The Clue in the Diary Page 7
“I’m sure he works here,” Nancy declared to her friends.
Workmen passing to and fro stared curiously at the girls, obviously wondering what had brought them to the electronics plant.
Nancy was becoming a bit disheartened, when she chanced to observe a light-haired man leaning dejectedly against the high fence which surrounded the grounds. Apparently the man had picked an isolated, tree-shaded spot, away from the other workers. He had his back to the girls, but from a distance Nancy thought his tall, spare build was exactly like that of the stranger she had seen running away from the fire. Could he be Honey’s father?
She watched expectantly, and presently the man turned around. He was the same person she had seen on the previous day’s visit to the factory. Nancy could not mistake the face—he was Joe Swenson.
“You girls stay here a moment, will you?” Nancy requested. “I think I’ve found our man. I must speak to him alone. Be on your guard, and if he tries to escape, block the exit to the grounds. I don’t think he’ll make a disturbance, but if he’s guilty, he may attempt a getaway!”
Nancy’s heart beat faster than usual as she approached the man who was leaning against the fence. His downcast manner, the girl thought, could mean a guilty conscience.
“I beg your pardon,” Nancy said courageously, “but aren’t you Mr. Joe Swenson—alias Dahl?”
The man wheeled around, but held his ground. After the first start of surprise, Nancy thought he did not look unusually disturbed at the sudden encounter.
“Yes,” he replied, “Dahl’s my name. Anything I can do for you?”
For a moment Nancy was at a loss for words. She had half expected that Joe Swenson would be defiant and sullen—not a sad-eyed, kindly man. He looked to her as though he could not have harmed anyone in his life.
“It’s all a mistake,” Nancy told herself joyfully. “Mr. Swenson is innocent. He didn’t start the Raybolt fire.”
The next moment she had regained her composure and was again the impartial, businesslike detective. She showed him her driver’s license for identification.
“I have news of your wife,” Nancy said to him quietly.
“Helen?” the man demanded eagerly, his face lighting up. “She’s not ill, I hope!”
“Oh, no,” Nancy assured him, “but she’s dreadfully worried about you and is trying to locate you.”
“I don’t understand,” Joe Swenson said, frowning. “I sent my address but didn’t want to go home until—er—a certain matter was cleared up.”
“Then you have written to your wife?” Nancy questioned.
“Yes, twice. I sent her two good-sized money orders.”
For a second Nancy wondered if he was telling the truth. Looking him straight in the eye, she said, “Mrs. Swenson never received them.”
“What!” her husband exclaimed in such genuine astonishment that Nancy had no further doubts.
“They need money badly,” Nancy said, and summoned her friends to come forward. She introduced Bess and George, then repeated what Joe Swenson had told her.
“Your letters have been stolen!” George said vehemently.
“But how? Where?” the inventor cried out. “I mailed them in the post office myself!”
No one could answer this puzzle. Suddenly he pulled an unsealed envelope from his pocket.
“Here is another letter to my wife with twenty-five dollars in it. I was going to send a money order today. Would you be so kind as to deliver this in person?”
“I’ll be glad to,” Nancy answered, smiling, and tucked the envelope in her pocket.
She then changed the subject to obtain more information on another topic. “Would you mind telling us, Mr. Swenson, why you’re using the name Dahl here?”
“Certainly. I’m an inventor, and I’ve had hard luck. The name Joe Swenson seems to have brought trouble. My mother’s people were always successful. On the spur of the moment I decided to use that name here. A man I know vouched for me, since I didn’t have any references to give.”
“I see,” said Nancy. She smiled disarmingly. “Your wife told me of some unfair dealings you’ve had with a man who buys patents.”
“Indeed they were unfair. He cheated me. Felix Raybolt is a thief!”
The three girls were unprepared for such an outburst from this seemingly mild-mannered man. Apparently he guessed what was going through their minds.
“I shouldn’t burden you with my problems,” he said apologetically. “Things aren’t any easier, even though I have a job. Did you know the Raybolt house burned?”
“Yes.”
“To be truthful I am afraid I may be blamed if anyone finds out I was there.”
“You were there?” Bess asked, a look of feigned innocence in her big blue eyes.
“I had an appointment with Mr. Raybolt early that evening,” Joe Swenson explained. “The house was dark. I had just rung the bell when there was a terrific explosion inside the house, and it burst into flames. I called and called to Mr. Raybolt—but there was no answer.”
“Did you try to break in to help?” George asked bluntly.
“Yes, but I couldn’t budge the front door. I ran around to the back. Because of the flames, I knew I couldn’t do any good. Then I heard a car approaching the house. It occurred to me I might be blamed, so I ran away.”
“Did you see anyone on the grounds?” Nancy asked.
“No.”
“Do you think Mr. Raybolt lost his life in the fire?” Nancy asked.
“I really don’t know. I didn’t see or hear him inside, and the police haven’t located any evidence,” the inventor replied.
Nancy had been endeavoring to formulate an honest opinion of the man’s story. Her hand went to her purse but she did not bring forth the diary. From their casual conversation so far, she could not be absolutely certain that Joe Swenson was innocent. She must question him further.
“They’ve been searching the grounds for clues,” Nancy said nonchalantly. “A number of articles have been picked up in the vicinity.”
Swenson looked sharply at Nancy, as though it had dawned on him that he indeed might be under suspicion. However, his next words were spoken casually.
“I wonder if a diary was found. I lost one. Probably dropped it along the road.”
Nancy made no move to give him the diary, although she was convinced that it was his.
“I hated to lose that little journal,” Joe Swenson continued. “It was written mostly in Swedish and wouldn’t be of any value except to myself—and to Felix Raybolt. That sly fox!”
“What has the diary to do with Mr. Raybolt?” Nancy asked.
“The diary contains—” Joe Swenson hesitated. “Well, it contains things Felix Raybolt wishes were not written down. That man cheated me out of a fortune, but I haven’t a chance to prove my case without the diary and without money to retain a lawyer. To make matters worse, I’ve even lost a ring I treasured highly.”
He made a hopeless gesture and lapsed into gloomy silence.
Again Nancy’s hand went to the diary in her purse. Again she hesitated. Suppose Joe Swenson were guilty, and she was withholding evidence from the police! Nancy made a quick decision: to hold onto the journal until the truth was learned.
Before she could question the man further, the return-to-work whistle blew a shrill blast.
“I must go now,” Swenson said hurriedly.
“When are you off duty?” Nancy asked.
“Four o’clock.”
“Then perhaps we’ll see you again before we return to River Heights.” Noticing the man’s surprise, she added quickly, “Wouldn’t you like me to carry a message to Mrs. Swenson and Honey?”
“Thank you. But I’ll write to them again.”
Nancy and her friends watched him until he had disappeared inside the building. The girls then walked slowly back to the car.
“I’ll bet,” said George, “that Joe Swenson is worried about the fire, and will run away again.”
Nancy remained silent, in deep thought. Just as she reached the convertible someone grabbed her arm roughly. She turned to face a tough, cruel-looking man.
CHAPTER XIII
The Law Takes Over
“LET go of me!” Nancy cried out, and tried to shake off the man’s iron grip. When she did not succeed, Bess and George started pounding the man and forced him to release Nancy’s arm.
“What do you want?” Nancy demanded indignantly.
“Some information. Why are you snooping around here?” the stranger snarled.
“Are you a factory guard?” Nancy countered, knowing from his clothes and manner that he most certainly was not.
“Why—uh—yes. That’s what I am. And I got a right to know why you been talkin’ to that workman.”
“The conversation was private,” Nancy told the man firmly. “Now if you’ll just move—”
For a moment the obnoxious stranger did not seem inclined to do so, but finally he strode off down the street. The girls stepped into the car and drove away.
“Nancy, aren’t you worried?” Bess asked. “That man was positively horrible.”
“Yes, I am, Bess. Because I’m more certain than ever that Joe Swenson is in some kind of jam.”
“If we can see him at four o’clock, I’m going to ask him about that crude person,” declared George. “Say, Nancy, where are you going now?”
“Yes, where?” Bess echoed. “I’m starving!”
Nancy laughed. “I could use some lunch myself. After that, I’ll introduce myself to Phil Roberts’ father.”
“The Stanford postmaster!” Bess exclaimed. “Nancy, you’re not transferring your affections from Ned to Phil already!”
“Nothing like that,” Nancy assured her with a grin. “I have a little scheme I’d like to try out and I need his cooperation.”
Nancy stopped speaking as she drove into a public parking lot next to a tearoom. The girls went inside and were fortunate to be seated at the last available table. It was such a noisy place that the girls did not try to talk.
Half an hour later they came out of the tearoom, glad to breathe the fresh air and escape the din. Since the post office was close by, the girls walked there. Seeing a door sign marked:PRIVATE
POSTMASTER
Nancy went to it and knocked. Presently it was opened by a pleasant, middle-aged man.
“I’m Nancy Drew from River Heights,” she said, smiling. “I met your son Phil at a party.”
“Oh, yes! Phil told me. Won’t you come in?”
After the girls had entered and the door had been closed, Nancy introduced her friends.
“I’ve come on an unusual errand, Mr. Roberts,” Nancy said. “A man I know who works at Stanford Electronics has sent two letters containing money orders from here. Neither has been received. Probably all your employees are above suspicion, but would you mind if I make a little experiment?”
The postmaster smiled. “What kind of experiment?”
“I’ll mail a note to the man’s wife with a money order in it from your office,” Nancy explained. “Could you possibly find out if that letter is sent out from here?”
Mr. Roberts looked intently at Nancy. “You’re a very ingenious young lady,” he remarked. “And if the letter does leave here, then you’ll check with the receiving post office to find out if it has reached there?”
“Yes. The family of this man is desperately in need of receiving money from him. I’m trying to help them.”
“And I’ll help too,” the postmaster said suddenly. “Now, will you please give me the name and address of this woman?”
Nancy took Joe Swenson’s unsealed envelope from her purse and Mr. Roberts copied the two names and addresses on it. As he handed it back, he said, “Mail this at once.” Then he added, “If you come back in a couple of hours, I’ll have a report for you—after I personally examine all the outgoing mailbags.”
“I’ll be here.” Nancy thanked the postmaster and the three girls went into the main lobby. There, Nancy bought the twenty-five-dollar money order, kept the purchaser’s receipt, and tucked the other section, properly filled out, into the letter. Then she sealed the envelope and slipped the letter into the nearby slot.
When the girls reached the street, Bess said, “That was a daring thing to do, Nancy. Suppose the letter is intercepted, and the money order cashed by some unscrupulous person?”
“If that happens, I’ll make good on the money. Right now, tell me, where are we going to spend two hours?”
George suggested attending a movie across the street, and the girls went into the theater. They became so interested in the historical mystery film that the time flew by. The feature ended just as the two hours were up, and the girls hurried back to Mr. Roberts’ office.
Again he opened the door. The postmaster was not alone. A policeman stood guarding a man who sat dejectedly in a chair, his face in his hands. He looked up at Nancy, hate blazing in his eyes. The money-order clerk!
“Nancy Drew, thank you for leading us to this thief!” the postmaster said. “Ralph Ringman has confessed to taking not only the letter you mailed, but all money orders of any size. He has two accomplices, a man and a woman, who go to various towns and cash the money orders.”
“I’m not the only employee in on this deal,” Ringman cried out.
Mr. Roberts smiled. “I figured that might be the case, and have notified other postmasters who have had complaints of undelivered money orders to try the same ruse that Nancy Drew suggested.”
At that moment the phone rang. Mr. Roberts answered it. “Yes, Clyde.... You did? ... Good! I guess that little racket is over with.”
When he hung up, Mr. Roberts reported to the others that Ringman’s outside accomplices had just been arrested by the police and had confessed their parts in the scheme.
On a hunch, Nancy told about the rough-looking man who had questioned her. “Was he in league with Ralph Ringman?” she asked the postmaster.
“That’s right.” Mr. Roberts turned to the prisoner. “You’ll be interested to hear that your pal meant to double-cross you. He planned to hold up Swenson at the plant and grab Swenson’s money for himself. Just as he was about to emerge from his hiding place in the shrubbery nearby, Miss Drew and her friends came along. When he overheard the conversation about the stolen mail, he got panicky. That’s why he followed Miss Drew and accused her of snooping.”
“Nancy Drew, thank you for leading us to this thief,” said the postmaster
“The low-down sneak!” snarled Ringman.
Mr. Roberts said that a man from the Postal Inspectors Division would take custody of the prisoner. “By the way,” he said to Nancy, “do you still want Mr. Swenson’s letter sent?”
“Yes, if it’s safe. I’ll give the money order receipt to him.” Nancy glanced at her watch. “We must hurry,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts. Please give my regards to Phil.”
The girls hurried off. At a traffic light they paused, waiting for it to turn green. Behind them stood two men conversing in low voices.
“Where’d you get the tip?” one asked.
“From Raybolt’s wife. She said the man who set fire to the house had an appointment with him there that evening.”
“I heard he ran away. Where’d he go?”
“Nobody knows. But we tracked him here. He’s working at the electronics factory under an assumed name.”
“What is it?”
“We don’t know. But we have the man’s description. We’ll have him in jail by tonight!”
Nancy, Bess, and George hardly breathed during this recital. Did these men mean Joe Swenson?
CHAPTER XIV
An Arrest
THE traffic light turned green and the three girls began to cross the street. Nancy made a point of staying in front of the two men who had said they were going to see that someone, presumably Joe Swenson, was arrested.
“Who are these men?” she wondered. “Detectives? Or are
they in the employ of Raybolt? If Mr. Swenson is innocent, he mustn’t be sent to jail!”
Nancy immediately made up her mind what she would do: meet Honey’s father if possible, show him the diary, and ask him to translate some of it. “Then I’ll decide what to do next, and whether or not to warn Mr. Swenson of his possibly being arrested. He and his family shouldn’t have to suffer such disgrace if it’s unwarranted!”
When the girls reached the opposite curb, Nancy took her friends’ arms and whispered, “Come on! Hurry! We have work to do!”
They ran to Nancy’s car. Nancy handed the keys to George. “Will you drive, so I’ll be free to hop out and get hold of Mr. Swenson the instant he comes to the gate?”
George took the wheel and they made record time to the factory. She parked in the first space beyond the front of the gate, and left the engine running.
“You girls watch for those men we overheard. I’ll look for Joe Swenson,” Nancy directed.
As she spoke, the four-o’clock whistle blew.
“He’ll be out any minute now!” George exclaimed.
Anxiously the girls scanned the faces of the workmen as they came from the building. “Where is he?” Bess fretted.
At that moment Nancy caught sight of the inventor. She alighted and called his name. With a smile of friendly recognition, he came over to the car.
“Jump in!” Nancy invited, indicating the rear seat. “We’ll give you a lift.”
“Why, thanks,” the inventor returned gratefully. “I live on the south side. Another fellow and I share a room at the outskirts of town. I imagine it’s out of your way—”
“Not at all,” Nancy assured him with a worried glance up and down the street.
In her haste to leave the plant area, Nancy climbed in and almost pulled the man in after her. She asked George to press the button to roll up the convertible’s top.