Chapter 5 The Secret of the Wooden Lady by Carolyn Keene
The Ghost Gets a Name
Flip Fay’s cab had disappeared.
“Sorry, miss,” the driver said to Nancy, “I’m afraid we lost ’em.”
“Never mind. Go on to the airport.”
“He a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly,” Nancy admitted.
As she entered the airport waiting room, Bess and George were just coming through the gate, followed by a porter laden with suitcases and a hatbox.
“Nancy!” cried Bess, giving her a hug. “We thought you’d be so busy with your mystery you wouldn’t come to meet us.”
Nancy laughed. “That almost happened. Guess whom I just saw in a taxi?”
“Not the ghost?” George answered facetiously.
“Flip Fay—at least I think it was.”
“In Boston?” Bess cried. She shuddered. “Oh, dear, maybe he’ll knock us out again, Nancy!”
She went on to say that the police were sure Flip was the thief who had broken into her house. But he did not have a police record.
“Nancy, do you think he’s running away to sea?” George asked. “He’d be safe from the police.”
“Let’s get to the hotel and talk,” Bess pleaded. “I’m simply melting in this dress.”
“She just wants you to see her new pink linen suit,” George told Nancy as they found a taxi and piled in with the luggage, most of which belonged to Bess. “I’m dying to see the clipper,” she went on. “Have you found any clue to the captain’s mysterious visitor?”
Nancy told the girls about the sounds in the lower deck and her suspicions about the grizzle-bearded sailor. “Oh, Nancy,” Bess shuddered, “weren’t you frightened to death?”
George reminded her cousin that it took more than an old grizzle-faced stranger to frighten Nancy Drew. They reached the hotel. George took a quick shower and zipped into a tailored seersucker.
“Hurry up, Bess,” she pleaded. “We want to see the ship.”
“All right, but I’ll have to have a soda first,” Bess said. “I’m famished.”
“You ate on the plane,” George reminded her. “Anyway, I thought you were going to stay on your diet during this expedition.”
“Let her alone.” Nancy laughed. “I’d like a sandwich myself. I haven’t had lunch. But first, I’m going to make a phone call.”
Nancy picked up the room telephone and put through a long-distance call to the police captain in River Heights. She told him she thought Flip Fay was in Boston. The captain thanked her and said he would get in touch with the Boston police at once.
“Shall I wear the ruby pendant George gave me?” Bess asked, trying the effect with the pink suit.
“Wear a ten-carat diamond, only let’s get started,” George groaned.
Bess snapped on the necklace and they all went down to the hotel soda shop. Twenty minutes later they got into a taxi. On the way to the dock they did some further speculating about Flip Fay.
“Do you suppose he’s the man who called your house and told you to stay away from the Bonny Scot?” Bess asked. “If he is the one, Nancy, you may be in danger.”
Nancy was thoughtful. It was possible that Flip Fay had found out she had told the police he was the thief. If Fay were trying to leave the country from Boston, naturally he would not want her and Mr. Drew in the city.
“I don’t see why Flip would be interested in the clipper,” George spoke up. “There’s no connection that we know of.”
“We don’t know very much of anything yet,” Nancy reminded her. “As soon as you’ve seen the ship, I want to do a little investigating along the water front. Maybe I can find someone who knows Flip, or at least has seen him.”
“What about old Grizzle Face?” George put in. “Are you going to try to find him?”
Nancy said this was her intention, and she laughed at George’s nickname for the old sailor. The girls left the taxi and walked along the quayside toward the clipper.
“What do you think of her?” Nancy asked proudly. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
“Oh,” Bess said, disappointed, “I thought she’d be white.”
George and Nancy laughed. Bess wanted everything, even an old sailing ship, to be as dainty as a boudoir. George liked the trim black hull of the Bonny Scot, and she hurried aboard eagerly.
Nancy, sure that the captain would be back by this time, took the girls to his cabin. He had not arrived. The cousins looked around, admiring the little carved figurines on the walls. Bess paused to admire the Puritan maid more closely.
“I’ll bet she could tell lots of stories about this old ship if she could speak,” she mused.
“Let’s go ashore and inquire about Grizzle Face,” Nancy suggested. “We can come back later to see Captain Easterly.”
They strolled past the curious shops filled with shipping supplies—lanterns, compasses, calking cord, hardtack, fishing nets, and lines. Nancy stopped to speak to several watchmen, and she also inquired in some of the shops and shipping offices, but no one could give her any information about either Flip Fay or Grizzle Face.
“My feet hurt,” Bess groaned suddenly. “Let’s sit down.”
“There’s a museum,” Nancy said. “We’ll go in. Maybe we’ll see some figureheads; even the one from the Bonny Scot.”
She led the way, and was delighted to find a long room lined with carved figures from old ships. The attendant, a Mr. Blake, was glad to tell the girls something about his treasures.
“This young lady,” he explained, “sailed around the world ninety times, it’s said. That’s better than most sea captains do!”
The face of the figurehead was calm and composed. She had ridden out storms and maybe even battles without a qualm!
“This man looks like a pirate,” George remarked, pointing to a fierce-looking, moustachioed figure, wearing a cocked hat and carrying a sword.
“Good guess,” said Mr. Blake. “He came from a Spanish pirate ship.”
Nancy told Mr. Blake about the lost figurehead of Captain Easterly’s clipper and that the captain would like to get it back, or at least find out what it looked like. “You don’t happen to know anything about it?” she asked.
“I don’t,” Mr. Blake answered. “But this book may give us a clue.”
He picked up a heavy volume from a desk and thumbed through the index.
“No Bonny Scot listed,” he said. “Do you know when and where she was built?”
“So far we haven’t found out,” Nancy replied.
“Her figurehead may not even be in existence,” Mr. Blake warned. “Some of the early American figureheads rotted away because our wood carvers used soft wood instead of hard elm or oak.”
Bess was staring at a large figure with arms outstretched. “I should think her arms would have come off in a high wind,” she remarked.
Mr. Blake laughed. “You’re right. But they made the arms removable. They slip into wedge-shaped grooves, and were taken off during a gale. At times a crew even removed the whole figurehead if they were afraid she’d be battered to pieces in a roaring sea. Those old-timers thought a great deal of their wooden ladies. Well, I hope Captain Easterly finds his figurehead.”
The girls thanked him and returned to the ship, hoping to see Captain Easterly. But the clipper was still deserted.
“I wonder what can be keeping him?” Nancy frowned. “He said he’d be here this morning.”
Bess, who had slumped into the captain’s armchair and kicked off her shoes, announced that she was simply dying of thirst. “Let’s go somewhere and have a nice cold drink while we’re waiting,” she begged.
“I agree with you!” said George.
“You two go,” Nancy decided. “I’ll wait here.”
George did not think they ought to leave Nancy alone on the ship. “Too many strange things are going on,” she said, “and after all we came to Boston to protect you.”
“I’ll be perfectly all right,” Nancy assured her.
The girls left. Nancy looked about the captain’s cabin, once again admiring his orderly housekeeping; the gleaming brass hinges on the mahogany wardrobe, the bunk neatly made up and covered with a blue homespun spread. She noted a flashlight and a book on the little shelf over the bunk and saw that Captain Easterly too had been reading about figureheads. She reached for the book, then paused.
Had she heard someone on board? Captain Easterly? No. Nancy decided she had imagined that soft pad-pad of footsteps. She took down the book and leafed through it.
The volume was titled The Ten Greatest Pirates of History. Nancy stopped at the chapter about an Indian Ocean ruffian who maintained a spy ring in the leading ports of the Orient. His underlings, the story said, learned about rich shipments of cloth and precious stones and would send messages to the pirate chieftain. Then the brigands would lie in hiding in some secluded island cove, waiting for their prey.
Nancy wondered whether the Bonny Scot ever had had such an adventure; whether the clipper had been chased by pirates in the Indian Ocean.
Again Nancy thought she heard a noise and strained her ears to listen. “The pirate story is stirring my imagination,” she thought.
Suddenly Nancy froze, her spine prickling. There was someone behind her. Someone had come softly along the passageway and into the cabin.
Nancy whirled, but before she could see the person, a coat was thrown over her head and powerful hands pushed her into a closet and slammed the door.