Junie spoke. “Then it may be very difficult to find him,” she said. “Like looking for a raindrop in a pond.”
“Not necessarily,” the officer told her. “The man could have been hired to do this job and may still be in the neighborhood, delivering it.”
He told the others that he would take the glove to the police laboratory and have it thoroughly examined.
Nancy asked, “Can you find clear fingerprints inside the glove?”
The officer shook his head. “No, because the material is textured and porous. But we may get some clue from the glove.”
He asked if anyone had touched the front door since the burglar had had his bare hand on it. No one had, so Browning said he would get a fingerprint kit from his car and try to take impressions of the newest set of fingerprints.
Although Nancy had watched fingerprint work by police many times, she never tired of looking at the process. But presently she walked outside. Her eyes picked up a clear imprint of half a shoe. Nancy hurried over to look at it, crouched down, and studied the print intently. Then she got up and looked for another. Using her flashlight, she discovered a series of similar ones for left and right feet in turn. They led across a field to a road. Here the prints ended, and Nancy assumed from tracks in the pavement dust that the thief had gone off in a car.
Nancy quickly returned to the house. By this time the officer had finished his fingerprint work. She asked him to come over and look at the shoe marks. Nancy told him she believed they belonged to the burglar.
“Since they are only of the front half of each foot, they were made by someone running.”
Officer Browning nodded. “You’re absolutely right, Miss Detective. Now tell me, what kind of shoes was the man wearing?”
“Sneakers,” Nancy responded promptly.
The State Policeman shook his head. “You sure know your stuff.” he said, “I won’t tease you any more. I’ll just continue to ask your help.”
Junie, who had been indoors, heard the last few remarks and at once told the officer that Nancy Drew had a fine reputation for solving the most difficult mysteries imaginable.
“Oh, stop bragging about me,” Nancy pleaded with her friend. She explained to the officer, “I came here to find the meaning of four paintings on the parchment that was stolen, and now it’s gone. I’ve botched the case.”
Junie said, “Officer Browning, Nancy says she might go home because she hasn’t solved the mystery. Can’t you do something to make her stay?”
The husky-looking man smiled. “I tell you what, Nancy. Suppose I find the parchment for you; then you can keep the job of solving the mystery of the paintings.”
At once Nancy’s old eagerness to win the case returned. She said, “I wish you the best of luck and try to make it soon. I can’t stay here much longer; I will wear out my welcome!”
The officer got a camera and took pictures of the footprints. Finally he stepped into his car and drove off.
Junie turned to Nancy. “Maybe, just maybe,” she said, as she locked arms with her friend and went into the house, “maybe you’ll solve both parts of this mystery yourself before the police do!”
Before the girl detective could reply, Mr. Flockhart ordered everyone back to bed. He put out the lights and followed the others upstairs.
Nancy was up early the next day, hunting for further clues to the intruder. First she searched the living room, dining room, and kitchen thoroughly. She could find nothing to indicate how the burglar had gained admittance to the house. She felt he must be a professional with a master key.
Next Nancy went outdoors and again looked at the running footsteps. Satisfied that this was the only clue outside the house, she returned indoors. The Flockharts were there and they all sat down to breakfast.
Nancy had nearly finished eating, when suddenly she said, “Oh!”
“What’s the matter, dear?” Mrs. Flockhart asked.
Nancy said she had just remembered that Mr. Vincenzo Caspari was coming to look at the parchment. “And the parchment is not here!”
Junie suggested that Nancy go at once to call the man so he would not make the trip in vain. Nancy hurried to the phone and dialed the artist’s number. A woman answered. When Nancy asked for Mr. Caspari, she was told that he had already left. The young detective, worried, came back to report this to the others at the table.
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Flockhart said. “What will you do?”
Nancy thought a moment, then said, “I’ll try to make a sketch of the paintings on the parchment as nearly as I remember them. You can help. I’ll recite what I know and you add to it.”
She described the first picture of a beautiful woman. “I hope I can make her look as much like the original as possible.”
Junie spoke up, saying the woman had shiny coal-black hair, large brown eyes with long lashes, a rosebud-shaped mouth, and a lovely olive complexion.
“That’s absolutely right,” Nancy agreed. “Besides, she had a sad smile.”
The others nodded and she went on to mention the man with his back to the viewer, the cluster of angels with one of them holding a baby, and the collision of a sailboat and a steamer.
Mr. Flockhart laughed. “You don’t need our help,” he said. “Now scoot upstairs and draw the pictures before your guest comes.”
“But what if I don’t finish them in time?” Nancy replied, worried.
“Don’t get so uptight. Just relax,” Junie said. “If he arrives while you’re upstairs, Dad and I will talk to him.”
Nancy darted to the stairs, then stopped. “I don’t have any paper or colored pencils with me.”
Without saying a word, her friend left briefly and returned with a large, unlined pad and a box of crayons. “Sorry I can’t supply pencils.”
“Thanks,” Nancy said, then hastened to her room. She took a deep sigh as she stared at the blank sheet before her. Then, as if the images on the parchment had suddenly flooded her memory, she began to draw them.
In about twenty minutes she had finished rough sketches of the four paintings. Then, on the back of the one with the baby in it, she printed an A. In the lower lefthand corner of the sheet she put in the initials DB and under it the word Milano.
Nancy had just finished when she heard a car drive in. She looked out the window to be sure that the person arriving was Mr. Caspari.
The man who alighted was in his forties and was alone. Was he the great Vincenzo Caspari?
Before Nancy could decide, she noticed something that horrified her. The man’s car had begun to roll slowly. If it kept going it would crash into a tree!
CHAPTER XI
A Tough Suspect
TAKING two steps at a time, Nancy leaped down the stairway of the Flockhart farmhouse and raced out the front door. Could she stop the rolling car before it crashed into the tree?
The owner, who seemed to be unaware of what was happening, was walking toward the house. Nancy passed him in a flash. He turned to find out why she was in such a hurry, then gasped at what he saw.
Fortunately, his big car was rolling slowly. It had not yet gathered momentum. Nancy was able to yank the front door open, jump in, and jam on the brake. The automobile stopped within an inch of the tree.
“Oh thank you, thank you!” the man exclaimed, catching up to the car. “I am so sorry to have caused you all this trouble.” He spoke with an Italian accent.
“I’m glad I saw the car moving,” Nancy said. “By any chance, are you Mr. Caspari?”
“Si, si,” the middle-aged man replied, bowing slightly. “And you are Miss Nancy Drew?”
“Yes, I am,” she answered, stepping from the car, with his assistance. The two walked toward the open front door of the farmhouse.
The artist was a charming person, but by his own admission, a bit forgetful. “I should have remembered to put on the brake,” he said.
Nancy merely smiled and made no comment. She led her visitor into the living room and they sat down.
r /> “I tried to reach you on the phone this morning, but was told you had already left your house,” she said. “I have a horrible confession to make to you.”
“Confession?” Mr. Caspari repeated. “You do not seem like the kind of girl who would have to make confessions.”
Nancy made no response to this. “I’ll get right to the point,” she said. “The parchment that I asked you to come and look at was stolen last night!”
“Stolen?” he repeated. “From this house?”
“From right above that fireplace mantel,” Nancy explained.
She told him the whole story, then said that she had attempted to draw something that looked like the original. “I’ll show it to you. Perhaps you can give us a clue to the painter of the original.”
She excused herself and went upstairs to get the drawing. After she came down and handed it to the artist, he studied the front of the paper for a long time. He even turned it upside down, but quickly put it back into position.
Finally he looked up and said to Nancy, “Did you draw this from memory?” When she said yes, he went on, “It is an excellent drawing, especially the picture of the angels with the baby.”
Nancy thanked him and said, “Maybe that’s because I think it may be the most significant picture in the group. I’ll show you why I think so.” She turned the paper over and pointed out that the printed A on it was directly behind the pic ture of the angels. “This is just the way it was on the original.”
The artist rubbed his chin. “And none of the other pictures had initials in back of them?”
“No.”
Mr. Caspari told Nancy, “I think you are very observing, as an artist should be. Now please tell me what your theory is.”
“My guess is that the A stands for Anthony. We met a boy who is an artist. He is the nephew of the man who sold the parchment to Mr. Flockhart,” she explained. “It may be a long and wild guess, but I am wondering if by any chance that boy could be this baby. His nickname is Tony.”
The artist wanted to know if Nancy had ever questioned the former owner about the picture. She nodded. “I tried to, but didn’t get very far. He is very secretive and uncooperative. By the way, do you know him—Salvatore Rocco?”
“No. I never heard of him. Tell me more about the boy.”
Nancy explained the situation, and ended by saying that Mr. Rocco had said he knew nothing about the origin of the parchment. He had purchased it at an auction.
“It is an interesting story,” Mr. Caspari remarked. “There’s a chance, of course, that his story isn’t true.”
Just then he spotted the initials DB in the corner with the word Milano under them.
“Have you any ideas about what these initials stand for?” he asked Nancy.
“No, I haven’t.”
Mr. Caspari said that on this point he might be able to help her out. I brought with me a directory of European artists.” He took it from a pocket and began turning the pages. ”I’ll look under the section for Italy and see if we can find a DB in Milano.”
Nancy sat watching quietly as the man flipped page after page.
Finally he said, “No one with those initials is listed in Milano, but I see three in Rome. Their addresses are here. Do you want them?”
“Yes. I would like to have them, but does it say anything about the people?”
The artist told her that two of them were men and one a woman. Nancy was thoughtful for several seconds, then remarked, “Another one of my hunches—I have a feeling, because of the style of the painting of the angels and the baby, that the artist may be a woman.”
“That’s a good deduction,” her caller said.
“Mr. Caspari,” Nancy continued, “do you think that this Miss or Mrs. DB could have studied in Milano and painted on the parchment when she was there?”
“That’s very likely,” he agreed.
Reading from his directory, the artist said that the woman’s name was Diana Bolardo. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “I have the perfect solution!” he exclaimed. “My grandparents live in Rome.”
Vincenzo Caspari offered to get in touch with them at once. “I’ll phone and ask them to try to find Diana Bolardo.”
Nancy was thrilled. How she wished she might go to Rome and investigate herself! She realized, however, that this would be expensive and the clue might lead to a dead end.
“I appreciate this great favor,” Nancy told the artist, “and I can hardly wait to hear the answer.”
The man smiled. “To tell you the truth, I’m excited to be part of the team trying to solve this mystery.”
After Mr. Caspari had left, Junie came in to catch up on the news. After telling her, Nancy said, “Junie, would you drive downtown with me?”
“Of course. But why?”
Nancy told her she thought the person who had smashed the glass in the frame of the parchment picture might have brought the frame to a shop to have the glass replaced. “Or else, he might just have taken the measurements and will put the glass in himself. Let’s go first to a hardware shop.”
Junie said there were three in town. They would go directly to the best one.
Nancy tried to explain to a salesman what she was trying to find out. He said no one had brought a broken picture in for him to fix, or bought a twelve by twenty inch piece of glass.
Not discouraged, the girls went outside and Junie drove to the next hardware store. As they walked in, Nancy thought this was a likely place for the thief to have brought the parchment picture. One half of the store was devoted to hardware, the other half to pictures and picture framing.
A pleasant woman listened to Nancy’s story, but shook her head. No one had brought in any pictures that morning to have new glass put in, and no one had bought a piece of glass to use himself.
“Thank you very much,” Nancy said, and the girls walked out.
“There is one place left,” Junie said. “It’s not very attractive and it’s in a shabby part of town, but I believe it’s just the kind of place that a thief might go to.”
She drove a few blocks until she came to an older section of town. Finally she parked in front of what had once been a house and was now a store. A gaudy sign in the window read: IF YOU CAN’T FIND IT HERE, YOU CAN’T FIND IT ANYWHERE. The two shoppers smiled.
Nancy remarked, “That’s a pretty broad claim. I wonder if the owner can live up to it!”
Junie giggled. “If he can, your quest is over.”
The interior of the shop was untidy and badly in need of dusting. A middle-aged man came from the rear room, slid behind the counter, and asked what the girls wanted.
Nancy noted that he eyed them up and down, as if he were asking the question, “What are girls like you doing in this part of town?”
Nancy made her request. At first the proprietor shook his head, saying no one had brought in a picture that morning. Then suddenly he added, “Oh, I forgot. A young fellow from town was in to buy some glass.”
“What size was it?” Nancy asked quickly.
The man looked at a piece of wrapping paper lying on the counter not far from his telephone. On it was scribbled 12 X 20 inches. He repeated this to the girls.
“That’s just the size we’re interested in!” Nancy said. “Who was this young man?”
The proprietor said he did not know, and Nancy wondered whether he was telling the truth or covering up for the thief. Acting as if she believed him, she asked, “What did he look like?”
“Oh, he was of medium height and kind of tough looking. I did notice one thing about him, though. His right hand had been bandaged as if he’d cut it. I asked him about it. He told me he had injured his hand on some broken glass that he wanted to replace.”
Nancy and Junie were exuberant. They were sure they had tracked down the thief! But the question was, where was he?
“You say you don’t know him?” Nancy asked the owner again.
The man shook his head. “I’ve seen him hanging around town w
ith some other tough guys, but I don’t know who he is. In fact, I don’t want to know who he is.”
The girls felt that the least they could do for all this information was to buy a few articles from the shop. Junie selected a small hammer, an awl, and a package of assorted nails. Nancy found a new type of lawn sprinkler and purchased it to take home to her father. As soon as the articles had been wrapped and paid for, she and Junie left the store.
As they got into the car, Junie teased Nancy. “Now I suppose you will ask me to drive around to where the tough guys hang out!”
Nancy smiled and said, “You’re wrong this time. Take me to a drugstore in this neighborhood.”
She explained that she wanted to find out where the young man with the cut hand bought the bandage he was wearing.
“It’s a long chance, I know,” she added, “but, Junie, a good detective tracks down every possible little clue.”
Junie said she was beginning to see that. “It amazes me how much trouble you have to go to for one itsy-bitsy clue.”
The girls went into the drugstore and approached the counter where first-aid accessories were sold. A pleasant woman waited on them. Nancy asked her if a young man had been in that morning to purchase a fresh bandage for a cut hand.
She was elated when the woman said, “Yes, there was. He was in early. Said he had been in a car accident but didn’t have to go to a doctor. He could bandage his own hand.”
“Do you know who he is?” Nancy asked hopefully.
“Of course I do. He comes in here a lot. His name is Sid Zikes. I’m surprised that girls like you would be interested in trying to find out about him.”
Nancy thought it best not to explain her reason. She merely asked where he lived. This time she received an “I don’t know” for an answer.
“But I understand he doesn’t have a very good reputation,” the woman said. “If you aren’t aware of that, I think it’s my duty to warn you to stay away from him.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Nancy said, smiling. “Why does he have a bad reputation?”