Chapter 9 The Quest of the Missing Map by Carolyn Keene
Nancy Investigates
Acting instinctively, Nancy darted after the terrified Trixie, seizing her by the dress. She jerked the child backwards from the roadway just as the fast-moving automobile whizzed by.
“Let me go!” the little girl cried, trying to pull away. Then, seeing who it was that held her, she relaxed slightly. “Oh, it’s you,” she said.
“What has upset you so, Trixie?” Nancy asked kindly. “My dear, you were nearly run down by that car.”
The girl began to sob, her thin little body shaking convulsively. While Nancy was trying to comfort her, another car approached and drew up alongside the road. George was driving, with Bess occupying the seat beside her.
“Why, what is wrong?” the latter asked, stepping from the car. “Has Trixie been hurt?”
“No, she’s all right,” Nancy answered, “but she had a narrow escape. Something frightened her and she ran into the path of an automobile.”
“What was it that scared you, Trixie?” George inquired, bending to pat the child’s hand.
Trixie moved nearer Nancy, away from the other two girls.
“It—it was a ghost,” she answered, her voice trembling. “A great big one with horrible eyes! It glared at me from the window of the Ship Cottage!”
“Oh, Trixie, surely you don’t believe that!” George laughed. “We know there are no ghosts.”
“Then what was it I saw?” the child demanded. “There’s something with big eyes hiding in there!”
George, in her boyish, outspoken way was on the verge of saying she thought Trixie must have imagined the entire matter. Before she could speak Nancy said quietly:
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Trixie. You run along to the house with Bess. George and I will go to the music studio and try to learn what it was that frightened you.”
“Maybe that thing will hurt you,” the Chatham child responded anxiously.
“We’ll be careful. You go along with Bess like a good little soldier.”
Somewhat reluctantly Trixie allowed the Marvin girl to lead her up the path. George and Nancy turned in the opposite direction, walking swiftly toward the Ship Cottage.
“Trixie didn’t imagine that she saw glaring eyes watching her,” the latter declared, lowering her voice. “The first day I came here, some very strange things happened while I was inside the building. That’s why my father won’t allow me to come here alone.”
“You think someone may be hiding there?”
“Naturally, I’ve wondered about it. Before Ellen accepts work with Mrs. Chatham we must investigate this place thoroughly. You’re not afraid?”
“Where you lead I’ll try to follow!” George said courageously.
Cautiously the girls circled the quaint little building. They saw no one and heard no unusual sounds.
“We may as well go inside,” Nancy said at length. “Just be on your guard.”
She tried the door, expecting to enter as she did the first time, but to her surprise it would not open.
“That’s funny,” she remarked in a puzzled tone. “The studio was unlocked when I was here before.”
“Perhaps we can get in through a window,” George suggested, testing one on the front side of the house.
It could not be raised, nor could any of the others be forced open.
“This ends our little investigation,” Nancy said in disappointment. “I wonder if I dare ask Mrs. Chatham for the key?”
“Why not?” George shrugged her shoulders. “At worst she’ll only refuse.”
Arm in arm the girls walked to the main house where they found Bess sitting on the front veranda with Mrs. Chatham. On the steps Trixie was playing with a beautiful white cat. The child’s shrill laughter grated upon her mother’s nerves.
“Can’t you please be quiet for a minute or two?” the woman asked irritably. “You’re driving me crazy!”
“How can I be quiet when I feel jumpy?” her daughter sighed. “I like to make noise and have fun, and you always say ‘Be quiet; don’t do that!’ I wish my Daddy were alive. He’d let me do things!”
“Trixie!” Mrs. Chatham commanded. “Not another word or you’ll go to your room.”
“Yes’m,” Trixie mumbled, subsiding into silence.
Nancy felt sorry for the child, knowing how upset she had been. For the first time it occurred to her that the girl’s behavior might be the result of nervousness due to fear. She was almost certain that Mrs. Chatham knew nothing of the unusual happenings at the Ship Cottage. To test out this theory, she presently asked the woman who it was that used the little house.
“Why, no one,” Mrs. Chatham replied, surprised at the question.
“You never go there yourself?”
“Almost never. Since my husband died I’ve been reluctant to stir up old memories.”
“You keep the studio locked, I suppose?” Nancy inquired casually.
“Usually I do,” the owner returned. “For a while I left it unlocked thinking Trixie might use it for a playhouse. However, she very stubbornly refused to step inside! Did you ever hear of a more peculiar child?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t call Trixie peculiar,” Nancy said, smiling at the little girl who was listening intently to the conversation. “No doubt she has good reason for not wishing to play within the studio. Did you ever ask her why she dislikes the place?”
“It would do no good,” Mrs. Chatham returned, sighing. “She has a very vivid imagination and tells the most outlandish stories. You don’t know her as I do.”
Nancy had not entirely made up her mind regarding Mrs. Chatham’s character. She was inclined to believe that the woman loved her daughter but failed to understand her. Certainly the widow had no suspicion that Trixie’s misbehavior might result from a feeling of loneliness. If her mother did not believe her and the servants were not kind to her, the poor child did indeed need a friend. Ellen Smith could be just that person!
“You mentioned the other day that your husband collected ship models,” Nancy remarked after a moment.
“Would you like to see the collection?” Mrs. Chatham inquired politely.
“Indeed I should.”
“I’ll get the key,” Mrs. Chatham said, arising from the porch swing.
More than ever Nancy was convinced the widow had no suspicion that anything was amiss at the cottage. As Trixie refused to approach the building, her mother and the three girls went without her to the little house at the far edge of the estate.
Unlocking the front door, the widow pushed it open and stepped inside. The girls followed. Swiftly Nancy’s gaze roved about the dusty room. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed since her last visit. There was no sign of either an intruder or an open panel in the wall.
“Oh, what darling little ships!” Bess exclaimed, hastening across the room to examine the model of a sailing clipper on the mantelpiece.
While her chums were talking to Mrs. Chatham, Nancy seated herself at the piano. Hesitatingly she touched the keys. The notes sounded clear and loud, echoing in the room.
“That’s certainly strange,” she remarked to herself.
Turning around, she asked Mrs. Chatham if the piano had a secret spring which at times kept it from being played.
“Oh, goodness no!” the woman laughed. “At least I don’t think so. Of course, this building was erected by an inventor who made many queer gadgets, so I’ve been told. But as far as I know, they all were removed.”
“Was the piano here when you took over the place?”
“Yes, it was. Nothing has been changed. In fact, this building never has been used.”
“You haven’t found any secret panels?” Nancy inquired eagerly.
“There’s one in my bedroom, but it serves no real purpose. Once Trixie got behind it by accident, and has never wanted to come into my room since. Thank goodness, this studio is free of the inventor’s handiwork!”
Nancy could not refrain from telling of her strange experience in regard to the piano. As she had hoped, Mrs. Chatham immediately became interested. She said that the girls might feel free to search the studio for hidden springs, secret doors, or mechanical gadgets.
“But I’ll be surprised if you find anything,” the woman added.
Nancy, Bess and George industriously began tapping the walls in their search for hollow spaces. Near the fireplace they thought one of the panels had a dead sound, but they were unable to locate a section which moved aside.
“I’ll go outdoors and see how the exterior of the building compares in size with this room,” George offered.
Bess and Mrs. Chatham followed her, leaving Nancy alone in the cottage. The girl resumed her work, turning up the corner of a rug which lay under the piano. To her surprise she found several wires which evidently ran down one leg of the instrument through the rug and the floor.
“There must be a switch to turn the piano off and on,” Nancy mused. “I wonder where it is?”
A search of the wall revealed nothing.
“Now how could anyone have operated this while I was in the room!” she reasoned. “The switch must be controlled back of a secret panel!”
Try as she would, Nancy could not locate such an opening. She decided to go over each section again, moving her hands along the wall an inch at a time.
A wooden peg which seemed to secure the wide panel to the sheathing drew her attention. As she fingered it, she felt a slight movement beneath her hand. Between the boards she could see a tiny crack of space.
“I’ve found the opening!” she thought jubilantly.
Nancy pushed and pulled, increasing the gap only a little at a time. Then unexpectedly the woodwork gave, sliding back easily. She turned to shout her discovery, but before she could do so a shrill scream broke upon her ears.
“Help! Help! Nancy!”
The cry came from outside the building. Instantly Nancy recognized the voice. It was George who had called her name. For some unrevealed reason her chum was in dire trouble.