Clue in the Ancient Disguise, Page 2

"Of course. You can help a great deal. You know that Pierre Michaud found the letter from your great-aunt among his grandfather's effects."

  Lisa nodded as she took a spoonful of sundae. "Yes, he said that she mentioned some ancestress in the letter."

  "Have you any idea whom she meant?" said Bess.

  "Well, Tve been thinking about that, and I feel sure it must have been Yvette Duval."

  "Pretty name," Bess murmured.

  "Yes, and she herself was beautiful. She was French, as you've probably guessed from her name, and she came to this country with her husband about two hundred years ago. They settled right here in River Heights."

  "Hm," Nancy said. "What else do you know about her?"

  "Not much." Lisa smiled. "As a matter of fact, it's been sort of a tradition in our family that there was something mysterious about Yvette Duval. Something to do with her past, which she never revealed and would never talk about."

  "Gee, just the way you say that almost gives me goose bumps!" Bess declared in an awed voice.

  The girls were silent for a time, enjoying their sundaes and thinking about Lisa's unusual ancestress.

  Breaking the silence, Lisa said hesitantly, "Have you seen Pierre recently?"

  Nancy said, "Yes, just today. There was a mysterious fire at his workshop. Nyra Betz discovered it."

  "Nyra?" Lisa echoed in surprise. "How did that happen?"

  "She works for him now," Nancy said gently. From the expression that flickered briefly on Lisa's face and the way her fingers clenched on the napkin she was holding, Nancy could see that the news had come as a somewhat unpleasant shock to her.

  But the brunette girl soon recovered her poise and said, "When Pierre came to see us, I'm afraid my father was quite rude to him. I felt terrible about it. After all, he was a total stranger in this country and had come to us for help or information." Lisa swallowed hard and looked down at the tablecloth.

  Always the romantic, Bess shot a significant glance at Nancy and nodded her head sagely.

  Soon afterward, Lisa noticed the time. "Golly, I'd better be going. I have to get my car at the thrift shop."

  "Don't worry, I'll drive you back," said Nancy.

  "Well, thanks. By the way, we have a portrait of Yvette Duval and her husband at my house. Would you like to see it?"

  "Oh, yes! Let's, Nancy," said Bess.

  On their way to the thrift shop, Lisa pointed to a big industrial park. "That's where Louise Duval used to live. All that property was hers."

  "Wow," said Bess. "Must've been a big place!"

  "Yes, and old too. My mother told me all about it. Louise Duval was her aunt, my maternal grandfather's sister."

  "Did she live there by herself?" asked Nancy.

  "No, she had a maid whom I remember quite well. She used to come and visit us sometimes, even long after Great-Aunt Louise died."

  The titian-haired detective was keenly interested in hearing this. "Is her maid still alive?"

  Lisa nodded. "Yes, in fact we had a card from her last Christmas. I'll give you her address. Her name's Emily Owsler."

  As they were about to turn into the parking lot next to the thrift shop, Nancy gasped. She had just caught sight of the swarthy man who had been watching her and Pierre at Marco's. He was sitting in a car parked near the shop, but now, as if realizing he had been seen, he slowly drove away. Nancy decided she had better tell her dad about him that night.

  Lisa got into her own car. Then Nancy and Bess followed her to the Thorpes' house. It was a white, three-story frame mansion with a tower. A spacious porch ran across the front and side of the house.

  "It's way too big for us, especially since Mother died," Lisa remarked, "but my father's family has always lived here."

  The interior was beautifully furnished. Lisa led them to a paneled hallway with a large, sunny room at one end, full of plants and flowers and white wicker furniture. The portrait she had mentioned hung in the hallway near this room. In addition to the light flooding in through the sunroom, Lisa flicked a switch above the frame which totally illuminated the oil painting.

  'This is Yvette and her husband, Paul Duval."

  Yvette was a white-skinned beauty with lustrous black curls and flashing dark eyes, dressed in a low-necked gown of the period. Paul Duval, in a dark blue coat and white neck cloth, seemed more stodgy and matter-of-fact, a typical man of business. It was his wife who drew the girls' eyes.

  "Gee, she was beautiful," said Bess.

  Nevertheless, Nancy sensed a haunting sadness about Yvette's expression.

  "I've always imagined her as some sort of adventuress," Lisa remarked.

  " Maybe a spy," Nancy suggested half humorously. "After all, the years around 1800 were a time of war in France and Europe."

  "Oh yes, that's even more exciting!" Lisa agreed, and so did Bess.

  Just then, Nancy heard a door open and shut somewhere in the front of the house, and Lisa suddenly became quiet. Presently a big, heavily built man with brush-cut, graying hair came into the hallway. He was carrying a briefcase.

  "Hello, Daddy," Lisa said nervously and introduced him to her two companions.

  "Hmph. Afternoon, girls," Norton Thorpe responded curtly. His manner was intimidating.

  "Nancy has been asked to help Pierre Michaud discover what Great-Aunt Duval's letter was all about," Lisa went on.

  Her words brought an angry flush to Mr. Thorpe's face. His bristling brows came down in a furious scowl. "I thought I told you not to concern yourself any more with that fortune-hunting Frenchman, Lisa!" he thundered.

  Turning to Nancy and Bess, he added, "That means none of his investigators or go-betweens are welcome here. I must ask you to leave my house immediately!"

  3. Red Juggernaut

  There was a moment of stunned, awkward silence. Then Nancy said coolly, "We came here as your daughter's guests, Mr. Thorpe. We naturally assumed this was her home as well as yours, and therefore you would respect her right to invite us. However, if you have different standards and our presence offends you, we certainly won't remain."

  Turning to her friend, Nancy said, "Shall we go, Bess?"

  Her companion, pink-faced with embarrassment and slightly breathless, exclaimed, "Oh, yes!

  The two girls walked out with their heads high. Norton Thorpe, who evidently was not used to being defied or spoken to in this fashion, looked on, fuming with anger. From his flushed, tight-lipped expression, he seemed at a loss for the right words to put this impudent young female, Nancy Drew, in her place.

  Lisa watched what was happening with a pale, frightened face. She seemed to have been shocked into silence by her father's harsh outburst.

  Nevertheless, she hurried after her two guests and murmured, "I'm awfully sorry about this!"

  Nancy squeezed her hand and gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't be upset, Lisa. We understand. It wasn't your fault."

  Outside, as the two girls reached Nancy's car, Bess Marvin let out an indignant gasp. "Of all the rude people! That man is impossible!"

  Nancy generously was ready to make allowances. "Perhaps he had a hard day at the office."

  "He certainly must be difficult to live with!" Bess declared as she climbed in beside the pretty young sleuth. "No wonder Lisa didn't return Pierre's calls. She's probably scared to death of her father."

  "Pierre said she was under his thumb. When you stop to think of it, it was brave of her to come apologize in front of him, as she did."

  "Mr. Thorpe's so overbearing, I'll bet she's never seen anyone stand up to him. Maybe your example helped to put a little backbone into her, Nancy."

  Nancy found it hard not to smile, remembering Bess's own timid, soft-hearted ways. All the same, from several of their past adventures, she knew that her friend could be as brave as anyone in a real emergency.

  "If you're right, Bess, then I'm glad it happened," Nancy said aloud. "Also, I learned one thing from our visit to Lisa's that could be very helpful."

  "What's that?"<
br />
  "How to get in touch with Louise Duval's former maid."

  After dropping her girl friend off at the Mar-vins', Nancy returned home. As she walked in the door, Hannah Gruen said, "You had a phone call while you were out, dear."

  The kindly, middle-aged woman had been the Drew's housekeeper ever since the attorney's wife had passed away when Nancy was a little girl.

  "Who was it, Hannah?"

  "The curator of the art museum. Mr. Gregory, I think he said his name was. He'd like you to help investigate those two break-ins we heard about on the news."

  Nancy's eyes sparkled with interest. "Sounds exciting!"

  "But not dangerous, I hope," said the motherly housekeeper, her voice taking on a note of concern.

  "Don't worry, Hannah,'' the young detective chuckled. "I doubt that the case will be all that exciting. But I'll be careful!"

  After looking up Emily Owsler's number in the telephone directory, Nancy called the former maid. An elderly voice answered. Nancy explained that she was looking into a matter that concerned the maid's former mistress and asked if she might drop by for a visit at some convenient time.

  "Why of course, Miss Drew. I'll be home all evening, if you care to stop in."

  "Thank you, that would be nice."

  After helping Hannah with the dinner dishes, Nancy started out in her car about 8:30. It was a chill autumn night with a gathering mist that filmed her windshield with moisture.

  Emily Owsler's address turned out to be a modest apartment building on the outskirts of River Heights. The person who opened the door was a slender, gray-haired woman in her seventies.

  "Please come in, Miss Drew. I've read in the paper about some of the mysteries you've solved."

  The ex-maid seemed eager to chat, and Nancy had no trouble steering the conversation around to the subject of her former employer. But Miss Owsler had no idea why Louise Duval might have written to Pierre's grandfather, even though Nancy could supply the exact date of the letter.

  "I remember the time very well, though," Emily Owsler mused sadly. "It was just a few weeks later that Miss Duval died."

  "Can you think of anything at all unusual that might have happened around that time?" Nancy probed.

  Miss Owsler knit her brow. "Hm, I do recall her hiring a person to do some special work for her that summer. I think 'foreign research' was the way she referred to it."

  "But you don't remember who that person was?"

  "Not really. Some sort of expert, I believe, but I couldn't say what he was an expert in, or exactly what she hired him to do. Come to think of it, it was a secret. . ."

  The woman's face suddenly brightened as she went on, "Yes, I do recall now! Miss Louise was quite excited about the whole thing. And I remember how she sounded when she mentioned it to some of her friends—as if she was just bursting to tell them some exciting news, but had to wait for the right time, after this research—or whatever it was — was completed."

  All this, Nancy thought, sounded very much like the tone of Louise Duval's mysterious letter to Pierre's grandfather . . . which, in turn, convinced her that the so-called 'research' might hold the key to the mystery.

  "You know, Miss Drew," Emily Owsler continued, "you might be able to find out more from Miss Louise's lawyer."

  "That sounds like a good idea. Can you tell me his name?"

  "Yes, Jonas Becker. And his law firm is Hylig & Becker. I know because they're the ones I get my monthly pension check from."

  Nancy thanked the woman for her information. Then she said, "In that letter I told you about, Miss Duval wrote that she was planning to go to France. But apparently she never did, nor followed up her letter in any way. I assume that's because she died rather suddenly and unexpectedly."

  Emily Owsler nodded, her face clouding at the memory. "Yes, that's right. Miss Louise died of a heart attack after a very unpleasant experience."

  "Oh? What was that?" asked Nancy, her detective instincts immediately aroused.

  "Well, you see, she was out for a stroll one evening. She always liked to go for a walk after dinner, said it was good for her digestion. Anyhow, she came rushing in soon afterward—all upset and out of breath, clutching her bosom. I asked her what was wrong, and she said a big red car had almost run her down!"

  Miss Owsler dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, obviously distressed as the circumstances of her mistress's death came back to her. "I phoned her doctor right away and gave her two of the pills he'd prescribed, and then made her a cup of tea," she went on, "but the poor soul died just a few minutes later, before the doctor could arrive. We'd all known for some time, of course, that she had a weak heart."

  The ex-maid gulped back tears and blew her nose.

  "I'm sorry to bring back these sad memories," Nancy apologized. "It must be very upsetting to talk about."

  "That's all right, my dear. I'm glad if what I've told you has been of any help."

  Nancy thanked Miss Owsler and made her way downstairs in the apartment elevator. Outside the building, the night mist was thickening, and the streetlights glowed in the darkness with a foggy halo. Nancy turned on her windshield wipers after starting the car.

  She had gone only a couple of blocks when she noticed a car coming up behind her in the rear-view mirror. Its headlights were off, which made the outlines of the car easier to discern. Despite the mist, the street lamps shed enough light for Nancy to see that the car was red.

  But she could make out no one at the wheel!

  Nancy's heart gave a lurch. This fog must be playing tricks with my eyes! she thought.

  Nervously she swung over to the right, to give the car behind her room to pass. But it made no attempt to do so. And when she speeded up, it too increased speed so as to stay little more than a couple of car lengths behind her!

  Nancy's pulse was beating fearfully now. "That can't be a ghost car!" she told herself. "It must have a driver, even if I can't see him!"

  But why was he trailing her? Was he just waiting for the right moment to pounce in some way?

  Nancy clenched her teeth and tried to keep calm. There was always the hope that she might sight a police cruiser, and anyhow she hadn't much farther to go.

  Meanwhile, the reddish car continued to follow her through the misty darkness! Although the visibility was too poor to tell its make or year, Nancy had the impression that it was large and old-fashioned!

  When at last she came to her own corner, she swung the wheel violently, then stared in the rear-view mirror. To her relief, the other car had sped on past the intersection and was no longer following her.

  Nancy's heart was still pumping furiously when she stopped and switched off the ignition moments later. Leaving her car parked in the driveway, she jumped out, eager to get inside the house. But before she could mount the front steps, she received another shock.

  A sinister figure detached itself from the shadows of the shrubbery and came striding toward her. Once again, it was the swarthy, tough-looking man whom she and Pierre had glimpsed out the restaurant window!

  4. Car Snoop

  "Wait! Do not try to run inside !" The man spoke with a heavy foreign accent, his voice laden with menace. "I have come to talk to you!

  Nancy caught her breath, but struggled to keep her own voice calm as she replied, "This is a strange- time and a strange way to start a conversation."

  Summoning up her courage, she went on boldly, "Who are you, and why have you been following me around, spying on me?"

  "Never mind all that!" the dark-visaged stranger growled. "I am the one who will ask the questions. And you will answer. Are you a friend of Pierre Midland's?"

  "Yes, I know him, if that's what you mean, and I consider him a friend. He has asked me to

  investigate something that happened a long time ago."

  "Well, you had better drop the job right now and stop helping him in any way, or you will find yourself in serious trouble! Do you understand?"

  Nancy shrank back as his brut
al face glared at her out of the semi-darkness.

  "And now you will tell me something more. Where did you go tonight, and whom was it you saw?" When she hesitated, he took a step toward her.

  Nancy felt a fresh pang of alarm but said in a defiant voice, "What I do or whom I see is none of your business! You'd better stop bothering me or I'll call the police!"

  The man shook his fist threateningly. "I am warning you, girl! You had better not—"

  He had raised his voice to scare Nancy, but now he suddenly broke off as he noticed a movement at the window out of the corner of his eye. The curtains twitched and shrill barking followed as Nancy's pet bull terrier, Togo, looked out and decided to arouse the Drew household. He sensed that his beloved young mistress was in danger.

  Nancy silently blessed the faithful, alert little dog because his barking had clearly unnerved her sinister caller. The man began to back away, still shaking his fist and muttering, "Remember what I have said!"

  A moment later, the porch light came on and the scowling stranger ran off into the darkness. Hannah Gruen opened the front door as the young sleuth hurried up the porch steps.

  "Nancy! Is something wrong?" the housekeeper exclaimed. "Why was Togo barking?"

  "There was someone out there, Hannah. But don't worry, he's gone now."

  Nancy flung herself down gratefully in an easy chair in the bright, comfortable living room. With a sigh of relief, she ran her fingers through her hair.

  "Til bet you're mighty glad to get home on a night like this," Hannah murmured sympathetically.

  "Oh, you have no idea how glad! I had quite a fright tonight, coming home."

  "What happened, dear?"

  "A car followed me—a big, old-fashioned-looking red car. Its lights were off, for one thing, but the really scary part was that it looked as if it had no driver!"

  The housekeeper gasped. "Are you serious, Nancy?"

  "You bet I am! Oh, I realize my eyes were probably playing tricks on me, what with the mist and all, but that's how it looked."

  Hannah shook her head in amazement. "My goodness, that's enough to give anyone a fright."