Chapter 2 The Clue in the Diary by Carolyn Keene
An Excitable Driver
Nancy thrust the little book into the pocket of her sports dress. She resisted the temptation to examine it on the spot, for wind-whipped sparks from the fire were flying in every direction.
She glanced about quickly but could not locate her friends. Bess and George were lost in the crowd.
A flying ember narrowly missed Nancy. “I’d better be on the move!” she warned herself, observing that the wind had shifted, and was blowing toward the driveway.
Nancy saw with alarm that a patch of dry grass had flared up very close to the parked automobiles. Several men leaped forward, and began stamping on the flames, but the burning embers were dropping everywhere.
Nancy hurried toward her convertible. “I’d better move it!” she thought.
Suddenly Nancy stopped and stared in astonishment. A strange young man was climbing into her car. The next instant he started the motor!
“Bess and George must have left the key in the ignition lock!” Nancy said to herself, rushing forward, “Is he trying to steal my car?”
Nancy reached the convertible just as the self-appointed driver started to back it down the driveway, skillfully avoiding the other vehicles which were parked at various angles nearby.
“Your car?” he inquired with a disarming smile as Nancy ran alongside the convertible. “I thought I’d move it out of the danger zone.”
“Thank you,” Nancy murmured a trifle uncertainly. “I think it will be safe right here unless the wind changes again.”
The young man pulled as close to the edge of the drive as possible. He was about nineteen, Nancy decided, surveying him critically. His hair was dark and slightly curly, his eyes whimsical and friendly. He wore a college fraternity pin.
Nancy was still wary, nevertheless. The stranger must have read her thoughts, for he slid from behind the wheel and with a cheerful nod of farewell disappeared into the crowd.
“I don’t know what to make of him,” Nancy thought in bewilderment. “He looks like a nice person—and yet, appearances can be deceiving. Oh, dear, where are Bess and George?”
At that very moment she caught sight of the cousins hurrying toward her. “We thought we’d lost you for good,” George declared as the girls climbed into the car. “Look at my dress, will you! I stumbled over a stone and landed flat!”
“And I’m nearly suffocated from smoke!” Bess said weakly.
“I think it’s time we start for home,” Nancy declared. “If this wind keeps up, the fire will last for hours. We’ve done all we can to help.”
Bess and George readily agreed to leave, and it seemed that dozens of other spectators felt the same way. The wind had increased in velocity, posing a fresh threat to all the cars in the vicinity of the burning house. Many vehicles crowded into the narrow driveway leading to the main road, and soon a traffic jam resulted.
Horns blasted noisily. Fenders scraped and angry words were hurled back and forth.
“Why don’t they stop honking?” George exclaimed impatiently. “It doesn’t help a bit. We’ll be here all night!”
Inch by inch Nancy’s car progressed toward the main road, with the congested traffic beginning to unsnarl itself. Then suddenly a new shower of sparks descended upon the automobiles nearest the house. The drivers of these cars, anxious to get away from the flying embers, tried to force their way into the line of traffic ahead by crowding in out of turn.
“Look out!” George cried suddenly. “That man is going to hit us!”
Nancy was trapped. The driver apparently had lost control of his sedan. Crash! It plowed into the rear of Nancy’s convertible with an impact that gave the three girls a severe jolt.
They sat stunned for a moment, but fortunately none of them was injured. Nancy leaped out, and saw at a glance that her car had been badly damaged. One fender was crumpled, the rear lights were smashed, and the bumper dragged on the ground.
Her first inclination was to tell the driver what she thought of the incompetent way he had handled his car. But the man was instantly apologetic, and obviously so shaken that Nancy relented. She wrote down his name, address, and license number.
“I’d also like the name of your insurance company, Mr. Weston,” Nancy told him.
The thin, wiry man became more flustered than ever. “I—I’m terribly sorry. I’m in such a state of confusion, I can’t even remember the name. And I don’t have the company’s card with me.”
It was finally decided that he would notify his agent about the accident, and Nancy would contact Mr. Weston after she had learned the total cost of repairs.
“The bill will be taken care of, believe me,” the man assured Nancy. “I’ll collect my wits, once I’m home. No more driving for me in dangerous spots. Doctor says I shouldn’t drive, anyway. Too nervous.”
With a final apology, the excitable Mr. Weston retreated to his sedan, and after much difficulty, maneuvered his way past Nancy’s disabled car.
“He sure shouldn’t drive!” George exclaimed. “That man’s a menace!”
Bess looked at Nancy. “You don’t think he was putting on an act about the insurance, do you?” she said. “You’ll have a huge repair bill!”
“I know,” Nancy returned. “Don’t worry. You may be sure Mr. Weston will pay it—one way or another. Right now, we must get out of this mess!”
“How’ll we get home with the bumper dragging?” George questioned.
“We’ll have to find a garage,” Nancy said as the girls seated themselves once more in the convertible.
Nancy started again and slowly moved forward. George groaned. “The rear of this car sounds as if it were about to fall out!”
Just then Nancy was forced to a halt by the bumper-to-bumper traffic. The girls might have been held up indefinitely on the hillside, but fortunately a young man stepped in to act as a traffic policeman. In a few minutes he had the line of cars moving steadily. By the time the girls reached the exit of the Raybolt grounds, the tangle was fairly well straightened out.
To Nancy’s surprise, she saw that the young man was the same one who had moved her convertible a short time before.
“I did misjudge him,” she chided herself. “He was only trying to help and didn’t have the slightest intention of stealing my car. How silly of me!”
On the main road at last, Nancy pulled off to the side to learn the full extent of the damage to her car. While she was surveying the rear axle doubtfully, the young man came over and offered his services.
“I’m Ned Nickerson,” he declared with a warm smile. “Anything I can do?”
“Yes,” Nancy said. “Please tell us how far it is to the nearest service garage. Another car banged into mine—as you can see.”
“There’s a garage at Mapleton—about two miles away.”
“I wonder if my car will hold together even that short distance.”
“It should, if your axle isn’t badly damaged.”
“But with the bumper dragging—”
“I’ll fix that. I might as well pull it off entirely.”
With a strong, deft twist, Ned Nickerson tore the bumper loose and placed it in the trunk compartment.
“Look here!” he proposed suddenly. “I’m going to Mapleton—my home’s there. I’ll keep close behind your car and push it if necessary.”
“Thanks a lot,” Nancy said gratefully, “but I don’t like to trouble you.”
“No trouble at all. Glad to do it.”
She smiled and introduced herself and the other girls.
When the four reached the Mapleton garage, a mechanic inspected the convertible and said, “I’m afraid I can’t have this car ready for at least an hour, miss. Even at that I can’t touch the fender or taillights. You’ll have to leave the car until tomorrow or else get the work done at your home garage. The best I can do now is fix you up so you can make it home.”
“An hour, you say?” Nancy asked. “I suppose we’ll have to wait, but we’re in a hurry to get to River Heights.”
“How about my treating to ice-cream sodas while we wait,” Ned suggested. “There’s a drug store across the street.”
The girls accepted and phoned their homes about the delay. The hour passed quickly. After a gay get-acquainted session, Ned accompanied Nancy, Bess, and George back to the garage.
“I’ll have the car ready in ten minutes,” the mechanic promised.
The young people went outside and chatted about the recent events. But soon their attention was attracted by a group of men standing under a nearby street lamp discussing the Raybolt fire.
“ ’Pears mighty strange to me that a fire would start when the place ain’t been occupied all summer,” one elderly man commented.
“Old Raybolt deserved to be burnt out,” another added. “The skinflint! He’d steal a crust of bread from a starvin’ child!”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if he burned the place down himself—to get the insurance,” a third voice chimed in. “I wouldn’t put it past Foxy Felix!”
Nancy and her friends heard no more, for at that moment the mechanic announced that her car was ready. “It’s the best I could do on such short notice,” he told her. “Better have your garage man give it a general overhauling when you get home.”
While Ned backed the convertible out of the shop, Nancy paid the mechanic and asked him for a receipted bill. She explained that she wished to collect from the motorist who had crashed into her.
“I take it Mr. Raybolt isn’t very well liked around here,” Nancy remarked to Ned as she relieved him at the wheel.
“No, he isn’t,” Ned declared emphatically. “He’s about as popular as a tiger who’s escaped from a circus!”
“Apparently they call him Foxy Felix.”
“Yes, and from all one hears about him the name is deserved.” An odd expression flashed across Ned’s face and he looked intently through the window at Nancy. “I also wonder what could have started that fire! You know, I have a sneaking suspicion it didn’t start by accident.”
“So have I,” Nancy returned with a meaningful grin.
Before Ned could question her, she quickly but graciously thanked him for his help, then drove away.
“You girls haven’t seen the last of me,” the young man called gaily after them. “I know the road to River Heights. Don’t be surprised if I follow it one of these days!”