The Clue in the Jewel Box

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - A Stolen Wallet

  CHAPTER II - After a Suspect

  CHAPTER III - A Lost Formula

  CHAPTER IV - Royal Treasures

  CHAPTER V - Pickpocket’s Double

  CHAPTER VI - True Credentials?

  CHAPTER VII - Mistaken Identity

  CHAPTER VIII - Nancy Is Robbed

  CHAPTER IX - Ferocious Dog

  CHAPTER X - Amazing Revelation

  CHAPTER XI - The Island Trick

  CHAPTER XII - A Puzzling Secret

  CHAPTER XIII - Wanted—A Clue

  CHAPTER XIV - A Question of Honesty

  CHAPTER XV - A Threat

  CHAPTER XVI - The Prize Winner

  CHAPTER XVII - Telephone Tip

  CHAPTER XVIII - Cornering a Thief

  CHAPTER XIX - Prisoners

  CHAPTER XX - Two Mysteries Solved

  THE CLUE IN THE JEWEL BOX

  An antique dealer’s revelation about a former queen’s priceless heirloom starts Nancy on a trail of exciting adventures.

  Madame Alexandra, now living incognito in River Heights, asks Nancy to find her missing grandson. With only one clue to go on—a faded photograph of the prince at the age of four—the young detective begins her search, which rapidly involves her in a series of dangerous and harrowing adventures. When Nancy needs help, she calls on Bess, George, Burt, Dave, and her special friend, Ned. How Nancy’s discovery of the heirloom’s secret unmasks a slick imposter and reunites the long-separated family climaxes this suspense-filled mystery story.

  “Ned, there’s a pickpocket!” Nancy exclaimed

  Acknowledgement is made to Mildred Wirt Benson, who under the pen name

  Carolyn Keene, wrote the original NANCY DREW books

  Copyright © 1972, 1943 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam & Grosset Group,

  New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster,

  Inc. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07721-4

  2007 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  A Stolen Wallet

  “No, a silver pen isn’t exactly what I’m looking for,” Nancy Drew explained to the jewelry salesman in the department store.

  The slim, attractive girl with lovely reddish-blond hair waited while he reached beneath the counter to get another item.

  “Here’s something perfect,” he declared. “This handsome jewelry box is very new. It’s a clever reproduction of one owned by a ruler in Europe two centuries ago.”

  Nancy was disappointed to learn that it was a reproduction. She had hoped to find something original and unusual for her father’s birthday.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, “but—”

  “The original box has a strange history,” the salesman went on. Knowing of Nancy’s reputation as an amateur detective, he hoped to capture her interest with hints of mystery. “Its first owner was a king disliked by his subjects. One night he was spirited away, and—”

  Before he could finish the romantic tale, he was interrupted by a woman customer who was tapping on the glass counter for attention.

  “I’d better not make a hasty decision,” Nancy said politely to the man. “Thank you very much.”

  She walked off and took an elevator that would take her to the restaurant floor. Nancy thought, “That jewelry box certainly looked genuine. Maybe Dad would like it for his birthday after all.”

  She was going to have luncheon with Bess Marvin and George Fayne, who were cousins and Nancy’s closest friends. The girls had not arrived, so Nancy sat down in the lounge to wait for them.

  “Oh dear!” murmured a voice nearby.

  Turning her head, Nancy saw that the chair beside her was occupied by an attractive, elderly woman in a dark-blue dress. The pallor of her creamy skin held the girl’s attention. Obviously the woman was ill.

  “Can I help you?” Nancy asked quickly.

  The woman fumbled in a purse, then shakily handed her a card, It bore the name Marie Alexandra, and an address, 14 Downey Street.

  “Please take me to my home,” she whispered with a slight foreign accent.

  Before Nancy could reply, Bess and George entered the lounge. When she told them about the woman’s request, both declared that they would postpone their luncheon.

  “Can I help you?” Nancy asked

  “We’ll go with you to Mrs. Alexandra’s,” Bess said.

  “Do you have your car, Nancy?” George asked.

  “No, it’s at the service station. We’ll have to take a taxi.”

  Nancy assisted the woman to her feet very gently, and was rewarded with a grateful smile.

  The three girls made slow progress to the street. They summoned a taxi and helped Mrs. Alexandra step into it. Nancy gave the Downey Street address to the driver.

  “Thank you—thank you,” the panting woman murmured, and slumped back in a faint.

  The girls chafed Mrs. Alexandra’s hands and fanned her. Her pocketbook had fallen to the floor and several articles had tumbled out. One of these was a jeweled, monogrammed bottle of smelling salts, which Bess opened and held under the woman’s nostrils.

  “She’s coming to now,” Bess said a moment later as the woman’s eyelids fluttered.

  Relieved, Nancy reached down to pick up the handbag and its scattered contents. Almost at her feet lay a gold-framed miniature photograph of a little boy in a sailor suit. He was about four years old. She stared at the quaint picture, then turned it over. The back of the case was glass. Underneath were several locks of hair, secured with tiny ruby clasps.

  “This is very unusual,” Nancy thought.

  She had no opportunity to show the miniature to Bess or George. As the taxi drew up in front of a medium-sized house, she replaced all the articles in the handbag and turned to assist Mrs. Alexandra.

  “Can you walk if we help you?” she inquired.

  “Yes, I think so,” the woman answered softly.

  Bess and George supported her on either side, while Nancy paid the taxi driver and darted ahead to ring the doorbell. The door was opened by a maid in a spotless white uniform.

  “Oh!” the woman cried when she saw her mistress being half-carried. “Madame Marie!”

  She opened the door wide and pointed to a brocade-covered couch in the living room. The girls led the woman to it.

  “Shall we call a doctor?” George inquired.

  “No, that will not be necessary. These spells do not last very long,” Mrs. Alexandra answered. “Anna will take care of me.”

  The maid seemed unusually capable in attending her mistress. With loving hands she made the woman comfortable and gave her hot tea which quickly revived her.

  All this time Nancy had been silently admiring the luxurious furnishings of the room. On the walls hung elegant tapestries. Beautiful pieces of furniture were upholstered with hand-embroidered silks. Rare objects of glass and porcelain stood on a table and a desk.

  One piece in a curio cabinet captured Nancy’s interest. It was a pink enamel Easter egg poised on a tiny gold pedestal. Its rounded top was encrusted with delicate gold work.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Bess whispered in awe.

  Hearing the comment, Mrs. Alexandra raised herself to a sitting position. She remarked that the Easter egg had been brought from abroad.

  Turning to her maid, she said, “Anna, I m
ust talk to these girls who have been so kind.”

  The words, quietly spoken, were regarded by the maid as an order to leave the room. Graciously Mrs. Alexandra thanked Nancy and her friends for their help, then carefully wrote their names in an attractive little address book.

  Observing their interest in the art objects, she pointed out several which were inside a curio cabinet. Among these was a silver box that looked very much like the one at the jewelry counter in the department store. Nancy wondered if this might be the original. She spoke of her search for a distinctive birthday gift for her father.

  “Of course I never could afford anything so rare as these lovely pieces.” She sighed.

  “You might be surprised.” Mrs. Alexandra smiled rather mysteriously. “Why not go to Mr. Faber, who is an antique dealer? Mention that I sent you. I think he will be able to help you.”

  She summoned Anna and asked for one of the antique dealer’s business cards. On it she wrote a message in a foreign language unfamiliar to Nancy. Realizing that Mrs. Alexandra was becoming tired, the girls now said good-by.

  “Wasn’t it exciting?” Bess asked when they reached the street. “And didn’t you just love Mrs. Alexandra? She’s so charming.”

  “And her treasures are exquisite,” Nancy said. “I was especially impressed with the Easter egg.”

  “Right now I’ll take my eggs in omelet form without gold trimmings,” said Bess, giggling.

  “Oh, that appetite of yours!” Nancy teased.

  The girls walked back to the center of River Heights’ business section, then turned in to Water Street.

  They were halfway down the block when a wiry built man darted from an alleyway and brushed past the girls. He glanced back anxiously, then quickly entered a shabby-looking apartment house.

  “That fellow acts as if he were running away from someone,” Nancy remarked, turning around. “Look! A crowd has gathered at the corner!”

  Retracing their steps, the girls joined the excited group. In the center of the circle stood a young man, angrily accusing a second young man of having picked his pocket.

  The other defended himself. “I was walking along the street, minding my own business, when you grabbed me! I never saw your wallet!”

  The argument waxed warmer, and a police officer arrived. Nancy edged closer.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I saw a young man who looks like this brown-haired one. He was running up the street and had on the same color suit.”

  “There!” cried the alleged culprit triumphantly. “I’ve been mistaken for the real thief!”

  “Which way did the fellow go?” the officer asked.

  She directed him to the four-story apartment building, and he hurried off. Everyone followed.

  Scarcely had the policeman entered the building when a figure appeared on a fire escape above an alley. Light as a cat, the man leaped to the ground and fled.

  “That’s the one!” cried Nancy.

  The heavy-set officer came back and ran after the thief, commanding him to halt. Instead, the young man squeezed through a gap between two buildings and vanished.

  “Look!” Nancy cried. “He dropped the wallet!”

  Had he deliberately thrown it away? the young detective wondered. A moment later the policeman returned.

  “Sorry I couldn’t overtake that guy,” he said, handing the wallet to its owner. “I’ll make a report to headquarters. Name, please?”

  “Francis Baum,” the other replied, checking the contents. “Never mind the report. I’m satisfied to get my stuff back.”

  He examined the contents carefully. Nancy, who stood close beside him, saw part of a business card. Her photographic mind noted:

  thson

  ter St.

  “My money is all here,” the owner assured the policeman. “Thanks for your trouble.”

  Francis Baum and the man he had accused walked off, and the crowd dispersed. Bess and George would have gone on also, but Nancy held them back.

  “Just a minute,” she said. “I want to search the ground between those two buildings.”

  “Surely you don’t think the thief is still there!” George protested, following reluctantly.

  “No, but I thought I saw something fall from the wallet when it was dropped.”

  “The policeman would have found it,” Bess argued. “If we’re ever to eat—”

  “Here is something against the wall!” Nancy interrupted excitedly and stooped to pick it up. She held up the slightly soiled photograph of a small boy wearing a sailor suit.

  “This is the same child whose picture was in Mrs. Alexandra’s miniature!” she cried. “Do you suppose she’s related to Francis Baum?”

  “Haven’t the slightest idea,” Bess replied, shrugging her shoulders. “And look! There’s a hamburger stand. George and I have an appointment at three o’clock, so we ought to eat.”

  “Please do,” Nancy said. “I want to go to Faber’s first.”

  The young detective went on alone to the antique shop. It was an inconspicuous place on a busy street. A bell jingled as she entered.

  A pleasant-faced man emerged from a rear workroom. Nancy explained that she was trying to find a gift for her father, and handed him the business card with Mrs. Alexandra’s message on it.

  “Oh, Madame sent you herself.” The shop owner beamed, speaking with a noticeable accent. “Ah yes, I am honored to serve you.”

  The little man moved briskly about the cluttered room, scanning various objects.

  “No, I have nothing suitable now,” he finally said. “You must give me a few days.”

  Before leaving the shop, Nancy decided to show him the photograph she had found. She inquired if he knew who the boy might be.

  With trembling hands Mr. Faber took the picture of the child in the sailor suit.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked tensely. “Tell me! Tell me at once!”

  CHAPTER II

  After a Suspect

  ASTONISHED by the tone of Mr. Faber’s voice and his interest in the photograph, Nancy readily told how it had come into her possession.

  “Unbelievable!” the antique dealer murmured. “You say this picture belongs to a young man named Francis Baum?”

  “I’m pretty sure it fell from his wallet,” Nancy replied.

  “Please describe him,” the shop owner pleaded. “Did Francis Baum bear any resemblance to this boy in the photograph?”

  “Why, no. Mr. Baum is tall and has a dark complexion. The boy is very fair.”

  “The age of Francis Baum?” he asked quickly.

  “Well, it’s difficult to say. He might be in his late twenties—or possibly a little younger,” Nancy replied.

  Nancy’s curiosity had grown steadily as Mr. Faber queried her. She longed to ask a few questions of her own, but wisely waited.

  “You wonder perhaps why I ask you so much,” he said. “The answers concern the happiness of Madame Alexandra, a royal lady indeed. You see, the boy in this photograph is her long-lost grandson!”

  “Please tell me more,” Nancy urged.

  “Years ago, when revolution came to their country, the little boy was taken away secretly by his nurse. His mother, father, sisters, the entire family—except the grandmother—perished at the hands of the enemy.”

  “How dreadful!” Nancy murmured.

  “Those were terrifying years,” the antique dealer went on sadly. “Madame Alexandra, through the aid of loyal friends, escaped. Since then she has devoted herself to a search for her grandson.”

  “The nurse has never been traced?”

  “It is believed that she came to America, but here the trail ends. If the grandson still lives, he must be thirty years old. You understand now how important it is that we find Francis Baum?”

  “Indeed I do,” Nancy replied. “I’ll gladly help you trace him.”

  Nancy had inherited her love of mystery. She was the daughter of Carson Drew, a well-known lawyer, who often handled criminal ca
ses. Her mother had died when she was three, and since then the Drews’ home in River Heights had been managed for her and her father by capable Hannah Gruen.

  Nancy’s first case was The Secret of the Old Clock, and her recent one, The Quest of the Missing Map.

  “Will Francis Baum be difficult to find?” the man questioned her anxiously.

  “He shouldn’t be,” Nancy assured him. “No doubt he’s listed in the phone book.”

  Acting upon the suggestion, Mr. Faber called to an assistant in the back room. He asked that the book be brought to him at once. Ivan, a young man with a pleasant grin, appeared with the directory. Unfortunately Baum’s name was not listed in it.

  “I’ll trace him somehow,” Nancy assured the dealer. “The policeman who recovered the stolen wallet must have his address.”

  “If you find Francis Baum, I will reward you richly for the sake of my friend Madame Alexandra,” the shopkeeper declared.

  “Oh, I don’t want a reward,” Nancy protested with a laugh. “I’ll find him just for the fun of it, and to help Mrs. Alexandra.”

  “But I will repay you in some way,” the man insisted. “Maybe by obtaining a handsome gift for your father. A gentleman’s box perhaps?”

  “I’m sure he would like one.”

  “That kind of box is something very special,” said Ivan, grinning at Nancy. “In Europe my boss’s father and grandfather were famous jewelers who made many pieces for royal families.

  “Mr. Faber’s father once constructed a little train for a prince,” Ivan went on. “The locomotive was of platinum, and the cars were gold. It ran, too.”

  “Was Mrs. Alexandra’s Easter egg made by your father?” Nancy asked.

  “Ah, so you have seen it!” he commented.

  “Only the outside.”

  “Madame Alexandra’s Easter egg was indeed made by my famous father,” Mr. Faber declared. “It contains a most unusual object. You must ask her to disclose the secret.”

  “I really don’t know her well enough to do that,” Nancy replied.