Chapter 12 The Sign of the Twisted Candles by Carolyn Keene
The Mysterious Attic
“Get a glass of water!” Raymond Hill called to Frank Jemitt, who did not look as angered and disappointed as Asa Sidney’s relatives.
Jemitt hurried to the kitchen and returned with a tumbler of water. Nancy moistened a handkerchief and laid it on Carol’s forehead. Then she massaged the back of her neck and wrists.
Carol stirred and sat up. “I—I must have fainted,” she murmured. “Oh, Nancy, there you are. Please don’t go away.”
No one else offered to help; they sat still and waited. But finally Jacob Sidney exclaimed, “We’ll fight this out in court!”
“You bet we will,” Peter Boonton seconded. “There isn’t a court in the world that will uphold this will. Asa Sidney couldn’t have been in his right mind when he cheated his own relatives and left most of his estate to a stranger!”
Mr. Drew made no reply to the threats. Instead, he went on reading.
“ ‘I direct my sole executor, Carson Drew, to have the Fernwood Orphanage review Carol Wipple’s case, and if in their judgment they find Frank and Emma Jemitt unfit to continue as her foster parents, that it assign new foster parents to her.’ ”
“Oh!” Carol cried out. For a second, Nancy thought she was going to faint again.
“That’s ridiculous!” Frank Jemitt burst out. “We’ve always been kind and gentle to Carol and given her a good home.”
“We sure have,” his wife added. “Why, Carol, you wouldn’t think of letting anyone take you from us, would you?”
Nancy was disgusted by this sudden attitude of pretended affection and hoped Carol would not be influenced by it.
Mr. Drew had not finished. After completing the reading of the will, he said, “Mr. Asa Sidney told me that he had a special reason for remembering Carol in his will. At the time he was too tired to tell me about it but promised to give me the whole story later. Unfortunately he never had a chance.”
Everyone looked at Carol, and Jacob Sidney shouted, “What did he mean?”
“I—I don’t know,” Carol faltered. “He was kind to me and I did what I could for him.”
The relatives arose in a body, ignored the girl, barely nodded to the others in the room and left the old mansion. Nancy was incensed by their attitude and deeply hurt by the actions of Bess and George.
As soon as they had gone, and Mr. Drew had walked into the hall with Mr. Hill, Nancy said to Carol, “This has been a hard day for you. Why don’t you go up to your room and lie down?”
“Oh, Nancy, I’d only think more if I did that.”
“Of course you would,” Mrs. Jemitt spoke up. “What you need is a mother’s tender loving care. Come with me.”
“No, no!” Carol objected, clinging to Nancy.
The Jemitts went off. Hannah Gruen appeared and urged Carol and Nancy to have some tea and toast in the kitchen.
“All right,” Carol agreed. “And I’ll tell you about the will, Mrs. Gruen. Oh, I suppose I’ll be rich but it scares me.”
Nancy said good-by to her father and Mr. Hill, then joined Carol and Hannah. After the men had driven off, she began to wonder where the Jemitts were.
“I think I’ll prowl around a bit,” she told the others.
Nancy went quietly to the second floor. Seeing no one, she continued to the tower room. Frank Jemitt was crouched at the door, studying the official padlock placed there by the sheriff. The flashlight in his hand cast flickering shadows on the white walls.
“Oh, there you are, Mr. Jemitt,” Nancy said pleasantly.
The startled man wheeled on his heels. “I—I was just making sure none of the relatives had sneaked up here to burglarize the place,” he stammered.
“And did you find everything secure?”
“Oh yes,” he growled, and rushed down the stairs past the girl.
Nancy followed Jemitt to the second floor and saw him enter his bedroom. She went into her own room but left the door ajar. A few minutes later he came out with Mrs. Jemitt. The couple hurried to the first floor and out the front door.
Nancy returned to Carol and Hannah, and suggested that the two girls stroll around the grounds. The back lawn was weedy and littered, and the ramshackle old barn gave the garden a shabby appearance.
A flicker of light inside the barn aroused Nancy’s suspicions. Taking Carol by the hand, she led her into the nearby woods.
“Let’s watch the barn from here,” she said, “where we won’t be noticed. I want to see if Jemitt brings anything outside.”
At that instant Jemitt stepped from the building and surveyed the house and yard. Then he ducked back inside. Presently he emerged with two long boxes which he carried with difficulty.
“He’s going away from the road,” Nancy muttered. “What’s at the rear of the property, Carol?”
“Just pastures and meadows and the old tenant farmer’s house,” Carol whispered.
“We’ll follow Jemitt,” Nancy decided. “Can we get to that house without leaving the woods?”
“There’s a roundabout way,” Carol said. “I’ll show you.”
Stepping carefully so as not to cause any sound, the two girls made their way among the trees. Soon Jemitt was out of sight, but still Nancy urged Carol on, convinced that the deserted tenant house was the man’s goal. After ten minutes of difficult going, Carol stopped and pointed.
“There’s the old tenant house,” she said. “And, Nancy, you uncanny mind reader, my foster father’s just leaving it!”
“And without the boxes!” Nancy added. “We’ll wait until he’s gone and then search the place.”
The building smelled musty and dirty. Inside, the light from the setting sun shone dimly through cobwebby, dusty windows. The floor was thick with debris and fallen plaster.
“See these footprints. They go directly upstairs,” Nancy remarked.
The two girls crept up the creaking, wobbly old steps, their hearts thumping with excitement. The second floor was merely an unplastered attic. A rusted iron bed stood under the eaves, and an antique wardrobe, its doors awry and its once fine mahogany surface green with mildew, leaned against the chimney.
Nancy looked into the huge piece of furniture. “All the shelves have been taken away!” she observed. “The wardrobe’s empty.”
Nancy turned to examine the floor. She became interested in part of a plank that had less litter on it than the others.
“It’s getting late,” Carol murmured nervously.
“We’ll go in a minute,” Nancy said.
She knelt and with her slim fingertips drew the loose nails from the wide floorboard and pulled it up.
Carol gasped! Four boxes were revealed, two of them obviously the ones Jemitt had just brought. Nancy stooped to throw back the lid of one when a step creaked on the stairway. Someone was coming!
“It must be Father Jemitt!” Carol chattered, clutching at Nancy.
“This way, quick!” Nancy said.
She pushed Carol into the moldering old wardrobe, crowded in beside her, and pulled the doors as nearly shut as possible. The stairs continued to creak as someone slowly mounted them. Carol gripped Nancy’s arm, trembling violently. A shadowy figure appeared at the head of the steps and paused to survey the attic.
“That isn’t Father Jemitt,” Carol whispered. “This man’s too tall.”
“Sh!” Nancy warned.
He entered the attic and gave a start upon seeing the displaced floorboard. The newcomer stooped to look into the opening, and evidently lifted the lids of the boxes.
Then he straightened up and scanned the entire room. As his face was revealed in the dim light, Nancy almost gave a startled exclamation. The man was Raymond Hill, the banker from Smith’s Ferry!
What was he doing here? Had he betrayed Carson Drew’s trust and confidence? Had the lure of old Asa’s fortune overcome his scruples, too? Nancy was tense as these questions raced through her mind.
Meanwhile, Mr. Hill paced slowly around the attic. Nancy was certain he would eventually pull open the doors of the antique wardrobe and find the two girls.
A plank creaked under Mr. Hill’s feet and he stopped, bent down, and gave a little chuckle. Nancy saw him pry the nails loose and lift the board. He reached into the opening and pulled out a metal box used for filing valuable documents.
Mr. Hill opened it and took a bundle of papers from it. Nancy guessed they were stock certificates. He looked through them, stuffed the bundle into his pocket, and replaced the loose flooring, after kicking the box out of sight.
Now Mr. Hill’s eyes roved about the attic and at last fastened on the old wardrobe. He began to walk toward it slowly, testing the planks beneath his feet at every step.
Nancy was thinking fast. Should she emerge from her hiding place or gamble that Mr. Hill would not open the wardrobe?
A sinister sight interrupted her thoughts. Standing at the head of the steps, up which he had crept with practiced caution, was Frank Jemitt! His eyes gleamed unbelievingly as he watched Mr. Hill’s movements closely.
At that moment the banker glanced about the attic once more. Nancy saw him stiffen when he detected the other man.
“Mr. Jemitt!” the banker said, unruffled. “What are you bringing up here now to hide? Come, let me see it!”
Jemitt mounted the top step and strode toward Mr. Hill. In his arms was something tightly wrapped in newspapers.
“I don’t know why you’re here trespassing,” Jemitt snarled. “But if you want to see what I have, here it is!”
To Nancy’s horror, he hurled his burden full force at Mr. Hill. The paper fell off, revealing a square metal box. The banker ducked but a corner of the box caught his shoulder, causing him to lose his balance and almost fall.
That was the advantage Jemitt wanted. He rushed forward with flailing fists. Mr. Hill threw up his arms to protect his face. Jemitt thrust out a foot and sent the tall man sprawling onto his back.
In a flash Jemitt was on top of him. One hand gripped Mr. Hill’s throat, while the other pounded his face and head.
“You coward!” Nancy exclaimed, and burst from the wardrobe. “Stop that!”
She flew at Jemitt and seized his shirt collar at the back with both hands to drag him away.