Chapter 4 The Clue of the Tapping Heels by Carolyn Keene
A Distinguished Visitor
Carson Drew moved quickly toward one corner of the house while Nancy went the other way. No one was in sight.
“Perhaps you were mistaken, Nancy,” he said.
“I’m certain I saw someone, Dad. However, it might have been Mr. Bunce or even a neighbor’s boy.”
“Well, there’s no one here now.”
After glancing about again Mr. Drew rapped on the door of the Bunce home. Footsteps were heard, and in a moment a thin woman of middle age wearing a dirty gingham apron over her dark dress appeared in the doorway. She had a sharp, unpleasant face.
“What can I do for you?” she inquired brusquely.
“Is Mr. Bunce at home?” the lawyer asked.
“He stepped out for a minute. I’m looking for him to come back shortly.”
“Then may we wait for him?” Mr. Drew requested when the woman did not extend them an invitation to enter.
“I was just getting supper for my husband—” Mrs. Bunce frowned. “But yes, come in if you like.”
Nancy and her father could not fail to notice the appearance of the living room. The rug had not been swept in many days, the windows were splattered with dirt, and odds and ends were strewn about everywhere. A heavy screen of smoke hung in the air, revealing that Mrs. Bunce had burned some dish which she had been preparing in the kitchen.
“Just sit down and make yourselves comfortable,” the woman said, dusting off a chair for Nancy.
“Do you mind if I open a window?” the girl requested.
“I suppose you object to the smoke,” Mrs. Bunce said tartly. “I can’t open a window because my husband didn’t put up the screens.”
“I thought it seemed a trifle close,” Nancy replied quickly. “It really doesn’t matter.”
“You didn’t tell me your business,” the woman said, turning toward Carson Drew. “You’re not a salesman?”
“No, Mrs. Bunce, I wish to talk with your husband about a boy who has been under his care.”
“You mean Gus? He’s not here any more.”
“So I understand. The boy died at the Riverside Home, I believe?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Bunce agreed, “but it was none of our doing that he was sent there. He had a good home with us.”
“I’m sure he did,” agreed Mr. Drew pleasantly.
“We took care of him for years until that old Miss Carter made so much trouble.”
“I imagine you received pay for your work,” the attorney suggested casually.
“Well, naturally we took board money from Gussie’s inheritance,” Mrs. Bunce admitted. “But I wish now we’d used more of it. Who had a better right to it?”
Before Mr. Drew could reply, a step was heard outside and Mr. Bunce came into the room. He glanced sharply at Nancy, then eyed the lawyer with guarded suspicion.
“These folks have come to ask about Gus,” Mrs. Bunce said quickly.
“What is it you want to know?” the man questioned abruptly.
“I am here in the interests of Miss Carter,” explained Carson Drew. “I understand that she advanced money for the boy’s care at the institution, and would like to be repaid from his estate.”
“That’s a good laugh. Gus Woonton’s estate! The boy didn’t have enough to take care of the funeral expenses. I’ll be out a good many dollars for his burial.”
“I understood from your wife that Gus had a substantial inheritance.”
Mr. Bunce glanced angrily at the woman.
“Molly always gets things mixed,” he said irritably. “The boy had a small amount of money left him, but it’s been gone some time.”
“You are prepared to give an accounting of the funds, I assume?” Mr. Drew questioned.
“Of course. Do you mean to suggest that I’ve used the money myself?”
“Not at all, not at all,” Mr. Drew returned, unruffled. “I merely was inquiring in the interests of Miss Carter. If the boy left no money, then naturally she cannot expect to be reimbursed.”
“Well, that’s the way it is,” Mr. Bunce announced flatly. “In the first place, she had no right to send the boy to an institution. Tell her she can’t get a penny.”
“I’ll deliver your message,” Mr. Drew smiled. “Good afternoon.”
During the ride back to River Heights Nancy asked her father if he believed that Mr. Bunce had been speaking the truth.
“The man acted as if he were telling an untruth, Nancy. I’d not be surprised if Gus did leave an estate, but to prove it is another matter.”
“I wish we could do something to help Miss Carter.”
“Yes, but we have no right to involve ourselves in the affair, Nancy. I don’t feel like pressing the matter.”
The girl realized that her father was taking a wise stand, yet she could not help but feel sorry for the attractive, kindly woman who seemed unable to fight her own battles. The following day, in company with George and Bess, she went again to Berryville, there to meet the veterinary who had agreed to take away several of Miss Carter’s cats.
“I’m so glad you have come,” Mrs. Bealing said to Nancy in an undertone as the girls entered the house. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Too many pussies?” Nancy laughed.
“Yes, and other things too. I’ve been hearing such strange tapping noises.”
“When was this?” Nancy inquired alertly.
“Last night. My bedroom is directly over the kitchen. I could hear someone tapping below me and it seemed to come from the kitchen.”
“Didn’t you get up to investigate?”
“Yes, I did, but then the sounds ceased. It was all so strange. And that’s not everything. Someone has been poisoning Miss Carter’s pets! She’s terribly upset about it.”
“I should think so,” agreed Bess. “Are you sure the cats were poisoned?”
“There’s no question about it. Three died last night and two more this morning. I found food lying in the yard and I’m sure it was placed there deliberately.”
“You don’t think Fred Bunce would do a trick like that?” George suggested.
“He’s just the person I’d suspect,” Mrs. Bealing declared.
The girls went upstairs to see Miss Carter, and were sorry to find her in an excited state of mind.
“I am glad the veterinary is taking most of the other cats away,” the woman told them. “Anything is better than to have them poisoned. How could anyone be so heartless as to do such a thing?”
Nancy and her chums remained with Miss Carter for half an hour and were even more favorably impressed by her personality. The woman had a dramatic way of speaking which commanded attention even though her words carried no great significance. She punctuated her conversation with graceful gestures, a characteristic that convinced Nancy the spinster might have been on the stage at some time during her life.
“I should like to ask her if she were ever an actress,” the girl thought. “When I know her better perhaps I shall.”
Leaving George and Bess to chat with Miss Carter, Nancy went downstairs to ask Mrs. Bealing if she could be of any help. The housekeeper assured her that the day’s work had been done, so she turned to go back upstairs.
As she crossed the living room floor Nancy glanced out the window and saw that a fine car had drawn up in front of the house. A chauffeur opened the door so that an elderly gentleman might alight. He came toward the house, jauntily swinging a cane, then pressed the bell. After a brief interval the Drew girl opened the door.
“Good afternoon,” he said, bowing and smiling. “Will you be so kind as to tell Ladiviolette that Horace St. Will is calling?”
“Ladiviolette?” Nancy repeated in perplexity. “Oh, I’m afraid you have the wrong house. No one by that name lives here.”
“I was certain this was the place,” the man said, showing his disappointment. “I must have been given the wrong street number. A thousand pardons for having disturbed you.”
He bowed himself away and returned to the car. Nancy watched the automobile drive off, then dashed up the stairs to Miss Carter’s bedroom.
“Has the veterinary arrived yet?” the spinster inquired when she saw the girl. “I heard a car on the drive.”
“No, that was a stranger who came to the wrong house,” Nancy returned. “He was asking for someone by the name of Ladiviolette.”
Miss Carter painfully raised herself to a sitting position. Her voice was excited as she cried:
“Lady Violette! Why, that is my name! I am Lady Violette!”