Chapter 18 The Clue in the Diary by Carolyn Keene
A Revealing Translation
There was an outdoor telephone booth at the entrance to a parking lot next to police headquarters. Nancy entered it and dialed the number of the Peterson bakery. To her delight, she learned that her old friend was home from the hospital and would be glad to see her.
When George heard this she said, “You’re running a shuttle service between River Heights and Mapleton.”
Bess giggled. “With side trips to Stanford and Sandy Creek.”
“Don’t plan on staying home long,” Nancy warned them. “I may need you tonight.”
“Tonight!” Bess exclaimed. “I was counting on giving myself a shampoo and—”
“Whatever it is,” George interrupted, “the Swenson-Raybolt mystery is more important. Well, I’ll stick by you, Nancy.”
“And I will, of course,” Bess declared. “But please get this mystery solved soon, so I can catch up on a few things.”
“Like what?” George asked.
“Well, I’ve postponed a nice date three times already,” Bess said. “I was to go out with Jeff Allen tonight, but I’ll put it off again. Nancy, where will we be going?”
Nancy said this would depend on what she learned from the diary.
When the girls reached River Heights, Nancy dropped off Bess and George at their homes, then drove to the Peterson bakery. She learned from the counter clerk that the owner was upstairs in his apartment, and the woman showed Nancy the stairway to the second floor.
The elderly convalescent was seated in an armchair and apologized for not rising to greet Nancy. She smiled, saying, “Mr. Peterson, it’s wonderful to see you again, and how glad I am you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you, Nancy. Why, you’re a young lady now!” He laughed. “I remember you as a little girl, always objecting to the ribbons Mrs. Gruen put in your hair. You especially liked my Swedish fruit tarts.”
“Mm,” said Nancy, smiling in recollection. “I can almost taste the lingonberry ones now. They were my favorite. Well, Mr. Peterson, I’ve come to ask a favor of you. Would you translate a Swedish diary for me?”
“It would give me great pleasure. I am very much interested in diaries. Many secrets of history have been unraveled by diaries that were uncovered some time after the writers’ deaths.”
“I never realized that,” said Nancy.
“In many cases this is true of the personal journals the famous people kept,” the baker explained. “Take Queen Victoria of England, for instance. Pictures of her and the complicated politics she was forced to play make her seem like a very stern old lady. But she left a diary telling of her life as a young queen and mother of small children that gives a very different idea of her. She was gay—loved to dance and give very elegant parties.”
“How interesting!”
“Then of course there were other diaries set down by great men of history; for example, George Washington’s well-kept account of his life. One section tells of a journey from Washington to Philadelphia which took five days! He also told of a gift of mules to him from General Lafayette for his farm.
“One of the most important diaries was that of Christopher Columbus, who kept a record of his entire journey from Palos in Spain to our continent. Did you know, Nancy, that when he saw the shores of Cuba he thought it was Japan?”
Nancy laughed. “I guess the old mariners made some amazing mistakes.”
“What is more amazing is how they managed to get back home,” said Mr. Peterson. “Some of the voyages must have seemed endless. I enjoyed reading about a schoolmaster who took a job as a private tutor with a family that was moving from Scotland to Virginia. It was a three-month voyage and all he received for tutoring the children was ‘bed, board, washing, and five pounds’ for the entire time!”
“How things have changed!” Nancy remarked.
She had listened in rapt attention to his recital of items in the old journals. Nancy wondered if Joe Swenson’s up-to-date diary would prove to be as revealing about the writer’s inner thoughts. A tingle of excitement came over her as she took the diary from her purse and handed it to Mr. Peterson.
The baker glanced through it before starting to read aloud. “The writer of this journal is an inventor, I see,” he commented. “It’s not a day-by-day account. Apparently he put down only the most important events.”
Mr. Peterson began to translate. Much of what had been written was delightful and informative, but had no bearing on the Raybolt case.
After a while Nancy interrupted to say, “If you’re becoming tired, please stop. I’ll come back another time.”
“Don’t you worry, Nancy. I feel fine.”
He read on. “ ‘Today,’ ” the diarist had written, “ ‘I went to see a man who sells inventions to big companies and shares the royalties with the inventors. His name is Raybolt. Tomorrow I shall take him my drawings and typed instructions for the electrochemical process and machine which will put a special ceramic finish on steel to resist high temperatures.’ ”
Mr. Peterson turned the page and translated a description of the meeting, during which Mr. Swenson had handed over everything to Felix Raybolt. He had been given a check for five hundred dollars and the verbal promise of a fifty-fifty royalty split in the future.
“ ‘Mr. Raybolt,’ ” Mr. Peterson translated, “ ‘is a very shrewd man. He confided to me that he didn’t keep all his important papers and money in bank safe-deposit boxes. He has a secret hiding place in his house known to no one but himself. The—’ ”
“Just a minute!” Nancy cried out. “Please translate that part again about the secret hiding place!” To herself she added, “Maybe that’s what Mr. Swenson meant when he said ‘The book you have may help.’ ”
Mr. Peterson complied with Nancy’s request, then looked up and smiled. “You see a mystery here?”
“Indeed I do. And one that ought to be solved. Did you know that Mr. Raybolt’s house burned to the ground and he has disappeared?”
“I had not heard,” the baker replied. “But then I do not know this Felix Raybolt. Shall I read further?”
“Oh, please do.”
Mr. Peterson went on. There were many references to the invention with some technical language about how the machine and the chemicals worked to produce the desired finish on metals.
“This is proof without a doubt that the invention is Mr. Swenson’s,” Nancy thought excitedly.
She listened carefully. The diary came to an end without any mention of a contract between the two men. Nancy was elated. Joe Swenson had a good case against Felix Raybolt! She was eager to talk over the whole matter with her father.
“Mr. Peterson,” she said, taking the diary, “you’ve been a tremendous help in this mixed-up mystery. Thank you very much.”
“I am glad to have been of assistance,” the baker replied. “The reading was most enjoyable. This writer of the diary is well educated and clever.” Mr. Peterson smiled. “But he does not sound like a very good businessman. I presume that is why he is in some kind of trouble.”
“That’s exactly it,” Nancy answered.
“And you will get him out of the trouble,” the baker said. He chuckled. “I just can’t believe the little girl who loved cookies is now a detective!”
Nancy laughed, shook Mr. Peterson’s hand fervently, and took her departure.
Wishing to see her father at once, she went directly to his office. Mr. Drew was about to leave, to be gone until later that evening.
“I can see you for about five minutes, Nancy,” the lawyer said.
His daughter told Mr. Drew as quickly as possible what she had learned, and he agreed that the inventor had a good chance of winning his case—if Mr. Raybolt could be found.
“So far the police haven’t a clue to his whereabouts, Nancy. I believe you came nearer to capturing him than anyone else has. It’s too bad he moved out of that cabin.”
“And worse that he has disappeared into thin air,” Nancy replied. “But I’m not giving up!”
“That’s the spirit,” her father said affectionately. “Well, best of luck! And when you see Mr. Swenson, tell him not to worry.”
Nancy drove home slowly as she tried to figure out the puzzle. When she reached the house, Hannah Gruen was taking a few minutes’ rest and sipping a cup of tea. Nancy joined her and told of the most recent happenings.
“My goodness,” said the housekeeper, “you’ve done several days’ work in one! Now you must relax.”
Nancy hardly touched her own cup of tea. She sat staring into space, and understanding Mrs. Gruen did not interrupt the young sleuth’s train of thought.
Suddenly Nancy cried, “I’ve just figured it out!”
“Figured what out?”
“How to trap Felix Raybolt!”