Chapter 7 The Clue of the Tapping Heels by Carolyn Keene
Disturbing Events
Nancy reached the building in time to see Mr. Bunce enter a brokerage office on the first floor. The girl peered through the open door.
The room was crowded with persons watching stock market quotations being chalked up by a clerk on a large blackboard. Some of the customers were buying, others were selling, and there was a general air of confusion everywhere.
Nancy caught sight of Mr. Bunce standing at one of the desks. She sauntered into the room, confident that she would not be noticed in such a crowd. Pretending to be studying the figures on the blackboard, she moved close enough to hear what the man was saying.
“Listen, I’m an old customer,” Bunce protested to the manager. “I have a sure tip on this stock. If you’ll carry my account for three days I’ll be able to repay you and make a cleaning.”
“Sorry, but we don’t do business that way,” replied the broker. “You’ve already lost a large sum of money here, and we’re not encouraging your account. Take my advice and get out of the market while you still have a little money left.”
Nancy did not hear Bunce’s reply. She had learned everything she cared to know. Turning, she slipped from the room and emerged on the street.
She forgot all about buying the curtain material. Her one thought was to reach her father’s office as quickly as she could. Carson Drew glanced up in surprise as his daughter burst into his private suite.
“Oh Dad!” Nancy cried. “I’ve just learned something which may help us win Miss Carter’s case.”
“And what is that, my dear?”
“I found out that Fred Bunce carries a brokerage account at the Howard, McClellan, and Farrar firm.” Thereupon she related what she had overheard.
“You believe that Bunce has been squandering large sums of money?”
“I’m almost sure of it, Dad. And where would he get the money if not from Gussie’s estate?”
“Now that we have a clue, it will be an easy matter to have his account with the firm examined,” Carson Drew declared. “We can trace down to a penny the sum Fred Bunce has spent there.”
“That’s what I thought, Dad. Couldn’t it be compared with the normal amount of his income to see if he had been using funds which didn’t belong to him?”
“Yes,” Mr. Drew nodded, “that’s exactly what we’ll do. If we find anything suspicious, we’ll institute a law suit, calling upon him to give a complete accounting of Gussie’s estate.”
At this point in the conversation the lawyer’s secretary entered to say that a client was waiting to see Mr. Drew. Reluctantly Nancy said good-bye to her father.
She looked forward to discussing the case more in detail that evening, so she was disappointed when Mr. Drew telephoned at five-thirty to say that he would be late in getting home. Hannah and Nancy dined alone. After the dishes had been dried the housekeeper busied herself with crocheting while Nancy tried to do a little reading.
“For some reason I feel uneasy,” she complained to Hannah. “I can’t keep my mind on my book.”
“Why don’t you go up to bed?” suggested the housekeeper.
“Oh, it’s too early. I’ll take a little walk outside. Perhaps that will quiet my nerves.”
“Your nerves!” laughed Hannah. “You haven’t a bad one in your body. You’re merely restless for something to do.”
“Listen!” Nancy Drew commanded suddenly. “What was that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
The girl moved quickly to the window and looked outside.
“What do you see, Nancy?”
“Nothing, but I was sure I heard a tapping noise.”
“You must have imagined it.”
“No, I’m certain I didn’t.”
Before Hannah could protest, Nancy had opened the door and stepped outside. The garden appeared deserted, but to make doubly sure of this the girl circled the house. Turning a corner, she stopped short. A ladder leaned against the building. Directly above it the window to Carson Drew’s study had been pushed up.
“Some thief has climbed there to search Dad’s den!” Nancy thought in alarm.
Quick as a flash she darted forward and moved the ladder away from the window. Then she ran into the house to tell Hannah of her discovery.
“The thief must be hiding upstairs this very minute!” she whispered excitedly. “You guard the stairway while I call the police.”
Nancy hurried to the telephone, but when she held the receiver to her ear there was no sound. The phone seemed dead. She clicked the receiver several times. Still there was no answer.
“The wires have been cut!” Nancy thought.
She ran back to the stairway where Hannah stood grimly on guard. The housekeeper had armed herself with one of Carson Drew’s golf clubs.
“I can’t reach the police,” Nancy whispered.
Together the two tiptoed up the stairway, pausing on the landing to listen. They could hear no sound.
“I think he must be in the study,” Nancy decided. “At least that’s where he entered.”
Cautiously they moved down the hallway and peered into Carson Drew’s den. Nancy snapped on the light. The room was empty.
They saw at a glance that the lawyer’s desk had been examined, for papers were strewn over the floor. Nancy did not take time to see if anything were missing. Instead, she ran to the closet and jerked it open. No one was inside.
“The fellow must be somewhere in the house,” she insisted in bewilderment.
For the next few minutes Hannah and Nancy searched diligently, but they found no trace of the mysterious intruder.
“It beats all how he disappeared so quickly,” the housekeeper said. “I wonder—listen, isn’t that a car on the driveway?”
“I think it must be Dad coming home.”
Running to the window, Nancy looked down. She saw her father and a young man alight from the automobile. As the latter turned toward her she recognized Ned Nickerson, one of her special friends.
“Where are you, Nancy?” Carson Drew called, entering the house. “Ned is here to see you.”
The girl ran downstairs to greet the visitor, and lost no time in reporting the recent excitement.
“Dad, I’m afraid your desk has been ransacked. Papers are strewn about everywhere.”
“I can’t imagine what anyone would want there,” Mr. Drew said with a frown. “I keep nearly all my important papers at the office.”
He and Ned led the way upstairs after first satisfying themselves that no one was loitering about the premises. The lawyer went through his desk systematically.
“Anything missing?” Nancy asked anxiously.
“Yes, the package of letters given me by Horace St. Will.”
“That’s strange!” Nancy commented. “How would anyone know you had them?”
“That is what I wonder. But they’re certainly gone. Otherwise nothing else seems to have been taken.”
“Will you notify the police, Dad?”
“No, I think not. I prefer to handle this myself,” the lawyer replied with determination.
After Carson Drew had straightened and locked his desk he followed Nancy and Ned down to the living room where they spent an hour discussing the Woonton case. The attorney could not understand who would consider the packet of letters valuable enough to steal.
“Mr. Bunce might want them,” Nancy suggested.
“Yes, but I doubt that he knew they were in my possession.”
“Evidently someone is afraid we are learning too much or the house wouldn’t have been entered,” Nancy declared. “I’d like to know who that boy Gussie really is.”
“Hasn’t Miss Carter any information about him?” Ned inquired thoughtfully.
“I am sure she believes him to be Ralph Woonton’s son, but it would do no harm to question her again. I may drive over to Berryville tomorrow.”
“Miss Carter must be an interesting character,” Ned said suggestively. “I’d like to meet her myself.”
“Then come along with me,” Nancy invited. “Perhaps together we can gain some clues which will help to solve the case.”
The following afternoon found the young people in the living room of the actress’s home, chatting about various events. Nancy soon led the conversation to the topic which was of greatest interest to her at the moment.
“Miss Carter, did the boy Gussie ever mention anyone besides his mother and father?” she inquired. “Did he ever speak of any other relative?”
“I don’t recall Gussie even uttering the names of his parents,” the woman replied. “He did chatter some about ‘Aunt Pretty,’ but I thought at the time he must mean me. Now that I consider it, I’m not so sure.”
The actress could give no further information, so after talking a few minutes longer the young people left the house.
“If it wouldn’t be too boring for you, Ned, I’d like to call on Mrs. Bunce,” Nancy remarked, glancing toward the white cottage down the street. “She might give me some hint as to the real identity of ‘Aunt Pretty.’ ”
“It doesn’t look as if anyone were here,” young Nickerson remarked as they drew near the house.
He had noticed several newspapers lying on the front porch, and two bottles of milk had not been taken in.
“The place does look deserted,” Nancy admitted. “But the furniture is still here,” she added, as she glanced through a window.
She went to the door and pressed the bell. Just then a boy of about twelve years ran over to the hedge which bounded the Bunce property on one side.
“There’s nobody at home,” he reported in a shrill voice.
“Do you know where Mr. Bunce and his wife have gone?” Nancy asked.
“No, I don’t,” the boy replied. “They went off yesterday with big suitcases. I heard them say they were never coming back.”