Chapter 5 The Whispering Statue by Carolyn Keene
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Nancy and her chums spent the afternoon on the beach, enjoying a brisk swim and a sun bath. They talked no more of Miss Morse, assuming that they would never see her again since she did not appear to live in Sea Cliff after all.
As they entered their room some time later, the girls were astonished to find that in their absence an extra suitcase had been deposited just inside the door.
“What is this?” Bess inquired, as she noticed the bag.
“All our luggage came up yesterday,” George added. “Do you suppose this is your father’s suitcase, Nancy?”
“Oh, no, he never owned one like that. Let’s see the railroad tag.” She stooped down to examine it. “Why girls, this suitcase belongs to Fanny Morse!”
“Well, of all things!” exclaimed Bess. “How did it get here in our room?”
“You tell me,” Nancy responded dryly. “Obviously there’s been some mix-up in the luggage, and the hotel people thought this bag belonged to us. That would seem to indicate Miss Morse registered here.”
“The clerk told us he never heard of the woman,” George commented.
“I know,” Nancy nodded thoughtfully. “It’s rather baffling, isn’t it?”
She went to the telephone and called the office below. The clerk in charge could not explain how the suitcase had been deposited in the girls’ room, but assured Nancy a boy would be sent for it immediately.
The girls chose to follow the bag down to the lobby. They examined the hotel register, but Miss Morse’s name had not been listed as a recent arrival. The desk man was perplexed too, for he did not know what to do with the suitcase. In vain he questioned the bell boys. No one admitted taking the luggage to Room 305 nor did anyone remember Miss Morse by either name or by the description which Nancy furnished.
“She’s certainly a woman of mystery,” George sighed as the girls decided to give up their quest.
“Miss Morse must be somewhere here in Sea Cliff,” Nancy declared soberly. “Possibly in the hotel. I intend to watch for her.”
Deciding that Togo needed exercise, the girls took the dog for a long walk on the ocean front. They passed many fine estates, the massive houses being half hidden behind tall iron fences and a natural screen of trees and shrubs. Nancy read the name plates on several of the gates.
“I wish we could find Old Estate,” she remarked. “If I go back to River Heights without seeing ‘The Whispering Girl’ I’ll be very disappointed.”
Mrs. Owen had provided Nancy with directions for reaching the estate, but they were too vague to be of value. Apparently the clubwoman had become mixed concerning the names of various streets. At any rate, the girls were unable to locate many of them. Interpreting the directions as best they could, they came presently to a pine forest dotted with several tourist camps.
“Wrong again,” Nancy sighed. “Old Estate couldn’t be this way.”
They asked the manager of the nearest camp if he knew of the place, but the man had never heard of it. Nancy and her chums went back to the hotel feeling a trifle discouraged.
“I wish we had a car here,” Nancy remarked regretfully, “then we could get around faster and see things.”
Since arriving at Sea Cliff the girls had not enjoyed themselves to any great extent. The weather had been too cold for pleasant swimming, and the resort city was not as lively as they had expected to find it. The following day when Mr. Drew returned, he noticed immediately that the girls appeared downcast.
“We like it here,” Nancy insisted upon being questioned, “but the most interesting things to see are miles from the city along the shore.”
“Why not hire a cab and drive wherever you like?” her father questioned.
“We could do that, I suppose,” Nancy said slowly, “only one always feels so rushed and money-conscious listening to the steady tick-tick, tick-tick of the taxi-meter.”
Evidently Mr. Drew gave some thought to the problem of transportation, for that evening when the girls joined him in the hotel dining room they found an elderly, bent old man chatting with the lawyer. The latter arose quickly, his companion more slowly, for the poor fellow seemed to be suffering from rheumatism.
“Girls,” said Mr. Drew jovially, “this is Mr. Harvey Trixler, the answer to your hopes. He owns an automobile and is diligently seeking a driver.”
“It’s this way,” Mr. Trixler explained after Nancy and her chums had seated themselves at the table. “I came to Sea Cliff to take the salt baths. For years I’ve suffered from rheumatism and an infection which seems to make me sore and ache in every joint. Each day I am compelled to drive out to the Brighton Baths which are ten miles from the city. Now I don’t like to run a car myself, and the taxi drivers seem to take great delight in driving as fast as they can over all the bumps.”
“As I was saying a moment ago,” Mr. Drew interposed with a wink at Nancy, “my daughter is an excellent driver.”
“If I could help you in any way I’d be delighted to do so,” Nancy offered promptly.
Before the meal ended, it was arranged that the girls should drive the old man daily to the Brighton Baths where he usually spent the greater part of the morning. In return for the favor they were to have the use of the car whenever they might choose.
“Oh, Dad, how did you happen to meet Mr. Trixler?” Nancy asked her father when they were alone.
“I heard him inquiring at the desk for a driver. I remembered that you girls were pining for a car of your own so I checked up on Trixler and found him to be all right, though perhaps a bit eccentric. He is a retired business man. If you can avoid jolting him too much in driving over the bumps, you’ll find the arrangement a pretty good one for all concerned.”
“He seems to be a rather timid sort, Dad, I’m surprised he’d be willing to trust himself to my driving.”
“I told him you were very conservative,” Mr. Drew laughed. “I hinted that you never travel over twenty-five miles an hour.”
Nancy and her chums were glad to have an occupation and really enjoyed taking Mr. Trixler back and forth to the salt baths. Usually when the old man emerged from the building he would be in a gay mood, his aches and pains temporarily having been soothed away. He liked to take the girls to moving picture shows and frequently treated them to refreshments.
Enroute to the Brighton Baths it was a far different story. Then nothing seemed to please Mr. Trixler. Although Nancy drove as carefully as she could he moaned at every bump and complained constantly.
Usually the old gentleman spent at least three hours inside the building. While he was occupied with the treatment the girls often drove farther along the highway, viewing the many imposing estates along the shore. Sometimes they would bring a picnic lunch and eat it either in the handsome touring car or at some rocky nook by the ocean.
During their various excursions, Nancy did not forget to inquire about Miss Morse. No one, however, seemed ever to have heard of the old lady.
One noon time as the girls were sitting in the car waiting for Mr. Trixler, Nancy proposed that they take a walk into the pine woods directly behind the Brighton Baths.
“Too lazy,” Bess yawned. “You and George go. I think I’ll curl up in the back seat and snooze.”
“Oh, let’s stay here,” George protested. “I don’t seem to have any pep today either.”
“I’ll go myself,” Nancy laughed, opening the car door. “Signal to me when Mr. Trixler comes.”
She walked away and turned into a trail which led through the pine woods. She had gone only a short distance when she saw that she was overtaking two men directly ahead of her. She would have thought nothing of it had she not heard the name “Miss Morse” spoken distinctly.
Instantly alert, the girl slackened her pace and gazed intently at the two men. Their backs were to her, so she could not be certain whether the younger of the two was Joe Mitza, though he resembled him.
“It is he!” she decided a moment later as the man turned his head slightly. “I wonder if he followed Miss Morse here?”
Nancy felt that she must learn what the two were saying. She was willing to risk detection. Pulling her hat low over her eyes, she quietly drew closer.