(#26) The Clue of the Leaning Chimney (9 page)

“Huntsman’s River?” Nancy said. “Why, that must be Hunter’s Creek. That’s the stream which runs under Hunter’s Bridge.”

“Exactly! And the clay the book describes is China clay, or I’m no geologist!”

“Thank you so much, Professor Monroe,” said Nancy, rising to depart.

Ned shook hands with the geologist. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said. “This sounds like a good clue for Nancy.”

When the couple reached the car, Ned suggested that they spend the next afternoon following the directions to the China clay pit.

“And how about Mrs. Gruen packing one of those super picnic lunches?” he added with a grin.

Nancy laughed. “It’s a date.”

At twelve the next day they started out. Nancy told Ned she had learned that no Miles Monroe was listed in the Philadelphia telephone directory. Her father had obtained this information.

“It’s sure a mystery,” declared Ned. “But maybe we’ll soon clear it up.”

Reaching Hunter’s Bridge, Nancy showed him where to park and they locked the car. Taking the picnic basket, they started off, following the water upstream for a mile to a point where it swerved sharply.

“This must be the ‘crook’ the book mentioned,” Ned said. “How about eating?”

Nancy nodded. She squinted at the position of the sun, then pointed to the left. “And southeast should be in that direction.”

Half an hour later the two explorers, their appetites well satisfied, set off once more. When they had gone exactly one mile, as the directions had indicated, Nancy stopped.

“The clay should be near here!”

“Say, what’s this?” Ned exclaimed, bending down to examine a little gully. “Do you suppose this is part of the old clay pit?”

The two stepped into the depression, overgrown with weeds and brush. As they did, Ned kicked against a piece of flat, corroded iron.

“Probably part of an old forge,” he remarked.

“Just what we need!” Nancy exclaimed. “We can use it as a shovel.”

“For what?” Ned queried.

“To dig with,” Nancy replied, pointing to the bottom of the gully.

Ned dug. Finally he said ruefully, “Nothing here but a lot of gravel. This isn’t a China clay pit. It’s only—”

He stopped speaking as a wild cry pierced the woods some distance ahead. It sounded like
bong.

“Someone’s in trouble!” Nancy exclaimed, starting to run.

A few moments later she and Ned emerged into a clearing. To Nancy’s utter astonishment, the four-walled enclosure of boards confronted her!

CHAPTER XI

The Impostor

HAD the cry come from inside the mysterious enclosure? Nancy ran eagerly toward the fence and listened. There was not a sound.

“How do we get inside?” Ned asked, anxious to help the person in distress.

“There’s no opening,” Nancy told him. “I wish we could climb over.”

“At least we can look over,” said Ned, pointing to a stout tree limb lying on the ground. “If you’ll help me, we can prop this against the fence for a ladder, Nancy.”

Together they lugged the limb across the clearing and lifted it against the fence.

“You go up while I hold it,” Ned suggested.

Nancy placed her hands around the bough and, monkey-fashion, started up.

“What do you see?” Ned asked as she reached the top.

“Not much. Trees. Lots of them.” She scampered down. “But we’re not far from the leaning chimney. Let’s go over there and take a look.”

Ned willingly dragged the tree limb the short distance and Nancy climbed up again. Below her was the rectangular enclosure, a stone wall, and the battered brick building she had seen some days before through a knothole.

Glancing up, Nancy was startled to find that the rusted ornament on the leaning chimney was gone. She looked at the ground below, thinking the symbol had dropped off. It was not there.

“Say, what’s so interesting?” Ned called up.

“Come on up.”

Nancy told him about the missing ornament, and also Bess’s declaration that she had seen a hand sticking from the chimney. Maybe someone
had
climbed up inside, planning to remove the iron coat of arms, or whatever it was.

“This place gets more mysterious every day,” Nancy remarked.

“It’s funny there’s no sign of life around, though,” Ned commented. “You’d think somebody—”

He stopped speaking as they heard a far-off cry. Again it sounded like
bong,
and again it was impossible to tell whether the call of distress had come from inside the enclosure.

Almost simultaneously with the cry came the menacing crack of rotted wood.

“The tree limb!” Nancy cried. Nancy and Ned scurried down just as the old limb split.

Ned helped Nancy to her feet. “No more sleuthing today,” he insisted. “Anyway, I can just about make that wedding rehearsal in time.”

Nancy hated to leave so soon but said nothing. They trekked back to the car and Ned drove to his home in Mapleton, a suburb of River Heights.

“See you tomorrow afternoon at the wedding,” he said, getting out. “And don’t let any other usher take you up the aisle!”

Nancy laughingly promised. Then, as she drove on to River Heights, her thoughts turned again to the enclosure in the woods. Both leads which Miles Monroe had given her, the one to the old iron mine and the directions along Hunter’s Creek, had led to the strange spot in the woods.

Was the China clay inside? Did the owner know about it? Nancy set her chin in determination. She would find out! And soon!

Hannah Gruen met her at the rear door of the Drew home, her kindly face lined with worry.

“What’s wrong?” Nancy asked quickly.

“Oh, Nancy, Mr. Soong has been phoning you for the past half hour! He’s terribly upset! He’s at police headquarters!”

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” the housekeeper answered, “but I think he’s in trouble.”

Nancy ran down the porch steps to her car. She drove rapidly, wondering at every turn what the police could want with gentle Mr. Soong!

Nancy ran into police headquarters. The old Chinese gentleman was sitting dejectedly in Chief McGinnis’s office. Nancy looked from Mr. Soong to the police officer, then back to Mr. Soong.

“What happened?” she asked.

Mr. Soong, his face lighting at the sight of the young detective, opened his mouth to speak. Chief McGinnis intervened quietly.

“Perhaps I’d better explain,” he told Nancy. He picked up a paper from his desk. “I received this report today from the New York City police. A woman in New York, named Mrs. Marsden, has complained that a Chinese vase she bought is a fake. She claims it was sold to her by a Mr. Soong of River Heights. She mailed him money orders for five hundred dollars, which he cashed.” The officer looked up, adding:

“We’ve checked with the postal clerk in Masonville. His description of the man who collected the money tallies exactly with that of Mr. Soong.”

The Chinese turned despairing eyes on Nancy. “I know nothing about it,” he said. “Surely you believe me?”

“Of course!” Nancy said emphatically. “Chief McGinnis, does the report give a description of the vase?”

The officer scanned the paper. “Yes, it does.”

The young detective’s pulse quickened with eagerness. She was playing a hunch. If it worked, everything would be straightened out!

“Does it say that the vase is brown,” Nancy rushed on, “with a pattern showing an old Chinese sitting beside a deer under a peach tree at the edge of a blue lake?”

Chief McGinnis stared. “Why, yes!”

“And does it say the Chinese markings on the bottom of the vase mean ‘Made for the hall of fragrant virtue’?”

The police officer’s jaw dropped. “How did you know all that?” he demanded.

“Because that vase,” Nancy replied evenly, “is the one stolen from the Townsends’ home. I saw it there the night it was taken!”

“Well,” Chief McGinnis said, “this is a new angle.”

“What’s more,” Nancy continued, “Mr. Soong couldn’t have been the thief because I measured the thief’s footprints in the flower bed. They were short and wide. And as you can clearly see, Mr. Soong’s feet are narrow!”

She paused for breath, and McGinnis wiped his forehead. He sat for a moment, considering, while Nancy watched him anxiously.

“That puts a different complexion on the case,” the officer said at last. “But how do you explain the fact that the postal clerk’s description of the man who cashed the money orders fits Mr. Soong?”

Nancy deliberated. “The thief probably wore a disguise so he could pass as Mr. Soong,” she said finally. “It wouldn’t be difficult—a pair of spectacles and a tiny goatee. He must have stolen some means of identification and forged Mr. Soong’s signature to the money orders.”

“You may possibly be right,” the chief said, “but just the same I think I’ll drive Mr. Soong over to Masonville, to see that postal clerk. Want to come, Nancy?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“We’ll go there in my car.”

Late that afternoon Nancy, Mr. Soong, and the chief arrived at the Masonville post office. At Nancy’s suggestion, the two men stayed out of sight while she went to the money-order window.

Nancy introduced herself to the clerk, then listened carefully as he described the man who had collected the money for the fake vase. His description corresponded exactly with that of Mr. Soong.

“You’re quite sure you would recognize the man if you saw him again?” she asked.

“I’m positive!” the clerk told her confidently. “It isn’t often that I cash orders for five hundred dollars, so I pay particular attention to anybody collecting that amount of money.”

Nancy beckoned to Mr. Soong and had him stand facing the clerk. Chief McGinnis looked on approvingly.

“Is this the man?” she asked.

The clerk stared at the Chinese gentleman.

“That’s the one, all right!” he declared. “I’d know him anywhere!”

Nancy thought quickly. There had to be
some
way in which she could prove to the clerk he was mistaken. She took a money-order application form and gave it to Mr. Soong, together with a pen.

“Please fill it out,” she told her friend. Then she said to the clerk, “Perhaps you’ve overlooked something. Some small detail—”

She broke off as the clerk’s eyes widened in watching Mr. Soong write.

“Hey, wait a minute, there is something wrong!” he said. “The Chinese I gave the money to signed his name with his right hand. This gentleman writes with his left hand.”

“Then he can’t be the same man!” Nancy stated triumphantly.

The clerk shook his head. “No, he can‘t,” he admitted slowly. “In fact,” he added, “this man speaks better English. I hadn’t thought of that before. But the two of ’em look alike.”

Chief McGinnis said he was sorry to have put Mr. Soong in such an embarrassing position. They drove back to River Heights, and Nancy took the elderly Chinese home in her car.

“How can I ever repay you?” Mr. Soong said.

“By telling me more someday about your country’s beautiful pottery,” Nancy said, smiling.

He insisted she come inside at once to be presented with a little gift in token of his gratitude.

As she accompanied the Chinese toward his door, it suddenly swung open. In the entrance stood Mr. Soong’s Chinese servant, Ching. His small, inscrutable eyes for once were wide with surprise. Then his lips parted in a toothy smile and he spoke rapidly in Chinese, gesticulating all the while.

Mr. Soong replied in the same tongue. Ching turned to Nancy, his smile growing bigger. Again he spoke.

“What is he saying?” she asked Mr. Soong.

“Ching is thanking you for delivering me from the hands of the police,” he explained.

Mr. Soong chuckled. Then he disappeared for a moment, returning with a bottle of delicate wisteria perfume imported from China.

“It is little for me to do.” He bowed when Nancy thanked him for the gift.

“I’ll wear some of it to the wedding I’m going to tomorrow afternoon,” she said.

“Miss Tyson’s wedding?” the Chinese inquired. “Perhaps I shall see you there.”

The next day, after the church ceremony, Nancy and her friends drove to the reception at the bride’s home. After wishing the couple every happiness and having punch and party sandwiches, Nancy and Ned went to admire the many lovely wedding gifts displayed in an upstairs room.

Mr. Soong walked in directly behind them. Almost at once, the man’s eyes fell on a Chinese porcelain jewel box. He picked it up with a pleased exclamation.

“It’s beautiful!” said Nancy.

The porcelain jewel case was decorated with plum blossoms. They were painted on a background of deep-blue water lightly coated with cracking ice.

As Mr. Soong started to replace the jewel box, his eyes suddenly bulged, and he exclaimed in Chinese.

“What is it?” Nancy asked quickly.

Mr. Soong pointed with a shaking finger to two Chinese symbols worked into the blossoms. They were the same strange symbols Nancy had seen concealed in the peach-tree pattern on the Townsends’ vase!

She turned again to Mr. Soong. The elderly gentleman’s lips were parted. He seemed unable to take his eyes from the symbols.

“What are they?” she asked.

“They are the marks of Eng Moy!” he whispered. “My missing friend Eng Moy!”

CHAPTER XII

A Jade Elephant

“ENG Moy!” Nancy gasped.

Mr. Soong nodded slowly, as if he still could not believe it himself. “I would know my friend’s signature anywhere.”

“But I don’t understand,” Nancy said. “If Eng Moy made the jewel box, why didn’t he sign his name on the bottom? Why did he work it into the design where it can barely be seen?”

“That I myself do not understand.”

Mr. Soong turned the box bottom up. Several Chinese characters were painted on the base.

“It is from the Wan Li period, the last great epoch of art in the Ming dynasty,” Mr. Soong stated. “Eng Moy did not make the vase. So he could not have put his initials on it.”

“There’s no question that the box is authentic?” Nancy asked.

“Why do you ask?”

Nancy told the Chinese about the two symbols that were Eng Moy’s signature concealed in the design of the Townsends’ vase. “That piece—the one sold to Mrs. Marsden in New York City—was an imitation of an old vase,” she added.