Chapter 22 The Mystery of the Ivory Charm by Carolyn Keene
The Woman on the Bridge
Eleven o’clock found Nancy and her father at the River Heights airport boarding the regular transport for Washington, D. C. A few hours later, after a pleasant but uneventful journey, they arrived at their destination.
Carson Drew had wired ahead for an appointment with his friend, Mr. George. A special car had been dispatched to the air field to meet the lawyer and his daughter, and they were escorted directly to the offices of the man who was to aid them. There they told their story, and were deeply gratified when they were promised that no stone should be left unturned in the search for Coya and his abductors.
“The aid of both United States and British government officials as well as private detectives will be enlisted,” Nancy and her father were assured. “If Coya is still alive he will be found.”
Within the hour a reward of five thousand dollars had been posted for the return of the boy or for information leading to the arrest of his kidnapers. Nancy was able to furnish an excellent description of both Rai and Miss Allison, and a photograph of the latter was located in the government files.
“It’s my opinion that Coya will be found in the vicinity of River Heights,” was Nancy’s decision, “but I’ll be glad to stay here. It’s interesting talking to big detectives.”
“You may be right about the boy,” Mr. Drew admitted. “However, the matter is out of our hands now. By seeing that government officials have been notified, we have done everything in our power. From now on we must play a waiting game.”
“Waiting was never one of my really strong points,” Nancy smiled. “I crave action.”
“After all, it isn’t reasonable to expect Coya to be found in twenty-four hours.”
“Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever be seen again, Dad. Since my Ivory Charm was stolen things have turned out badly.”
“You’re not becoming superstitious, I hope, Nancy.”
“No. Yet I can’t help but feel that if I could recover my ivory piece Coya too might be found. It is so hard just to sit and wait and hope.”
“There is one thing we can do,” Mr. Drew said, moving toward the hotel telephone. “I’ll send a wire to the River Heights bank warning the officials to deny Miss Allison access to her safety vault in the event that she should return to secure the treasure deposited in her name.”
“Do you think she would dare to appear there?”
“I doubt it, Nancy, but we must close every loophole. I’ll have a detective stationed constantly at the bank to be on the lookout for her.”
Nancy and Mr. Drew had intended to return home the following day, but their plans underwent a swift change when the girl received an unexpected letter written on White House stationery. Nancy excitedly held the missive to the light before opening it, as if trying to divine what was contained in the envelope.
“Dad, do you suppose it’s from the President?” she asked, half in banter.
“How should I know?” Mr. Drew replied with a smile. “Why not open it and end the suspense?”
Nancy unsealed the envelope and read the signature first. The letter had been written by the secretary to the President’s wife, and was an invitation to attend a luncheon at the White House the following afternoon. The note mentioned that one of the official limousines would call for the guest at her hotel at the appointed hour.
“Such an invitation is practically mandatory,” Mr. Drew declared, “so we’ll cancel our Pullman reservations and stay over another day. It’s not often that one has an opportunity to lunch with the wife of the President.”
“How did it happen that I am invited?” asked Nancy.
“I presume through Mr. George,” her father replied.
When the excited girl reached the White House, she was graciously received. The distinguished first lady told Nancy that Mr. George had spoken of her work as an amateur detective, and she asked many questions about the girl’s famous cases. She introduced her to a small group of personal friends who had gathered to do honor in an informal way to the celebrated young detective.
An hour later Nancy stepped from the White House limousine at her hotel door and hurriedly entered the elevator. She burst into the Drew apartment only to find her father pacing restlessly up and down, a worried expression on his face.
“Why, what is wrong, Dad?” she asked.
“The Department of Justice has been ringing the phone at fifteen-minute intervals ever since you left, Nancy. They are holding a suspect they think is Miss Allison, and want you to identify her.”
“Where did they capture her?” Nancy inquired eagerly.
“Here in Washington.”
“Then I can tell them the woman is not Miss Allison,” Nancy said with positive conviction. “She would never come here, I am sure. I suspect she is not far from River Heights at this very moment.”
“You may be right,” Mr. Drew agreed. “But it would be better to go with them as they wish.”
Mr. Drew called the Department and in an incredibly short time an operative whisked them away in a government car. Presently the automobile stopped at an old stone building at the door of which a detective stood guard. He conducted the little party into an upper room and brought Nancy face to face with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Miss Allison, but who was merely the victim of that unfortunate fact. After Nancy had absolved her the woman asked curiously:
“Aren’t you Miss Drew?”
“Well, that identification is correct anyhow,” Nancy responded, casting a mischievous glance at the government men.
She returned with her father to the hotel, but before the day was ended they were called upon to identify a second suspect. It was another useless trip, and Nancy convinced her father that they could do nothing more in Washington. Accordingly they took a fast night train for River Heights.
Word soon spread that the Drews were home, and many visitors called at the residence to hear the details of Nancy’s exciting experience. She answered all questions politely, yet begrudged the time required to entertain uninvited guests.
“The story of Coya’s kidnaping has become public property somehow. I am afraid many people think more of re-telling the details than they do of trying to help,” she complained to her father.
Each day Nancy made a point of visiting the local police station to inquire what progress, if any, had been made in the case. At the River Heights bank she was told that Miss Allison had not called for the treasure deposited in her name. Many clues developed, but all proved false.
Early one evening, as Nancy was walking slowly home from her father’s office, she was feeling unusually blue and discouraged. For the first time she was very nearly ready to acknowledge defeat. She feared that Coya would never be found.
In a reflective mood the girl strolled in the direction of a little used river bridge, a favorite place for her when she wanted to think out problems. She found a strange companionship in the swirling, black waters as they rushed past the great pillars many feet below her.
As Nancy approached the bridge, she was relieved to find that the foot-path was deserted. She would be alone as she wished. Suddenly she paused, startled.
Not twenty feet away there loomed up the figure of a woman. She wore a white turban, and the wind whipped her flowing robes about her crazily. As Nancy watched, the strange person approached the bridge railing. She stood there as one transfixed, gazing down intently into the angry waters.
“I believe that’s Miss Allison!” Nancy thought tensely.