Chapter 10 The Quest of the Missing Map by Carolyn Keene
A Hidden Room
Forgetting her own important discovery, Nancy darted from the studio to learn why her chum had called. George could be seen far up the path, pursuing a man who ran with his head bent low.
Quickly guessing that the runner had been caught prowling near the building, she joined in the chase. In a moment she caught up with George, but the two were unable to overtake the fleet-footed fellow ahead. Suddenly he scrambled through the privet hedge. By the time the girls reached the estate boundary he was nowhere in sight.
“It’s no use,” George puffed, halting to catch her breath. “We’ll never get him now.”
“Who was the man?” Nancy asked. “Did you see him near the music cottage?”
“I saw him come out of it!”
Before Nancy could question George further, Mrs. Chatham and Bess hurried down the path. Several minutes before they had gone to the spring house for a drink of water and the cry for help had alarmed them thoroughly.
“What happened?” Bess asked anxiously. “Are you hurt, George?”
“No, I’m all right,” she answered, her tone one of disgust. “But it makes me mad not to have caught that fellow. After you and Mrs. Chatham went off he apparently thought the coast was clear. At any rate he pushed aside part of the outside wall of the cottage and stepped from his hiding place.”
“Oh, goodness!” Bess exclaimed nervously. “There must be a secret room or passage connected with the place just as Nancy suggested. He probably listened to our conversation while we were in the place, and could have harmed us too!”
“The little house does have a secret panel,” Nancy entered the conversation. “I found it only a minute ago.”
“You did?” Mrs. Chatham asked in astonishment. “Where is it located?”
“I’ll show you. But first I wish George would point out the hidden door.”
“It’s on the back of the building,” George answered, starting down the path. “I think I can find it.”
“I’ll join you in a minute,” Mrs. Chatham said, turning in the opposite direction. “I am going to call the police. It frightens me to have a stranger prowling about the premises!”
George had no difficulty in locating the concealed door which served as a secret entrance and exit to the studio. Nancy pushed against the wall and stepped through the narrow opening.
“This passageway must lead along the back wall to a tiny room behind the piano,” she called, her voice muffled. “Come along and we’ll explore!”
“I’m not as thin as you are, Nancy,” Bess complained as she attempted to follow her chum. “I’ll never make it!”
“Then go into the studio and enter through the secret panel. I left it open. George and I will meet you somewhere!”
Obeying Nancy’s suggestion, Bess vanished around the building. The other two girls moved along the inner wall until they came to an unlocked door which opened into a dark room.
“I can’t see a thing!” Nancy complained. “Why didn’t we bring a flashlight from the car?”
“Ouch!” George exclaimed, for she had bumped squarely into something sharp. “This room must be filled with rock!”
Cautiously the girls groped their way toward the half-open panel which could be seen a little distance ahead. They were glad when Bess pushed it the remainder of the way, allowing light to flood the gloomy quarters.
“What have you found?” she called to her chums.
“The place seems to be filled with boxes and everything else imaginable,” Nancy replied, gazing about her.
“Can it be a storage room?” George speculated dubiously.
“Either that, or some thief has been hiding loot here,” Nancy commented, stopping to examine a large Chinese vase.
While the girls were inspecting two good-sized trunks, a patter of rain could be heard on the tin roof above their heads.
“Just listen to that!” Nancy said in dismay. “Oh, dear, and we haven’t even inspected the ground about the house. I noticed a number of footprints near the hidden door.”
“If we hurry perhaps we can beat the storm,” George urged.
Leaving the tiny room by means of the secret panel, the girls went hastily around the building. The footprints, made by a man’s large shoe, were still visible, for they were under a tree and the raindrops had not yet obliterated them.
“Girls, see if you can find a board or a rock—anything which will cover the prints,” Nancy urged her chums. “In the meantime I’ll try to make a rough sketch of one of them.”
As the rain descended with increasing force, she took pencil and paper from her purse and rapidly drew an outline of one of the marks. The toe of the shoe was very wide, she noted, while the rubber heel had left a peculiar star-design imprint.
“This was all we could find,” George reported, coming back with a large, flat rock. “It won’t do much good, I’m afraid.”
“The marks are nearly washed away now,” Nancy admitted ruefully. “But at least I have a record of them.”
Placing the rock over one of the best footprints, the girls scurried into the studio. Ten minutes later Mrs. Chatham arrived with a supply of umbrellas. Soon afterward a police cruiser reached Rocky Edge.
The officers questioned the owner and the three girls regarding the mysterious man who had been caught leaving the secret room. Unfortunately George had not obtained a clear impression of him. The only tangible clue was the sketched footprint which Nancy had made.
“This should be of some use to us,” one of the policemen declared, pocketing the drawing. “We’ll check various shoe shops to see if we can find a heel similar to it.”
Before leaving, the officers looked about the hidden room, remarking upon the strange assortment of antiques, curios and boxes of every size and description. Only a routine inspection was made, for Mrs. Chatham readily identified many of the articles as being the property of her former husband. After the police had gone, however, she excitedly proposed to the girls that some of the containers be opened.
“I didn’t tell the police everything because it seemed unwise,” she declared. “The truth is, I never dreamed these things were here. Some of them I’ve never seen before.”
“Isn’t it possible that Mr. Chatham knew of the hiding place and stored goods here without your knowledge?” Nancy asked thoughtfully.
“You may be right,” the widow acknowledged, “but I don’t see why he didn’t tell me. Unless,” she paused, “it was because the things belonged to my first husband and it made me sad to have them around. Oh, I do hope nothing has been stolen. It would break my heart to lose anything belonging to him.”
From the floor she lifted a miniature ship, similar to those which the girls had seen in the studio room. Tears glistened in her eyes and she turned her head so they would not observe her distress.
For the first time Nancy felt herself warming to Mrs. Chatham. It was plain to see that the widow was unhappy. No doubt her strange actions resulted from grief or loneliness.
The question that troubled Nancy most was whether or not the various treasures had been stored in the secret room by Mr. Chatham or by the mysterious stranger who had narrowly escaped capture. In the latter case, she must assume that he was a thief and was hiding loot on the premises.
“But how did he learn of this place?” she thought. “And judging by the looks of these valuable articles, he’s no ordinary thief.”
As she mused over the matter, Nancy absently raised the lid of a leather-covered box. She stared in surprise and delight. Inside, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, were many large, rare shells.
“Mrs. Chatham, did your first husband collect these?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yes, he did,” responded the widow. “He loved the sea and everything connected with it.”
“You never mentioned your first husband’s name,” Nancy said, waiting eagerly for the answer.
“Why, I thought I did. His name was Tomlin—John Tomlin.”
“Tomlin!” Nancy could hardly believe her ears. “Then he may be related to Tomlin Smith!” she added, her eyes dancing with excitement.
“Tomlin Smith?” the widow repeated. “Who is he, may I ask?”
“Ellen Smith’s father!”
Save that she made no mention of the treasure map, Nancy revealed everything she knew about the quest of Mr. Smith for his missing twin brother. Then she mentioned the story she had heard from Bill Tomlin’s father.
“My husband had a fine baritone voice,” Mrs. Chatham declared. “He loved songs of the sea and collected them.”
“Everything tallies with the information given me by Bill Tomlin’s father! Without question your first husband was related to their family. Now if only I can prove a relationship to Tomlin Smith!”
Nancy was hopeful that Mrs. Chatham could clear up the uncertainty, but to her disappointment the woman could add little to the information the girl already had gathered.
“My husband never told me much about his early life,” she said regretfully. “He did mention that he was an orphan, however.”
“Did he never speak of his father?” Nancy asked, fingering a large, pink shell.
“No. You see, we were married after a romantic courtship of only two weeks. John settled me in a lovely little cottage, furnished it beautifully, and then set sail never to return.”
“Was his ship lost?” Bess inquired sympathetically.
“My husband was taken ill and died on a voyage to Japan,” Mrs. Chatham explained, her eyes misty.
Pressed by Nancy, the widow revealed a few additional facts of no great value. Her husband had been ten years her senior and frequently had spoken of himself as a “son of the sea.”
“That might be taken to mean that his father had been a captain before him,” Nancy mused. “Tell me, Mrs. Chatham, did your husband leave any papers or letters?”
“Several boxes were brought to me some time after his death. I received a small amount of money and an insurance policy. I’ll confess I read very few of the letters, for they seemed to be old business ones and I was not interested. I was too heartbroken to care. But I saved every one of them.”
“Then you have them now?”
“They should be somewhere in this studio. I asked Mr. Chatham to bring them here.”
“I’ll look right——”
At that instant a fearful shriek cut the air. The group was electrified for an instant, then Nancy made a dash outside.
“Moth—er!” came in terrified tones from somewhere to the right.
“Trixie!”
The Drew girl dashed off, with Mrs. Chatham and Nancy’s chums close on her heels.
“Where are you?” the woman called. “Oh, my darling, where are you?”
There was no answer!
Frantically the group ran to left and to right, shouting Trixie’s name. Suddenly a muffled sound reached Nancy’s ears. She stopped short to listen. A child was crying and saying:
“I want to get out! I want to get out!”
Almost in front of her the Drew girl spied a yawning hole in the ground. She peered down. Indistinctly she could see a figure.
“Trixie!”
“Where’s my m-mother?” came a sobbing voice from below. “Please h-help me out!”
Assuming the child had fallen into an abandoned wellhole, Nancy asked if Trixie were standing in water.
“No, there’s no water here. But there’s another big hole. And it’s cold.”
Nancy lay down on the ground and stretched one arm down into the chasm. She could not reach the child. “I’ll get a ladder,” she said reassuringly. “Don’t be frightened.”
By this time the others had come up. Mrs. Chatham, finding her daughter unharmed, alternately laughed and cried. In a few minutes the girls had located the gardener who brought a long ladder.
“I want Nancy Drew to come down,” called Trixie, as the man started to descend.
“Let her have her way, my poor pet,” insisted Mrs. Chatham. “Hoskins, how do you account for this uncovered hole? You are supposed to have charge of the grounds.”
“Mrs. Chatham, I have no idea. I am sure there was no hole there before. Probably it was grown over before——”
Nancy could hear no more for she had reached the bottom rung. Trixie, apparently unhurt, impulsively hugged her rescuer. Together they scrambled up the ladder. Trixie was glad to be out, but Nancy went below again to look around a bit.
As the child had said, there was another hole. This one, which was at right angles to the other, apparently was a tunnel. Where did it lead to, and why?
“Bess, George, will you get my flashlight out of the car?” she called up. “And one of you please come down here.”
In a few minutes George descended, excited over this latest development. Nancy turned the beam into the cavern. It was fairly wide and about six feet high. The girls walked into it for some distance to a point where it turned abruptly. A little farther on was a large dugout. In it stood a strange looking contraption. Nancy’s light picked out a sign attached to it.
This is a deadly machine. Do not touch. Letter of Instructions in box at door.