Chapter 16 The Clue in the Diary by Carolyn Keene
A New Assignment
Shocked by Mrs. Raybolt’s angry outburst, Nancy stepped back to dodge the blows.
Bess and George had jumped forward to her defense. But just then a sergeant burst into the room and interceded. Mrs. Raybolt stopped fighting with her fists but not with her tongue.
“I demand the arrest of this girl! She’s in league with Joe Swenson and helped to kill my husband!” she screamed.
At this point Captain Johnson appeared. “Mrs. Raybolt,” he said sternly, “the law will handle this case. I advise you to calm down or you may find yourself in a hospital under the care of a psychiatrist.”
The distraught woman started to reply to this, but apparently thought better of it.
Nancy said calmly, “Mrs. Raybolt, I don’t blame you for being upset. But please try to believe that people are trying to help find your husband. The fire investigators are sure no one was in your home at the time of the explosion and fire. Therefore, Mr. Raybolt must be alive.”
“Then where is he?” Mrs. Raybolt demanded.
“No one knows.” Nancy looked directly at the woman. “Unless you do,” she added disarmingly.
Mrs. Raybolt gave a startled quiver. Then she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. The others in the room looked at one another. Was the answer going to be yes or no?
Nancy had a strong hunch that it should be yes, but that as soon as Mrs. Raybolt recovered from the shock of Nancy’s unexpected question, she would say no. Finally the woman raised her head. She did not have the look of a grief-stricken widow. Instead, she glared balefully at Nancy.
“This girl is crazy,” she said. “Another one of those meddling teen-agers. Why doesn’t she stay out of other people’s business? Of course I haven’t heard from Felix. How could I? He’s dead! I tell you he’s dead!” Mrs. Raybolt’s voice had risen to a high pitch.
Captain Johnson asked a sergeant to take Mrs. Raybolt to her car, but requested that the girls remain. After the woman had gone, the officer asked Nancy what had prompted her question.
The girl detective smiled. “I’m sure that many other people think Mr. Raybolt is alive. He has the reputation of having cheated people, including poor Mr. Swenson. Talk is going around that he felt it best to disappear. But wouldn’t he get in touch with his wife?”
The police captain looked at Nancy in astonishment. “You are a very clear thinker,” he said. “The theory that Mr. Raybolt is alive is being worked on. Hospitals, airlines, railroad companies, steamship companies—all have been questioned. No clues have come up yet.”
Nancy thanked the officer for the information, then said, “I hope Mr. Raybolt will be found, and when he is, that he will clear Mr. Swenson of any blame in connection with the fire.”
The officer did not reply. Nancy turned to Bess and George. “I think we’d better leave now.”
When they reached the sidewalk, George said, “Wow! What a session! Where do we go from here?”
“Home,” Bess replied. “What a day this has been!”
“Do you insist?” Nancy asked.
Bess eyed her chum intently. “What’s on your mind?”
“I was wondering if Mr. Weston could help us clear Joe Swenson,” Nancy replied. “Do you mind driving back to Stanford with me so I can talk to him?”
“Let’s do it,” Bess urged. “Anything to help dear little Honey’s father.”
“I agree,” said George.
Nancy slid into the driver’s seat and took the main street which led toward the highway to Stanford. As the car passed one Mapleton store after another, Bess kept gazing at the window displays. Finally she asked Nancy to stop.
“I want to run in and buy a new dress for Honey,” she said.
“I’ll come with you and get her some underwear,” George spoke up.
Nancy chuckled. “I’ll follow and pick up some shoes for her. First I’ll phone Mr. Weston. If he can see us, I’ll call home and tell Hannah to notify your families.”
The friends alighted and Nancy hastened into a drug store to make the telephone calls. Then she went to a children’s shoe store. When she rejoined the cousins back at the car, the girls showed one another their purchases.
“They’re lovely,” said Nancy. “These things should make Honey very happy. Glad you thought of it, Bess. Mr. Weston will see us, so let’s go!”
They reached the impressive Weston home about six-thirty. Both the manufacturer and his wife were amazed to hear of the arrest of Joe Swenson, known as Joe Dahl.
“Even in the short time Dahl has been working for us, he has become a very valuable man in our organization,” the plant owner said. “On my desk is a recommendation from the manager for a promotion.”
“Then if he’s cleared of this charge against him,” said Nancy, “you’ll take him back?”
“Yes, indeed.”
The young sleuth gave Mr. Weston a warm smile in appreciation, then said, “I wonder if you or your factory manager can give us any information that might help to exonerate Mr. Swenson?”
The manufacturer thought for several seconds, then shook his head. He arose, went to the telephone, and called his plant manager. There was a lengthy conversation, then Mr. Weston came back to report:
“I’m afraid we haven’t any clues to help you, but my manager feels certain Mr. Dahl—that is, Swenson—would never resort to seeking revenge on an enemy. He is a highly ethical person. I’d be glad to defend him in this way.”
“I’ll pass the word along,” Nancy said. “Thank you so much.” She arose to leave.
At once Mrs. Weston insisted that the girls remain to dinner, an invitation which her husband heartily seconded.
“We wouldn’t think of your driving back to River Heights without first having something to eat,” he declared.
The girls were persuaded to stay. A four-course dinner was perfectly served by a butler. Mr. and Mrs. Weston were charmingly informal and conversation took on a less serious tone.
Soon after dinner the girls said good-by to the manufacturer and his wife and headed for River Heights. After taking her friends to their homes, Nancy continued to her own residence. She was surprised to see a familiar car standing at the curb.
“Ned must be here!” she thought. “I wonder if he has any news for me?”
She met the young man on the porch as he was leaving the house.
“Nancy, what luck!” he exclaimed with evident pleasure. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
“Any news?” Nancy inquired hopefully.
Ned shook his head regretfully. “I guess I’m not very good as a detective. I haven’t been able to learn anything of value. I just drove over thinking you might like to go to a movie with me.”
“I’ve already seen one today,” Nancy said. “And I’ve had all sorts of adventures. So, if you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here and talk. I have a lot to tell you.”
The suggestion was not displeasing to Ned, for he had mentioned the show merely as an excuse to spend the evening with Nancy.
“You look tired,” he said sympathetically. “I shouldn’t have come tonight.”
“I’m glad you did,” Nancy told him quickly. “There’s something I particularly want you to do for me.”
“At your service!”
Nancy then recounted to the astounded young man all that had happened at Stanford and Mapleton.
“Since you live in Mapleton, it will be easy for you to see Joe Swenson,” she concluded. “I wish you’d go to the jail and talk with him—try to cheer him up.”
“You bet your life I’ll go,” Ned assured her promptly. “Anything more I can do?”
“Well, tomorrow you might drive over to Sandy Creek and take some packages to Honey.” She indicated the gifts now lying on the hall table. “I’d go myself, only I want to concentrate on finding Mr. Raybolt.”
“I’ll be glad to go. I sure feel sorry for those folks. Tell you what! Suppose I take both of them—Mrs. Swenson and Honey—to see Joe. That should cheer him up a little.”
Ned and Nancy discussed the mystery of Felix Raybolt’s strange disappearance, and Ned was of the opinion, too, that Raybolt’s wife might know more than she was telling. It was his conviction that Raybolt had gone into hiding for some nefarious reason.
Seeing that Nancy was very weary, Ned cut his visit shorter than he had intended. When he left her it was with the promise that he would do all in his power to help her locate Felix Raybolt.
Nancy did not retire immediately. She noticed that a light was burning in her father’s study, and she decided to tell him her suspicions. He was buried deep in a lawbook, but he looked up and smiled as his daughter perched herself on the arm of his chair.
“Nancy, you look worried,” he observed. “I hope this new case of yours isn’t getting you down.”
“I’m worried about Joe Swenson,” she explained. “What do you think of his chances, Dad?”
“If the account on tonight’s newscast is correct, I’m of the opinion he’ll be convicted—unless Felix Raybolt shows up.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’m sure Mr. Raybolt must be hiding somewhere.”
“And I agree,” her father said. “Nancy, I obtained one bit of information today that might prove this. I thought you might track it down for me.”