Chapter 20 The Mystery of the Ivory Charm by Carolyn Keene
A Hypnotic Trance
Nancy was escorted into Doctor Stackpole’s private study, where she found him nervously pacing the floor.
“Ah! I am glad that you have arrived early,” he said in relief to Nancy. “To tell you the truth, I am beginning to wonder if we have made a wise move in inviting Miss Allison here.”
“In what way do you mean?”
“Something may go wrong. Then serious consequences may result if we have made a mistake.”
“There can be no mistake, Doctor Stackpole. The documents in our possession conclusively prove her guilt.”
“Yes, that is so. But if Miss Allison suspects that her true character has been exposed, she may resort to violence. I am afraid for your sake, Miss Drew.”
“I’ll be on my guard,” promised Nancy. “Just show me where I am to hide.”
Unwillingly the elderly man indicated an alcove just off the study which served as a tiny conservatory. It was filled with palms and potted plants, offering an excellent hiding place where Nancy could hear and see everything without herself being visible. She chose a nook behind a large pottery vase.
Scarcely had she secreted herself when the doorbell rang. Doctor Stackpole hurried to answer it. He was utterly unprepared for the sight which greeted his eyes. Miss Allison, wearing a long flowing white costume and turban, with a jewel-bound book in her hand, entered the room as one walking in a trance.
“This way,” the professor stammered, moving toward the library.
He offered Miss Allison a chair which she ignored. She stared at her host with a glazed expression in her eyes.
“You are interested in mysticism?” she murmured, before the dazed teacher could speak. “We are, I believe, of one spirit in this matter. I shall read, that we may find communion together.”
With one arm outstretched in a grandiloquent gesture, she began to read from the jeweled volume. Nancy knew by the blank expression on Doctor Stackpole’s face that the poor man was too stunned by the exhibition to comprehend a word, but by the time Miss Allison had finished the passage he had recovered his usual poise.
“A beautiful quotation, Miss Allison,” he said. “But our time is short and we must talk of India.”
“Ah, yes,” the woman sighed. “India—the land of adventure and mystery. What tales I could tell of its glamorous rulers!”
“Perhaps you could tell me of Iama Togara,” Doctor Stackpole suggested cautiously. “I fear that the stories which filter to us in the west are but half-truths.”
“The real story of how Iama Togara became a great ruler has never been told,” Miss Allison boasted. “You would not believe me were I to say that I aided in placing him on the throne.”
“Indeed I would,” Doctor Stackpole answered quietly.
“The untimely death of the heir-apparent, a youth named Coya, left the affairs of the province in a hopeless muddle,” Miss Allison explained sadly, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I was deeply grieved over his demise.”
“I can imagine you were!” Nancy thought scornfully. “It’s easy to see your tender heart is broken!”
“The province was plunged into turmoil,” Miss Allison continued. “I knew that a good ruler would have to be found quickly if war were to be avoided. I decided to act—you understand that I was motivated entirely by my desire to aid the poor natives.”
“Oh, certainly, certainly,” Doctor Stackpole murmured, endeavoring to hide his contempt for the woman.
“Through various political and psychic connections I was able to place Iama Togara on the throne.”
“And your reward?” Doctor Stackpole inquired.
For the first time Miss Allison regarded him with a slight trace of suspicion.
“Nothing,” she answered shortly. “I did it because of my feeling for India.”
Doctor Stackpole attempted to encourage Miss Allison to reveal more, but as it became apparent that she was regarding his interest with distrust, he switched to another subject, speaking of a certain type of carved Indian vase which had intrigued him.
“I have tried to buy such a vase at various art stores,” he remarked, “but I have been unable to locate one which pleases me.”
Miss Allison nodded understandingly. “I know exactly the sort of work you mean, and it is difficult to secure. However, I have a friend, an Indian, who might be able to find the vase for you.”
“You are very kind. I don’t suppose your friend by any chance could be a circus man named Rai?”
Again Miss Allison regarded the professor suspiciously.
“Certainly not,” she replied stiffly. “I have never heard of such a person.”
By this time it was evident to Nancy that Miss Allison was entirely too wary to say anything which might involve her in the scheme to deprive Coya of his rightful inheritance. If the woman were to be compelled to confess, more drastic methods would have to be employed.
Quietly Nancy slipped from her hiding place, left the house by a side exit and walked around to the front door, where she rapped. A maid promptly admitted her and escorted her to the library.
Immediately the Drew girl began to act a part. She pretended to be greatly surprised to find Miss Allison at the teacher’s home and apologized for intruding.
“We were just having a pleasant little chat about India,” Doctor Stackpole said. “Miss Allison is considered an authority upon the subject of mysticism.”
“How interesting!” Nancy exclaimed. “I have always been deeply intrigued by that subject myself. In fact, some of my friends believe that I have psychic powers.”
“Indeed,” Miss Allison remarked disparagingly.
“Yes,” Nancy continued glibly, “I have always felt that I was endowed with the ability to look back into the past. Under correct conditions, I have faith that I could demonstrate this strange power.”
“Psychic powers are far more rare than you think,” Miss Allison said unpleasantly.
“Nevertheless, I am certain I have this ability. If you wish, I will prove it.”
The woman hesitated, and then before she could speak, Doctor Stackpole said quickly:
“By all means, Miss Drew. Such a demonstration should prove interesting.”
“Lower the blinds,” Nancy commanded.
When the room was shrouded in semi-darkness, she said to Miss Allison:
“I must have your turban.”
“This is nonsense,” the woman complained as she unwillingly gave up the head-gear.
Placing herself in front of a dark velvet drapery, Nancy closed her eyes. She began to rock slowly back and forth, chanting in low, musical tones. At first her words were unintelligible. Then she began quoting passages from the documents which she had taken from Peter Putnam.
Miss Allison leaned forward, gripping the arms of her chair. Her eyes dilated with fear. She tried to speak, but made only a choking noise in her throat.
Nancy knew that it was time for the climax of her act. She took a step toward the woman, and her hand swept outward in a gesture of accusation.
“YOU are the guilty person!” she proclaimed. “You are the person who deprived Coya of his right to the throne and brought him to this country. Confess! Confess!”
For an instant Miss Allison seemed too stunned to move. Then she dropped down upon her knees before Nancy, sobbing wildly.
“Yes, yes! I did it! I employed Rai to kidnap the boy that Iama Togara might be put upon the throne! I did it for India.”
“You kidnaped Coya because your reward was a precious treasure,” Nancy corrected sternly.
Before Miss Allison could make a response to this accusation, there came an unfortunate interruption. A telephone rang in the adjoining room.
Miss Allison straightened. The look of fear left her face and she became more composed.
“I must answer,” Doctor Stackpole murmured as the instrument continued to ring.
Realizing that the spell was broken, Nancy expediently emerged from her “trance.” She had secured the confession which she sought. The professor would serve as a reliable witness against Miss Allison when the proper time should come.
“Well, did my psychic demonstration convince you?” Nancy smiled.
“It did. I—I don’t suppose you remember much of what you said?”
Nancy was not compelled to reply, for Doctor Stackpole appeared in the doorway just then.
“The call is for you, Miss Drew. Your father wishes to speak with you.”
Nancy hastened to the telephone. “What is it, Dad?” she asked hurriedly.
“I really shouldn’t have bothered you,” the lawyer apologized. “I merely telephoned to learn if you are safe. Since you left I’ve been worried.”
“I’m all right, Dad. Everything is going along splendidly. Only I can’t take time to tell you about it now. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
Nancy hung up the receiver and returned to the library. She paused in the doorway to stare in horror. Doctor Stackpole lay stretched out on the floor, unconscious. His head was bleeding from a deep wound caused by a heavy blow from a book-end. Miss Allison had disappeared.
“That woman did this!” Nancy thought as she went over to the professor’s side. “She struck him with the book-end because she was afraid he would reveal what he had heard!”
While Nancy was trying vainly to raise the man to a sitting posture, the front doorbell rang. Instead of going to answer it the girl called loudly for help.
“Coming!” a masculine voice shouted.
The next moment Ned Nickerson ran into the room, only to stop short as he beheld the professor lying on the floor.
“Doctor Stackpole is badly hurt,” Nancy cried frantically. “At his age such a blow may prove fatal. We must act quickly to save him!”