Chapter 10 The Sign of the Twisted Candles by Carolyn Keene
A Shocking Summons
“A diamond bracelet!” Nancy gasped. “What did you do with it, Carol?”
“I gave it to Mr. Sidney.” She chuckled. “He hid the bracelet under the seat of his chair. Oh, Nancy, it was beautiful lying there in its velvet box.”
“What did he say?” Nancy asked.
Carol laughed softly. “He said, ‘Keep going and bring everything to me before those vultures get my fortune!’ Nancy, nobody’s in the house. Let’s search right now.”
Nancy did not need to be urged. First they scoured the master bedroom where the bracelet had been cached. Neither the walls, floor, nor closet yielded any clue to where there might be a camouflaged safe or other kind of hiding place. Next the bed, wardrobe, and other pieces of furniture were searched. They revealed nothing.
“Let’s try another room,” Carol urged.
Nancy glanced at her watch. “It’s four o’clock. By any chance did Mrs. Jemitt ask you to prepare food for dinner—like putting a roast in the oven?”
Carol clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my goodness! I was supposed to put a leg of lamb in the stove.”
Nancy chuckled. “Then you’d better go do it quickly. If Mrs. Jemitt returns and finds you haven’t done it—”
Carol fairly flew from the room and down the stairs. Nancy continued the search alone. She walked into what had been the adjoining dressing room. As she gazed around, her eyes were attracted to an ornate wooden panel directly above the mirror of a walnut dressing table. At first glance one might mistake the small square as part of the furniture below it.
At once Nancy noted two unusual features about the panel, which she suspected might be a door: it had no visible way to open it and a series of connecting loops was carved on its face. On a hunch Nancy bent over so she could view the pattern sideways.
“I’m right!” she thought. “It is a twisted candle! Something must be hidden behind there. But how do I open that door?”
Nancy gazed at it for fully a minute. Then she concluded that if a particular spot on the door were pushed, it might release a hidden lock.
Not wishing to be disturbed and fearful the Jemitts might rush in, Nancy went into the bedroom and turned the key in the door to the hall. Then she hastened back and pulled the dressing table aside.
“Oh, I hope I can get this open!”
Nancy was breathing excitedly now. Inch by inch she pressed a thumb over the entire surface. Nothing happened.
“It’s tricky,” she thought.
Next Nancy tried both thumbs, experimenting with various combinations. Still nothing happened.
“I’m sure I’m not wrong,” she murmured. Suddenly she smiled. “The candle, of course. That’s the clue!”
This time she ran a finger over the whole design and finally felt a slight protrusion on one of the swirls. She pushed it hard and the panel with the carved candle dropped into her hand. At the rear of the opening was a latch. Quickly she lifted it and a door swung open.
To her surprise a music box inside began to play. Now she could see that it was a highly ornate—and, she guessed, priceless old piece. Dainty dancing figures moved around the top. Nancy was about to lift the music box from its hiding place when there was a knock on the door. Instantly she replaced everything and hurried to open it.
Carol stood there. She whispered, “They’re home! You’d better scoot!”
“You’re right. Listen, Carol. Tell Mr. Sidney I found a gorgeous music box but didn’t have time to take it to him.”
“How marvelous! It’ll make him very happy.”
The two girls rushed down the stairs. Carol ran to the kitchen, while Nancy dashed out the front door. No one was in sight and she drove off quickly.
It was not until she reached home that Nancy recalled Bess’s rebuff. Despite the exciting story she had to tell at dinner about her afternoon’s search, the diamond bracelet, and the music box, the young sleuth became glum and did not eat much.
“What’s happened to your appetite?” Hannah Gruen asked her.
“Nothing.”
Mr. Drew regarded her thoughtfully. “Now then, partner!” he said, rising from the table and putting an arm about his daughter’s shoulders. “Out with it! Something’s bothering you.”
“Oh dear! You always know, don’t you?” Nancy said with a pensive smile. “Dad, for some reason connected with Asa Sidney’s case, George and Bess are angry with me. George won’t speak to me at all, and Bess snubbed me this afternoon.”
Nancy’s lip quivered at the memory.
“Hm!” the lawyer said. “That’s too bad.” He frowned. “Some people are hard to understand. Why should the Marvins and Faynes poison the minds of their daughters with a family feud so old it concerns none of them? It’s pitiful. I don’t know how to help you, Nancy. You’ll have to accept the situation, I’m afraid, and trust that time will set matters straight.”
“I suppose,” said Nancy, “that both sides are suspicious of you for being Asa Sidney’s counsel, and for that reason George and Bess are forbidden to be friends with me.”
Mr. Drew nodded. “You’ll have to let events prove that neither you nor I have meddled in the affairs of the family.”
“I’m disappointed in George and Bess just the same.” Nancy sighed again.
The lawyer looked at his daughter sympathetically and decided that the best way to mend Nancy’s hurt feelings was to lead the discussion into other channels.
“I’m afraid Mr. Sidney’s case is more complicated than we realize,” he remarked. “It’s a big puzzle.”
Nancy instantly became alert. “What’s the trouble?”
“I have a strong hunch there’s systematic pilfering that’s draining the old man’s fortune,” her father said.
Nancy asked, “Do you suspect anyone besides the Jemitts? Surely Peter Boonton and Jacob Sidney are not dishonest, no matter how badly they act.”
“We can safely rule out Boonton and Sidney,” Mr. Drew said.
“Let’s call on Asa Sidney tomorrow morning and see what we can find out,” Nancy suggested.
That night she slept uneasily. She kept thinking of the big sleuthing job ahead of her and of the problem with Bess and George. At breakfast she ate little. Her father sat lost in thought, with Hannah Gruen hovering over them, coaxing them to try her waffles.
The telephone rang and she went to answer it. Nancy heard Hannah say, “I can’t hear you at all! Who is this?”
“I’ll take it, Hannah,” Nancy said quietly as she hurried into the hall.
“Nancy Drew speaking. Who is this?”
“Oh, Nancy!”
The exclamation came faintly over the wire, ending in a deep, shuddering sigh.
“Hello? Who is this? Who’s speaking? What’s the matter?”
“Nancy—something—something—”
“Is this Bess? Or George?” Nancy demanded.
“Nancy, this is Carol. Oh, please come at once! Something awful, has happened. O-oh!”
There was a sharp click, then silence. Carol had hung up, leaving Nancy in a state of mingled surprise and alarm. She ran to her father at once, and in a few words repeated what she had heard.
Mr. Drew’s face became grave. “We must go there immediately,” he said. “I will be ready as soon as you bring your car around in front.”
A few minutes later Nancy and her father were on the now-familiar road to The Sign of the Twisted Candles. Few words were exchanged between them, for their minds were intent on the mysterious and urgent summons from Carol.
What could have happened? Nancy thought of a dozen answers. Perhaps Mrs. Jemitt had not kept her promise and had done something cruel to Carol. Perhaps Peter and Jacob had met again, and had joined in a pitched battle.
At last the tower of the old mansion could be seen above the trees, and a minute later Nancy steered into the sweeping driveway.
“Oh!” she gasped, applying the brakes.
An undertaker’s long black car was just driving away. Someone was—dead!
Nancy did not wait for her father but ran into the house. She halted at the sight of Carol’s huddled form on the bottom step of the big staircase, her head on her knees, her thin shoulders shaking with sobs.
“Carol!” Nancy cried, sitting down beside the girl and clasping her hands. “Tell me what happened.”
“Mis-Mister Si-Si-Sidney,” Carol said. “He died during the night. I found him—I thought he was asleep—when I brought up his breakfast this morning.”
As Mr. Drew walked into the hall, Nancy stated soberly, “Mr. Sidney is dead.”
“Too bad,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry. It’s true that he lived far, far longer than most persons do, and his life was not a happy one. If only he had lasted a little longer until certain matters could be straightened out, what trouble could have been averted!”
“Why, Dad, what do you mean?” Nancy asked.
“I mean that the bickering relatives will now gather and begin to fight over the estate. Then there are other people who probably have already removed some of his property, reducing the value of the estate.”
At this juncture, Frank Jemitt appeared with a long face. “Mr. Sidney has gone to his just reward,” the innkeeper intoned.
“I shall stay here as his executor and take charge,” Mr. Drew replied simply.
“Who asked you to butt in?” Jemitt snapped, dropping his pretense of sorrow. “There’s nothing to be done. Emma and I have made arrangements for the funeral, and we’ll even pay for it out of our own pockets!”
“That won’t be necessary,” the lawyer told him.
Nancy noted that Asa Sidney’s death seemed to have added to Jemitt’s courage—and offensiveness.
Mr. Drew regarded the man keenly. Determined to assume charge of the late Asa Sidney’s personal effects, he said evenly:
“Your services will not be needed here much longer, Mr. Jemitt. You are free to make other plans and leave any time after the funeral.”
“Is that so? Well, we’ll see about that!” Jemitt snapped.