Chapter 10 The Mystery of the Ivory Charm by Carolyn Keene
A Strange Jeweled Book
The three chums drew near the old house, making no secret of their presence, yet approaching quietly. Miss Allison and her companion were so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to observe the girls.
“Your price, Miss Allison, is far too high,” the man declared firmly. “We’re willing to pay a fair sum for the place but the amount you ask is unreasonable. As it stands, the property is useless to you, and in its present untended condition it is an eye-sore to the community. If you sell to our firm you’ll be doing River Heights a favor by making possible a fine new golf course, and at the same time assuring yourself of a handsome profit.”
“The signs are not favorable for a transaction at this time, Mr. Bruce.”
“The signs!” the man demanded impatiently. “What signs do you mean?”
“I must have an omen. A favorable omen.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Bruce snapped. “I never heard of such talk. This is a straight business deal.”
“Your price is too low,” Miss Allison insisted.
“You’ll not receive a better offer. Ask anyone if it isn’t a fair price. Consult Carson Drew—he’s well versed in the value of real estate.”
“I might consult the stars,” Miss Allison said dreamily.
Mr. Bruce shook his head in a baffled way. Apparently he was at his wits’ end in dealing with the woman.
“I must confess I’m at a loss to understand your attitude, Miss Allison. For the last time, will you accept my offer?”
“I am sorry. I cannot consider it at the moment.”
“I warn you, Miss Allison, you may not have another opportunity. I will give you until tomorrow to change your mind. If you do, telephone me at my real estate office—you know the name—John Bruce.”
The real estate dealer turned and walked indignantly away. Nancy and her chums actually felt sorry for him.
As Miss Allison stood staring indifferently after the man, the girls hurried forward, and Nancy spoke to her. She divined instantly that the woman did not recall her face.
“I don’t believe you remember me,” Nancy remarked. “I am Miss Drew—Carson Drew’s daughter.”
“Oh!” Miss Allison exclaimed in a strained, tense voice. “Now I remember. We were talking about a——”
“White ivory charm,” Nancy finished eagerly.
She became aware that Miss Allison no longer was gazing at her. The misty brown eyes were fastened upon a faraway hillside, and a strange expression came over the woman’s face. As if in a trance she began to murmur:
“The elephant—the sacred elephant. Yes, yes, we were speaking of it—Rai and I—the sacred elephant!”
From a handsome white beaded bag the woman removed a gold covered book. The girls could not take their eyes from it for they had never seen such a handsome looking volume. It was very small, and inlaid with semi-precious jewels.
They were further bewildered when Miss Allison began to read in a musical voice from the tiny book. The passages which she selected were elaborate, poetical translations from the ancient Sanskrit.
Bess plucked at Nancy’s sleeve, whispering nervously.
“Let’s get away from here. The poor woman must be out of her mind,” she said.
“She has some sort of psychic obsession,” George added in an undertone.
Nancy was equally disturbed by Miss Allison’s queer actions, for she had never met a person of her type before. However, the girl had no intention of abandoning the scene. She believed that by listening intently to the passages she might gain a valuable clue from them.
“Do read on,” she urged Miss Allison as the woman paused.
Bess and George were completely baffled and a trifle annoyed by their chum’s apparent absorption in the Sanskrit translations. They could make nothing of the passages themselves, and after trying to listen for a time they grew bored.
“I think Nancy has gone into a trance, too,” Bess whispered to George. “Let’s go off by ourselves until she recovers!”
They slipped quietly away. Neither Nancy nor Miss Allison noticed their absence. The reading continued. Nancy was not bored. She listened absorbed, for the excerpts, which seemed to have been taken from an ancient Hindu legend, related the tale of an Indian prince who had been spirited away from his parents. With her usual ability to make shrewd deductions, Nancy had gone directly to the heart of the situation.
“This story Miss Allison is reading must have something to do with the Ivory Charm,” she reasoned swiftly. “And I believe it has a connection with Rai and Coya.”
Nancy had not forgotten Jasper Batt’s hint that Miss Allison and Rai were acquainted. She considered it very possible that the woman might know of Coya’s parentage.
Despite the claims of the circus man, Nancy had never believed that Coya was his son. It occurred to her now that the Indian lad might be a person of regal birth, who, through the machinations of Rai and Miss Allison, had been stolen from his own country as a royal babe so that another might rule in his stead.
At first thought the idea seemed fantastic, yet Coya’s own imaginings tended to give substance to the theory. Moreover, Miss Allison in her mutterings spoke frequently of a little-known province of India. Nancy ventured to inquire the name of its ruler.
“Maharajah Iama Togara,” Miss Allison murmured dreamily. “He will rule with far more wisdom than will the boy Coya. I have read it in the sands of time.”
At this significant scrap of information Nancy turned to look at her chums. She was surprised to discover they had gone.
“Tell me, Miss Allison,” she asked quickly, “is Coya of royal birth?”
Before the woman had an opportunity to reply there came an irritating interruption. Jasper Batt emerged from the house, walking directly toward the pair. Observing the man, Miss Allison seemed to recover from her trance-like state. She closed the gold-covered book and hastily replaced it in her purse.
“Is Coya of royal birth?” Nancy repeated her question hurriedly.
Miss Allison’s eyes had lost their faraway expression. Now she regarded the girl with a cold, impersonal stare.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Drew.”
By this time the watchman had approached close enough to recognize Nancy.
“Oh, it’s you!” he exclaimed in a quarrelsome tone. “I suppose you’ve come to make trouble!”