Chapter 15 The Quest of the Missing Map by Carolyn Keene
A Ransom Demand
When Nancy Drew opened her eyes it was to see Trixie standing above her, a gag in her mouth. For a moment the girl remained in a semi-daze, unable to think where she was or what had happened to her. Then, as she remembered that she had been struck by a hard object, she looked about the room for her assailant. There was no one but the child, and a light was on.
“Something struck me,” she murmured aloud. “What was it, Trixie?”
The little girl made no reply.
“Why, you’re gagged, of course, and bound!” she exclaimed. “I’ll have you free in a jiffy.”
Nancy jerked off the handkerchief tied across the prisoner’s mouth, and set about unknotting the cords which held her wrists and ankles.
“Oh, Nancy, I’m so glad you’ve come,” the child sobbed in relief, hugging the older girl. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“How did you ever do it with your hands tied?”
“I thought you were that awful man coming back. So when you opened the panel I bumped into you as hard as I could. It hurt me too. The light went on when you fell down.”
“Trixie, who was it that put you here? Tell me quickly.”
“He had big ugly eyes,” the child answered, trembling at the recollection.
“A large man?”
“I—I guess so. All I could think of was that he looked just like the ghost!”
“And he brought you here?”
“No, I came to the cottage myself,” Trixie admitted. “I didn’t think the ghost would bother me—not when the guards were here.”
“How did you get in?”
“With the key. I saw where my mother put it after she locked up the place.”
“You entered the cottage. Then what happened, Trixie?”
“I was playing the piano when that bad man grabbed me. I couldn’t yell ’cause he put his hand over my mouth. He tied me up and carried me in here.”
“You’re not hurt?” Nancy asked anxiously. “Did he strike you?”
“No, I’m all right,” Trixie replied, “only I’m hungry. Where’s my mother?” she asked with a little sob. “I want my mother.”
“Of course you do,” Nancy comforted her. “I’ll take you straight to her, and you shall have a wonderful dinner.”
“With ice cream?”
“As much as you can eat!” the Drew girl laughed.
From the child’s description of her captor, Nancy felt certain that she had been imprisoned by the same man who previously had “haunted” the studio. How unfortunate that Mrs. Chatham had not thought of employing more efficient guards.
As Nancy and Trixie approached the house, the child’s mother hastened to meet them. She clasped her child in her arms, laughing and crying at the same time.
“I was afraid the kidnaper wouldn’t keep his promise!” she exclaimed. “He did send you back unharmed!”
“Nancy found me,” Trixie corrected her mother. “She says I can have some ice cream and I want it right now.”
“You found her?” Mrs. Chatham asked, staring at Nancy.
“Why yes, your daughter was locked in the studio storeroom. Did you say something about a kidnaper failing to keep his promise?”
Mrs. Chatham sagged weakly into a bamboo garden chair. “I’ve lost a thousand dollars, Nancy! Oh, I should have taken your advice, but I didn’t.”
“How did you lose such a sum of money?” the girl asked, puzzled.
“It was this way. Right after you left, a messenger boy pedaled up on a bicycle.”
“Sent by the kidnaper!”
“Yes, he brought a note. It said that for a thousand dollars, if paid immediately, Trixie would be returned safely at once. I did have that amount in a safe in my bedroom. I was so excited I got it and gave it to the boy.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Perhaps fifteen minutes.”
“Then probably he has made contact with the kidnaper before this!” Nancy exclaimed.
“There’s a chance we may be able to overtake the messenger boy,” the Drew girl continued quickly. “Which direction did he take?”
“He went toward town.”
While Mrs. Chatham remained at home with Trixie, Nancy and the chauffeur sped along the road. They kept a sharp look-out for a fellow on a bicycle. They traveled all the way into River Heights without seeing him.
“I imagine he abandoned the bicycle shortly after he left the estate,” Nancy remarked gloomily. “Like as not he had a car hidden somewhere along the road.”
“We’ll never catch him now,” the chauffeur agreed. “Where to, Miss? Rocky Edge?”
“No, please stop at the Weldon Bicycle Rental Shop,” Nancy said impulsively. “Didn’t we pass the place on our way?”
“I think we did, Miss.”
The Drew girl watched the shops closely and soon espied the little store. While the chauffeur waited for her she went inside to talk to the proprietor. He was an elderly man with snow-white hair and crinkly wrinkles about his eyes.
“Would you like to rent a bicycle?” he beamed. “I can fit you out very nicely.”
“Oh, I don’t want one just now,” Nancy said, shattering his hopes. “I merely would like to know something. Have you rented a bicycle during the past hour?”
“Only one,” the man answered, surprised by her question. “It was to a young fellow who said he was a messenger boy.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Let me think,” the shop owner mused. “He looked pretty old to be a messenger boy. I should say he was about your height. His eyes were blue and his hair was sandy.”
Nancy asked a few more questions and then left the shop. From the proprietor’s description she knew that the messenger boy was a complete stranger to her. There was nothing to identify him as an associate of Mr. Bellows, Spike Doty, or Fred Brown, but it seemed likely he might be a hired agent of one of the trio.
“Please drive to Mack’s Costume Store,” the girl directed upon returning to the car.
At this shop she again had luck. A fellow fitting the same description had hired a messenger’s uniform that very afternoon!
“So the man was an impostor,” decided Nancy. “I must inform the police.”
Nancy made a complete report of the kidnaping to city detectives, asking that a search be made for the thief. However, upon returning to the estate she was compelled to inform Mrs. Chatham that the chance of recovering the thousand dollars was a slim one.
“Trixie is safe, and that’s the most important thing,” the widow replied. “Thank goodness I didn’t pay a larger sum.”
Now that the excitement over the child’s disappearance had subsided, Nancy said she must go home, but in the morning she would like to resume the search for Captain Tomlin’s map.
“By all means let’s look for the ship model Warwick,” the widow agreed. “After my loss of so much money today I shouldn’t mind finding a treasure!”
Early the next day she and Nancy examined the various little boats which had been stored in the studio. Each bore a small brass plate with the name of the vessel engraved on it, but the Warwick could not be found. Moreover, a thorough examination of the others did not reveal a single secret hiding place.
“Mrs. Chatham, in all, how many models did you sell?” Nancy asked at length as they were forced to admit defeat.
“At least ten or twelve,” the widow admitted. “I listed the persons to whom the little ships were sold.”
“You did?” the girl cried, her spirits reviving. “And the names of each?”
“I don’t remember about that. I’ll see if I can find the record book.”
Mrs. Chatham returned to the main house. Soon she came back with a small black leather book in her hand.
“I’ve found the list,” she told Nancy jubilantly. “There were eleven sold at different prices.”
“Is the Warwick listed?” Nancy asked, eagerly scanning a page which the widow showed her.
“Apparently I didn’t write down the names of the ship models. Only the prices paid and the purchasers.”
Nancy drew a deep sigh, thinking of the work which lay ahead.
“It was stupid of me not to keep the names,” Mrs. Chatham apologized contritely. “Perhaps we should give up the search.”
“Give it up?” Nancy echoed in astonishment. “Oh, no! A little work doesn’t daunt me. I mean to find that map if it takes years!”