The Hidden Window Mystery Page 3

“Yes.”

  “Then, promise me you’ll try to get some sleep now. How long does the doctor think you’ll have to stay here?”

  “Oh, I can go home tomorrow. My car will be fixed by that time.” Susan looked at Nancy affectionately. “I’m so glad you came. My husband is away until tomorrow. I’ll get a good night’s sleep and we’ll start for Charlottesville in the morning.”

  The travelers said good-by and went back to the hotel. The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent in viewing the old city with its many historic spots, including the courthouse designed by Thomas Jefferson and old St. John’s Church, where Patrick Henry delivered his immortal “Give me liberty or give me death” oration.

  As the girls were ready to tumble into bed, Bess remarked with a yawn, “I feel as if I’d had a refresher course in American History!”

  After breakfast the next morning Nancy called the hospital and talked with Susan, who felt much better. She asked Nancy to pick up her car at the Blossom Garage and then come to the hospital.

  “Of course,” said Nancy. “See you soon.”

  The owner of the Blossom Garage, a pleasant young man, said the girls could take the car. After paying the bill, Nancy drove to the hospital. Susan was waiting. She slid into the seat alongside the driver. George and Bess were in the back.

  About five miles out of town, as they started around a curve, Nancy found that the steering apparatus would not work. The wheel spun around wildly. Frantically she jammed on the brakes, but could not regain control of the car.

  The vehicle plunged into an embankment!

  CHAPTER V

  Telltale Magazine

  THE car’s passengers were thrown forward by the impact. Nancy braced herself against the steering wheel. Bess and George fell to the floor, not injured. Susan, however, had been flung hard against the windshield, and she blacked out!

  Nancy leaned over and eased Susan back onto the seat. “We must get her to a doctor!” she exclaimed. “I think we passed a physician’s home and office about a quarter of a mile back.”

  “I’ll go,” George offered, and started off.

  Nancy and Bess watched Susan closely. Presently the girl’s eyelids flickered open. “Where am I?” she asked, dazed.

  “We had a little accident,” Nancy replied in a soothing tone. “George has gone for a doctor. Just lie still, Sue.”

  In a short time George and Dr. Steyer arrived. Nodding to the others, he examined the patient.

  “This young lady will be all right,” he said. “She’s had a bad shock, but nothing’s broken. I suggest that you all come to my office while we see what can be done about your car.”

  The girls accepted, and Dr. Steyer helped transfer the luggage to his automobile. “As soon as we reach my office, I’ll call a service garage,” he offered.

  When the mechanic arrived, Nancy rode with him to Susan’s car and told him that she suspected the steering mechanism had been improperly repaired after the accident the day before.

  “I’ll soon find out,” the young man said. After checking the car, he reported that either the steering assembly had not been tested or it had been tampered with later.

  “In any case, the car’s in bad shape. You won’t be able to drive it until the grill and front wheels are straightened and a whole new steering assembly is put in.”

  Nancy asked the mechanic to tow the car to his garage and make the necessary repairs. He agreed and then drove her back to Dr. Steyer’s office.

  When Nancy told the others of the mechanic’s report, Susan became very upset and began to cry hysterically. Dr. Steyer gave her a sedative and in a few minutes she went to sleep.

  “She’ll wake up in about an hour, feeling a lot steadier,” he said.

  Mrs. Steyer now came in from shopping. When she heard the story, she offered to drive them to Susan’s home.

  “I was planning to go to Charlottesville this afternoon,” she said, “and I’d like company. Please have some lunch with the doctor and me and then we’ll leave.”

  The girls accepted her kindness. While the meal was being prepared, Nancy telephoned the Blossom Garage in Richmond and spoke to the owner.

  After hearing her story of the morning’s accident, the man referred to his records and reported, “The steering assembly of that car was checked and was in perfect condition.”

  “What do you think happened?” Nancy asked.

  The man said his watchman had reported hearing muffled hammering and had glimpsed a prowler leaving the garage the previous night. “I’m guessing, but maybe that fellow damaged your car.”

  Nancy hung up. She felt sure the man’s surmise was correct. If Susan had no enemies, it seemed obvious that the strange man was trying to injure Nancy, Bess, and George.

  “Someone wants to keep us away from Charlottesville,” she told herself. “But why?”

  The thought that Alonzo Rugby might be responsible went through her mind, but Nancy dismissed it at once. The loss of a hundred dollars was not provocation for such drastic retaliation!

  “Whoever the person is, he must be desperate,” she realized.

  Susan awoke just as lunch was ready and apologized for the way she had acted. “I guess two accidents were two too many,” she said.

  After lunch, the group set off for Charlottesville. As they entered the town, Mrs. Steyer asked, “Where do you live, Susan?”

  The young woman gave directions. Her home, Seven Oaks, was about three miles out of town. When they reached it, Nancy, Bess, and George gazed at it in delight. A low brick wall ran across the front of the small estate. An iron gateway opened onto a tree-shaded drive with beautiful, flower gardens on either side of it.

  Facing the end of the drive was a white clap-board two-story colonial house. At the entrance was a small porch with Doric columns. Above this was a balcony, which Susan said opened off her bedroom.

  “It’s perfectly charming!” Nancy exclaimed.

  The girls thanked Mrs. Steyer and walked toward the house. The front door was opened by a plump, smiling housekeeper.

  “Land sakes, Miss Susan!” she cried. “It’s mighty good to see you walking around.”

  “And I’m glad to be walking around,” Susan replied. “Anna, our guests are Nancy Drew, Bess Marvin, and George Fayne.”

  “Now don’t you worry none about the luggage,” Anna said as the girls reached for their suitcases. “I’ll have them to your rooms in a jiffy.”

  She picked up all three suitcases at once and went up the stairs with them. Susan showed the visitors their three adjoining bedrooms, papered in dainty colonial patterns, each with a fireplace.

  Susan said she would meet the threesome downstairs after they had unpacked and changed their clothes. By the time Nancy, Bess, and George returned to the first floor, Susan’s sandy-haired, six-foot husband had arrived.

  “You girls have come at the right time,” he said. “There’s a neighborhood mystery to be solved.”

  “Not another!” George groaned.

  Cliff laughed. “Susan told me about the stained-glass window and the fake telegram,” he remarked. “But surely you can add one more to the list.”

  “Tell me what the mystery is,” Nancy begged.

  “We have a neighbor named Mr. Honsho, from India. A couple of years ago he bought one of the most beautiful old estates around here.”

  “It’s called Cumberland Manor,” Susan said. “Mr. Honsho spoiled it by putting a high wall around the grounds, and no one has been allowed inside since!”

  Cliff took up the story. “Nancy, strange sounds come from the place day and night. And well—the fact is—we want you to solve the mystery.”

  “And for a very special reason,” Susan continued. “Before Mr. Honsho bought the place, it was always open to the public during Garden Week. We’d like you to find out what those horrible screeches are, stop them, and persuade the owner to permit visitors.”

  “A big assignment,” George remarked.

  “Ye
s, it is,” Cliff said. “Some of the men around Charlottesville have tried, and the Garden Tour group too. But so far we’ve failed.”

  “Well, count me out,” Bess spoke up. “I’ll help with something that’s not so weird.”

  “Then suppose you take over the case of Mrs. Dondo’s brother,” Nancy suggested, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

  “No, thank you,” Bess answered quickly. “If any men are coming into my life, I want them to be young and handsome. I don’t think any brother of hers could meet either of those requirements.” The others laughed.

  When Nancy said she wanted to go to Mr. Bradshaw’s studio the next day, Cliff offered to lend the girls his station wagon. “I won’t need it. Why don’t you visit Bradshaw after you see Mr. Honsho? The two places aren’t far apart. They’re both on Eddy Run, which is a creek that flows past the rear of the properties.”

  The three girls started off after breakfast the following morning. On reaching Mr. Honsho’s estate, they gazed at the high brick wall and the solid-iron entrance gate, which completely screened even a glimpse of the interior. Nancy noticed a bell at the side of the gate, stopped the car, and got out to ring it. There was no answer.

  “I’d say Mr. Honsho just doesn’t want visitors,” Bess remarked.

  Nancy was reluctant to give up so easily. She drove to the point where the brick wall turned toward Eddy Run, and stopped. “Let’s walk down alongside the wall,” she urged. “We may come to another entrance.”

  She and the cousins followed a dirt path that skirted the enclosure. Bicycle tire tracks were evident, and a few minutes later the girls saw a young man on a bicycle stopping at a high wooden door. He dismounted and took a key from his pocket.

  Nancy ran forward and came close enough to attract his attention. He looked up at her in surprise. About twenty-five years of age, he was slender with reddish hair. He wore a work shirt, jeans, and a cowboy belt.

  “Please wait!” Nancy cried out.

  The young man paid no attention. He opened the door, shoved his bicycle inside, and slammed the door. Bess and George reached Nancy just as the lock clicked.

  “I wonder who he is,” George said.

  “He must work at Cumberland Manor,” Nancy remarked. “Probably he’s been told not to talk to strangers.”

  “I wonder who he is,” George said.

  Suddenly, from inside the estate came a horrible screech. Then there was an ominous silence.

  Bess cowered against the other girls. “Somebody’s being tortured in there!”

  “If so,” Nancy said, “we must try to help the person!”

  “But how,” Bess questioned, “when we can’t even get inside the place?”

  Nancy was stymied. The screech had sounded somewhat like a screaming tomcat, but more foreboding.

  “I believe I know what that sound may have been,” she said. “A peacock!”

  “What makes you think so?” George asked.

  Nancy explained that she had read a lot about peacocks after she had decided to look for the old stained-glass window. “From the description of the bird’s screech, it would sound like that.”

  Bess, who was not convinced, thought they should report the matter to the police. “I’m going back to the car,” she declared.

  Nancy and George wanted to do some more sleuthing. They continued along the path, which led all the way to Eddy Run. To their disappointment, the brick wall was as high across the water side of Cumberland Manor as the section they had just seen. It contained no opening. Finally they gave up and returned to the car.

  On the way to Mr. Bradshaw’s studio, they passed another estate. Apparently it had once been an attractive place, but now it showed signs of neglect.

  “There’s the name,” said Bess. “Ivy Hall.”

  About half a mile beyond was the entrance to Waverly. A roadway wound among well-kept lawns and fields. As they neared a rambling farmhouse, Nancy spotted a sign with an arrow that indicated Mark Bradshaw’s studio was at the rear of the property.

  Nancy continued down a lane. To the left of it were lovely flower gardens and to the right a dense woods. A short distance from Eddy Run and standing under the branches of a giant spreading oak was the studio. It was a long, brick building almost completely covered with English ivy.

  As Nancy parked, the studio door opened. A thin man in his late forties, wearing a smock and horn-rimmed glasses, came outside.

  “How do you do,” he said in a low vibrant voice.

  After introductions, Nancy told him they were interested in stained-glass windows, and had learned a little about the art from Mr. Atwater, who had a studio near them in River Heights.

  Mr. Bradshaw invited them into the studio. “Is there something in particular you wish to know?”

  Quickly Nancy explained about the article in Continental and asked if he had heard about it. When he said no, she gave him the details. Then she added that Susan Carr had suggested they come to him.

  “The Carrs are very nice people and I would certainly like to help you,” the artist said.

  “Perhaps you could tell us where some of the famous works of stained-glass art are located in this area,” Nancy suggested.

  Mr. Bradshaw shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not too well versed on that. But I would be glad to tell you about the art itself. The more you know of the process, the better able you’ll be to recognize the genuine article if you find it.

  “Actually, a stained-glass window is a translucent mosaic held together by lead. But the lead between the sections is not just a fancy glue. It plays a real part in the design.”

  “The leading is almost the last thing that is done, isn’t it?” Nancy asked.

  “Almost,” the man replied. “The final step is the cementing, which holds the leading and the glass together.”

  “Would you mind explaining the cutting table, Mr. Bradshaw?” George requested.

  “Why, certainly,” the artist said. He led the way to one of two benches, which stood at the far end of the room. Each was solidly built and had a thick plate-glass top. “This,” he explained, ensures a constantly flat surface, which is of utmost importance in the cutting process.”

  Beneath it a large mirror was tilted diagonally from the front edge of the table to the back of a shelf below. A brilliant light on the mirror was helpful to the cutter when he worked with dark glass.

  “And this,” said Mr. Bradshaw, picking up an odd-looking tool, “is a wheel glass cutter. The square-grooved sections have the funny name of nibbling mouths.”

  As he was speaking, Nancy caught sight of a magazine carelessly thrown behind one of the benches. The advertisement on the back was the same as that on the copy of Continental she had seen.

  Unnoticed by the others, she slid her foot under the bench and flipped the magazine over. It was the issue of the magazine that carried the story of the missing stained-glass window!

  Nancy was amazed. Surely Mr. Bradshaw must have seen the article. Why had he denied knowing about it?

  A sudden thought struck the young detective. Bradshaw might be searching for the window himself!

  CHAPTER VI

  The Paint Clue

  NANCY wondered if Mr. Bradshaw knew where the peacock window was.

  Suddenly Bess realized that Nancy was not paying attention to the artist. Wondering why, she followed the other girl’s gaze and saw the magazine. Instantly she knew Nancy was suspicious. Bess also noticed that Mr. Bradshaw was looking in the young detective’s direction.

  To warn her friend, Bess said, “Isn’t this talk fascinating, Nancy? I had no idea that the art of making stained-glass windows was so intricate.”

  With a grateful smile at Bess, Nancy nodded and replied, “Yes, it’s extremely interesting. But to me, designing the picture would be the most intriguing part.”

  Mr. Bradshaw’s eyes lighted up. “I agree with you a hundred per cent, Miss Drew. And it is probably the most difficult part. Beginners rarely fashion a
picture that can be used for a stained-glass window. It takes a great deal of practice to plan a design that will cut into pieces of the right shape.”

  Presently, not wanting to take any more of Mr. Bradshaw’s time, the girls told him how much they appreciated his courtesy and help and said good-by.

  As the girls drove off, Bess mentioned the Continental and asked Nancy if she thought Mr. Bradshaw knew more than he was willing to admit.

  “Yes, I do.”

  After hearing about the magazine, George remarked, “Well, I can’t blame him for wanting to win the reward himself.” Then she asked. “Nancy, did you learn anything that might help you find the window?”

  “Nothing in particular,” her friend answered. “But I have a hunch it’s in this area.”

  “Do you think Mr. Bradshaw knows where it is?” Bess questioned.

  “Probably not.”

  “Then it may still be a race,” said George enthusiastically. “And I hope you win!”

  At Seven Oaks the girls found Susan in the living room, studying picture pamphlets of various automobiles. She looked up and smiled.

  “What do you think?” she said, excited. “Cliff wants me to get a new car.”

  “You’re lucky,” Bess commented. “Have you decided what make?”

  Susan had not made up her mind and was waiting for the girls’ advice. “What kind do you all have?” she asked.

  Each of the three girls’ families had a different make, but both Bess and George declared that Nancy’s convertible was their favorite. “If you get one like hers, you’ll love it,” Bess added.

  Susan stood up and said impulsively, “I’ll do it. Come on down to the showroom with me and we’ll see what they have.”

  Within an hour they were back at Seven Oaks, with Susan driving her new convertible. George, who had ridden back with her, stepped from the light-green automobile.

  “Hypers, this is a record for buying a car!” she said, laughing.

  Nancy and Bess arrived in the station wagon just as Cliff came out to inspect the new purchase. He congratulated his wife on her fine selection, then said to Nancy, “While you stay here you’re welcome to use either of our cars. There’s only one condition attached.”