“But I’m still no closer to finding the missing music,” Nancy admitted.
“That house keeps its secrets well.”
“How about having lunch downtown with Bess and me?” George suggested.
“Fine idea!” Nancy agreed. “I’ll tell Hannah I won’t be here.”
“By the way, how are you making out with Diane?” George asked.
“She gave me several pretty dresses for Susan,” Nancy replied. Because of the confidential nature of her father’s case, she thought it best not to reveal anything she had learned at the Dight factory.
After telling the housekeeper her plans, Nancy stopped at the hall table to look through the mail which had just come. At once she seized a letter from the Jenner Music Publishing Company in Oxford.
As Nancy tore open the envelope, she explained to the girls that she had written to the firm several days before to ask for information about the composer Ben Banks. I’ll read it aloud.
“‘Dear Miss Drew,
We regret that we are unable to provide any of the information you requested concerning Ben Banks, whose songs we publish.
Sincerely yours,
Milton Jenner’”
“Well, that’s a cool answer,” George remarked. “What’s so secret about the information?”
“I wish I knew,” Nancy replied slowly. “I’m going to phone for an appointment.”
She looked up the number and dialed it. Nancy was informed that Mr. Jenner never granted appointments by phone. She would have to write for an appointment.
Disappointed, she told this to Bess and George. “Do you mind waiting while I write a note?” Nancy asked.
“Not at all,” Bess replied. “We’ll go talk with Hannah.”
“And Bess will help herself to some cookies,” George teased her cousin.
In the note Nancy stated that there was a matter of vital importance she would like to discuss with Mr. Jenner. She would appreciate talking to him as soon as possible. When Nancy finished the note, she called Bess and George.
“Come with me while I mail this,” she suggested. “Then we’ll eat. How about you girls going out to Pleasant Hedges with me for the night? Effie ought to have some time off.”
“That place is anything but pleasant,” Bess remarked. “It gives me the creeps.”
“Oh, a ghost or two won’t hurt you,” George kidded her. “Let’s go!”
After a pleasant luncheon, Nancy drove the girls home. “I’ll pick you up at four o’clock,” she said.
Before going home Nancy did several errands. They included buying supplies for the March household. On impulse Nancy stopped in the leading music store and asked for copies of all the songs composed by Ben Banks.
“There are only three,” the clerk told her. “I have both the records and sheet music of ‘Song of the Wind’ and these other two. They’re newer.”
“When were they published?”
“Very recently. They came out one right after the other. Ben Banks must be a cool guy to compose three great songs in such a short period of time.”
Nancy thought so too. It sounded very suspicious. She listened to the records but did not buy them because Mr. March had no player. She did buy the sheet music, however, and sat down at the store’s piano to play the two selections she had not heard before.
“You do all right, miss,” the clerk complimented her.
Nancy smiled, paid for the sheet music, and left the shop. Her mind was working fast. She was sure Mr. March had whistled parts of the melodies she had just played. Then a sudden thought struck her.
“If Ben Banks stole them from Fipp March, I wonder if his publisher knows,” she mused. “It could explain his giving out no information.”
At four o’clock Nancy met Bess and George and drove to the March house. Effie greeted them at the door.
Nancy said to her, “Tonight you go to the movies and then home for the night. We’ll stay here.”
“Wow!” said Effie in delight, hurrying off to change her clothes.
While Bess and George were starting preparations for supper, Nancy went to find Mr. March. He was trying to seal a crack in the second-floor hall ceiling.
“I have something to show you,” she said, holding out the music. “Does this look like your son’s work?”
“Now bless you, I wouldn’t know!” exclaimed Mr. March, peering at the sheets. “I can’t read music.”
“I’ll sing the melodies to you,” Nancy offered.
After hearing them, the elderly man cried out, “Yes, those are Fipp’s tunes! I’d like to go into court and face that thief Ben Banks!”
Nancy told him about the letter she had received and the reply she had sent.
“Good,” he said. “Those songs belong to the Marches, and I want the world to know it!”
“I wish I could find some definite proof before I meet Mr. Jenner,” said Nancy. “Tomorrow I’ll hunt for some more.”
Supper was a delicious meal, which included a special casserole of beef and vegetables, ice cream and cake. Mr. March was delighted.
“This seems like old times.” He chuckled. “It’s like one of the family dinner parties we used to have.”
Shortly after supper Nancy put Susan to bed. But the child was not sleepy. She begged for one story after another.
“Tell me about a king,” she said.
“Well, once upon a time—”
Nancy’s voice trailed off. Susan noticed that her attention was focused on the garden.
“Why don’t you go on?” the little girl asked impatiently. “Do you see something?”
Nancy did not reply. Jumping quickly to her feet, she moved closer to the window. The hour was well past nine o’clock and dusk had settled over the garden.
In the gleam of light from the kitchen windows she saw the bushes move. As they parted, the dark, shadowy figure of a man glided forward. Was this the man Effie had seen?
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Nancy said to Susan.
Without taking time to tell anyone what she intended to do, Nancy hastened outdoors in pursuit of the prowler.
CHAPTER XII
A Surprising Discovery
IN the darkness it was not easy for Nancy to distinguish objects, but she dimly saw the back of a man. He disappeared around a corner of the house. By the time she reached the spot, he had vanished.
“Now where did he go so quickly?” she asked herself, perplexed.
She listened for footsteps, but could hear none.
“He must have gone into the house,” she speculated excitedly. “But where?”
Cautiously she circled the old mansion, looking at each darkened window for a telltale light. None appeared.
“If that man is in the house, he must know his way around in the dark!” Nancy thought. “I must warn the others.”
She hurriedly went inside. Nancy spoke first to Bess and George, who were still in the kitchen.
“There is a prowler around,” she said breathlessly. “Will you please post yourselves outdoors and yell if you see him leave the house.”
“Where are you going?” George asked.
“To the attic.”
“Not alone?” Bess quavered.
“I’ll get Mr. March.”
The elderly man was considerably upset by Nancy’s announcement. After making sure that Susan was all right, they tiptoed to the attic door. Quietly Mr. March opened it.
As he did so, creaking sounds came from overhead. This was followed by the same harplike notes Nancy had heard once before.
There was no sign of a light above them. Nancy and Mr. March waited. Complete silence.
The stillness was broken by Susan. Afraid, the child had come into the hall. Seeing the listening figures, she sped toward them, crying.
“What’s the matter? Why are you going up to the attic?” she asked in a loud voice.
For a second Nancy was distressed that the child had unwittingly alerted whoever was in the attic. Sudd
enly it occurred to her that she might put Susan’s questions to good use. She said in a loud voice:
“Get into bed, dear, and we’ll tell you a story.”
She motioned to Mr. March to take the little girl away. Nancy lighted the candle she was holding, and noiselessly stepped to the stairway. She closed the door behind her with a bang.
“If someone is in the attic, I hope he thinks I went the other way,” she reflected.
For several minutes she stood still. No light appeared above her. There were no sounds except the murmur of Mr. March’s voice as he sought to calm Susan with a story.
Finally Nancy inched her way up the stairway, testing each step for creaky spots before putting her weight on it. Reaching the top step, she held the candle at arm’s length. Quickly she scanned the entire attic.
“No one here now,” she decided. She sniffed suddenly. “Smoke!”
Nancy’s heart leaped wildly. Was the place on fire?
She sniffed again. No, not a fire, but someone had been smoking recently in the attic!
At that instant Mr. March called up sharply, “Nancy!”
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I didn’t find anyone here.”
The elderly man started up the stairs. “I had no idea you were going to the attic alone,” he said. “I thought you would wait until I could get back.”
Before Nancy had a chance to reply, they heard a shout from the garden.
“Bess and George must have seen the man,” Nancy cried, hurrying down the steps.
She raced all the way to the front door. Her friends were running through the pine grove toward the main road. Nancy took after them as fast as she could.
The chase ended abruptly a short distance from the road, when they heard a motor start and saw a red tail light disappear around a bend. Their quarry had apparently jumped into a car and driven off!
“If that isn’t the worst luck!” George cried. “We almost had him.”
“It’s a shame,” said Nancy. “Did you get a look at him?”
“No, it was too dark,” Bess replied. “He seemed to sneak out of nowhere so unexpectedly.”
“He was carrying a rolled paper in his right hand,” George reported.
“Did he come from the house?” Nancy asked.
“We don’t know. All of a sudden there he was, just ahead of us. When George yelled, he started to run.”
Mr. March met the girls at the front door. He had wanted to help in the chase, but the excitement had frightened Susan again, and it seemed wiser to stay with her.
It took Nancy a while to quiet the little girl, but soon her eyelids closed and she fell into a sound sleep. Nancy tiptoed to the hall and went downstairs.
In the living room Bess had turned on the radio, to restore her courage so she would dare to stay in the spooky old house. Mr. March suddenly jumped up from his chair.
“They’ve done it again!” he cried.
“Done what?” Bess asked.
Before he could reply, the music died away. The announcer’s voice was clear and crisp. Nancy fully expected to hear the name Ben Banks. Therefore she was startled at what she did hear.
“You have just listened to a new composition by Harry Hall. This completes the program of The Magic Hour. Listen in again tomorrow at the same time—”
Mr. March angrily snapped off the switch.
“I’ll do more than listen!” he fumed. “Harry Hall indeed! My son wrote that—every note of it. If I can only scrape together a few dollars, I’ll take the case to court.”
Then, remembering that he had no evidence to support his case, he sat down utterly dejected. Nancy tried to encourage him.
“Is there anyone besides your family who heard Fipp play the songs? Anyone who might positively identify him as the composer?”
Mr. March shook his head. “There’s no one I know of,” he admitted. “Mrs. Peabody used to come to the house to hear Fipp play the piano, but she died last year.”
“Didn’t Fipp have any younger friends?”
“Plenty of them, but they’ve scattered to the far corners of the earth. I wouldn’t know where to find them.”
Nancy tried a different approach. “Are you certain that your son never sold any of his tunes?”
“Fipp wouldn’t sell his music. He composed it because he loved to. I’m sure he would have told his wife Connie if he had sold any of his songs.”
Although she did not suggest it to Mr. March, Nancy was afraid another piece of music had been stolen from the attic that very evening. As the three girls were getting ready for bed, Nancy told her friends about smelling smoke on the third floor.
Then she asked, “Are you sure you saw a rolled paper in the hand of the man we were chasing?”
The girls nodded.
“Do you think it was a sheet of music?” Bess asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Nancy replied. “There’s no telling how long thieving may have been going on here. Well, if I can’t locate the music, perhaps I can find a clue to the thief right in this house.”
“How?” George asked.
“I have an idea. We’ll try it out in the morning,” said Nancy.
Pressed by her friends for an explanation, she revealed her suspicion that there might be a secret entrance to the attic.
“And you think that’s how our thief got out?” Bess queried.
“I’m convinced of it. Mr. March and I both heard the floor creak, and I know someone was smoking.”
As soon as Effie arrived in the morning to take over the housekeeping duties, Nancy and her friends went outdoors to examine the old mansion for signs of a concealed entrance.
“Hunt for clapboards that can be moved,” Nancy directed. “Secret doors alongside real ones, false windows, hidden—”
“That’s enough to start with!” George laughed.
The girls separated. They inspected every inch of the foundation and first-floor walls. Nancy spent a long time in the old servants’ quarters to see if there might be any kind of a concealed opening into the main part of the house. None of the girls found one.
“There’s only one thing left for us to do,” said Nancy. “Hide in the bushes tonight and spy on the intruder.”
“What do we do in the meantime? Get some sleep?” George asked.
“I propose we go up to the attic and hunt for a hidden entrance,” Nancy declared. “We’ll have to take a candle. I haven’t had a chance to get a new battery for my flashlight.”
The three friends trooped to the third floor.
“I once heard rapping sounds up here,” said Nancy. “Maybe there’s a secret panel that has to be knocked on in order to make it open.”
Bess stayed close to Nancy as she began rapping her knuckles against the low walls under the sloping roof.
George decided to look through an old bureau. Remembering that Mr. March needed money, she kept her eyes open for salable articles.
“Here’s some beautiful lace,” she called out, taking it from the drawer.
“Let’s see!” Bess cried.
George held up several dainty pieces. “Old lace is valuable,” she declared. “Someone who appreciates beautiful things will pay Mr. March a good price for this lovely work.”
“Have you anyone in mind?” Bess asked.
“Yes,” George replied. “Madame Paray the dressmaker. Maybe she’ll put some of it on a dress for Diane Dight.” George grinned.
At that instant Bess screamed, “Oh! Take it away!”
She stood as if transfixed. The girl had backed up toward the wardrobe, and the door had swung open. The long bony fingers of the skeleton had enmeshed themselves in her hair!
Quickly George released its hold. Bess sank shaking onto a trunk.
“See the way that skeleton hangs there with its back against the rear of the wardrobe and the other bony arm half upraised?” Bess pointed out. “Just as if it were beckoning to us to come into the closet!”
/> “Why, so it does!” Nancy agreed. She moved closer to the wardrobe. “Perhaps Fipp March placed the skeleton that way to convey a message to his family. Possibly there’s a secret hiding place—”
“Oh, Nancy, close the door!” Bess urged.
While Bess looked on with disapproval, Nancy began an examination of the massive wardrobe. She had done so before, but this time the young detective paid particular attention to the section underneath the skeleton. Inch by inch she ran her hand over the floor of the big piece of furniture.
“Hold the candle, George,” she requested.
The other girl came closer.
“I can feel something with my fingers!” Nancy said in an excited voice. “It’s a tiny knob!” she cried. “Girls, I’ve found a secret compartment!”
Again and again she tugged, trying to pull it up. The wood had swollen from dampness and the lid was stuck fast.
“Let me try my luck!” George urged impatiently.
Before she could test her strength, Effie appeared at the head of the stairs.
“Miss Nancy, there’s a man downstairs to see you,” she announced.
“To see me? I didn’t think anyone knew I was here.”
“Mrs. Gruen sent him,” Effie explained. “And he says he can’t wait long.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mr. Jenner.”
The publisher of Ben Banks’ music!
CHAPTER XIII
An Unpleasant Caller
THE unexpected appearance of the music publisher at the March home surprised Nancy. She asked Bess and George if they wanted to continue working on the secret compartment in the cabinet, or go downstairs with her.
“Maybe we can find some evidence against Mr. Jenner while you’re talking with him,” George suggested, tugging at the knob in the floor of the wardrobe.
Nancy hurried down the stairs to meet the song publisher. She was sorry that Mr. March had gone to town and could not meet him.
“But perhaps it’s just as well that he isn’t here,” she reasoned. “The poor man gets so excited thinking of his son’s music having been stolen that he might say something to harm his own chances.”