Chapter 13 The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene
The Frustrating Wait
At first Nancy was too frightened to think logically. She beat upon the door with her fists, but the heavy oak panels would not give way.
“Help! Help!” she screamed.
At last, exhausted by her efforts to force the door open, she sank down on the floor. The house was as silent as a tomb. Bad as her predicament was, Nancy felt thankful that enough air seeped into the closet to permit normal breathing.
Although she had little hope that there was anyone within miles of the cottage, Nancy got to her feet, raised her voice, and again shouted for help. Her cries echoed through the empty house and seemed to mock her.
“Oh, why didn’t I have enough sense to tell Helen where I was going?” she berated herself miserably. “The girls at camp will never dream that I came here.”
Then Nancy remembered mournfully that her father thought she intended to remain at Camp Avondale for a week! He would not become alarmed over her absence until it was too late.
“Someone may find my car at the side of the road,” Nancy reasoned, “but it isn’t very likely. Few persons pass this way so early in the season.”
She wondered, with a shudder, what had become of Jeff Tucker. The thief called Sid had hinted that the caretaker had received the same treatment as Nancy. If he was locked up somewhere, she could expect no aid from him.
“Those thieves will get so far away that even if I could get out of here, I’d be too late.”
As the full significance of the situation dawned upon Nancy, panic again took possession of her. In a desperate attempt to break down the door, she threw her weight against it again and again. She pounded on the panels until her fingers were bruised and bleeding. At last she sank down again on the floor to rest and tried to force herself to reason calmly.
“I’m only wasting my strength this way. I must try to think logically.”
Nancy recalled that it was sometimes possible to pick a lock with a wire. She removed a bobby pin from her hair, opened it, and began to work at the lock. But in the darkness she could not see and made no progress. After fifteen minutes she gave up the task in disgust.
“It’s no use,” she decided dejectedly. “I—I guess I’m in here for good.”
She began to think of her father, of Hannah Gruen, of Helen Corning, and other dear friends. Would she ever see them again? As despondency claimed Nancy, she was dangerously near tears.
“This will never do,” she reprimanded herself sternly. “I must keep my head and try to think of some way to escape.”
The trapped girl began to rummage in the closet, hoping that by some lucky chance she might find a tool which would help her force the lock of the door. Nancy searched carefully through the pockets of every garment which hung from the hooks. She groped over every inch of the floor.
She found nothing useful, however, and the cloud of dust which she had stirred up made breathing more difficult than before. The closet had become uncomfortably warm by this time. Longingly she thought of the fresh air and cool lake water from which she was closed off.
Then, unexpectedly, Nancy’s hand struck something hard. Quickly investigating with her fingers, she discovered a wooden rod suspended high overhead. It was fastened to either side wall and ran the length of the closet. Evidently it had once been used for dress and coat hangers.
“I might be able to use that rod to break out a panel of the door,” Nancy thought hopefully. “It feels strong and it’s about the right size.”
She tugged at the rod with all her might. When it did not budge, she swung herself back and forth on it. At last, amid the cracking of plaster, one side gave way. Another hard jerk brought the rod down.
To Nancy’s bitter disappointment, she found that unfortunately the rod was too long to use as a ram in the cramped space. But after further examination, she discovered that it had pointed ends.
“I might use this rod as a wedge in the crack,” she thought hopefully.
The young sleuth inserted one end in the space between the hinges and the door, and threw all her weight against the rod. At first the door did not move in the slightest.
“That old Greek scientist, Archimedes, didn’t know what he was talking about when he said the world could be moved with a lever,” Nancy murmured. “I’d like to see him move this door!”
As she applied steady pressure to the rod a second time, she saw that the hinges were beginning to give. Encouraged, Nancy again pushed full force on the “lever.”
“It’s coming!” she cried.
Once more she threw her weight against the rod. A hinge tore from the casing and the door sagged. It was now easy to insert the wedge, and Nancy joyously realized that success would soon be hers. With renewed strength she continued her efforts.
Then, just as another hinge gave way, she was startled to hear footsteps. Someone came running into the study, and a heavy body hurled itself against the door of the closet.
For a moment Nancy was stunned. Could this be one of the thieves who had heard the noise she had made and had returned to make sure that she did not escape? She discarded the theory quickly. Surely the three men would want to get far away as quickly as possible. But who was this newcomer? One of the Tophams?
“So, one o’ you ornery robbers got yourself locked up, did you?” came an indignant male voice. “That’ll teach you to try puttin’ one over on old Jeff Tucker. You won’t be doin’ any more pilferin’. I got you surrounded.”
The caretaker! Nancy heaved a sigh of fervent relief. “Let me out!” she pleaded. “I’m not one of the thieves! If you’ll only let me out of here, I’ll explain everything!”
There was silence for a moment. Then the voice on the other side of the door said dubiously, “Say, you aimin’ to throw me off, imitatin’ a lady’s voice? Well, it won’t do you any good! No, sir. Old Jeff Tucker’s not gettin’ fooled again!”
Nancy decided to convince the man beyond doubt. She gave a long, loud feminine scream.
“All right, all right, ma’am. I believe you! No man could make that racket. This way out, lady!”
Expectantly Nancy waited. But the door did not open. Then she heard to her dismay:
“If that ain’t the limit. The key’s gone and I’ve left my ring o’ extra keys somewhere. It’s not in my pockets.”
Nancy groaned. “Oh, Mr. Tucker, you must find it. Have you looked in every one of your pockets? Please hurry and get me out.”
“Hold on, ma’am,” the caretaker said soothingly. “I’ll just check again.”
Nancy was beginning to think she would still have to break down the door, when she heard Jeff Tucker exclaim, “Found it! You were right, ma’am. Key was in my back pocket all the time. It—”
“Please open the door!” Nancy broke in desperately.
A key turned in the lock and the bolt clicked. Joyfully Nancy pushed the door open and stepped out. For a moment the bright sunlight in the room almost blinded her. When her vision adjusted, she saw a very tall, thin, elderly man in blue shirt and overalls. He stared at her with concern and amazement.
“Mr. Tucker,” she explained quickly, “I’m Nancy Drew. I was here looking for you when those awful thieves came and locked me in the closet.” She paused and gazed at the caretaker. “I’m glad to see that you’re all right. Their leader told me they’d locked you up too.” She then asked the elderly man to tell his story.
Jeff Tucker seemed embarrassed as he began to speak. “I was plain hornswoggled by those critters, Miss Drew. They pulled up here in a movin’ van, and told me I’d better get after some trespassers they’d seen nearby. So,” the elderly man went on with a sigh, “I believed ’em. One of the men went with me down to the lake and locked me in a shed. I just got out.” He shook his head sadly. “And all this time they was robbin’ the place. Guess I’ll be fired.”
Secretly Nancy was inclined to agree, knowing the Tophams. But aloud she said reassuringly:
“Don’t worry, Mr. Tucker. We’ll report this robbery to the State Police immediately. Perhaps the troopers can catch the thieves before they get rid of the stolen furniture.”
The caretaker looked somewhat relieved. “And I can sure give a good description o’ those crooks. I’d never forget their ugly faces!”
“Fine,” said Nancy. A sudden thought struck her. “Oh, before we go, Mr. Tucker, tell me, was there an old clock in this house? A tall, square-faced mantel clock?”
Jeff Tucker’s bright blue eyes squinted. “Mantel clock? Hm. Why, sure enough!” He pointed to the mantel over the living-room fireplace. “Sat right up there. Got so used to seein’ it, I couldn’t remember for a minute. Don’t know how come they took that too. Never thought it was worth much. The Tophams never bothered windin’ the thing.”
Nancy’s pulse quickened. Knowing that the clock had been stolen, she was more eager than ever to have the thieves apprehended. She urged Jeff Tucker to hurry out to her car.
“Where’s the nearest State Police headquarters?” she asked him as they climbed into the convertible.
“There’s none till you get to Melborne, Miss Drew.”
“We’ll hurry.”
Nancy headed as fast as possible for the highway. Would she succeed in heading off the thieves and recovering the old Crowley clock, so she could learn its secret?