Chapter 17 The Clue in the Diary by Carolyn Keene
An Important Clue
Nancy could hardly wait for her father to proceed. She left the arm of his chair and seated herself on a couch opposite him.
“As you recall,” the lawyer began, “I mentioned that Felix Raybolt practically had stolen my client’s invention—an improvement for an automatic elevator.”
Nancy leaned forward, listening intently as her father continued, “Mr. Simpson also feels that Raybolt may have decided matters were getting too hot for him and he’d better disappear. The other day Mr. Simpson’s wife happened to stop at a country store and gas station a few miles outside of Mapleton.
“A run-down old car with a shabby-looking driver was just pulling away. Mrs. Simpson had only a fleeting glimpse of the man, but she thinks he may have been Mr. Raybolt.”
“How exciting!” Nancy exclaimed. “Did she follow him?”
“No, but she asked the attendant about him. The man bought a large quantity of canned goods—including bread in tins.”
“Which makes it appear,” said Nancy, “that the man was going camping.”
“Exactly. Of course he may not have been Mr. Raybolt. The clerks in the store said the shabby-looking customer was a stranger to them. But I think the clue is worth investigating.”
“Oh, I agree. The man might have been Mr. Raybolt in disguise!” said Nancy eagerly. “I’ll get right to it and start by going to that store first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But not without Bess and George,” Mr. Drew insisted.
Nancy called the cousins at once. Both were enthusiastic about accompanying the girl detective, although Bess as usual said she hoped there would be no danger involved.
“Oh, by the way, Ned was here,” Nancy told her. “He’s going to deliver our gifts to Honey, then take her and her mother to see Mr. Swenson.”
“Good!” Bess giggled. “I see you’re starting this friendship with Ned correctly—make your date work for you!” She hung up before Nancy could retort.
The following morning the girls drove to the country store, made a few purchases, then asked if the stranger in the old car had ever come back.
“No, he never did, but he had no reason to,” one of the clerks said. “The tank of that old crate was full to the brim, and there was enough food in the back seat to last the guy a month.”
“Which way did he go?” Nancy asked.
The man pointed in a direction opposite to the one where the burned Raybolt home was located. After Nancy had received a full description of the old car, she followed the road it had taken.
Presently she said, “Girls, if you were coming along here and planning to hide, where would you go?”
“If I knew about that cobwebby cabin we saw I’d go there,” George replied.
“But we were in it after Mr. Raybolt’s disappearance,” Nancy spoke up. “Nobody has been in it for a long time. Bess, what’s your guess?”
“Another cabin. One that’s closer. Maybe Mr. Raybolt has a small hunting lodge somewhere.”
Nancy was driving very slowly now. Finally she said she was looking for a little-used side road. If there were tire tracks on it, she would see where they led.
Suddenly Nancy stopped. On her left was a narrow, grassy lane, almost obscured by overhanging trees. There were two distinct tire tracks.
“You’re not going to drive in there?” Bess cried out. “Nancy, you’d ruin your car!”
“I guess you’re right,” Nancy conceded, “but I think we should investigate.”
She parked, locked the ignition, and climbed out. The other girls followed. The woods road was rutty and full of stones.
“I hope we don’t have to go far,” said Bess presently. “These stones hurt my feet. We should have worn hiking boots.”
Nancy forged ahead. The road went on and on, with no sign of a cabin, or the shabby car or its owner. After the girls had walked for fifteen minutes, Bess called for a rest period. They dropped to the ground.
“It’s certainly quiet in here,” George remarked. “You could hear a pin—oh!”
All three girls were startled by the distant buzz of a chain saw. As they listened, there came a tremendous crash.
“Timber!” exclaimed George, grinning.
“You’re a little late with your warning. The tree’s already fallen,” Bess chided her cousin good-naturedly. “Well, I’m sure Mr. Raybolt isn’t doing any lumbering if he’s trying to hide, so let’s go back.”
Nancy felt that they were not a long way from the tree-cutting site. “Whoever is working there may have seen Mr. Raybolt or his old car. Let’s find out,” she said.
As the girls plodded on over the rough ground, the sounds of trees being felled grew louder. Finally they came to a spot where they could see a good distance ahead. A large area of the woods was being cleared for a housing development. They assumed that the entrance to it was at the far end, for in the distance they could see several new houses.
“There’s a man who looks as if he might be the foreman,” Nancy said, and walked toward a tall, husky young man. She introduced herself, then asked him if the lane was used by the real-estate developers.
“No, that’s on someone else’s property,” he replied. “My name’s Tim Murphy. I’m in charge of the clearing operation. Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes, a shabbily dressed man who has an ancient hot rod.” Nancy grinned. “We thought he might be staying in a shack in these woods.”
Tim Murphy’s reply startled the girls. “I think your friend was here but left mysteriously. This development has been held up, and we just resumed work a couple of days ago. There’s a little shack not far from here. It was empty, so whenever we had a downpour, my men and I used it for shelter.
“Two days ago we went there. What a surprise we got! A man came out with a shotgun and ordered us away! He was tall and thin, and his clothes were very shabby.”
“Was there a car around?” George asked.
“Yes, a black crate that sure was beat up. Think this is the man you’re looking for?”
“Yes,” said Bess, “but if he has a shotgun, we’re not going near him!”
Tim Murphy laughed. “You needn’t worry. He’s gone.”
This revelation shattered Nancy’s hope that her quest was nearing an end. “When did he leave?”
“During the night, and he hasn’t come back. I have an idea he won’t, either. I got the impression he wanted to be alone, and an expanding housing development is no place for a recluse. Say, do you mind telling me why you girls are interested in such a peculiar guy?”
They were spared the necessity of answering Murphy when a worker called him away. He went off hurriedly, and the girls started back to the lane. They were silent until they came to the spot where they had rested before.
“Do you think the man with the shotgun really was Mr. Raybolt?” George asked Nancy.
The young sleuth shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing is sure. Whoever he was, the man acted as if he were guilty of something and didn’t want strangers around.”
“Which makes me think,” said Bess, “that he is Raybolt. Nancy, we must give up trying to find him before he uses that shotgun—on us!”
“I might agree,” Nancy replied, “if we were certain. But our evidence is pretty slim. For the sake of the Swensons, I want to capture Mr. Raybolt before he can leave the country. I’m convinced now that he and his wife are in collusion. They’re just waiting to collect his life insurance, which is probably large, and the fire insurance, then they’ll meet in some foreign place.”
George chuckled. “You know, it would serve that old cheat right if his wife collected the money and never met him! He couldn’t do a thing about it without being caught.”
Bess nodded in agreement. “And I wouldn’t put it past that woman to play such a trick!”
When the girls reached the end of the lane, Bess announced that she thought they should have lunch before doing any more sleuthing.
“All right,” Nancy agreed. Laughing, she added, “How about the Mapleton Inn?”
“And have Mrs. Raybolt bring the police to arrest you!” Bess protested with a giggle.
Nancy had noticed an attractive roadside restaurant on the outskirts of town and drove to it. As the girls ate, they discussed their next move.
“I’d like to call on Mr. Swenson,” said Nancy, “and ask him if there’s anything else in the diary that might be damaging evidence against Mr. Raybolt.”
It was three o’clock before the girls arrived at headquarters. When Nancy made her request to the sergeant in charge of prisoners, she was told that Mr. Swenson had just been brought to one of the waiting rooms.
“His kid came to see him,” the officer explained, “and we didn’t want her to see him behind bars. We told Honey that her dad had to stay with us a while. His wife’s there too. Are you special friends of theirs?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then.” The sergeant called another officer, who took the girls into the waiting room. A policeman stood watching.
At once Honey bounded into Nancy’s arms. “See, I have on all my new clothes!” she said proudly.
Mr. and Mrs. Swenson seemed very glad to see the visitors. The couple smiled pathetically and it was evident that Mrs. Swenson had spent a good deal of time crying. Her eyes were swollen and red. She looked pale and weary, as though she had slept little.
“Your kind friend Ned Nickerson brought Honey and me here. He will come back for us in an hour.”
Joe Swenson looked haggard and worried. He brightened somewhat when Nancy told him that Baylor Weston was not only keeping his position at the factory for him, but that a promotion awaited the inventor.
“You’re the only one who can help us,” Mrs. Swenson said tearfully to Nancy. “We haven’t enough money to engage a lawyer, and we have no well-to-do friends.”
“If the case actually comes to trial, I know my father will defend Mr. Swenson without a fee,” Nancy assured her. “However, I’m hopeful that we’ll prove your husband’s innocence before that time.”
“The book you have may help,” Mr. Swenson said guardedly.
Nancy nodded. She knew he meant the diary. It was still in her purse. She told herself, “I’ll have the rest of it translated at once.”
The girls remained a few minutes longer, then departed, realizing that the little family wished to be alone. When they reached the street, Nancy told her friends, “If Mr. Peterson’s well enough, I’m going to see if he will read the diary. Let’s go to a phone and find out.”