The Clue In The Crumbling Wall Part 1

THE CLUE IN THE CRUMBLING WALL.

BY CAROLYN KEENE.

CHAPTER I.

An Urgent Request.

"Hurry, Nancy!" Hannah Gruen called anx- iously. The Drews' housekeeper held the front door open as jagged lightning cut the sky.

Nancy raced madly toward the door, her red- dish-blond hair flying in the wind. "Made it!" she gasped, laughing, as great drops of rain pelted the driveway.

The attractive, eighteen-year-old girl stepped into the hall and stopped in surprise. Behind Hannah stood a slender young policewoman in a blue uniform.

"This is Lieutenant Masters, dear," said Han- nah. "She arrived just before your car turned into the driveway."

"I can't stay long. Nancy," the officer said, "so I'll come right to the point. Will you help solve a mystery?" The woman's dark eyes gazed into Nancy's steadily. "I'm sure you can do it."

Nancy was amazed, but merely said, "I'd like to hear about it. Won't you come in and sit down?" She led the officer into the living room.

Nancy's zest for adventure came to her nat- urally from her father, Carson Drew, a well- known lawyer. While helping him, she had solved her first case. The Secret of the Old Clock. Since then she had been successful in finding the solu- tions to several mysteries, the most recent one The Secret in the Old Attic. By now Nancy had an outstanding reputation, even with the police, as an amateur sleuth.

"Chief McGinnis recommended that I ask you," Lieutenant Masters said, seating herself on the sofa. "He told me you have great insight into character." The trim, dark-haired officer ex- plained that she had just joined the River Heights Police Department. "This case is related to one of mine. I'm in charge of juvenile offenders."

"Then your mystery involves a child?"

"Yes. A pretty little eight-year-old girl named Joan Fenimore. She's been in trouble with the law and will be in more, I'm afraid, unless we can find her aunt. Nancy, have you ever heard of Juliana Johnson?"

"She was a dancer, wasn't she?" Nancy asked.

"Yes. She disappeared ten years ago at the height of her career."

"And she's Joan's aunt?"

"Yes. Juliana must be found within the next three weeks or lose an inheritance that a friend willed to her. If we can find her, surely she'll help Joan and her mother and make a new way of life for Joan."

"Three weeks!" Nancy repeated. "That means I haven't a moment to lose!"

The lieutenant's grave face broke into a smile.

"Then you'll take the case?" she said. "I'm so gladi" She glanced at her watch and rose quickly.

"I must go now. The rain has stopped. I was on a call in this neighborhood and decided to drop by on the chance you were at home. Could you meet me at headquarters about three o'clock this afternoon?"

"Certainly," Nancy replied.

"Fine! I'll tell you all about it then, and we'll go see Joan and her mother. By the way," she added when they reached the door, "do you know Heath Castle, a big estate some miles outside of town?"

"Yes, I do," Nancy said. "I've seen it from the river. It's that spooky-looking place with those stone towers and the high walls around it."

"Find out all you can about the place," Lieu- tenant Masters said. "It's Juliana's inheritance.

And thank you. Nancy. Little Joan really needs your help!"

After the policewoman had left. Nancy went to the kitchen and told Hannah about the mys- tery.

"Now you're happy!" the kindly, middle-aged woman said fondly. "You have a new easel I just hope it won't be dangerous." Mrs. Gruen had been with the family since the death of Mrs. Drew when Nancy was three years old. The warm- hearted housekeeper had always been like a mother to the girl.

"What do you know about Heath Castle?"

Nancy asked her.

"Not much. It was built-"

"Hannah!" Nancy exclaimed. She was facing the window. "Look-in the yard!"

"What is it?" the housekeeper asked, peering through the gla.s.s. "Oh, what a shame!" she cried out. "All the hollyhocks are snapped off in the middle and the daisies are flattened into the mud from the rain!"

"That's not what I mean," said Nancy. "Look at the flower border where my new rosebushes were."

"Why, they're gone!" said Hannah. She stared in amazement at two holes filled with rain water.

"The bushes were dug up," said Nancy, "and stolen!"

"Probably by the same thief who took plants from some of our neighbors," Hannah remarked.

"There's been a rash of these thefts lately."

"I'll report it when I go to headquarters this afternoon," Nancy said.

While she set the table and heated soup, Han- nah made sandwiches. By the time the two had finished their lunch, the ground had dried a lit- tle and the sun was out.

They hurried into the back yard to inspect the damage. Except for the rosebushes, no plants were missing. Nancy could not find any clues to the thief. She and Hannah began cleaning up debris from the storm. Suddenly they heard the familiar song of one of River Heights' well-known ec- centric characters.

"Here comes my old friend Salty down the street!" Nancy laughed, shaking off her somber mood.

The good-natured, elderly man, once a sailor, had received his nickname from Nancy when she was a little girl. He had introduced himself to the Drew household as Boatswain Bostwick b.u.mple- ton, "home from the salty seas."

Nancy had tried to say his whole name but sometimes mixed it up. Once she addressed him as b.u.mple Boat and another time as Humpty Dumpty b.u.mpleton, much to his amus.e.m.e.nt.

Finally the little girl settled on Salty and her nickname stuck to him.

The man's cart bell tinkled merrily, and a moment later the jolly, weather-beaten sailor wheeled his wagon around the corner of the drive- way. Spying Nancy and Hannah, he sang again: "Clams by the bushel, Clams by the lot, Clams for the kettle, Clams for the pot."

"None for us today," Mrs. Gruen called.

Salty smiled. "Come now," he coaxed. 'Ye can't turn down my clams. They're nutritious, delicious, delectable, respectable! Matter of fact, ye might even find a pearl in one of 'em!"

Nancy turned to Hannah. "Don't you think we could use a few pearly clams?" she asked with a wink.

The housekeeper gave in. "Okay, a dozen.

Nancy, please get my purse."

Nancy darted away, but soon returned with the pocketbook and a container for the clams.

After the elderly sailor had left, she and Hannah took the clams into the kitchen and Nancy started to open them with a sharp knife. Soon she had a pile of empty sh.e.l.ls, but no pearls.

"I guess these haven't anything in them but meat! Well, here's the last one."

Nancy opened the clam and was about to toss away the attractive, rainbow-colored sh.e.l.l when a tiny object inside drew her attention.

"A pearl!" she cried, holding it out for the housekeeper to see.

Hannah stared at the small white object. "I declare, it is one," she acknowledged, "and may be worth some money!"

"I'll take it to Sam Weatherby," Nancy said eagerly. She removed the pearl and washed it, then drove to Mr. Weatherby's shop. The owner was a dealer in curios and antique jewelry.

Nancy had to wait fifteen minutes while an unpleasant man bargained with the shop owner over a piece of jewelry he wanted to sell. It was a man's antique watch chain with an attractive gold charm. At last the customer accepted an offer, pocketed the money Mr. Weatherby paid him, and turned on his heel, remarking, "I might as well have given it to you!"

After the man had left, Mr. Weatherby said to Nancy, "That was Daniel Hector. How he loves to argue! If all my customers were like him, I'd have to close up shop. Well, what can I do for you, Nancy?"

She removed the pearl from her purse and asked the curio dealer what it was worth.

"Well, well," he said, examining the object carefully, "it's nice, but river pearls are not valuable." He named a modest sum. "I'll buy it if you'll bring me the sh.e.l.l from which it was taken. I want to display the pearl with the sh.e.l.l."

Nancy promised to return with the sh.e.l.l the next day. Then she put the pearl in her pocket- book and left the shop. She started walking the few crowded blocks to police headquarters.

As Nancy stopped to look in the window of a department store, a boy drew close to her. Then suddenly he jerked the purse from beneath her arm and fled!

CHAPTER II.

Heath Castle.

It took Nancy a moment to recover from her astonishment. By the time she whirled around, the purse s.n.a.t.c.her was already running down the street. Nancy dashed after him, but tried to avoid b.u.mping into pedestrians.

"What's the matter?" asked a man she side- stepped just in time to avoid a collision.

"My purse-"

He took up the chase with her. As word spread, other people followed. But the boy was running fast. Nancy caught a glimpse of him as he dashed into a narrow alley between two buildings. When she reached it, there was no sign of him.

"Well, there goes my pearl," she thought un- happily.

Besides the pearl, her purse had contained her driver's license, car registration, some credit cards, money, and cosmetics.

"I suppose I should be thankful I didn't lose more," Nancy said to herself ruefully.

She thanked the stranger who had tried to a.s.sist her, then hurried down the street to headquarters and was taken into Lieutenant Masters' office.

After greetings were exchanged. Nancy said, "I want to report two thefts." First she told about the boy who had s.n.a.t.c.hed her purse.

"Can you describe him?" the policewoman asked.

"I didn't get a look at his face," said Nancy, "but I think he was about ten or twelve years old.

He was stocky with tousled blond hair and wore blue jeans and a tee s.h.i.+rt."

"Many boys could fit that description," Lieu- tenant Masters commented. "We'll do our best, but I doubt that you'll get back your bag with the contents." Then she frowned. "Did I hear you say 'two thefts'?"

"Yes," said Nancy, and told about the missing rosebushes.

The officer's dark eyes gleamed with interest.

"I think I can give you the answer to the second one right away," she said. "The culprit is prob- ably little Joan Fenimore."

"Oh no!" Nancy said in dismay.

"Yes," said the officer. "I told you she had been in difficulty with the law. Just before I came to see you I was checking into another report of flowers stolen from your neighborhood. The woman of the house caught a glimpse of the child and described her.

"Joan has a pa.s.sionate love for flowers," Lieu- tenant Masters went on, "and an amazing knowl- edge of them. I arranged for her to join a nature study cla.s.s at the museum, but I'm afraid that my rehabilitation program backfired. Recently she has taken plants and shrubs from other homes."

"What a shame!" Nancy said.

"Joan's father is not living," the young officer resumed. "Her widowed mother is ill and very poor."

Nancy listened sympathetically as the police- woman went on, "I'll see that Joan returns the bushes to your garden. Mrs. Fenimore will insist upon it, anyway. She's greatly distressed by her child's behavior."

Lieutenant Masters stood up. "Come along,"

she said. "We'll go there now and you can hear everything firsthand."

The two rode to the Fenimore house located in a run-down section of the city. The tiny yard was a ma.s.s of colorful flowers, however, and vines half-covered the unpainted, weather-beaten porch.

As Nancy and the officer went up the flagstone walk, the policewoman called attention to two young, newly planted rosebushes.

"Are these yours?" she asked.