“That was just an excuse,” Bess declared. “Of course, you didn’t lose one.”
“My guess is that the ring was lost by the man I saw running away from the fire. I can hardly wait to see it.”
“And Ned, too,” George added wickedly.
Nancy laughed at her friends’ persistence, and was a bit surprised to find that she was blushing. A little farther on, the cousins said good-by and went to their separate homes. Luncheon was ready when Nancy reached hers. She ate with Hannah Gruen, who was very much interested in the ring Ned had found.
“Do you think it may be a clue?” she asked Nancy.
“Yes, to the writer of the diary. I’m going to study the little book thoroughly this afternoon and see if I can find a name beginning with ’D.’”
“But aren’t you going to Mr. Peterson’s?” Hannah asked.
“Later. I promised to be here for a phone call from the crippled children’s home. I’m to help with their kiddie show next month. In the meantime, I think I’ll call Mrs. Swenson to see how she and Honey are and if she has heard from her husband yet.”
“Sorry,” said the operator, when Nancy had dialed. “That number has been temporarily disconnected.” Nancy surmised Mrs. Swenson had been forced to give up her telephone because of lack of funds.
“As soon as my car is repaired, I must drive to their house and see Honey and her mother,” Nancy decided. “I only hope Mrs. Swenson will let me help.”
Nancy spent the next few hours poring over the diary. But nowhere did she come across a name beginning with “D.” She made one important discovery, however. At the bottom of a page written in Swedish, Nancy found a tiny ink drawing. She deduced that it was a diagram for some part of an electronic machine.
“I’ll make no progress until I have Mr. Peterson translate this book for me,” she thought.
Nancy was on the verge of going to the bakery by bus—but a glance at the clock told her the place would be closed. Besides, it was almost suppertime.
When Carson Drew arrived home, Nancy mentioned that her new friend, Ned Nickerson, was calling that evening.
“Oh, I see,” her father drawled teasingly. “You want me to find it convenient to be away. Is that it?”
“Of course not. I particularly want you to meet Ned. He’s bringing a ring that may interest you.”
“Not a diamond, I hope!”
“Dad!” Nancy cried in exasperation. “You’re as bad as Bess and George! Ned—Mr. Nickerson—is coming here on business.”
“In that case,” the lawyer said, his eyes twinkling, “I promise to be very proper and not embarrass you by asking the young man his intentions.”
“You’re absolutely hopeless!” Nancy laughed, gave her father a hug, and ran into the kitchen.
Even though Ned’s visit was to be one of “business,” Nancy coaxed Hannah to bake a cake to be served with ice cream later in the evening.
Mrs. Gruen smiled knowingly, and immediately set to work. After supper, Nancy washed the dishes, then hurried upstairs. There was barely time for her to change into a flowered dress and high-heeled shoes before the doorbell rang. She hurried down to admit Ned.
The first greeting over, they were both a trifle embarrassed and felt a little shy. Nancy was glad that her father appeared just then, for the introduction relieved the situation.
She could tell that Mr. Drew liked Ned by the hearty way in which he shook hands. Many persons were awed in the presence of the attorney, but Nancy was delighted to discover that Ned felt at ease with him.
Seated in the comfortable living room, the lawyer skillfully directed the conversation. He had been rather curious concerning Nancy’s new acquaintance. Mr. Drew sensed that his daughter was more interested in him than in other young men whom she dated.
“Tell us about the ring, Ned,” Nancy urged. “May we see it?”
Ned took the object from his suit-coat pocket and handed it to her. Nancy observed that the signet ring probably belonged to a man, and was meant to be worn on the small finger. The polished black initial was set in relief on a gray background. Nancy studied the ring.
“It looks like an antique,” she remarked, handing the ring to her father. “And the inscription inside is in Swedish, Dad. It’s an expression my Swedish school friend always used: Bar denna med tur—wear this in luck!”
The discussion was interrupted at that moment by the ringing of the hall telephone. Carson Drew rose to answer it, and after a short conversation, came back and said regretfully to their guest:
“I must go down to the office—new development in a case—so I must excuse myself. Sorry. Glad to have met you, Ned.”
After Mr. Drew had departed, Ned told Nancy the details of his call that morning at the Raybolt grounds. He had gone there before breakfast in order to view the wreckage before the arrival of curious townsfolk. The house had been razed by the fire. Nothing had been salvaged.
“Did the investigators find a clue to the cause of the fire?” Nancy asked.
“So far it’s only a theory,” Ned replied. “But I learned that the police and fire officials surmise explosives in the cellar may have been set off by remote control.”
“But how? And by whom?” Nancy queried in amazement.
“They have no idea. Even a passing car with a radio sending set could have done it accidentally.”
“The house is pretty far from the road,” Nancy countered. To herself she added, “Could that fleeing man who dropped the diary have used remote control—and not ever have been inside the house?”
Her thought was interrupted by Ned. “It’s a queer case,” he said. “Old Foxy Felix will get quite a jolt when he hears about the fire.”
“Doesn’t he know about it yet?” Nancy asked in surprise.
“Not according to latest reports. The Raybolts are still away. The neighbors tried to get in touch with them at the seashore hotel where they usually stay, but they’re not registered.”
“I wonder how much they will lose.”
“Even with insurance, I’d say a goodly amount, including furniture and irreplaceable art objects.”
“That will be a blow to the Raybolts, Ned.”
“Yes, but everyone around Mapleton seems to think the old man had it coming to him. You hear all sorts of stories about the way he has connived to make money at other people’s expense.”
Nancy nodded, recalling what her father had told her. “I’m curious as to how Mr. Raybolt, especially, will take the loss.”
“In the worst spirit, I imagine.” Ned grinned. “If I find out, I’ll let you know.”
“I wish you would.”
Nancy was tempted to tell Ned about the diary but decided not to until she knew more about it herself. After a very enjoyable evening, which ended with ice cream and Hannah’s cake, Ned reluctantly stood up to depart.
“I don’t know what to do with this ring,” he said thoughtfully. “Why don’t you keep it, Nancy?”
“I will if you want me to,” she said eagerly. “Perhaps I’ll find a clue to the owner through the inscription.”
“That’s what I figured. Let me know if you do.” Ned grinned. “On second thought, perhaps I’d better drop over now and then to inquire.”
Nancy’s smile gave consent. Ned was still lingering on the porch steps when Carson Drew came up the walk. Nancy repeated what she had been told about the Raybolts’ being unaware of their loss.
The lawyer raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Odd it’s so hard to locate Raybolt. Perhaps, for the sake of my own client, I’ll look into the matter.”
“Why don’t you, Dad? Mr. Raybolt may be able to furnish a clue to what caused the fire.”
“You’re right, Nancy,” the lawyer said. “Raybolt may have had enemies who deliberately set fire to the house. If so, this might affect my case.” The lawyer did not reveal why.
A few minutes later Ned said good night, jumped into his car, and drove away.
“How do you like him?” Na
ncy asked Mr. Drew hopefully as they walked into the house together.
“Nice boy,” the lawyer commented. “I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot of him from now on.”
“Could be.” Nancy laughed, kissed her father, and ran off to her room.
She did not retire immediately. Instead, she examined the signet ring more carefully. Finally she placed it in the bureau drawer with the diary.
“I have two clues now instead of one,” Nancy assured herself jubilantly. “But the question is, are they connected?”
As she undressed, Nancy determined to call on the Swedish baker early the next morning.
“I must find out what the diary says!”
CHAPTER V
A Dangerous Detour
As SOON as the morning’s chores were finished, Nancy and Hannah Gruen set out on a bus for Oscar Peterson’s bakery. Entering the clean little shop, fragrant with the odor of freshly baked bread, they were disappointed not to see the Swedish owner at the counter.
“Is Mr. Peterson in?” Nancy asked the girl in charge.
The young woman shook her head. “He’s in bed upstairs, ill.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Nancy. “Give him our best wishes, and tell him we hope he’ll be well soon.”
“Oh, Mr. Peterson expects he’ll feel good enough to come down to the shop this afternoon,” the girl told her.
“Fine,” Nancy replied. “I’ll be back.”
After Mrs. Gruen had bought some rolls, she and Nancy left the shop with the diary still in Nancy’s big purse.
Although disappointed, Nancy said, “Oh, well, I’ll see Mr. Peterson later in the day.”
Back home, Nancy again looked through the diary, hopeful of learning something from it. As she was puzzling over the blurred, cramped English, a word suddenly caught her eye.
“It’s part of an address!” Nancy cried, highly elated. “I’m certain of it!”
Getting her father’s magnifying glass from the desk, Nancy held it above the blurred writing, then read the words:
Riverwood Cottage, Sandy Creek.
Nancy stared at the address. “The Swensons!” she thought excitedly.
The young detective telephoned George and Bess and asked them to come over. When the cousins arrived, she rushed them into the living room and showed them the address.
“Riverwood Cottage, Sandy Creek!” Bess exclaimed. “That’s where the Swensons live!”
“Boy, this certainly complicates matters,” George declared.
Nancy nodded, knowing she had stumbled on a valuable, yet disturbing clue. Could it be that Honey’s father was the man who had set fire to the Raybolt home? If so, what motive could he have had? Intuition warned Nancy that the clue might lead to heartbreak for Honey and her mother.
Nancy’s face was so troubled that Bess and George begged her to tell them what she was thinking. Nancy revealed her concern for the Swensons, and also told about the ring Ned had left with her. She then pointed to the Sandy Creek notation.
“So far, this is the only clear-cut clue the diary has yielded.” Nancy sighed. “But I hate to think what it may mean.”
Bess and George nodded soberly.
“I can’t imagine what Honey’s father could have to do with the fire,” Bess declared. “Yet everything fits in. The strange man you saw running away—the finding of the ring with the Swedish inscription near the hedge—”
“We don’t know if it belongs to him,” Nancy said quickly. “Remember, there’s a ‘D’ on it, and his initials are J and S.”
“Well, the diary must belong to Mr. Swenson, or someone who knows him,” George said. “Otherwise, his address wouldn’t be in it. I wonder what he’s like.”
“I wish we could meet him,” Nancy returned gravely. She mentioned her futile phone call to the Swenson home.
“What are you going to do about the diary?” Bess questioned curiously. “Turn it over to the police?”
“No, I’ll keep it until I can get a translation, and find out whether or not it means trouble for the Swensons.”
“Of course this is all only circumstantial evidence,” George reflected. “We’re not certain the man you saw is Swedish. Although, according to your description, he could be.”
“If he is Mr. Swenson, and he’s guilty of setting the fire, I suppose he’ll have to be brought to justice,” Bess spoke up worriedly.
“I agree,” Nancy said quietly. “But somehow I can’t believe Honey’s father would do a thing like that. She’s such a sweet little thing, and her mother is a lovely person.”
“I’d hate to get them involved, no matter what!” George declared feelingly. “I’m afraid they don’t have enough to eat as it is, and if the father should go to prison—”
“Let’s try to take an optimistic view,” Nancy said. “Perhaps neither the diary nor the ring is Mr. Swenson’s, or if they are, he may have a perfectly blameless reason for having been on the Raybolt grounds.”
“I think you’re right about working this puzzle out by yourself, Nancy,” George commented. “You’ve had wonderful success on other mysteries. This may be your chance to help Honey and her mother.”
“I wish my car were ready now!”
“When will it be?” Bess asked.
“Not until later today. I’ll tell you what! Let’s walk to the garage. It won’t do any harm to spur the mechanic on a bit. When we come back we can stop at Dad’s office and ask him if he has traced the Raybolts. He promised to try.”
At the garage, the girls were dismayed to learn that repairs on the convertible were only half finished. The mechanic, however, assured Nancy that the car would be ready by midafternoon.
The girls stopped a few minutes at a department store where Bess bought some kitchen spoons for her mother, then they continued to Carson Drew’s office. As usual, the lawyer was busy, but he found time to chat with his daughter and her friends.
“I had my secretary try to get in touch with Mr. Raybolt,” he told Nancy, “but so far she hasn’t been able to locate him—or his wife. They seem to have vanished!”
“Maybe Felix Raybolt has gone into hiding,” Nancy suggested with a wry smile.
“Oh, I’ve no doubt he’ll be heard from, once the news reaches him that his house has been ruined,” said Mr. Drew. “I’ll keep trying to locate him.”
It was nearly twelve o’clock when the girls left the lawyer’s office. Bess and George said they must go home to luncheon.
“Come have a bite with me,” Nancy urged. “Then we can all go to see Mr. Peterson—if you don’t mind taking the bus.”
George and Bess eagerly accepted the invitation. They were as curious as Nancy concerning the contents of the diary. Hannah Gruen served a delicious meal, and it was nearly three o’clock before the girls finally boarded a bus to call on the Swedish baker.
“I’m dying to know what the diary says,” George declared enthusiastically.
“I hope it won’t make things look any worse for Honey’s father,” Bess murmured apprehensively.
As they alighted near the bakery, the girls were distressed to see an ambulance parked directly in front of the shop. A small group of spectators had gathered.
“There’s been an accident!” Nancy exclaimed, quickening her step. “Oh, I hope nothing has happened to dear old Oscar Peterson!”
The girls reached the bakery at the same moment that the ambulance drove away, siren wailing.
“What happened?” Nancy asked a woman who was standing near the door of the shop. “Was someone hurt?”
“It was Mr. Peterson. He had a relapse, and the doctor ordered him to the hospital. Expect he’ll be there a few days.”
“How dreadful!” said Bess. “But, Nancy, what will you do about the diary now?”
Nancy, mainly concerned about the kindly baker, did not answer immediately. Finally she suggested they ask the baker’s assistant if she knew of anyone who understood Swedish.
The woman gladly called several people, but n
one were at home. Nancy even phoned her father to see if he could recommend someone. But Mr. Drew was not at his office.
The girls were a little discouraged, but Nancy said, “We can still work on the mystery. My car should be finished by this time. If it is, we can drive over and visit Honey and her mother.”
“That’s a swell idea!” Bess and George chorused.
When they reached the garage, the girls were overjoyed to find the convertible ready. “Looks almost as good as new!” Nancy said, pleased. “I’ll write a check for the amount.”
To her chagrin, she had forgotten her checkbook.
“That’s all right,” the mechanic said. “I’m very busy, anyhow. I’ll make out the bill later and drop it off at your home.”
“Fine,” Nancy said with a smile. Then she and the cousins phoned their homes from an outside booth to report their destination. A few minutes later they set off on the highway for Sandy Creek.
Nancy slowed as she drove past the Raybolt estate. The girls glanced at the charred ruins of the once-beautiful mansion.
“I wish we had time to stop and talk to the men investigating the cause of the fire,” Nancy said. “But we’d better get to the Swensons’ first.”
About ten miles farther on, Nancy came to a sawhorse across the road. “Detour!” George groaned. “It must’ve been put up yesterday.”
“It isn’t very long,” Bess declared optimistically. “I can see the end of it.”
The road had been closed to permit the construction of a new steel bridge. The bypass wound down into a valley, crossing the Muskoka River a quarter of a mile south.
“We’ll lose time on this dirt road,” Nancy remarked, turning into the detour. “Poor car! It’ll be lucky to get through without jolting to pieces.”
The road was ungraded and recent rains had left it rutty. In addition, it was narrow, with hardly any places wide enough for two cars to pass. Even though Nancy drove slowly, the ride was a bumpy one.
“Good way to break a spring—on a road like this!” she declared.
“Or a bone!” Bess added wryly.
A moment later the girls became aware of a loud, insistent honking behind them.