(#23) Mystery of the Tolling Bell (6 page)

The reference to police brought speedy results. The hotel clerk quickly produced his keys.

Beginning with the room directly across the hall, he tapped on doors and opened one after another.

“You see, it’s a waste of time,” Slocum grumbled. “Nobody here.”

Nancy paid no attention. She had been examining faint footprints on the dusty floor of the hall and now paused before a door at the end of the corridor. “Is this room occupied?” she asked.

The clerk could not remember. Without waiting, Nancy tried the door and found it unlocked. The room was dark, with curtains drawn at the windows. On the bed lay a man fully dressed, and sound asleep.

With a cry of relief Nancy darted to her father’s side. Her first attempts to awaken Mr. Drew brought no results.

Ned turned on a light while Nancy shook her father vigorously. His eyes opened, and he yawned as if awakening from a pleasant sleep.

“Dad, you must try to stay awake! How did you get into this room?”

With an effort the lawyer roused himself. “Are we ready to leave?” Then he turned over and went to sleep again.

Only after Nancy and Ned had tried for several minutes were they able to awaken Mr. Drew. He drank a glass of cold water, which seemed to revive him.

“Now tell me how you got in here,” Nancy urged again. “Did you dress yourself after I left?”

“Why, yes, I think so,” he answered, trying hard to remember. “Then the girl came.”

“What girl? You don’t mean me?”

“No, the maid. She wanted to make the bed and clean the room. I sat down to wait, and that’s all I remember until you woke me up.”

“You don’t know whether you walked in here by yourself or were carried?”

“Now who would move him?” cut in the hotel clerk.

“He was in 301,” said Nancy.

“John Blake was in there. You said yourself you didn’t recognize the signature on the registration card. Furthermore,” Slocum added, turning to Mr. Drew, “you’re all mixed up about the maid. The girls on this floor don’t start work until just about now.”

Mr. Drew gazed at the man with sudden dislike. “A dark-haired maid entered my room to change the bed. That happens to be a point about which I am very clear,” he said in a cold voice.

“You can identify her, I suppose?” the clerk asked insolently.

“I can if I see her again. How many girls work here as maids?”

“Four come on duty at this hour. Three others work the night shift, but they’re not here yet.”

“Send the girls to me, please.”

Slocum looked annoyed for a moment, then a slightly sardonic grin played around the corners of his mouth. “Okay,” he muttered.

A short time later four maids, who could not understand why they were being summoned, came into the bedroom. Mr. Drew asked each girl a few questions, then permitted her to leave. He had to admit he had never seen any of them before.

“Perhaps the woman who came to your room only posed as a maid,” Nancy suggested after the last girl had gone.

Mr. Drew nodded. “Let’s get away from here,” he urged. “The sooner the better.”

Nancy suggested that he should go to a hospital, but her father assured her he was feeling much better.

“I want to go on to Candleton,” he said stubbornly. “If I can walk to the car, a few days on the beach will revive me completely.”

Nancy and Ned finally agreed to take him to Mrs. Chantrey’s house. Nancy said she would telephone Dr. Warren of the change in their plans and bring the car to the rear entrance of the hotel.

“Your bill is paid so we can slip away quietly,” she declared. “Ned, will you stay with Dad?”

“I won’t leave him a second,” he promised. “Signal with two toots of the horn when you’re ready with the car.”

Nancy told Dr. Warren of her father’s improved condition and their decision to leave. Within five minutes Nancy had her convertible waiting at the front of the hotel. Not until her father was safely seated in the car did she relax.

“I’ll follow you closely in my car all the way to Candleton,” Ned assured her, “and stay around till your dad’s well again.”

Mr. Drew actually seemed to improve during the ride. And after he was comfortably settled in a downstairs bedroom of Mrs. Chantrey’s home, he insisted he felt as well as ever.

Nancy, fearful that he might have another unnatural sleeping spell, watched him closely throughout the night and the next day. She read to him, turned on the radio, and her friends brought him delicacies from Mrs. Chantrey’s tearoom.

“You’re making an invalid of me,” the lawyer complained that evening. “I feel fine!”

The next morning, before anyone was out of bed, Mr. Drew dressed, slipped out of the house, and went for a long walk on the beach.

“Outwitted my keepers, didn’t I?” he said with a chuckle upon his return. “Now I’ve had enough of this invalid nonsense. Haven’t you young folks anything to do?”

“Why, Dad!” Nancy laughed in delight.

“Go swimming!” he commanded. “Take a motorboat ride. Just leave me alone to read a book. I’m entirely well, I assure you.”

Satisfied that her father was his former self once more, Nancy joined her friends for a late-morning swim. The young people enjoyed an hour in White Cap Bay, then went back to the house to change clothes.

Mr. Drew was sipping a lemonade, deeply engrossed in a book. Nancy and Ned decided to take their lunch to a picnic area outside of Candleton. When they finally returned to town, Ned parked his car on the main street and the two young people walked along looking at the shops. They paused before the window of a novelty jewelry store.

Suddenly Nancy heard the familiar tinkle of a little bell. She turned her head quickly. Madame and her attractive cosmetic cart were coming up the street!

Looking in the direction of the cart, Ned observed Madame with interest. Her dark-skinned face was shaded by an elaborate flowered hat.

“Say, who is she?” he asked. “I’ve seen her before somewhere, but I don’t recall her pushing a fancy cart!”

Madame, who was now opposite them, did not seem to recognize either of the young people. She quickly pushed her cart past them and hurried down the street. Or was she only pretending not to know them?

“Maybe you’re acquainted with her friend?” Ned questioned Nancy suddenly, his eyes twinkling.

He gazed toward a stocky red-faced man who had emerged from the shadow of a nearby doorway, and joined the woman at the next corner. Both glanced back toward the young people.

“No, I never saw him before,” Nancy replied, but she knew she would not forget his face. It was cruel and calculating.

The stranger made no attempt to buy any of the French woman’s cosmetics or perfumes. Apparently he was well acquainted with her, for they conversed freely. The man gestured angrily, and Ned and Nancy guessed he was trying to force the woman to agree to something against her will. Once Madame pointed toward the young people. Wrathfully the man pulled down her arm.

“What do you make of it?” Ned asked curiously.

Nancy had no answer. She continued to stare as Madame and her companion hurriedly walked away together and disappeared in the direction of the beach.

CHAPTER VIII

The Collector

SOON after Nancy and Ned returned to Mrs. Chantrey’s, Ned said good-by. Early that evening, before their hostess came in, Bess and George went to the movies. Nancy and her father sat alone on the porch.

“It’s wonderful to be here with you, Dad,” Nancy said affectionately. “But I’m getting a bit restless. You hinted at my being able to help you on Mrs. Chantrey’s case. You haven’t given me my job yet.”

“That’s right, Nancy. But you must admit I was delayed in carrying on my own work. Thanks to you, though, I got out of that awful hotel. Now I can continue where I left off.

“A New York broker named Harry Tyrox,” Mr. Drew went on grimly, “sold Mrs. Chantrey a lot of bad stock. He and his gang of sharp operators must be prosecuted. I’m afraid, though,” the lawyer added, “that Mrs. Chantrey will never get her money back.”

“Have you told her?” Nancy asked.

“No, but I think she suspects it. The job I had for you, Nancy, concerns Mrs. Chantrey herself. I’m afraid if someone doesn’t bolster her morale, she may break down.”

“Oh!” Nancy exclaimed, then whispered, “Sh, Dad, here she comes.”

Mrs. Chantrey walked up the porch steps, looking very tired. Nancy asked about her day at the Salsandee Shop, and she admitted she was having trouble again with her employees. A waitress had given up her job without notice, and one of the shop’s most reliable cooks had had an accident and was unable to work.

“I don’t know what I’ll do.” The tearoom owner gave a deep sigh.

“Why not use me again?” Nancy volunteered. “I’d love to help. I’m sure Bess and George would too.”

“It isn’t fair to you girls,” their hostess protested. “I invited you here for a vacation.”

“And we’re having a grand one!” Nancy declared. “Why, it’s fun working at the Salsandee Shop. And I have another reason for wanting to be there,” the girl added. “I’m especially interested in one of your customers.”

“Do you mean the man who dropped the paper telling about the XXX bell with the jewels in it?” Mrs. Chantrey asked.

“That’s right. Did he ever come to claim it?”

“No, he never returned. The paper is still in the drawer at the shop.”

Early the next morning Bess, George, and Nancy donned uniforms and once more took up their duties at the tearoom.

Nancy wondered if she would ever meet “the bell man” again. She was very much pleased, therefore, when she saw him come in at three o’clock. He paused at the cashier’s desk, and Nancy heard him say in an agitated voice:

“My name is Hendrick—Amos Hendrick. Only this morning I discovered the loss of a certain paper. It’s valuable, and I’ll pay a good reward to get it back. I’m not certain I lost it here, but there’s a chance it dropped from my pocket when I paid my bill.”

“I’ll ask the owner, Mr. Hendrick,” the cashier replied.

“A. H., if you please,” the man said firmly. “I don’t like to be called Hendrick.”

There was no need for the cashier to ask Mrs. Chantrey about the paper. Nancy identified the man as the person who had sat at the table where she had found the strange message.

“And you’re the pretty little waitress who served me so nicely,” Mr. Hendrick said with a smile.

Nancy searched the desk drawer where the envelope with the mysterious message had been placed. She went through its contents carefully. Satisfied that the paper was not there, she searched the other drawers. The secret message could not be found. Neither Mrs. Chantrey nor any of the employees was able to throw light on its disappearance.

Mr. Hendrick plainly was distressed. “That paper is very old and valuable,” he declared.

Equally troubled by the loss, Nancy did not know what to say.

“Don’t you remember the contents of the message?” she inquired.

“ ‘Course I do. That paper was found in my father’s safe when he died and I know the contents by heart. But I don’t want it to fall into the hands of a stranger!”

“Then you believe that some other person may be interested in searching for one of those XXX bells?”

A. H. gave her a quick, guarded look. George, who had joined the group with Bess, exclaimed impulsively, “You’re making a mistake if you don’t tell Nancy all about your paper and get her to help you! Why, she’s solved more mysteries than you could count on your fingers and toes together!”

The man paused. His eyes sparkled as he said, “Ganging up on me, eh? You girls are three peas in a pod. Now why are you so interested in that paper?”

“Because we like adventure,” Bess replied.

Mr. Hendrick’s interest was aroused. He asked several questions about the detective work Nancy had done. She was uncertain whether he was joking or serious when he inquired:

“Well, how much will you charge to take my case? It’s a tough one, I warn you.”

“I solve mysteries for the fun of it,” Nancy replied. “Suppose you tell me about your case, Mr. Hendrick.”

“Not here.”

“We might go for a walk along the beach. My friends and I have an hour off before the tearoom gets busy again.”

“Fine,” Mr. Hendrick agreed with enthusiasm. “Come along, all of you.”

They walked a short distance down the shore, then the girls led the elderly man to a half-rotted log on which he could sit.

“To make a long story short, I’ve been interested in bells all my life,” he began. “So was my father and his father before him. Know anything about bells?”

“Only that they ring.” Bess giggled.

“No two ring alike. Some are high-pitched, some low, some have beautiful tone quality, and others are so harsh they insult your ears. Bells are with us from the cradle to the grave; they rejoice in our victories and toll our sorrows. They have enriched historical moments, colored romance, and struck terror in the hearts of the superstitious!

“My father was a bell maker and so was my grandfather,” A. H. resumed proudly. “They learned the art in Europe where they had their foundry. Know how to make a big bell?”

Nancy replied that she had only a vague idea.

“First you make a mold, and that takes a good many weeks if the bell is to be a perfect one. Then you pour in the hot, liquid metal. You have to be very careful. If the mold is not properly constructed, or you don’t wait until the metal sets properly, the bell will crack when you take it out. A large bell must be cooled for a week or two before it can be removed.”

“Tell us about American bells,” Nancy urged, wishing to draw Mr. Hendrick into revealing more about the mystery.

“The first bell foundry in this country was established by the Hanks family, ancestors of Abraham Lincoln on his mother’s side,” Mr. Hendrick related. “Then there was Paul Revere. After the Revolution, he built a furnace in Boston and cast small bells. He also made large ones for churches. During his lifetime he cast nigh up to two hundred bells.”

“What became of them?” Nancy asked.

“Ah! There lies the story. Fifty were destroyed by fire, one hangs in King’s Chapel, Boston, but most of them are scattered over the country, and the folks that own ’em probably don’t realize what a treasure they possess.”