Chapter 7 The Whispering Statue by Carolyn Keene
OLD ESTATE
Before the boat could reach the swimmer, he went under. Nancy stood poised, ready to dive into the turbulent water after him if necessary. He reappeared at the surface again, but seemed unable to help himself.
“Don’t give up!” she shouted encouragingly, then added to her chums, “He has a cramp, I guess.”
George finally brought the boat alongside so that the other girls could grasp the young man by his bathing suit. They tried to pull him aboard, but it was difficult to do so. Nancy was afraid that in such rough water the boat would upset if it became even slightly overbalanced.
“Can you hold on to the side for a few minutes?” she asked the swimmer. “We’ll tow you ashore.”
Exhausted as he was, the dark-haired youth still was able to flash Nancy a courageous grin. While she and Bess held fast to the young man, George rowed as rapidly as she could toward shore. When they reached shallow water several lifeguards came wading out to assist.
“I’m all right now,” the rescued swimmer chattered in protest. “Just give me something warm to drink.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t drown,” the life guard growled. “What was the idea, not coming in when I gave the signal?”
“I didn’t hear you,” the young man returned, slipping into a bathrobe which was held for him. “Then I got a cramp and in the undertow I couldn’t do a thing for myself. Say, where are those girls who hauled me in? I want to talk to them.”
Nancy, Bess and George were standing at the edge of the crowd which had gathered. They felt a trifle embarrassed, for everyone seemed to be staring at them and pointing them out as heroines. They were glad that the young man did not appear to have suffered any ill effects from his unpleasant experience. When he attempted to express his appreciation they tried to pass the matter off lightly.
“My name is Jack Kingdon,” he told them, and his smile was most attractive. “I’m so cold I can’t talk without my teeth rattling together just now, but you’ll hear from me again.”
The girls thought no more about the remark, for they had not even told the young man their names. A few minutes later as they were leaving the beach after changing their clothes, a well-dressed woman of early middle age approached them.
“Aren’t you the girls who rescued my son?” she inquired with a smile. “I am Mrs. Kingdon.”
When Nancy and her chums admitted that they were, the woman thanked them profusely. She concluded by saying cordially:
“I should be delighted to have you take luncheon with me tomorrow at my cottage. Jack is so eager to know you better.”
The girls were overjoyed to receive the invitation and promptly accepted it. The following afternoon found them rapping on the door of a picturesque cottage by the ocean. Mrs. Kingdon admitted them herself before the maid could answer the summons.
“Luncheon will be served soon,” she smiled after she had taken their wraps and made them welcome. “Until then you might enjoy wandering about the garden with Jack.”
Mrs. Kingdon’s son, immaculately dressed, was even more handsome and charming than the girls had thought him. He was a perfect host, escorting them through the old-fashioned flower garden and telling them many things of interest concerning Sea Cliff.
“Have you lived here all your life?” Bess inquired.
“Oh, no, but Mother and I usually spend our summers at Sea Cliff. We’ve been coming here to this same cottage off and on for eight years—ever since I was a little boy.”
“Do you happen to know anyone named Fanny Morse living here?” Nancy inquired quickly.
Jack Kingdon repeated the name and shook his head.
“I can’t seem to find anyone who has ever heard of her,” Nancy sighed. “Or for that matter, of the ‘Whispering Girl’ statue.”
“ ‘The Whispering Girl’,” Jack repeated in surprise. “Why, I know about that . . . I’ve seen it.”
“Tell me where it is located,” Nancy pleaded eagerly.
“Why, not far from here on the old Conger estate. Old Estate some persons call it, though usually it goes under the other name. The property is abandoned now and is rapidly falling into decay.”
“I’d give anything to see the statue,” Nancy told him. “I’ve been told that I bear a slight resemblance to the marble figure.”
Jack stared at her face.
“Why, so you do! It’s uncanny! I say, after lunch let’s drive over to Old Estate and you can see the statue yourself.”
Nancy and her chums said that they could think of nothing they would like better. During luncheon Mrs. Kingdon was able to tell the girls additional facts about the abandoned property.
“The place originally belonged to a wealthy man named Conger, I believe,” she explained. “He was respected in the community, but unfortunately he had a daughter who was rather wild. She ran away from home when she was very young and married a worthless fellow—I don’t recall that I ever heard his name.
“At any rate, the man turned out to be a criminal, leading the girl into evil ways. She was arrested once for theft but Mr. Conger fixed matters up somehow. Yet according to rumor it cost him a great deal.”
“I should have thought he would have preferred to disown his daughter,” Bess remarked.
“Mr. Conger was devoted to the girl. Whenever she was in trouble, she appealed to him for help, and he never failed her. In the end it cost him his health, home and happiness. He allowed Old Estate to fall into ruin because he could not afford to repair it or build a retaining wall to keep the sea from washing away the property.”
“No one has lived at the place for years,” Jack added. “Not since Mr. Conger died. Every winter the water has been cutting deeper and deeper into the land, and any day I expect to hear that the house has toppled into the sea.”
“It will probably go the first time we have a severe storm,” Mrs. Kingdon declared. “A pity, too, for years ago the place was one of the most attractive at Sea Cliff.”
Soon after luncheon, as he had promised, Jack drove the girls to Old Estate. An ancient gate still barred the entrance to the winding private road which led to the house. As the young man pulled it open so that they might drive through, a loose board fell to the ground, making it impossible to close the barrier again. The road was dry but rutty, and a wild jungle of shrubs brushed against the car as it passed.
“Whatever became of Mr. Conger’s daughter?” George inquired curiously as the auto bounced along.
Jack shrugged. “No one ever knew. After her last trouble with the police she disappeared and was never heard of again. She did not return home even for her father’s funeral.”
“That was gratitude,” Bess murmured, “especially when the old man sacrificed his entire fortune for her.”
The automobile rounded a bend and halted before a weather-beaten, rambling old house which was perched high above the sea. It stood at a rakish angle since one wing had no form of support at all. The water had cut a great tunnel beneath it.
“Another season, and the house surely will topple into the sea,” Jack declared, gazing about him with interest. “A lot of damage has been done since last I visited here.”
Toward the right lay what remained of a garden. There were a few scraggly rose bushes entangled among a jungle of weeds. Yet when the visitors came within view of the Whispering Girl statue, they halted and stared in awe, for the figure tended to dignify its unkempt surroundings.
The marble piece was still imposing, though weatherbeaten and old. The group consisted of three sculptured figures; a life-sized likeness of a beautiful girl with flowing hair, on either side of which, at a little distance, stood a smaller statue. The central figure bore a startling resemblance to Nancy.
“Why, Mrs. Owen was right,” Bess murmured when she found her voice. “You’re enough like that statue, Nancy, to be its twin!”
“It makes me feel sort of creepy to see myself reflected in marble,” her chum admitted as the young people moved forward to inspect the piece at close range.
Jack had brought his camera and now took several snapshots of Nancy standing beside the Whispering Girl. He promised that he would send prints of the pictures to her when they should be developed.
“Do you know the history of the statue, Jack?” Nancy inquired curiously.
“Only in a general way. The marble was imported from Italy, I’ve been told, and is of the best quality. I have never heard who the sculptor was.”
“I suppose the statue received its name from the peculiar pose of the central figure,” Nancy said musingly.
“Undoubtedly,” agreed Jack. “I’m sure the marble never talks!”
“Listen!” Nancy commanded suddenly.
Everyone remained quiet for a moment. Save for the whistle of the wind in the pine boughs and the roar of the ocean, there was no other sound.
“One can almost imagine that the statue is whispering now,” Nancy murmured.
“It’s only the wind,” George Fayne said impatiently.
“Of course,” Nancy returned quickly, “and I hope you won’t think me superstitious, but I find the illusion almost perfect.”
“I imagine if one were here on a stormy night the old statue would practically howl!” Bess laughed.
“I doubt if it will be here much longer,” Nancy said regretfully. “It stands so close to the bank that when the house goes it may sink out of sight. What a pity!”
“I think I’ll go around to the ocean side of the building,” said Jack Kingdon, “and take some more pictures. You’re not in a hurry, are you?”
“No,” replied Nancy. “We’ll wait here. Take as much time as you like.”
The truth is that the girl was so fascinated by the statue that she was not ready to leave the spot yet. A few minutes after the young man had disappeared from view, the attention of Nancy and her chums was diverted by the sound of screeching brakes. A large truck had come to an abrupt stop in the driveway. A swarthy, heavy-set foreigner climbed from the cab, approaching the group with quick, hurried steps.
“You own-a da place?” he questioned Nancy, his manner eager and impatient.
“No, I do not,” the girl replied emphatically.
Ignoring her denial, and speaking rapidly, the man told Nancy that he was a contractor. He would like the job of wrecking the old mansion and disposing of the marble statues.
“I can’t give you permission to dismantle the place,” Nancy said firmly.
“I do-a good work,” he insisted. “I no cheat. I honest man. When I make-a da promise, my word fine.”
“I’m not doubting your integrity at all,” Nancy replied, somewhat amused at the man’s insistence. “I don’t own the place so I couldn’t possibly give the job to you.”
It was evident that the contractor thought Nancy was merely endeavoring to drive a hard bargain. Despite the girl’s repeated denials he could not believe that she was not the owner of the property, for the statue resembled her.
“I give five hundred dollar. You get no better price.”
Nancy wearily shook her head.
“You shake-a da head but I make what you say—deduction, yes? Da statue is made for you: your lips; your cheeks; your mouth. It is da same.”
“The statue may look a little like me but that doesn’t mean the estate is mine.”
The man still was not satisfied, but he was diverted from further questioning by the sudden appearance of his pet monkey which had escaped from its tether in the truck. Instead of seeking its master, however, the little animal espied the tall porch pillars of the ancient house. With astonishing agility he shot up one of them and squatted down near a window on the roof.
His master grew very excited. He scolded the monkey in broken English and then tried his native tongue, but the little fellow did not choose to understand. Instead, Jocko cowered by the window and looked up the side of the house, seeking further elevations to scale.
Suddenly the man seized a rock and hurled it at his escaped pet. The missile flew wide of its mark and crashed through the window, glass flying in all directions. Suddenly the monkey vanished.
“Oh, he crawled through the broken window,” cried George. The girl went off into a gale of laughter as she watched the angry contractor shake his fist at the vanished pet.
“I get you! I get you!” he shrieked. “And when I do, Jocko, of you I make-a da hash!”