Chapter 17 The Quest of the Missing Map by Carolyn Keene
The Spies
“What is it you see!” George asked as Nancy reclaimed the Storm King.
“There’s something printed on the funnel of the ship!” Nancy answered, indicating what appeared to be some decoration.
“Why, so there is!” Bess exclaimed in awe. “How cleverly it’s done. One never would notice it except after careful study.”
Nancy turned toward the light so that she could read the tiny letters.
“Girls, our search is at an end!” she proclaimed. “It says, ‘Renamed the Warwick.’ ”
“Does the model have a secret compartment?” Bess asked eagerly. “Perhaps the map is hidden in the base!”
Before the girls could investigate further Mr. Clover returned with a pitcher of drinking water. Nancy immediately began to bargain with him, asking how much he would take for the Storm King.
“Oh, I don’t want to sell my little boat,” Mr. Clover said. “I figure on giving it to my young nephew at Christmas time.”
Nancy explained that she was trying to recover the model for Mrs. Chatham, whose first husband had sailed on the real vessel bearing that name.
“Captain Tomlin is dead, you know,” she said, hoping to play upon his sympathy. “His widow believes this to be a model of the very ship he sailed and would like very much to have it.”
“I’m willing to sell,” the old man admitted. “But it’s got to be at my own price.”
Nancy had made up her mind that she must have the Storm King at any cost. Accordingly she gave the man the amount he asked, delighted that actually it was not high.
With the precious little boat in their possession, the girls gleefully returned to the car. As they rode along George spoke about the name of the vessel having been changed. “I wonder when it was done and why?”
“Certainly a long time ago,” replied Nancy. “Probably during some year when it was sold to another company. A new owner often changes the name to correspond with others in his fleet.”
When she was a few blocks from the Clover cottage, Nancy stopped at the curb.
“Now to find the map!” she declared gaily.
“I wonder where the parchment can be hidden,” said George.
The girls examined every inch of the little ship without finding a secret compartment. Nancy even bought a tool at a hardware store and pried off several of the deck boards. Nothing had been secreted in the cavity beneath.
“The map isn’t here,” she admitted at last.
“But what could have become of it? I say, this is just too mean!” Bess’s face was very long, for she had counted heavily on being invited to the treasure hunt.
“It’s barely possible there was more than one model of the Warwick,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “That doesn’t seem very likely, though.”
“At any rate, it’s our only hope,” George declared, trying to cheer her companions. “Why not telephone the various purchasers and ask each person the name of the boat he bought?”
“That’s all we can do now,” Nancy nodded, searching through her purse for the list she and Mrs. Chatham had copied.
In checking over the names the girls found that not one of the purchasers lived near the town of Hope.
“I guess we had better go home and start out tomorrow,” suggested Bess.
Back at River Heights Nancy made several telephone calls and was delighted to talk with a Mr. Trumbull, who assured her that he owned the Warwick. She made an appointment to see him the following day.
The girls went to his home the next morning where Nancy saw that the boat in question bore the correct name. At her offer to purchase it, the man regarded her somewhat suspiciously.
“There seems to be a great demand for this particular model,” he said, watching her closely. “A few days ago I saw an advertisement in the paper saying a good price would be paid for the Warwick.”
Here was news indeed! Nancy had not guessed that anyone except Mrs. Chatham and her chums was aware of the map’s supposed hiding place. Was the advertiser merely a person who collected models as a hobby, or was he trying to buy the model for the same reason that she was but with the intention of using the information for a dishonest purpose?
“Mr. Trumbull, have you that paper still?” she asked quickly.
“No, it was thrown away days ago.”
“Do you recall if there was a name signed to it?”
“Only a box number. But tell me, why do you want my ship?”
Nancy told the same story she had related to Mr. Clover.
“I’d like to oblige you,” Mr. Trumbull said at last, “but I don’t want to sell the Warwick.”
Nancy was nonplussed. She must have the boat. Would it increase the man’s suspicions were she to ask if she might borrow the ship model?
“I’ll tell you why I want the ship, Mr. Trumbull,” she said earnestly. “We believe that it contains a certain clue which may help solve a mystery for Mrs. Chatham. She’ll bring back the model in a short time.”
“What sort of clue?” the man asked, his interest aroused.
“I can’t tell you, for I don’t absolutely know.”
Mr. Trumbull remained silent a moment, studying the girls. Then, to their relief, he smiled broadly.
“You’ve played fair with me, so I’ll play fair with you. I thought you just wanted to sell it at a profit. You may have the ship. I’ll give it to you for exactly what I paid for it.”
Nancy gratefully gave him the sum. With her two chums she delightedly bore the boat to the waiting car.
“We’ll drive into the country a distance and then examine the model,” she proposed gleefully as she started off.
Unnoticed by the girls, another car which had been parked across the street followed only a short distance behind. The occupants were Fred and Irene Brown! They had observed the three leave the Trumbull house with the Warwick.
“Never would Nancy Drew buy a ship model unless it has something to do with the parchment map!” the woman was saying to her husband. “If only we can get our hands on it! Do you suppose it’s the Warwick?”
“Trust me to find out,” the man said grimly. “Wasn’t it luck we hit her trail again, especially after we had no luck advertising for the boat.”
“We’ll have to be careful, Fred. She preferred a charge of kidnaping against us and I don’t fancy spending the rest of my days in prison.”
“Oh, you worry too much,” the man retorted, speeding up to keep Nancy’s car in sight. “We’ll not be outwitted this time, I promise you.”
With no suspicion that they were being followed, the three girls drove on until they came to a shady country lane. There Nancy stopped the car. While Bess set out the picnic lunch they had brought, she and George examined the Warwick.
“If we don’t find the map I’ll be terribly disappointed,” Nancy declared, her fingers exploring the ship’s hull. “It must be here unless Captain Tomlin’s letter meant something totally different.”
“In any case we have the little ship,” Bess said kindly.
“But where is the map?” George demanded with growing impatience. “Can’t you find it, Nancy?”
While the search was in progress, Fred Brown had parked his car some distance away. Noiselessly he stole through the trees until he was directly behind the Drew machine. He could not see the three chums but he could hear their excited conversation.
“Girls, look at this!” he heard Nancy exclaim. “A tiny door in the bottom of the ship!”
“Try it!” George urged. “The map may be there.”
“I can’t seem to get it open,” was Nancy’s answer. There was a little pause, then she cried: “It’s coming now! I feel something inside!”
“Is it the map?” Bess asked tremulously. “Is it, Nancy?”
“I’m not sure yet. Yes, it is! Or a copy of it. We’ve found the missing directions!”
Fred Brown, listening from behind the automobile, smiled with pleasure. He nodded with even deeper satisfaction as he heard Bess suggest to Nancy that she replace the half-map in the ship while they ate their picnic lunch. They could examine it later.
“Let’s carry the hamper over to that lovely spot in the woods,” George added. “It’s too sunny here.”
After a moment of debate the girls gathered up the baskets and disappeared with them deeper in the woods. This was the chance for which Fred Brown had been waiting.
Sly as a cat, he crept around the car and snatched the ship model from the automobile seat.
“This time I’ll make certain the clever Nancy Drew doesn’t give me any trouble,” he muttered. “I’ll fix her so she can’t follow me.” Deftly he siphoned the gasoline from the fuel tank of her car. With the stolen ship tucked beneath his arm, he carefully made his way to his own vehicle.