The Clue in the Diary Read online

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Nancy said quickly.

  Mrs. Swenson grabbed the girl’s arm. “Why do you say that?” she cried out. “Do you know something about Joe?”

  Nancy was dumfounded. What was she going to say now?

  CHAPTER VIII

  Worried Sleuths

  TAKING a deep breath, Nancy put an arm around Mrs. Swenson. “I’m sure your husband carried identification. If anything had happened to him, surely you would have been notified by this time.”

  “But what about his not writing to me?” Mrs. Swenson persisted. “It’s unlike Joe not to keep a promise.”

  “Well, that puzzles me too,” Nancy confessed. “But I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.”

  “Oh, I hope so. It should have been easy for Joe to find work, because he’s very skillful. But as I told you before, he was cheated out of a fair deal on his cleverest invention. Unfortunately, he entrusted the drawings to an unscrupulous man who promised to take out patents for him—but didn’t!”

  “How dreadful!” Nancy remarked.

  “Yes, the man took the patents out under his own name. He deliberately stole them from Joe.”

  “Who is the man?” Nancy asked tensely, yet fearing the answer.

  Mrs. Swenson hesitated an instant and then said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t give his name, but since you’ll most likely never see him, it can do no harm. The man who cheated Joe, who broke his spirit, is Felix Raybolt!”

  “Felix Raybolt!” Nancy echoed.

  She had expected this answer, yet hearing the name gave her a distinct shock.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Swenson returned, looking curiously at the girl. “Do you know him?”

  “Only by reputation,” Nancy answered. “I did hear that his house burned.”

  This was news to Mrs. Swenson. “Was anyone hurt?” she asked.

  “The police and firemen think the house was unoccupied at the time.”

  At that moment Honey and her new friends came in from the garden.

  “Nancy,” Bess said, “don’t you think we’d better start for home? The sun is setting and we ought to cross that shaky bridge before dark.”

  “Yes,” Nancy agreed. “We’ll leave right away.”

  While the other girls were gathering their handbags and saying good-by, she found an opportunity to speak to Ned privately.

  “Have you heard any news about the Raybolts?” she asked in a low tone.

  “Not a word. They haven’t been located yet.”

  Nancy now hurriedly explained that she believed she had found the owner of the ring—Mr. Swenson.

  Ned frowned. “This may involve him as a suspect in the fire. What a shame! Mrs. Swenson and Honey are such nice people. I like that little girl a lot.”

  “So do I,” Nancy admitted. “I wish I could do something for them—mainly, prove Joe Swenson’s innocent.”

  “I think you’ve done a lot already. It’s my turn now. Do you suppose they’d be offended if I left five dollars?”

  “It would be a blessing, Ned. I don’t believe they have a penny in the house. Why not hide it somewhere?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Ned said. “Mrs. Swenson can’t very well protest if she doesn’t find it until after we’re gone!”

  Without being detected, Ned managed to slip one corner of the five-dollar bill under the vase of flowers on the table. Then they said good-by, promising to return for another visit.

  Nancy had told Ned about the broken-down bridge, and the young man insisted upon accompanying the girls past the detour. They found that the smashed railing had been marked by warning lights. As soon as Nancy had crossed over in safety, Ned waved and drove on ahead.

  “He certainly intends to look after you, Nancy,” Bess teased mischievously. “Honestly, he has a terrible case!”

  “Hush!” Nancy retorted, but she was not displeased.

  As they rode toward River Heights, she told the girls of her talk with Mrs. Swenson.

  “Things are beginning to look black for her husband,” Bess declared. “He certainly had a motive if Mr. Raybolt stole the patent to his invention.”

  “All the evidence points that way,” Nancy admitted, “and yet I can’t believe he’s guilty.”

  “He’ll be sent to jail if he is,” George stated flatly. “What do you intend to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Nancy sighed deeply. “I was never in such a quandary in my life! If he goes to prison, Mrs. Swenson and Honey will be without means of support—to say nothing of the family name being clouded.”

  “But it isn’t right to protect a criminal,” Bess insisted.

  “He’s innocent until proved otherwise,” Nancy reminded her friend. “Before doing anything more, I’m going to have a long talk with Dad.”

  By the time the girls arrived in River Heights, darkness had fallen. Nancy dropped her friends at their homes. When she reached her own house, she found Hannah tidying the kitchen.

  “Isn’t Dad home yet?” Nancy asked.

  “No, he telephoned he wouldn’t be back until late tonight.”

  Nancy was disappointed that her father had not returned. It was only a little after eight o’clock, but after talking to the housekeeper a few minutes, Nancy went to her bedroom.

  “I’ll have another look at that diary,” she thought. “Perhaps I’ll be able to make something out of it, now that I know more about Joe Swenson.”

  For one hour Nancy, with added incentive, patiently applied herself to the task of deciphering the cramped English scrawl. She looked at the drawing again and wondered whether it was a sketch for part of the stolen invention. Finally she was able to distinguish a few paragraphs—mostly notations of supplies purchased from various manufacturing concerns.

  “Maybe Joe Swenson found a job in one of those places!” Nancy thought optimistically. “I’ll go from one to another and inquire!”

  Any possible lead was welcome at this point, Nancy told herself excitedly. She scanned the notations again. Her eyes lingered on the name of a company in the small city of Stanford.

  “That’s where Mr. Baylor Weston lives—the man who ran into my car,” the young detective murmured. “I’ll go to Stanford first, and see Mr. Weston at the same time!”

  When Nancy came down to breakfast the next morning she found a sealed envelope beside her plate. She was mystified to note there was no return address on it.

  “A man left the envelope early this morning,” Mrs. Gruen told Nancy.

  CHAPTER IX

  A Scare

  EAGERLY Nancy tore open the envelope and unfolded the sheet inside.

  “A bill for the repairs to my car,” she told Hannah Gruen. “It sounds very fair. Mr. Baylor Weston—who ran into me—shouldn’t mind paying this amount.”

  The housekeeper laughed. “The garage mechanic was certainly prompt in delivering his bill.”

  “I asked him to be,” Nancy defended the man. “I want to present this bill and the Mapleton garage one right away to Mr. Weston.”

  “That’s the spirit,” came a voice from the doorway. “Good morning!” Mr. Drew walked in, kissed Nancy, and asked, “How are you, Hannah?”

  Carson Drew took his place at the head of the table, then said, “Nancy, I learned yesterday that Baylor Weston owns an electronics factory in Stanford.”

  “What a break for me!” Nancy exclaimed. “I can do two errands at once.” She told about having seen the name of the Stanford Electronics Company in the diary, and her intention of finding out if Mr. Swenson worked there.

  “Excellent idea,” said Mr. Drew. “And now for more news.”

  “You found Mr. Raybolt?” Nancy asked eagerly.

  “Yes and no. To be strictly correct, I found Mrs. Raybolt.”

  “Where is she, Dad?”

  “At a summer resort on Lake Mentor. I talked with Mrs. Raybolt on the phone. She became very upset about the fire and told me she would return today to look into the matter.”

  “And her husban
d?”

  “She didn’t say where he is and was rather evasive when I questioned her about him.”

  “I’d like to talk to Mrs. Raybolt, Dad.”

  “Well, why don’t you? She’ll surely stay at the Maplecroft Inn because it’s the only hotel within three miles of the Raybolt estate. My guess is that if you go there for luncheon you might meet her.”

  “That’s a grand idea!” Nancy said excitedly. “I see now why you’re called River Heights’ leading lawyer!”

  She asked her father if he knew of someone who could translate the diary. “I’ve already checked,” Mr. Drew replied. “But my two friends who speak Swedish are away on vacation.”

  Nancy was so enthusiastic about the idea of visiting the inn that as soon as she had finished breakfast, she phoned Bess and George. Always eager for adventure, they quickly said they would love to go along. By eleven o’clock the three girls were en route.

  “I have a feeling that we’re about to learn something important!” Nancy confided to her friends.

  It was only a few minutes after twelve when the girls reached the pleasant little inn. Nancy parked beside a row of cars at the rear of the building. The girls went inside and inquired for Mrs. Raybolt.

  “She hasn’t arrived yet,” the desk clerk said, “but we expect her any minute.”

  The girls strolled outside and sat down on the porch. But after an hour had elapsed, the wealthy woman still had not arrived. Bess gave a huge sigh. “I’m starved! We may as well have luncheon. I don’t believe Mrs. Raybolt is coming.”

  “It looks that way,” Nancy admitted in disappointment. “Wait a second, though, here comes another car.”

  Hopefully, the girls watched as a large automobile swept up the driveway. A chauffeur assisted a frail, nervous-looking woman of middle age to alight. She clung unsteadily to his arm and for a moment the girls thought she would faint.

  The chauffeur said encouragingly, “You’ll feel better, Mrs. Raybolt, after you have had your lunch.”

  So this was Mrs. Raybolt! She made no response other than to give a low moan. Still leaning on the chauffeur’s arm, she walked uncertainly up the porch steps.

  “Goodness,” Bess exclaimed in a whisper, “isn’t that poor woman pale? She looks ill. I’m surprised her husband left her alone.”

  Nancy did not comment. She was watching Mrs. Raybolt closely and it struck her that the woman was actually ill. As she reached the porch, Mrs. Raybolt caught hold of a post for support.

  “I can’t go on,” she whispered weakly. Then she fainted.

  The chauffeur caught her in his arms as she fell and eased her to the level of the porch. Nancy and her friends, thoroughly alarmed, rushed forward to be of assistance.

  “I’ll get some water!” Nancy cried, and dashed inside. The desk clerk came rushing out.

  “Take her into the manager’s office,” he suggested kindly. “I’ll call a doctor.”

  The chauffeur quickly explained that they had just been to the scene of the fire. Then Mrs. Raybolt was carried inside and made comfortable on the couch. Her face was pale, but as Nancy applied a wet cloth to her forehead, she revived somewhat.

  “Felix!” she moaned. “Oh, Felix!”

  “Your husband will be here soon,” Nancy assured her soothingly.

  Her words had an astounding effect upon the woman. She half raised herself and her eyes, fluttering open, had a wild expression in them.

  “My husband is dead,” she moaned. “He burned to death.”

  “She must be hysterical,” said the manager’s secretary. “I hope the doctor gets here soon.”

  “Your husband isn’t dead,” Nancy said comfortingly.

  Mrs. Raybolt appeared not to hear the girl, for she went on wildly, “He burned to death in the fire! Oh, Felix!”

  “What’s she talking about?” demanded the manager, who had just entered the room.

  “I’m sure her husband wasn’t in the house at the time it burned,” said Nancy. “The investigators found no evidence of anyone having been trapped inside.”

  Yet, as she spoke, doubt besieged Nancy. How did she know that Felix Raybolt had not been trapped inside the house? True, no body had been found, but what if the explosion—Nancy put the horrible thought out of her mind.

  Mrs. Raybolt revived sufficiently to sit up, and after she had drunk the glass of water Nancy handed her, she appeared to be less agitated.

  “I can’t go on!” the woman whispered weakly

  “You must be mistaken about your husband,” Bess told her gently.

  “No! No!” the woman cried. “He went there the night of the fire to see a man on business. I had a feeling he shouldn’t go and I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I haven’t heard from Felix since that night.”

  Mrs. Raybolt broke down and sobbed hysterically. Nancy asked the name of the man whom Felix Raybolt had gone to see.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Felix never confided any business matters to me. He resented questions. I do know that Felix was uneasy about the appointment.”

  “Why?”

  “He anticipated possible physical violence.”

  Nancy and her friends gulped. If the person with whom Mr. Raybolt had an appointment was Joe Swenson, here was still another count against the Swedish inventor.

  At that moment the doctor appeared. He briskly cleared the room, insisting that the patient have absolute quiet. Nancy and her friends left with the others.

  “Well, what do you think of the case now?” George whispered tensely.

  “I think,” Nancy returned soberly, “that things look very black for poor Joe Swenson.”

  The three girls ate luncheon in silence. They did not want to discuss the mystery in public, and were too concerned to talk of anything else.

  When they finished eating, Nancy stopped at the reservation desk and asked the clerk for directions to Stanford. “Take the short cut across Sunview Mountain,” he advised. “It’s half the distance it would be by the main road.”

  Nancy thanked him and the girls went to the car. As they were about to drive off, a state trooper stopped Nancy and said, “A word of advice, young ladies. We believe a dangerous criminal is hiding in the vicinity. Keep your doors locked.”

  “What did he do?” Bess asked fearfully.

  “It’s suspected he’s a firebug, a robber, and—well, he may use a gun on anyone who gets in his way.”

  “What’s his name?” Nancy inquired, her heart sinking in the fear that it would be Joe Swenson.

  To her relief, the officer replied that the police were still working to establish the man’s identity. “But watch your step, and if you should see anything suspicious, be sure to report it to us.”

  “I will,” Nancy promised, and drove off.

  Five miles farther on she turned into the narrow short cut across Sunview Mountain. The twisting road, bordered by tangled undergrowth and dense woods, was deserted.

  Bess shivered. “The wildest section in the county!” she exclaimed nervously. “Just the sort of place a criminal would choose for a hideout. For goodness sake, Nancy, step on the gas!”

  “This is a spooky road,” George murmured presently. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we should come upon Joe Swenson, peering out at us from the bushes?”

  “Funny?” Bess demanded. “I’d be frightened out of my wits. Wouldn’t you, Nancy?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” the other returned truthfully. “I’m eager to find that man.”

  “So am I,” Bess replied, “but I’d rather not run into any stranger in this out-of-the-way spot!”

  Nancy did not reply immediately, and her friends noticed that she appeared to be scanning the woods searchingly.

  “You think the criminal actually might be hiding along this road?” Bess demanded anxiously.

  Nancy nodded. “It’s possible.”

  “Turn back!” Bess pleaded. “No telling what he might do to us!”

  “Don’t get jit
tery,” Nancy advised. “Remember, we have to find out if Joe Swenson works at the plant in Stanford.”

  As they drove along the winding road, the three girls maintained a vigilant lookout. Suddenly Bess cried out:

  “There’s a man ahead, at the side of the road! He’s motioning us to stop! Don’t do it, Nancy!”

  CHAPTER X

  A Spooky Shack

  INSTINCTIVELY Nancy pressed down hard on the gas pedal and shot past the man. In the rear-view mirror she saw an astonished look on his face. She slowed to a normal pace and laughed in relief.

  “A hitchhiker! He probably thinks I’m crazy!”

  The stranger did not in the least resemble a criminal type. He looked kind and pleasant.

  “Better safe then sorry,” Bess defended herself as they left the amazed hitchhiker far behind.

  “I’ll have to agree with you on that,” said George.

  Presently Nancy came to a fork in the road and stopped the convertible. There were no signs to indicate which road led toward the Weston factory.

  “I’d turn to the left,” Bess advised.

  “The right-hand turn looks more likely to me,” George insisted. “Look—I see a shack over among those trees. Why not inquire there?”

  “A good idea!” Nancy approved. She pulled up before the shack and flung open the car door. George did the same and promptly stepped out.

  But Bess held back. “No telling who lives there, girls! M-maybe that criminal!”

  “George and I will go,” said Nancy. “You stay here, Bess.”

  “Not on your life. If you’re going, I’ll go, too.”

  George and Nancy were already pushing their way through the brush, and Bess, fearful of being left alone, hurried after them. The shack was located in a tiny clearing which was enclosed on three sides by dense forest.

  The girls were halfway to the cabin when Bess clutched Nancy’s arm. “There’s someone in the bushes—over by the grape arbor—watching us!”