The Clue of the Dancing Puppet Read online

  As Nancy leaped down the stairway, she wondered about the Shakespearean actor. Had he disappeared in order to put on the puppet show?

  A moment later she reached the kitchen, sped across it, and out the door. At the foot of the steps, partially concealed by the bushes, stood Mr. Spencer. Nancy went to stand beside him.

  “It’s unbelievable!” he whispered in an awed tone. “Nobody’s working that puppet, yet it acts as if it were human!”

  Nancy strained her eyes to see if she could figure out any explanation for the movement of the jerky, yet at times graceful, motions of the dancing puppet. She could see nothing to indicate wires or string. Could it have a mechanism inside which was wound up?

  “We must capture the puppet!” Nancy declared. “Come on!”

  With no pretense of moving stealthily, the two dashed across the grass. By this time the mysterious figure was not far from the trees where the flashlight shone on it.

  “We’re gaining!” Nancy thought in delight Any moment now she might solve the mystery surrounding the dancing puppet!

  Suddenly the bright flashlight ahead went out. For a few seconds Nancy and Mr. Spencer could not see the dancing figure, but as soon as their eyes became accustomed to the pale moonlight, they detected her still dancing jerkily across the lawn.

  Nancy doubled her speed. She was still some distance from the puppet, when suddenly she was startled to see a long-robed, black-hooded figure emerge from among the trees. The person, with his back to her, reached out and grabbed the dancer. Tucking her under his arm, he made a wild run for the road and disappeared in the darkness.

  “Good heavens!” Mr. Spencer cried out, trying to catch up to Nancy.

  The heavy line of trees and bushes along the curved driveway had swallowed up the puppet and her abductor. Nancy followed doggedly. At the point where she reached the driveway, it curved ahead sharply. The black-hooded figure was not in sight. Nancy hurried around the bend. Still no sign of the mysterious person.

  “Where did he go?” she asked herself. She listened for the sound of a car but heard none. “He must be escaping along the main road.”

  Nancy dashed all the way to the end of the driveway and looked up and down. The dancing puppet and the person carrying her were not in sight.

  Before going farther, Nancy decided to wait for Mr. Spencer and see what he had to suggest The actor, when he caught up to her, was out of breath and disgusted. He felt there was little more they could do. “We can train our flashlights among the trees,” he said. “The fellow may be hiding.”

  Nancy and the actor made a thorough search, casting their lights back of every tree and bush. Their quarry was not behind any of them.

  “He made a clean getaway,” said Mr. Spencer. “I suppose we may as well go back to the house and get some sleep.”

  Intent on searching the ground, Nancy did not reply.

  Mr. Spencer went on, “I don’t mind confessing to you, Nancy, that this puppet business has me extremely worried. It was bad enough when just the dancer was involved, but now that we know there is a flesh-and-blood puppeteer who doesn’t want his identity known, I’m more worried than ever. Have you any theory?”

  “Just one, Mr. Spencer. We haven’t yet learned why the puppet is made to perform, but I’m sure the reason is one that involves another mystery.”

  “Oh, dear!” Mr. Spencer sighed.

  Suddenly Nancy found what she had been looking for—the footprints of the hooded figure. She pointed them out to the actor.

  “Here are some deep, well-formed prints,” she said. “I’ll ring them with stones and then ask Chief McGinnis to send men out here to make moulages of them.”

  “You mean in the morning?” the actor asked, and Nancy nodded.

  He helped her find some small stones, and they encircled several of the footprints.

  Mr. Spencer heaved a sigh, then chuckled. “You certainly are a detective, Nancy,” he said. “I’m delighted your father suggested that you help me solve the mystery of the dancing puppet.”

  “Better save your thanks until I really do something,” Nancy replied, smiling, as she and Mr. Spencer started back to the house.

  As Nancy began to drop off to sleep once more, she could not help wondering again about Emmet Calhoun. She had meant to ask Mr. Spencer where he was, but had forgotten to do so.

  “Oh, well, I’ll find out in the morning.”

  There was no further disturbance that night, and everyone slept soundly. As usual, the Spencers were not up when Nancy and her friends came down to breakfast. While Bess was scrambling eggs, Nancy telephoned Chief McGinnis and told him about the circled footprints.

  “Very good, Nancy,” he praised her. “I’ll send a couple of men out there to make moulages.”

  “I’ll meet the officers at the gate,” Nancy offered, “and show them the exact spot. What time will they be here?”

  “Nine-thirty,” the chief replied.

  Promptly at that hour Nancy was at the entrance gate of the Footlighters’ property. When Officers Jim Clancy and Mark Smith arrived, she led them to the spot where she and Mr. Spencer had carefully laid the small stones.

  Footprints and stones were gone!

  Thinking she had made a mistake in the location, Nancy searched for further footprints similar to those she had ringed. There was not a sign of one of theml The two police officers, holding the equipment they had planned to use, stood in silence watching her. Finally she admitted that the footprints had been removed.

  “The person who made them must have come back and brushed them all away, Indian style, with tree branches,” she remarked.

  The officers did not comment, nor give any sign that they thought she had brought them out on a wild-goose chase. They knew Nancy Drew by reputation and felt sure she would not purposely report a false alarm to the police department. They helped her search.

  “Probably,” said one of the men, “the fellow came back here in stocking feet. He sure doesn’t want you to find out who he is.”

  “Nor the police,” Nancy added.

  Suddenly she turned her gaze upward among the trees. “I have a theory. I believe the man we were chasing last night climbed one of these trees and overheard everything Mr. Spencer and I said.”

  “You’re probably right,” said the other officer. “Well, Jim, I guess we may as well go back to headquarters.”

  “Wait a minute!” Nancy pleaded. She was not ready to give up yet, and furthermore she wanted to compensate for having called them on a futile errand.

  Quickly she began examining the tree trunks in the area where she had found the deepest footprints. Presently she exclaimed, “This trunk looks as if the bark had been newly peeled off!”

  Before the two officers could reach the tree to verify her statement, Nancy began to climb the trunk. Soon she was lost to view among the branches. A few seconds later the men heard her cry out.

  “What is it?” one of them called up.

  Nancy’s excited voice came back. “I’ve found a clue!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  A Surprising Command

  “I’VE FOUND the hiding place of that puppeteer!” Nancy exclaimed from her perch in the tree.

  “What’s up there?” asked Officer Clancy. “Wait until I pick up the clues. I’ll show them to you,” Nancy replied.

  There was silence for a minute or two, then Nancy started down the tree.

  “Will you catch these—and please be careful of them,” she called to the men below.

  Through the air floated a piece of black cloth, a jagged square of gray suiting, and several bits of pink tulle.

  “What in creation are these?” Officer Smith asked in amazement.

  When Nancy reached the ground she explained. “The man we were trying to catch last night wore a long black-hooded robe. I’m sure this is a piece torn from it. The gray one is from his suit.”

  “But he certainly wasn’t wearing pieces of pink net,” Officer Clancy spoke up.


  Nancy grinned. She was pretty sure these men knew nothing about the dancing puppet. For this reason, she merely answered, “Chief McGinnis will understand. Please give these to him. Have you something in which to wrap the pieces?”

  “Yes,” Officer Clancy replied, “in the car.”

  Officer Smith opened the door and brought out a waterproof bag. He drópped the evidence into it and promised to take the bits of cloth at once to Chief McGinnis.

  “Please ask him to let me know if he tracks down the owner of the gray suit,” Nancy requested.

  “Righto,” Officer Clancy said, as the men started to drive off.

  Relieved that a valuable clue had made the officers’ visit worth while, Nancy returned to the house. She entered the kitchen, smiling broadly.

  At once Bess and George wanted to know what had happened. “You haven’t caught the villain, have you?” Bess asked teasingly.

  “I wish I had, but I did find a piece of his suit and his black robe. The puppet left a clue too. I sent the police a piece of her tulle skirt.”

  As Nancy paused and sniffed the aroma of muffins in the oven, George said, “Don’t stop there. Go on with your story.”

  “Tell you what,” said Nancy. “I’ll trade the whole story for a good breakfast.”

  “It’s a bargain,” said Bess, giggling, as she opened the oven door and took out a pan of blueberry muffins.

  “Umm, they look delicious,” said Nancy, and helped remove them from the pans to a warm plate.

  Soon the three girls were seated in the dining room enjoying sliced oranges and bananas, crisp bacon, and muffins. Nancy had just finished briefing her friends on what had happened while the police were there, when Emmet Calhoun stalked into the room.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said jovially. “Prithee, fair maidens, extend a hungry man a crust to lift his spirits.”

  The three girls chuckled and invited him to sit down. Bess said she would get some oranges and bananas for him.

  “Aren’t you up pretty early for an actor?” George needled him. “Especially for someone who stayed out all night?”

  Emmet Calhoun blinked. “You knew I was away?” When George nodded, he went on, “Friends from town phoned that they had news of a possible role for me in King Richard III and would pick me up late. I stayed with them overnight, but in order to get a ride back, I had to come early.”

  The girls looked at each other. So Calhoun had been practicing when they had heard him reciting alone on the stage. The actor offered no further explanation, but arose and began to pace the dining room.

  “Ah, ‘thereby hangs a tale,’ as ’tis said in The Merry Wives of Windsor.” He paused dramatically. “I had a most delightful night in town. Good fellowship, good food, good music. It was as if life’s troubles had vanished.

  “‘Why, then the world’s mine oyster,

  Which I with sword will open.’ ”

  “Ah, yes,” Calhoun went on. “‘We have some salt of our youth in us.’ ”

  Despite Nancy’s slight suspicions of this man and his unawareness of how much trouble he might be to other people, she was amused by him. His quotations were apt, and his manner of delivery was convincing. Nevertheless, she wanted to find out if there were more to his activities of the night before than visiting friends, and whether he knew anything about the puppet or the puppeteer.

  “Parties in town are fun,” Nancy said. “But I love the country with its wide-open spaces and fields and flowers and trees. Oh, I feel bad every time I see a beautiful tree being cut down.” Then she in turn quoted:“ ‘And many strokes, though with a little

  axe,

  Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered

  oak.’”

  Emmet Calhoun’s eyes opened wide, and he looked at Nancy with admiration. “Excellent. I see you know Shakespeare’s Henry the Sixth.” Before Nancy could reply, he went on, “Did you ever think of training for the theater? You have a marvelous speaking voice. Think about it, my dear. You might become a great actress!”

  Nancy beamed and blushed a deep red. Bess and George looked at her. They wanted to tell Emmet Calhoun that at their request Nancy had become a self-appointed understudy for Tammi Whitlock. But they said nothing.

  “Trees, ah yes,” Emmet Calhoun went on. “I love trees, but if you must know a little secret, I am scared to death to climb one!”

  Nancy could not decide whether the actor was telling the truth, or whether he might have been disguised as the black-hooded figure and had made the remark deliberately to throw her off his trail. She remembered that Emmet Calhoun had worn a gray suit the evening before.

  But somehow, the Shakespearean actor, though eccentric, did not strike Nancy as being dishonest. Maybe she should direct her suspicions elsewhere, the young detective thought.

  After breakfast Nancy told the cousins she was going to learn Tammi’s lines in Act Three of the Civil War play.

  “What about Act Two?” Bess asked her.

  “I think I’ve almost mastered them,” Nancy answered. “There aren’t so many in that act, if you will recall. That’s where Kathy is rather prominent, and Bob Simpson too. He’s marvelous in that scene with the President, isn’t he?”

  “He certainly is,” said Bess. Then she asked, “No sleuthing today?”

  “Oh, yes,” Nancy answered. “But give me two hours to rehearse first. Then I think we should make another search of the attic for clues to the dancing puppet mystery.”

  At the appointed time she was ready. The three girls had just reached the foot of the attic stairs when Emmet Calhoun approached them.

  “Going to the third floor?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t do that,” he told them.

  “Why not?” George spoke up.

  Calhoun told them that only the officers of the Footlighters were allowed in the attic. “In fact, no one else in the club is supposed to go above the first floor.”

  George declared firmly, “Mr. Spencer invited us here, and we can go anywhere on these grounds that we wish!”

  Calhoun smiled patiently. “Not according to our leading lady, you can’t.”

  “Tammi!” George cried in a tone of disgust. “What does she have to say about it?”

  The actor shrugged. “Since I’m not a member of the Footlighters, I am not familiar with the club’s rules and regulations. All I know is, Tammi asked me to promise that if anyone went up to the attic I would let her know at once.”

  “Well, of all the nerve!” George exploded. “It’s high time somebody taught Tammi Whitlock a lesson!”

  Nancy laid a hand on George’s shoulder. “Take it easy,” she said. “I’ll phone Tammi myself and get not only this matter but a few more things straightened out!”

  Nancy hurried downstairs, looked up Tammi’s number in a list of members of the Footlighters, and put in the call. It was answered by a gentle-voiced woman who said she was Tammi’s aunt.

  “Please call my niece later,” she said. “Tammi was out late last night and is still asleep. I don’t want to disturb her.”

  Nancy did not know what to do. She was sure the woman was telling the truth. Yet she wanted to find out whether or not the girls were allowed to investigate the attic of the old Van Pelt mansion.

  While she was thinking what to say, Tammi’s aunt went on, “My niece must be rested and in good form today. She has a rehearsal of the next show this afternoon and then the regular performance tonight.”

  “I see,” Nancy replied. Since she had already thought of another way to obtain the information she wanted, Nancy told the woman she would be in touch with Tammi later and hung up.

  Nancy now looked at the list of members again and dialed the business number of the president of the Footlighters. His name was Bill Forrester, an affable man who gave a great deal of time to help make the whole amateur project a success. When Nancy told him what she had heard and asked if it were true that only the officers of the club c
ould go above the first floor, he laughed.

  “Tammi is a fine little actress,” he said, “but she certainly pulls some funny ones. At a recent meeting of the executive committee of the Footlighters, she made a motion that only the president, the secretary-treasurer, and herself could have access to the rooms above the first floor, other than regular occupants of the mansion. The rest of us didn’t see any sense to this, so she was outvoted.”

  “Then it’s all right if I go up and look around the attic?” Nancy asked, relieved.

  “Go ahead,” Bill Forrester replied. “But don’t forget, if you find any treasures they belong to the Footlighters.”

  “Of course,” Nancy said, laughing.

  She returned to the second floor, where Bess and George were still arguing with Calhoun and making it plain to him that they did not care for Tammi Whitlock. He, in turn, was defending her.

  When Nancy told of her conversation with Bill Forrester, Calhoun shrugged. Then, striking a dramatic pose, he quoted from Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida: “‘My mind is troubled, like a fountain

  stirr’d;

  And I myself see not the bottom of it.’ ”

  He walked off and went down the front stairs. Nancy and her friends hurried to the attic. Bess posted herself at the top of the stairs, while Nancy and George began a hunt through the dusty boxes and trunks set under the eaves.

  The two girls worked for some time but did not find a single clue to the mystery of the dancing puppet. George had just closed the lid of a carton and started to open the trunk next to it when suddenly something flew up into her face!

  CHAPTER XIV

  Nancy’s New Role

  As GEORGE cried out, Nancy ran quickly to her side. Bess, too, left her post to come and find out what had happened.

  The next second all three burst into laughter. A large jack-in-the-box had risen up and smacked George on the cheek!

  “Well, this place doesn’t lack surprises,” she said ruefully, rubbing her cheek.