Chapter 7 The Sign of the Twisted Candles by Carolyn Keene
The Race
The convertible sped along as fast as Nancy dared go. But Jemitt’s more powerful car was slowly catching up. Would he force her off the road? A second glimpse in the rear-view mirror disclosed Carol’s foster father crouched over the wheel of his car, his teeth clenched, his face red.
“If I can only reach the turn to Smith’s Ferry,” Nancy thought, “maybe I can outwit him.”
Calculating her speed and the road with precision, she pretended to pass the intersecting highway. Then, with a quick twist of the wheel she shot into the fork. The low-slung convertible hugged the road and with squealing tires made the sharp curve safely.
Nancy slowed down a moment to glance behind her. A look of relief spread over her face.
Jemitt had fallen into the trap. Nancy’s abrupt turn had caught him unawares, and he had shot ahead in the direction of River Heights. When he jammed on his brakes, the speeding car skidded off the road into a small ditch.
“Sorry, Mr. Jemitt.” Nancy grinned.
In a short time she was driving up the main street of Smith’s Ferry at a sedate pace. She found the bank without difficulty and parked, then picked up the chest and entered the building.
“I should like to speak with Mr. Hill—Mr. Raymond Hill,” Nancy told the woman receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but if you’ll tell him I’m here for Carson Drew on important business, I’m sure he’ll see me,” Nancy replied.
The woman smiled and went off. Presently she returned and ushered her into Mr. Hill’s office. The pleasant bank officer was about Carson Drew’s age.
“What can I do for your father, Nancy?” he asked. “Oh, don’t be surprised that I know your name. I am no detective, but I’ve seen your picture on your father’s office desk, so I recognized you immediately.”
Nancy smiled, then explained, “Dad would like you to witness an important document over which there may be some legal trouble. If it is convenient for you now, I’ll drive you to where Dad is waiting. It’s a matter in which minutes are precious, Mr. Hill.”
“Then I’ll come at once,” the banker replied.
“But first,” said Nancy, “I’d like to have this chest put in a safe place.”
“I’ll have it placed in the vault,” Mr. Hill said, pressing a button to summon a clerk. “I’ll give you a receipt.”
A man in a uniform appeared in response to the summons. Mr. Hill gave him the box with instructions to place it in the bank’s vault.
“You fill in this receipt,” he told Nancy, handing her a form. She wrote a brief but accurate description of the chest, and Mr. Hill signed the paper.
“Now let’s go,” he said.
He accompanied Nancy to her car and she headed it toward the Sidney mansion. Mr. Hill leaned back in the seat without speaking, although his eyes traveled nervously from time to time to the speedometer.
“Look out!” he suddenly exclaimed.
They had just reached the intersecting highway when a car pulled across it. As Nancy deftly skirted the slow-moving and mud-splattered automobile she noted that the driver was Frank Jemitt.
“He must have damaged his car when he went into that ditch,” she thought, pulling ahead.
A glance in the mirror showed Jemitt shaking both fists over his head at her retreating car. Nancy chuckled and briefly explained to Mr. Hill about the caretaker.
A few minutes later she turned into the driveway of The Sign of the Twisted Candles and swung to a stop at the porch steps.
“I’m not being kidnapped, am I?” Mr. Hill joked as he got out. “What is this place, and where is Mr. Drew?”
As if in answer to his question the lawyer stepped onto the porch and greeted the banker.
“You made excellent time,” he said to Nancy. “I scarcely expected you to have reached Smith’s Ferry yet. None of the interference we have feared has made its appearance yet.”
Mr. Hill followed the lawyer into the house. Nancy remained outside and sat down on the steps to mull over recent events. She speculated on what Jemitt would say to her when he arrived, and wished she knew what had made her father so concerned about Asa Sidney’s affairs.
“I wonder if it affects Carol in any way,” she pondered. “Wouldn’t it be great if he left her some money in his will!”
The idea was driven from Nancy’s mind by the approach of a car turning into the roadway of the inn.
“Here comes trouble,” she said to herself.
For a moment Nancy thought it might be Jemitt’s car, but it proved to be Jacob Sidney’s sedan. Directly behind it was the car belonging to Peter Boonton.
Jacob Sidney jumped out and sprinted for the porch. Peter Boonton stepped down hurriedly and dashed after him.
Nancy had leaped to her feet and crossed the porch. Pretending to stumble, she now leaned against the front door for support. Boonton and his rival, panting heavily, drew up side by side in front of her.
“Stand aside and see that no one follows me!” Peter Boonton commanded.
“Nothing of the kind!” Jacob Sidney shouted. “I was here first. Listen, miss, I’m in a hurry to see Mr. Sidney on a confidential matter. Let me in!”
“He’s busy just now,” Nancy said. “He’s in conference and doesn’t wish to be disturbed. Won’t you sit down?” She pointed toward the porch chairs.
“With whom is he conferring?” Boonton demanded.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” Nancy replied. “Won’t you two gentlemen have some tea?”
“Two gentlemen!” Jacob Sidney sneered. “I can account for only one here.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Sidney,” Boonton retorted. “I’m glad you admit you’re no gentleman.”
“Don’t speak to me, you—you double-crosser!” Sidney fumed. “I’ll have you understand that you and I are not on speaking terms!”
Boonton turned to Nancy. “Who are you?”
“Why, Mr. Boonton, we were introduced last night,” Nancy replied. “Bess and George were here with me, don’t you recall?”
“I remember you!” Sidney exclaimed. “You were in a car down where the tree fell. Say, what’s your business at this place?”
“See here, Sidney,” Boonton yelled, “you’re just trying to keep me from going upstairs! I can see through your tricks!”
“I’ll go up first because I’m his blood relative, and bear his name,” Sidney shouted.
He suddenly pushed Nancy aside and jerked open the door. With a strangled cry Boonton caught his rival by the coat and the two men leaped into the hallway together, Nancy at their heels.
A new obstacle confronted them, however, and Nancy felt like giving Carol Wipple three cheers. Across the bottom step of the stairs she had stretched a broom and a mop. Many of the treads were dripping soapy water, and halfway up knelt Carol, surrounded by three buckets of water.
“Hey! Let us up!” Boonton shouted.
Carol gave a start and upset one pail. The men leaped to one side just as a cascade of dirty water splashed down upon the spot where they had been standing.
“Oh, you scared me!” Carol cried, while Nancy suppressed a chuckle. “Wait, and I’ll mop the water so you can come up without slipping.”
While the two men fairly danced with impatience, Carol carried down one pail of water, then climbed the stairs again and carried another to the top. Then slowly she wiped away the excess water.
Her skirt was soaked and her hands red, but Carol seemed to be enjoying herself. She picked up the broom and mop, then the two men made a rush for the stairs.
They jammed together, clawing at each other for a moment. At last Boonton gained the advantage and darted upward, Sidney only a step behind.
“Carol, you were superb!” Nancy whispered, hugging the girl. “It gave Asa Sidney and Dad another precious five minutes.”
The young detective raced up the steps after the two men. She reached them just as they burst into the tower room.