Chapter 2 The Mystery of the Brass Bound Trunk by Carolyn Keene
The Lawyer’s Story
Recovering from the stunning blow she had received, Nancy sprang from her car. One glance disclosed that a gray coupe, approaching the intersection at high speed, had failed to stop at the red light. Its driver had attempted to swerve his machine aside, but it had struck and crushed the rear right fender of the Drew car.
“Oh, see what you’ve done!” Nancy cried in dismay.
The man in the other machine, a young fellow of perhaps twenty-two, with red hair and a tiny brush of a mustache, sat gripping the steering wheel. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and nervously wiped his forehead.
“I am sorry,” he apologized in a high-pitched voice. “I didn’t see the light change until it was too late to stop.”
As Nancy inspected the damage she said, “You must have been disobeying the speed laws or you never would have crashed into me so hard.”
“I might have been going a little too fast,” admitted the young man. “But please, I beg of you, don’t report the accident to the police.”
“Of course you’ll pay for all this damage!” said Nancy. “My car will need another fender and probably a lot of work done on it.”
“Take this!” suddenly cried the other driver, shoving a bill into her hand. “It should cover everything.”
Before Nancy could say a word, he backed up his car, gave the steering wheel a whirl, and shot down the street.
“Well, of all the nerve, to run off like that!” the girl exclaimed indignantly. “I’ll get his license number!”
Before the auto was lost around a bend in the road, Nancy made certain of the numbers. After writing them down on the back of an old envelope she glanced at the money in her hand. To her surprise she saw that she was holding a hundred-dollar bill.
“He paid me generously enough,” she thought, somewhat mollified. “I doubt that it will cost this much to get the car repaired.”
While it was clear to Nancy that the young man must be a person of considerable means, she was puzzled by his actions. Why, she wondered, had he feared to have the accident reported?
By nature Nancy had an inquiring mind, and it was this faculty which more than once had drawn her into adventure and intrigue. Years earlier she had aided her father in solving a mystery case, familiarly known to her friends as “The Secret of the Old Clock.” Since then he had often assigned special sleuthing work to her. Many other persons sought her aid in handling problems of mystery, so the girl had gained an enviable reputation as an amateur detective.
Her latest exploits, told in “The Clue of the Tapping Heels,” concerned an unfortunate lad whose cruel guardian sought to profit at his expense. In bringing the man to justice, Nancy and her chums also met and aided an elderly actress who had suffered a reverse of fortune. They assisted in presenting a remarkable stage show and devised their own tap dance routine which could be executed in code. This same dance served a more vital purpose than entertainment, when the girls found themselves confronted with a situation which demanded quick thinking and courage.
Nancy’s thoughts were far removed from mystery as she ruefully inspected the damaged car. The rear fender had been jammed so hard against the tire that she feared a tow-truck would be required to haul the wreck to the nearest garage.
“Hello,” suddenly called a voice from the sidewalk. “What have you done now?”
Glancing up, the girl saw her friend, Ned Nickerson coming toward her.
“What have I done?” Nancy echoed with an indignant wail. “Did you see what happened? This accident wasn’t my fault. A man just ran into my car and then drove away as fast as he could!”
“He certainly made a nice mess of your machine,” Ned said, shaking his head. “You’ll never get a penny, either.”
“Oh, won’t I? Just look at this!”
Ned whistled softly as he saw the hundred-dollar bill. “Maybe it’s counterfeit.”
“If it isn’t genuine then I’ll trace down the man and send him to jail! I took his license number before he got away. Do you think I can get the car fixed for a hundred dollars?”
Ned gave her an amused glance. “Say, you ought to be able to rebuild it for that! Here, give me a hammer and I’ll straighten out the fender so the wheel will turn.”
He dived for the tools in the rear compartment. Soon he had hammered the bent metal into a semblance of its former shape.
“I know a reliable garage down the street a block,” the boy told her. “Jones Brothers.”
“Will you ride along with me?” Nancy pleaded. “You know just what needs to be done and I don’t.”
“Maybe I could help some,” the young man acknowledged, pleased at the compliment. “Sure, I’ll be glad to go along.”
The car bumped slowly down the street, attracting considerable attention from pedestrians. Nancy turned into the garage and waited anxiously while Ned and the mechanic discussed the extent of the damage.
“The axle isn’t bent so that’s good news,” presently young Nickerson reported. “He wanted seventy-five dollars to put the car in first class condition, but I convinced him the job was worth only fifty.”
“Oh, thank you, Ned.”
“That leaves a nice profit of fifty dollars for yourself. Not bad.”
“The money isn’t really mine,” Nancy protested quickly. “I’ll have to give it back to that young man.”
“How will you ever find him?”
“I’ll trace the license number,” Nancy said quickly. “But I’ll not have much time before my boat sails. How long before I’ll have my automobile again?” she inquired of the mechanic, gathering up her purse and gloves from the seat.
“Not until tomorrow night.”
“Oh dear,” the girl sighed. “I’ll need it for so many errands.”
“I’ll be glad to let you use my old bus,” Ned offered generously. “Will you need it now?”
“No, I was on my way to Dad’s office. That’s only around the corner. Thanks for the offer and all your help.”
Saying good-bye, Nancy walked a block to the tall building where her father had his offices. As he was busy with a client she waited ten minutes before being able to see him alone.
“You didn’t waste much time in coming,” he smiled in greeting a few moments later. “Unfortunately you’ve arrived at an awkward moment. I am due for an important conference in five minutes.”
“Oh, Dad, after all the trouble I have had in getting here!”
“I’ll tell you as much as I can about the case I want you to work on,” Carson Drew said hastily. “It concerns an old client of mine, a man named Trenton.”
“Do I know him, Dad?”
“I think not. He has a daughter named Doris, a rather charming girl, I understand.”
“Is she about my age?”
“No, Doris must be older, around twenty or twenty-two, I’d say. Mr. Trenton tells me that she was formerly a very docile young woman, willing to listen to the suggestions of her parents.”
“You say formerly?”
“Yes; but of late the girl has become unmanageable. Mr. Trenton has begun to lose patience with her.”
“In just what way is the girl unmanageable, Dad? After all, she’s twenty-two.”
“For one thing, she refuses to marry a certain young man favored by her father. His name is Henry Washburn. He’s the son of Mr. Trenton’s deceased partner. The match would be an excellent one.”
“From Mr. Trenton’s standpoint or from Doris’s?” Nancy inquired dryly.
“Well, I rather think myself that the question of money may be involved,” Mr. Drew declared. “Trenton is reputed to be a wealthy man, but I know he lost a large amount last year. The marriage undoubtedly would not be detrimental to his business interests.”
“If the girl doesn’t love Henry Washburn I shouldn’t blame her for becoming unmanageable! Her parents should be more reasonable,” Nancy declared.
“Mr. Trenton is an old client of mine,” Mr. Drew said with a smile. “That is why I promised to do what I could.”
“I don’t see what this case has to do with me,” said Nancy.
“I’ll tell you,” replied her father. “Mr. Trenton has reached the point where he threatens to disinherit Doris unless she obeys his wishes. Now, as she is sailing——”
Nancy was destined to learn no more, for at that moment a secretary came into the room to say Mr. Drew’s client had arrived.
“We’ll talk further about this later,” the lawyer said, dismissing his daughter with a wave of the hand. “Tell Hannah I may be late to dinner.”
Nancy walked home slowly, thinking over what her father had told her. He had been so busy that she had not even had an opportunity to mention the automobile accident; but that news would keep.
Drawing near her home, Nancy was somewhat surprised to notice a chauffeur-driven car standing in front of the door. She stared curiously at it as she walked around the house, wondering to whom it might belong. Scarcely had the girl entered the kitchen when Hannah Gruen came hurrying from the living room to speak to her.
“Nancy, that woman is in there waiting for you!” she whispered.
“What woman?”
“Why, the one I was telling you about. She telephoned earlier this afternoon and when she came a while ago, she said she’d stay here until you got back.”
Slowly Nancy removed her hat and gloves.
“I’ll talk with her in just a moment, Hannah.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” the housekeeper warned the girl soberly. “I can tell she’s provoked about something you’ve done. If I were you, I’d slip out the back way and not return until she has gone!”