Chapter 13 The Quest of the Missing Map by Carolyn Keene
Flying to New York
“We’ve missed it!” Mrs. Chatham exclaimed as they watched the plane rise into the air. “How disappointing!”
“If we’d had only one more minute we could have made it,” Nancy agreed, opening the car door to alight. “I’ll find out what time the next plane is due.”
“Please do,” the widow requested. “Oh, dear, everything has gone wrong today.”
At the desk Nancy learned to her disappointment that there would not be another plane until four o’clock in the afternoon.
“Too bad you missed it,” the man remarked sympathetically. “One of Mrs. Chatham’s friends was aboard. Inquired especially for her.”
Nancy became alert, wondering if the woman had revealed her destination despite her father’s warning. “A lady?” she asked in an offhand tone.
“No, a gentleman. I have his name here on the book. Let me see—Bellows, that’s it.”
“Oh! And you say he boarded the plane?”
“Yes, he barely made it.”
Nancy felt far from despondent. As she returned to make her report to Mrs. Chatham, she found the woman had followed her into the room.
“It turns out that we were lucky to miss that plane,” the Drew girl declared cheerfully.
“Lucky?” the widow echoed.
“Mr. Bellows was aboard!”
“The man who tried to buy Tomlin Smith’s half of the treasure map?”
“Yes, and before getting a ticket he inquired for you.”
“For me? Why, I never met the man in my life.”
“In some manner he learned that you were going to New York. And for some reason he wanted to follow you there.”
“Oh, it’s all too much for me. Well, we may as well go home again and find out if he has been seen at Rocky Edge. Furthermore, I mean to punish Trixie for running away as she did.”
“Oh, please don’t,” Nancy pleaded. “She meant no harm. She merely wanted to come with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“She didn’t want to stay with the servants, so she hid in the trunk compartment of your car.”
“Then we had her with us all the time!”
“Yes, she rode to the airport and even had a little bag packed. But she couldn’t get the door open in time, so she was carried back home. Then she hid in the bushes where I found her. Actually, though, she did us a favor by making us miss the plane.”
“I guess you are right at that,” Mrs. Chatham admitted slowly. “I’ll try to be lenient with her this time.”
While she and Nancy walked to the automobile, a taxicab drew up near by. A well-dressed man of middle age alighted. Immediately the girl recognized him as Mr. Holgate, one of her father’s prosperous clients. His home was in New York, but he controlled a large firm in River Heights and commuted by private plane from one place to the other.
As he came to the car, Nancy presented him to Mrs. Chatham. Then she mentioned how they had missed their transport.
“Why, that’s fine!” he chuckled. “You can ride with me.”
“You’re on your way to New York now?” Nancy asked, scarcely believing her good fortune.
“The plane’s all tuned up ready to start. I was wishing for a passenger or two. Will you come?”
Nancy and Mrs. Chatham gratefully accepted the generous offer. A few minutes later they were winging toward New York. The day was a perfect one and their host an excellent pilot. At the end of a speedy but uneventful trip he cordially invited them to spend the night with him and his wife at their penthouse apartment.
The invitation pleased Nancy, for she felt that if she and Mrs. Chatham should register at a hotel they might be traced by Mr. Bellows. She glanced questioningly at Mrs. Chatham, feeling that the decision ought to be made by her.
“We’ll be happy to come,” the widow accepted promptly. “First, though, we must go to one of the banks to attend to an urgent business matter, so we’ll arrive late this afternoon.”
No sooner had she entered the bank than Mrs. Chatham began to display signs of nervousness. While she and Nancy waited to see the president, Mr. Dowell, whom Mr. Drew knew, she fingered the legal papers the lawyer had given her.
“Now what was it your father told me to say?” she asked in panic. “Oh, dear, I am rather flustered. The bank president may think I am trying to obtain valuables under false pretenses. Won’t you do the talking, Nancy?”
“I’ll be glad to if you wish, Mrs. Chatham. What worries me is that we may find the safety deposit box empty.”
“Or the bank may have sold its contents.”
“I doubt that that could be done without a court order. At any rate, we’ll soon know.”
Nancy barely had time to glance over the legal papers before she and Mrs. Chatham were ushered into the private office of Mr. Dowell, the president.
“May I assist you?” he inquired, offering them chairs near his desk.
Nancy made a simple presentation of the case. She offered proof of Mrs. Chatham’s identity, and gave the man a letter from her father requesting the opening of Captain John Tomlin’s safety deposit box.
“You do have such a box here?” she inquired as the banker remained silent.
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “For over a year we have tried without success to locate Captain Tomlin or his heirs. Rentals on the box have accumulated over a long period.”
“I’ll be glad to pay whatever amount is due the bank,” Mrs. Chatham offered at once. “May we look at the contents today!”
“I fear that will be impossible.”
“When can we do so?” the widow asked a trifle impatiently. “Miss Drew and I had not planned to remain in New York longer than a day.”
“I’ll see what we can do,” the banker promised. “If we find your papers in good order, it’s possible the box can be opened tomorrow.”
After making an appointment for nine o’clock the following day, Nancy and Mrs. Chatham taxied to the Holgate apartment. The woman did not feel very optimistic in regard to swift action on the part of the bank.
“Mr. Dowell seemed impressed when he looked at your papers,” Nancy remarked thoughtfully.
Despite their disappointment, Nancy and Mrs. Chatham thoroughly enjoyed their evening with Mr. and Mrs. Holgate. An excellent dinner was served. Later the host displayed his collection of miniature trains, ships and furniture.
“Some of these pieces are very rare,” he remarked, showing Nancy a tiny desk. “This was imported from the Orient. I wonder if you can discover its secret?”
Nancy examined the desk carefully but was unable to guess what Mr. Holgate meant.
“I’ll show you,” he chuckled. He pushed with a thumbnail at exactly the right spot and a hidden drawer popped open. “Most antique desks have secret compartments, but this is the only one I ever saw in a little model.”
“How very clever!” Nancy laughed. “I guess I’m slipping as a detective!”
At this moment she was summoned to the telephone. Mrs. Chatham, who had been calling her home, said Ellen Smith wished to speak to her.
“Oh, Nancy,” came the young singer’s voice over the wire, “don’t stay down there any longer than you have to. I didn’t want to frighten Mrs. Chatham but this place is desperately spooky—tappings on the wall and creeping shadows in the garden. Twice I’ve called to the guards but no one answered. I don’t believe they’re even on duty.”
Nancy was frightened. Almost anything might happen before Mrs. Chatham’s return. Knowing there was no chance of the woman getting back in a hurry, she tried to think of some way whereby she might help. Suddenly an idea came to her.
“Ellen,” she said, “why don’t you call up Hannah Gruen and get her to come out? Dad has to be away tonight and tomorrow, I know, so she is alone. Please do that.”
The girl promised, relief in her voice. Nancy went to bed but found it hard to get to sleep and was awake early. She hoped Mrs. Chatham’s business could be attended to at once and an early return made to River Heights. When she and the widow presented themselves at the bank, Mr. Dowell greeted them so cordially they knew at once everything had been arranged to their satisfaction.
“The box will be opened without further delay,” he assured them. “I’ve arranged for a government man to be here this morning.”
“A government man?” Mrs. Chatham asked uneasily. “Why is that?”
“Merely to list the contents for tax purposes,” the bank president smiled. “We may as well go to the vault now.”
He personally conducted Nancy and Mrs. Chatham to a basement room where the official was waiting. Without formality Captain Tomlin’s locked box was removed from the safety vault and carried to a private booth.
“I’m almost afraid to open it,” Mrs. Chatham said shakily to Nancy. “Will you please do it for me? Here’s the key.”
Thus requested, the girl unlocked the metal box. As she raised the lid she saw that it was filled with bulky papers. Her heart leaped, for on the very top lay a yellow envelope which bore in a bold scrawl the thrilling words:
Clue to a Treasure.