Chapter 8 The Whispering Statue by Carolyn Keene
LOCATING MISS MORSE
The contractor ran around the house, searching for some means of entrance, but found all the doors and windows locked. As the man could not scale the porch column as Jocko had done, he muttered impatiently to himself, and then sat down to wait until the monkey should reappear.
Nancy and her chums wished to help the man recover his pet but without a ladder there was nothing they could do. Bess wandered about the outside of the house trying the windows herself to make certain the fellow had not overlooked any of them. Toward the rear she found one where a shutter had been left open.
“Take a look inside, girls,” she invited. “Some of the furniture is still in the house.”
“Imagine that!” Bess exclaimed. “After all these years!”
“I wonder why it was never taken away,” Nancy mused as she joined her chums at the window.
Peering into the darkened interior, the girls made out several massive pieces of furniture draped with ghostly sheets and protecting covers. A grand piano stood at the far end of the room into which they gazed.
Suddenly Nancy and her chums were startled to hear the roar of the Italian’s truck. They ran to the road.
“I go now,” the man shouted above the noise of the motor. “I gotta no time to wait for Jocko.”
Before anyone could protest, the contractor had driven away.
“What will become of the poor little monkey?” Nancy worried. “He’ll starve if he’s left in that house.”
Jack Kingdon appeared at this moment and was told what had happened.
“The contractor will probably come back later for his pet,” he assured the girls.
The young people waited for nearly half an hour, hoping that the animal would reappear at the window. Finally, since it was growing late, they were compelled to leave the estate. Jack drove the girls to their hotel. As he left them, he extended a cordial invitation for them to visit the Kingdon cottage again.
Nancy hoped that during her absence Mr. Trixler might have gained some information regarding Miss Morse’s whereabouts, but she was disappointed to learn that such was not the case. Mr. Drew had not returned from his out-of-town business trip, either.
As the girls went to their room to change their clothes, Nancy remarked anxiously, “I wish we hadn’t gone away and left Jocko at Old Estate.”
“There was nothing we could do,” George replied. “It was impossible to get into the house without smashing a window.”
“I’d not enjoy prowling about that creepy place anyhow,” added Bess. “It was all right going there with Jack, but I shouldn’t want to try it alone.”
Nancy said nothing. Half an hour later, while her chums were occupied with letter writing, she quietly left the hotel. Making use of Mr. Trixler’s car, she sought the home of the contractor, finding it after considerable delay and inquiry. The man was not at home, however, and his wife spoke very little English. She was able, fortunately, to make Nancy understand that Jocko had not been recovered from the old deserted house.
“I’m going back there alone and see if I can find him,” the Drew girl decided, as she drove toward the country. “I’ll never have a peaceful moment until I do.”
Enroute to Old Estate she stopped at a roadside stand to purchase a bag of peanuts. Thus fortified to entice the monkey, she took up her position not far from the Whispering Statue. There was no sign of the little animal anywhere about the premises.
“Jocko! Jocko!” Nancy called in wheedling tones.
She scarcely expected that the pet would heed her cries. Great was her surprise when she spied him looking down at her from the attic window ledge. Over and over Nancy pleaded with the little fellow to come down. He eyed her intently but would not obey.
Deciding that the monkey was afraid of her because she was a stranger, Nancy moved back behind the marble statue, leaving a trail of peanuts in her wake. Half-hidden from view, she then called Jocko in whispered tones.
At first the little animal remained indifferent to her calls, but when she was upon the verge of giving up he suddenly swung down the porch pillar and began to gather up the peanuts. Closer and closer he came to Nancy until she was able to reach out and grab him. Jocko squirmed in her grasp, but as soon as he discovered there were more peanuts to be had, he slipped a paw about the girl’s neck and was content to be carried away.
As Nancy hurried with the monkey to the car, a taxi cab came up the driveway. She was dumbfounded to see Bess, George and Mr. Trixler alight.
“I thought we’d find you here,” George declared as they came toward Nancy. “Bess and I were almost certain you’d come back looking for that monkey.”
“I was just about to take Jocko home,” Nancy explained unnecessarily.
For a moment she wondered if Mr. Trixler were provoked at her for using his car; yet she knew that such hardly could be the case, for he had urged her many times to take it whenever she wished to do so.
“We have interesting news for you!” Bess declared, her eyes bright with excitement. “Mr. Trixler has located Miss Morse.”
“Oh, where is she?” Nancy cried in delight.
“The police tell me she’s staying at a tourist camp out this way,” Mr. Trixler explained. “It’s called the Sunset Camp.”
“The hotel people gave us the suitcase she left in our room,” Bess went on. “We thought we’d take it to her but we didn’t want to go without you.”
Nancy was grateful that Mr. Trixler and the girls had gone to so much trouble to find her, for she would have been bitterly disappointed had they made the trip without her. They dismissed the taxi, and everyone rode in Mr. Trixler’s car to the Sunset Tourist Camp, located only a few miles farther on. Driving up to the little office at the entrance of the park, Nancy explained to the man in charge that they wished to see a camper by the name of Miss Morse.
“Cottage 16,” he directed gruffly.
She drove through the gateway, parking in front of a two-room overnight cabin.
“I scarcely know how I’ll be received,” Nancy whispered to her chums.
Leaving the active Jocko in George’s care, she took out Miss Morse’s suitcase. Setting it down by the cottage door she rapped lightly. It was opened almost at once by a middle-aged woman wearing a pink house dress.
As Nancy gazed fixedly at her, the girl did not notice a small boy who emerged from an adjoining cabin and stared curiously at the bag. He sidled near by and began to examine the suitcase.
“I was told that Miss Morse resides in this cottage,” said Nancy to the woman.
“I am Miss Morse.”
Nancy could not hide her disappointment. She had expected to meet the old lady of the black cloak, but obviously there were two persons in Sea Cliff by the same name. She explained about the bag having been left by mistake in her room at the Seaside Hotel.
“I’ve lost no luggage,” the woman replied, glancing at the suitcase. “I never owned one like that, either.”
Unnoticed by Nancy, the small boy had been tampering with the fastenings of the case. At a sharp word from Miss Morse he scuttled away.
“That child next door is a dreadful pest,” the woman apologized. “Always prying into things.”
Nancy laughed good-naturedly and reached down to pick up the bag. As she lifted it, the lid fell back.
A small black box which appeared to be a make-up kit tumbled to the ground, and with it a woman’s blond wig. The clothing which lay exposed was of the latest style, and of a type usually worn by young women.
“Well, mercy sakes,” Miss Morse murmured in astonishment. “I guess the owner of that bag must be an actress!”