Chapter 14 The Whispering Statue by Carolyn Keene
HELP FROM TOGO
“Give me that letter!” Joe Mitza cried furiously.
With a scornful smile Nancy extended it for him to take, but as the man reached out his hand a strong gust of wind carried the envelope away. Togo took up the pursuit, pounced upon the note, and began to tear at it with his sharp teeth.
“Confound that mutt!” Mitza exclaimed angrily.
Snatching up a heavy stick he beat the dog until Togo dropped the letter. Yelping with pain, the animal tried to run away, but the man held him by the collar and whipped him cruelly.
“Stop that!” Nancy ordered, darting forward. “Don’t you dare strike my dog!”
She caught Mitza by the arm and pulled the fellow away from Togo. He pushed her roughly aside. George and Bess joined the fray and the three girls managed to rescue the dog, but not before he had bitten Mitza’s finger a little.
“That beast ought to be shot!” the man shouted furiously. “He ruined my letter and now look what he’s done to my hand!”
“You brought it upon yourself, I am afraid,” Nancy replied coldly.
By this time many persons, attracted by Togo’s yelps of pain, had gathered at the scene. Mitza was regarded unsympathetically by all who had witnessed the affair.
“Where’s my letter?” he demanded, looking about him.
In the mêlee it had been torn into several pieces and trampled into the dirt. The wind had carried the bits of paper in every direction.
“I guess there’s nothing left of it,” Bess said shortly.
Nancy had seen two of the scattered bits of paper lodge in a tiny evergreen tree near by, but she did not reveal the fact. She meant to retrieve them herself after Mitza had gone.
“I ought to call in the police,” the man blustered. “Destroying a valuable letter——”
“Why don’t you notify the local officers?” Nancy challenged. “I think it would be a good idea.”
Mitza gave the girl a sharp glance. Then he quickly went off, nursing his injured hand and muttering to himself.
“It served him right to be bitten,” said a woman who had witnessed the affair. “He had no excuse to abuse the dog. That man is a dead-beat and as worthless as a fellow could be.”
“Do you know him?” Nancy inquired alertly.
“Decidedly. He owes me a bill of nearly ten dollars, and all for food. I run the Florence Restaurant here at the park.”
“Has Mitza been eating without paying?”
“Yes. He orders everything on the menu and then pretends he’ll pay for it the next day. He claimed his wealthy father was sending him a check, but that it had been delayed.”
“Delayed permanently, I imagine,” Nancy commented dryly.
“I guess I’ll go after him right now and threaten to turn him over to the police,” the woman announced. “I’ll not let him cheat me.”
She was moving away when Nancy remembered to ask if anyone answering Miss Morse’s description ever took her meals at the Florence Restaurant.
“I don’t recall such a person. We have a great many customers in a day,” the woman replied regretfully, “and I’d hardly remember anyone unless he was outstanding in some way.”
After the restaurant owner had gone and the crowd had melted away, Nancy went to the little evergreen tree and searched for the pieces torn from Joe Mitza’s letter.
“I’m almost positive the note was from Miss Morse,” she told her chums. “Her box number was on the envelope, but I can’t be sure of it now.”
“Here’s one of the pieces!” Bess cried out triumphantly, picking it up from the ground. “It seems to be a part of the envelope.”
Luck favored the girls. Although the scrap of paper was only a tiny one, it bore the notation “Box 14.”
“Now I’ll be able to get in touch with Miss Morse!” Nancy declared, highly elated.
The girls searched for some minutes in the vicinity and finally discovered another portion of the letter which had blown into a flower bed.
“What does it say?” George demanded eagerly, peering over Nancy’s shoulder.
“ ‘I’ll come at night with the $5000,’ ” Nancy read aloud. “Oh, dear, this seems to indicate that the old lady intends to go through with some sort of deal with Mitza.”
“Where are they to meet, do you suppose?” Bess speculated. “If only we had seen all of the letter!”
“Let’s try to find a few more scraps,” Nancy suggested. “Perhaps we’ll be able to piece the thing together.”
Although the girls searched diligently, they were unable to locate other portions of the letter. As they were looking under the porch of a tourist cabin, an elderly man with a cane came walking slowly down the cinder path. He paused to watch the girls curiously.
“Did you lose anything?” he inquired in a friendly tone.
“Only a piece of paper,” Nancy replied, straightening up to gaze at the old gentleman.
He was an interesting type, agile and active despite his age, which one might guess to be about seventy.
“Could this be what you were looking for?” The old man pointed his cane toward a scrap of soiled wrapping paper lying on the ground.
“I’m afraid not,” Nancy answered, returning his warm smile.
The old man sat down on a bench near by. Very shortly he introduced himself as a Mr. Albin, and struck up a friendly conversation, revealing to his young listeners that his father originally had owned all the ground upon which the town of Sea Cliff stood.
“Until ten years ago this park was a part of my farm,” he declared reminiscently. “I like to walk down here on sunny days, sort of thinking back on the good old times. I guess probably you’ve heard of the Albins. My ancestors settled here way back in 1712 and there’s been an Albin in Sea Cliff ever since.”
“You must know nearly everyone here, then,” Nancy commented thoughtfully.
“There was a time when I did, but not any more. Sea Cliff has grown too fast for me the past few years. But I know all the old-timers.”
“Did you ever hear of the Conger family?” Nancy inquired.
“Fred Conger was one of my best friends. Why, the last few years of his life he used to come to my house nearly every day and we would work on ship models together. Fred made one of an old fashioned brig, which was the neatest piece of work I ever saw. It took over a year to make it. He said that when it should be finished I should have it. But he didn’t live long enough to fulfill his promise.”
“Where is the ship now?”
“In the old Conger homestead, decaying with the rest of the furnishings. A great pity, too, for Conger loved beautiful things and believed in taking care of them. I’m partly responsible for the way matters turned out—I blame myself.”
Nancy gazed at the old gentleman in astonishment.
“You are to blame, Mr. Albin?” the Drew girl asked.
“Yes,” the old man sighed. “I knew how Fred loved his daughter Bernice. In trying to soften the blow of her elopement I made a sad botch of things.”
“I don’t understand,” Nancy murmured.
Mr. Albin hesitated, and the girls sensed that it was a painful ordeal for him to tell them more. But he said quietly:
“You see, Fred kept hoping in the last years of his life that he would get some word from his daughter. He felt certain she would write and tell him she was returning home. He talked almost constantly of her. I don’t know actually what became of the girl, but she caused her poor father untold grief.
“After a while I couldn’t stand it to see Fred suffer as he did. It was a bit dishonest of me, I know, but a few years before his death I arranged to have postcards sent from various European ports, all of them signed ‘Love, Bernice.’ ”
“And Mr. Conger believed they came from his daughter?” Bess asked softly.
“Yes. Whenever he received a card he would be happy for days.”
“Why, everything considered, I think that was a very kind thing for you to do,” George remarked.
The old man shook his head. “I thought so too at first, but after Fred died I learned that he had left all his property in trust to his daughter, confidently believing her to be alive. The bank cannot close up the estate until she is found, and in the meantime the grand old place is falling into ruin.”
“You believe Bernice Conger is dead?” Nancy asked thoughtfully.
“I don’t know,” the old man answered slowly. “But if she is still alive I’m afraid she’ll never return here. Oh, it’s a pity to see that fine old estate in such wretched condition. A pity!”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Nancy said kindly. “You thought you were acting for the best.”
“I didn’t mean to do wrong, it’s true, but that doesn’t excuse me. Oh, I worry about it day and night.”
“Does anyone here in Sea Cliff know about the postcards?” George questioned.
The old man looked startled.