to show you.”
“I’ll be there right away.”
She dashed back outside and turned her convertible in the direction of her father’s office. After saying hello to his secretary, Miss Hanson, Nancy went directly into Mr. Drew’s private office.
He handed her a letter, saying, “What do you think of this new mystery?”
Nancy sat down in a big chair and started to read. Her eyes grew larger and larger. The letter was from London on the stationery of Malmsbury and Bates-Jones. It read:
My dear Miss Drew:This is to inform you it is possible an inheritance has been left to you. We are the legal representatives of the Estate of Jonathan Smith, late of Little Coddington, Midhampton, Berks., who died intestate on May 2, last. Mr. Smith had as only kin a sister, from whom he was estranged, Mrs. Genevieve Smith Drew. We find she predeceased Mr. Smith by five years, leaving a daughter who is Mr. Smith’s sole heir by law.
We have learned that the daughter, Miss Nancy Smith Drew, is in the United States, where our agents have been trying to trace her. You are the only Miss Nancy Drew so far discovered by them, and we beg of you to communicate with us.
If you happen to be the Miss Drew for whom we are searching, will you be so good as to submit proofs of your identity, whereupon we shall be happy to make arrangements for your return to England to claim the inheritance.
Sincerely, A. E. Lionel Bates-Jones
When Nancy finished reading the letter, she looked at her father who had been watching her closely. He smiled. “You were almost an heiress,” the lawyer said with a chuckle.
Nancy sighed. “How I wish I was the right Nancy Drew!”
Her father’s eyes twinkled. “Then you wouldn’t have the fun of a mystery to solve,” he said.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “May I use one of your phones and start trying to find Nancy Smith Drew?”
“Go ahead. In the meantime I’ll make an overseas call to this law firm and tell them the facts.”
Nancy waited while he gave the number, but the lawyer was told that the Atlantic lines would be tied up for several hours. He turned to Nancy. “Maybe you’ll have this case solved before I can put through the phone call!” he teased.
His daughter laughed. “I wish it was that easy.”
Nancy phoned the police department and the post office. Nancy Smith Drew was not known at either place. Directories and telephone books gave no clue.
Nancy said good-by to her father and drove home. Bess and George were there, and were eager to hear the latest news. When Nancy gave them all the facts, the cousins gasped.
George remarked, “Things are certainly breaking fast. Now you have two mysteries on your hands. Well, tell us what we can do to help.”
“Right now I don’t have an idea in my head,” Nancy confessed, “but I’ll let you know.”
She invited the girls to stay to dinner and they accepted at once. Mr. Drew had already told Hannah Gruen he would not be home until later so the four of them ate without him. They had just finished dessert when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Nancy.
When she opened the door a strange woman angrily forced her way inside and stepped toward the living room. The caller was poorly dressed in a worn-looking coat. Its collar was pulled up to her stringy, bleached hair.
“You’re Nancy Drew, ain’t you?”
When the girl nodded, the woman added, “You’re the one I’m looking for!”
With that, her fist shot out and she tried to hit Nancy.
CHAPTER V
The Mysterious Gift
THOUGH taken unawares, Nancy managed to dodge the woman’s blow. She grabbed the stranger’s arm and held it firm.
“What are you trying to do?” she asked. “What do you want?”
“What I want are my rights!” the woman shouted.
“Who are you?” Nancy asked. She was sure she had never seen the woman before.
“I am Mrs. Skeets, and now that you’ve heard it you’ll never forget it. And don’t tell me you’re not Nancy Drew, because I’ve seen you go running around town in that car of yours. I don’t approve of young girls having cars. There are too many accidents as it is.”
“Did you come here to lecture me about my driving?” Nancy asked the woman coldly.
“Certainly not. Anyway, I know it wouldn’t do no good. Girls today don’t mind what their elders think. They go flyin’ around as if they owned the earth.”
“Will you please get to the point,” Nancy interrupted her caller.
“Don’t be pert, miss,” Mrs. Skeets said. “I’ll tell you in my own good time why I came here.”
Nancy gritted her teeth. Was this woman unbalanced? She decided that perhaps if she did not answer, Mrs. Skeets would finally tell why she had come.
“Well, what you got to say about what you did?” the woman demanded.
Nancy heaved a sigh. “Mrs. Skeets, will you please tell me why you came here. I am not aware that I have ever met you or done anything to you.”
“Well, to begin with, I’m Mrs. Maud Skeets. I’m Sailor Joe Skeets’s wife, which is my bad luck. Never forgive him for forever sailin’ off to all comers of the world and leavin’ me to get along the best I can.”
The woman took a deep breath before going on. “Joe’s got a sister. She don’t look like him and she don’t act like him neither. One thing I must say, he ain’t stingy. But that sister of his—all the money in the world and her not turnin’ a finger, but the money just pourin’ in because her husband invented some sort of stuff that takes stains out of cloth. Well, she condescends to send me ten dollars a week if you please. And where was last week’s I ask you?” She stared hard at Nancy.
“I haven’t the least idea,” Nancy replied. “What makes you think I should know something about it?”
“Because my letter was in that bunch that was stolen from your house and you’re to blamel” Mrs. Skeets almost screamed.
Nancy was amazed. She told the woman that she certainly was not to blame for the mail theft. “I never saw any of the letters that were taken. Perhaps yours wasn’t among them.”
“The day it was supposed to come was Saturday and one thing I will say about Joe’s sister, she’s always on time. No, that letter with the money in it was stolen!”
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Nancy, “but as I said before I’m not to blame. Since there is nothing more to discuss I’ll bid you good-by.” She held the door open.
“Now see here, you
ng lady, you aren’t goin’ to get rid of me that fast. You give me the ten dollars and I’ll go.”
Nancy’s reply was firm. “I am not giving you ten dollars.”
Mrs. Skeets tossed her head. “Uppity, eh?” she said. Then, seeing Bess, George, and Hannah Gruen who had come to the hall to see what the trouble was, she said sneeringly, “Reinforcements, eh? Well, that won’t do you no good.
“You’re to blame!” Mrs. Skeets screamed
You’re just like all the other Nancy Drews.”
“What do you mean?” Nancy demanded. “Have you known many?”
“Have I known many of them? Thank goodness, no!” Mrs. Skeets said, flinging her hands into the air. “Just you and the other one, and you’re both cut out of the same cloth. Cheat people out of ten dollars and then pretend they’re fine ladies and don’t know nothin’ about it.”
Nancy asked Mrs. Skeets about the other Nancy Drew, but the woman refused to tell her anything.
“I’ll make a bargain with you,” she said. “You give me ten dollars and I’ll tell you.”
Nancy was wary that this might be a ruse of some kind and decided to try a few tactics of her own.
“If I change my mind, I’ll come to see you tomorrow,” she told Mrs. Skeets.
“Suits me.” The woman grinned. “I’ll bet you’ll be around to see me. My house is 22 Cottage Street. It’s not far from here, but it’s not a grand neighborhood like yours. We’re just plain folks over there.”
With this cutting remark, she turned and went outside.
“Boy is she ever a weirdo!” George exclaimed.
Further discussion was interrupted by the telephone. Hannah Gruen picked it up, and in a moment said, “It’s your father, Nancy, and he says it’s important.”
“I finally got an overseas call through to Mr. Bates-Jones,” Mr. Drew said. “Nancy, the inheritance is sizable. He wants you to solve the mystery of the missing Nancy Drew!”
The girl chuckled. “Wonderful! Nothing I’d like better. And, Dad, I have a clue.”
“What is it?”
She related the visit of the strange Mrs. Skeets, including the bargain to exchange information for the ten dollars. “Do you think I should do it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I’ll go there tomorrow morning.”
The following day, while Nancy was tidying up her room before leaving the house, Mrs. Gruen came in, holding a long evening dress over one arm.
“You haven’t forgotten you’re going to wear this Saturday evening, have you?” she teased.
“I’m afraid I had.”
The housekeeper reminded her that the dress had to be shortened. “You’d break your neck in it at this length,” she said. “Please put it on now and let me pin up the hem. Then I’ll sew it while you’re gone.”
Nancy took off her skirt and sweater and slipped on the pale-blue evening dress. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she realized something was missing. Nancy studied herself as Hannah pinned up the skirt and kept telling her to turn a little at a time.
Suddenly Nancy realized what the costume needed—the lovely pearl necklace Mr. Drew had given her on her last birthday.
“The clasp is loose,” she thought. “Before I go to Mrs. Skeets’s house, I’ll run down to the jeweler’s with the necklace and have it fixed.”
As soon as the housekeeper had finished pinning the hem, Nancy took off the dress. She put on her sports clothes once more, took the necklace from a drawer, and grabbed a coat.
“Wish me luck,” she said, kissing Mrs. Gruen good-by. “I hope to bring home lots of news.”
She drove directly to the center of town and parked. Mr. Whittier’s jewelry shop was a block away. Nancy hurried down the street and entered the store.
“Good morning, Mr. Whittier,” she said to the elderly man behind the counter. “I think the clasp on my pearl necklace needs tightening.”
She took it from her purse.
The jeweler looked at it closely. “It certainly does,” he said. “Are you in a hurry for it?”
Nancy told him she planned to take the necklace with her on Friday. “I’m going to Emerson for the weekend.”
“Then I’ll fix this right away.”
As Mr. Whittier went to a room at the rear of the shop, he called out, “You caught me at a good time. I’m not particularly busy now. Make yourself comfortable.”
While waiting, Nancy looked at the large assortment of rings, bracelets, pins, and other bits of jewelry in the display cases. How beautiful they all were!
Time passed quickly and soon the jeweler returned. He showed Nancy that the clasp worked perfectly now.
As he was wrapping it for her, Mr. Whittier said, “How did you like your beautiful new pin?”
“Pin?” Nancy repeated. “What pin?”
“The one that man got for you yesterday. He said he was going to give it to you right away.”
Nancy was puzzled. What man was going to give her a pin?
CHATTER. VI
A Good Lead
“You look surprised,” said Mr. Whittier. “I guess I gave away a secret.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” Nancy assured him without divulging what was racing through her mind. The pin might be going to Nancy Smith Drew and here was her chance to find the heiress!
Nancy did not reveal her thoughts, however. Smiling, she said, “I must confess I haven’t the least idea who might be giving me a pin, but it sounds exciting. I don’t suppose you want to tell me who he is?”
The jeweler sighed. “I’ve told so much already I guess it won’t matter. He said his name was Mr. Nixon and that he is from out of town.”
Nancy was startled. Was he Edgar Nixon? Was he a friend of the heiress or of some other Nancy Drew?
“Maybe Edgar Nixon is going to give the pin to me, but there’ll be some trick to it if he does,” Nancy decided.
Mr. Whittier looked at her quizzically. “You seem kind of worried,” he remarked. “I’m sorry I said anything. And please, when Mr. Nixon hands you the pin, don’t let on I gave away a secret.”
Nancy assured him she would not.
Suddenly she smiled. “If this man is the person I think he is, he’s related to someone I know very well. Would you mind telling me what he looks like?”
“Well, he’s kind of handsome you might say,” Mr. Whittier replied. “Very thin and dark.”
“What was he wearing?” Nancy asked.
She was not surprised to learn that the purchaser of the pin had worn a camel’s-hair coat and hat. In her mind this settled it. The buyer was indeed Edgar Nixon. But where did she possibly fit into the picture?
Mr. Whittier handed Nancy the necklace. “Come in again soon,” he invited her. “I’ll have all my Christmas things on display next week.”
His suggestion gave Nancy an idea. Recalling a remark her father had made, she said, “Mr. Whittier, in a magazine advertisement I saw a special kind of cuff links I know my dad would like. They were large gold squares and had diagonal stripes of black across them. I’d like a set to give Dad for Christmas.”
“I know the pattern well,” said Mr. Whittier. “I’ll order a pair if you like.”
“Please do, and let me know when they come in.”
“Speaking of cuff links,” said the jeweler, “Mr. Nixon bought a pair for himself. Kind of flashy but he seemed to like them. They were bright red and had a black star in the center.”
Instantly Nancy thought what an excellent identification this was. Aloud she said, “I don’t think I’d care for them myself.”
Shortly thereafter, Nancy left the shop and walked to her convertible, deep in thought. She had just picked up two good leads!
Nancy went directly to the Skeets’s home on Cottage Street. Although it was not far from the Drews’, she had never been in this particular area. The houses were rather shabby, many of them needing paint, but they were neat and the windows glistened. The small lawns in front of them were we
ll kept. Nancy drove slowly until she came to number twenty-two.
The bell knob on the seaman’s cottage door was brightly polished. In answer to Nancy’s ring, the door was opened by a grizzled, elderly man.
“Howdy,” he said, smiling affably. “We don’t want to subscribe to any magazines, thanky.”
“I’m not selling anything.” Nancy laughed. “I came to see Mrs. Skeets.”
“Well, she hoisted anchor here about an hour ago,” he said. “I expect she just rode around to the chandler for some supplies and most likely she’ll be back by six bells.”
Nancy grinned. “You mean eleven o’clock, Mr. Skeets?”
“Call me Sailor Joe like the rest of the folks.” He grinned broadly. “Yes, miss. Six bells on a ship is ‘leven o’clock.”
“Then your wife will be back very soon,” Nancy said, glancing at her wrist watch. “May I wait?”
“Heave your anchor, lass,” Joe said. “Come into the parlor.”
Chuckling, he led Nancy into the living room. It was papered in deep red and furnished in a variety of shabby furniture. On the walls were pictures of ships, a broken but highly polished sextant, a lethal-looking spear, and a large dried starfish.
Nancy sat down on a couch and remarked, “Sailing all over the world, you must have seen many interesting things, Mr. Skeets.”
“Aye, and so I have.” Sailor Joe grinned, settling himself in a captain’s chair. “Why, a funny thing happened to me one time when I had shore leave in Melbourne, Australia. For fun I told one of the dockhands I was a pearl diver. And me not being able to swim a stroke. That night after
I’d gone to sleep, somebody came and carried me away. Next thing I knew I’d been shanghied onto a boat that was really going pearl diving.”
Sailor Joe laughed uproariously. Nancy wondered what was so funny about this. Instead, it seemed tragic.
“I see you don’t understand the joke,” the old salt went on. “You see where I was brought up us sailors meant washin’ dishes when we said pearl divin’.” The old man rocked with laughter and slapped his knees with great calloused hands. Nancy laughed too but did not want Joe to get started on another one of his sea yarns. She was eager to ask him some questions before his wife returned.