Chapter 16 The Whispering Statue by Carolyn Keene
NANCY’S “MISTAKE”
In a few minutes the doctor arrived with his black bag and immediately was admitted to Mr. Owen’s room. Nancy hovered nervously in the hallway.
Nearly half an hour elapsed before the physician emerged. When the girl observed his grave face it required all her courage to ask him about the patient’s condition.
“Mr. Owen has been greatly over-stimulated,” the doctor replied, “and his heart is weak. But if he suffers no further shock I look for an improvement within a day or two.”
Nancy went away meekly to find Bess and George.
“Oh, I feel dreadful about what I did,” she confided after she had told them what she had done. “Everyone blames me for Mr. Owen’s relapse, and I deserve it. I was so eager to prove the relationship between the couple that I didn’t consider the effect my words might have upon Mr. Owen, should my theory prove false.”
“But if you’re right, Nancy, the reunion will be wonderful,” Bess said kindly.
“Yes, but it’s almost too much to expect—that Mrs. Owen could be the missing wife of my father’s client. Mr. Owen is certain she died years ago. It doesn’t seem as if there could be a mistake—and yet, I keep hoping.”
“Try not to think any more about it until the telegram comes,” George urged, for she saw that Nancy was greatly upset with worry. “You acted with the best of intentions, and I’m sure no one suspected that Mr. Owen was in such a nervous condition.”
“Results are all that count—not good intentions,” Nancy said gloomily. “If Mr. Owen should die, I’ll be responsible——”
“Oh, now you’re getting morbid,” Bess cut in. “Mr. Owen won’t die.”
“He might,” Nancy insisted. “If the telegram is unfavorable it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he should.”
“I’m sure it’s not as serious as all that,” George said cheerfully. “Do stop worrying, Nancy, and tell me what you’re wearing to the dance tonight.”
“Dance?”
“You’ve not forgotten?” Bess questioned in astonishment. “We promised Jack we’d go to the party this evening at the Country Club.”
“Oh, I did forget! I can’t go now.”
“But it’s a dinner dance,” Bess reminded her. “Our reservations are made. It isn’t really fair to Jack to back out now.”
“I suppose I’ll have to go since I promised,” Nancy consented reluctantly, “but with Mr. Owen so ill it doesn’t seem right.”
When Jack called for the girls later that evening he sensed immediately that something was amiss. He too became downcast when he learned of Mr. Owen’s condition.
Everyone tried to be cheerful and enter into the spirit of the festivities, but the entertainment had lost its zest for them all. The dinner which preceded it was excellent, yet Nancy made only a pretense of eating. Later in the ballroom she danced mechanically, and more than once was compelled to apologize because she had failed to follow an intricate step.
“I don’t know what the matter is with me,” she said to Jack as she danced a waltz with him. “I’m ruining your entire evening.”
“You’re worried, Nancy, and I don’t blame you a bit. This isn’t much of a party anyway. What do you say we cut it and go for a spin in my car? The other girls won’t mind. They’re having a good time.”
“I’d love it, Jack. A little fresh air may clear my mind.”
It was delightful to motor swiftly over the paved road, the breeze blowing against their faces. For a long time neither of them spoke. Finally Nancy observed:
“Isn’t this the road which leads to Old Estate?”
“Yes,” her companion nodded. “We’re almost at the Conger place now. When we reach the crest of the next knoll you’ll be able to see the grounds.”
“Everything looks different at night.”
The car moved over the tiny hill, and Nancy turned her head to gaze in the direction Jack indicated.
“Would you like to stop and take another look at the Whispering Statue?” he inquired.
“Oh, not tonight, Jack. We must be getting back to the clubhouse soon. But are you certain that is the Conger estate?”
“Why, of course, Nancy. You’re not accustomed to the way it looks at night, but I know this road like a veteran bus driver.”
“There’s a light over there where you pointed,” Nancy insisted. “The Conger estate is deserted.”
Jack slowed down the car so that he might glance more carefully toward the grounds which were shrouded behind a pine grove.
“I don’t see any light, Nancy. It’s the Conger estate, all right. I’ve passed it dozens of times.”
“I’m certain I saw a light. It’s gone now.”
Young Kingdon brought the automobile to a halt by the roadside not far from the private entrance to the grounds.
“Where did you see it?” he questioned.
“Why, back among the trees. It seemed to come from the site of the old house. The light flashed three times.”
“You’re certain you saw it, Nancy?”
“Yes, indeed, I believe it was a signal of some sort.”
“I can’t imagine who would be prowling about the place at this time of night,” Jack said thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll walk up there and look around.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, stay here in the car,” Jack replied. “I might run into trouble. If I don’t return in ten minutes you come after me, or better still, go for help.”
Nancy did not like such an arrangement. She greatly preferred to do her own investigating, but the young man had very decided ideas about gallantry and would not allow her to accompany him. While Nancy sat waiting in the car, she tried to figure out what the strange light might signify.
“It’s barely possible Mr. Albin is in the house trying to recover the ship model which old Mr. Conger promised him,” she reflected. “Yet that scarcely seems plausible either, for he’s not the type to go prowling into houses at night.”
The ten minutes elapsed, and Nancy opened the car door, determined to go in search of Jack. There was no need for her to do so, however. Just at that moment the young man came down the private driveway, whistling a gay tune.
“False alarm,” he called out cheerfully.
“Was there no light?” Nancy asked in disappointment.
“No, the place is as quiet as a tomb. The only sound comes from the sea.”
“I’m certain I saw a light,” Nancy murmured. “I’m positive it flashed three times.”
“Imagination plays tricks upon us all now and then,” her companion laughed.
He turned the car around in the road and drove back toward the clubhouse. Nancy was very quiet. She could not believe that her imagination had tricked her, yet she did not wish to contradict her escort, either.
“I believe someone must have been skulking about the grounds,” she thought. “Whoever the person was he probably extinguished his lantern before Jack came within view of the house.”
At the country club Nancy danced several numbers, then was relieved when Bess and George suggested that they all go back to the hotel. The girls were tired, and without meaning to do so slept late the next morning. Just after nine o’clock Nancy’s telephone rang.
“A telegram for you,” said the voice of the hotel clerk. “We’ll send it right up.”
The girl whirled around to face Bess and George.
“Of course the wire is from Mrs. Owen! Oh, I’m almost afraid to read it.”
Nancy had the door open before the bell boy could rap. With the yellow envelope in her hand she leaned weakly against the wall.
“Oh, open it and find out what it says,” Bess urged.
“Here, let me do it,” George offered, taking the message from her chum. She ripped open the envelope. “Yes, it’s from Mrs. Owen, all right.”
Nancy could not bear the suspense.
“Let me see it,” she cried, and reclaimed the sheet of paper. Her face was a study as she read the message.
“What does she say?” Bess asked eagerly. “Was your theory right, Nancy?”
“Yes, it was! I don’t understand the mix-up of why anyone thought Mrs. Owen wasn’t living.”
“Of course she is living,” George chuckled. “We knew that before we left River Heights!”
“You don’t understand what I mean. The woman we met in the park is Alice Owen, the wife of my father’s client! She’s overwhelmed to learn that her husband still lives, so she must have thought he was dead. She is ready to start for Sea Cliff at once if Mr. Owen still wishes to see her after all these years.”
“If he wishes to see her!” Bess echoed. “The poor man will be overjoyed.”
“Yes,” Nancy agreed, “but I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice. Mr. Owen must be prepared properly for the good news so that he’ll not become excited again. I’ll entrust the message to the nurse and let her give it to him when she thinks the time advisable to do so.”
Highly elated, and feeling that in a way she had redeemed herself, Nancy took the telegram to the man’s room where she quietly inquired about the condition of the patient.
“He is much better today,” the nurse replied. “However, he worries constantly. It really will help him to learn the truth about his wife, for he’ll have no peace of mind until he does.”
Nancy was relieved to hear this opinion, and felt happy that she could report the good news which was in store for the patient. She left the message with the young woman, who promised to read it to Mr. Owen when he should become a trifle stronger.
That afternoon the man was told of the contents of the wire from his wife. It was impossible for him not to become somewhat excited, but he accepted the news as quietly as possible. Tears of joy trickled down his cheeks.
“Tell Alice I do want her,” he murmured. “Make her understand that I need her more than ever—that it was all a horrible mistake, our separation. If only I might talk with her just for a moment!”
When Nancy heard this, it occurred to her that Mr. Owen easily might convey his own message by means of a long distance telephone call. Yet, having learned one lesson, she thought it best not to utter this thought. Instead, she quietly consulted the doctor.
“Why yes, I believe Mr. Owen is strong enough now to withstand the excitement,” the physician agreed after a moment’s reflection. “However, the conversation must be brief.”
Nancy was happy to put the call through, and after warning Mrs. Owen at the other end of the line that she must speak only a few words, she handed the instrument over to the trembling patient.
“Alice,” he gasped, scarcely above a whisper, “is it really you?”
The listeners in the room could not hear the reply, but a happy light shone upon Mr. Owen’s face as he recognized the familiar voice of his wife. He murmured a few loving words; then the nurse stepped forward and gently took the phone from his hand.
“Just a minute longer,” he pleaded, but she firmly shook her head.
“You will see your wife soon,” Nancy said to reconcile him.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured happily as he dropped wearily back against the pillows. “She is coming on the first train she can get.”
The nurse sent everyone from the room so that the patient might drop off to sleep. In the corridor Carson Drew smiled at his daughter.
“I’m sorry I reprimanded you yesterday, Nancy,” he apologized. “After all, everything has turned out extremely well. Mr. and Mrs. Owen will be grateful to you until their dying days.”
“And I’ll always be grateful to Mr. Owen for postponing his dying day,” Nancy laughed. “I feel as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted from my shoulders.”
“So do I,” Mr. Drew admitted. He removed a five-dollar bill from the wallet he carried in his vest pocket. “Here, you deserve a celebration, Nancy. Take this and buy yourself a good time.”
“I’ll buy myself a white bathing suit instead,” Nancy said. “They’re all the style here at Sea Cliff. Thanks, Dad.”
Bess and George were eager to do some shopping too, for they wished to purchase gifts to take home to some young cousins. They were delighted to accompany Nancy to the business district of Sea Cliff and help her select the new swim suit.
It was after six o’clock when the girls returned to the hotel. Fearing that Mr. Drew would be annoyed because they would delay dinner, they hurried toward the elevator. Nancy did not stop to ask if there was any mail. She was surprised when the hotel clerk signaled to her.
“This letter came late this afternoon, special delivery. I thought it might be important.”
Nancy thanked him and took the communication, noticing that it was stamped Sea Cliff. At first she thought it might be from Jack, but she immediately abandoned that idea when she saw that the address had been written by a woman.
Opening the letter, she glanced at the bottom of the page to learn the identity of the writer. Then, her eyes sparkling with excitement, she moved swiftly toward her chums.
“Girls,” she announced in delight, “at last I’ve heard from Miss Morse!”