Nancy's Mysterious Letter (2 page)

“Will you give me a ’tective’s badge if I do?” he asked.

“I sure will,” Nancy promised. “Now tell me quickly what else you can about the man in the yellow coat.”

“I can’t tell you anything else about him, but I know something about his car.”

“Oh, he was in a car?”

“He sure was,” Tommy replied, and began to laugh. “It was a beat-up old thing. I guess he’s pretty poor.”

“What color was the car?” Nancy asked.

“Same as his coat.” Tommy paused and then said, his eyes twinkling, “You know what? I remember some of his license plate. The first part was TJ just like my name.”

Nancy asked excitedly, “Do you remember the number?”

“Not all of it. It was too long. But the first two numbers were 1-2.”

“Oh, Tommy, you’ve been a wonderful help to me,” Nancy said, giving the little boy a hug. “One more question. Did you see the man carrying anything in his hand?”

“Yep. He had a lot of letters and he was stuffin’ ’em into his pockets.”

Nancy realized that the suspect by this time was too far away for her to find. But she was excited by the excellent clues the little boy had given her. She thanked him and returned home.

At the front door she met Bess and George. Her friends reported they had had no luck. Nancy told them what she had learned. As soon as they entered the house, she hurried to the living room. Ira Nixon sat slumped in the comer of the sofa, but when he saw the girls he looked up hopefully.

“Did you find out anything about the letters?” he asked.

“I didn’t find the thief,” Nancy answered, “but I did pick up an excellent clue. Mr. Nixon, do you know a tall, slender man who wears a yellow overcoat and hat, and has a beat-up car with the license plate TJ12? I don’t know the rest of the numbers.”

To the surprise of Hannah Gruen and the girls, Ira Nixon uttered a cry of dismay. The blood drained from his face. He put his hands over his cheeks and exclaimed, “No, no! It couldn’t be! Oh, what will I do?”

Ira Nixon slumped forward in a faint!

WHEN the mail carrier did not respond to first-aid treatment by Hannah Gruen and the girls, the housekeeper insisted they call a doctor.

“I’ll telephone Dr. Amundson up the street,” Nancy offered. He was not the Drews’ physician, but she was sure that in this emergency he would come.

The line was busy and continued to be so. George became nervously impatient. “Oh, why bother? I can run up there just as fast.” She grabbed her coat and went out the door.

While Mrs. Gruen continued to administer first aid to the unconscious mail carrier, she told Nancy and Bess more about him. Ira Nixon was a bachelor and lived in a small house on the other side of River Heights. It had belonged to his mother, who had survived two husbands. When she died, it was learned she had willed the property and a small amount of money to Ira.

But now a half brother, thirty years younger, was demanding fifty per cent of the money. So far, Ira had refused because the inheritance had actually belonged to Ira’s father and the mother had kept it all these years for his son.

“Ira told me his half brother Edgar has been very nasty lately and has even threatened to go to court to upset the will.”

“Poor Mr. Nixon,” Bess said softly.

The housekeeper went on to say that Edgar had become very obnoxious and had almost succeeded in intimidating Ira. She sighed, “Probably Ira won’t be able to hold out much longer—he’s too old and weak to resist.”

“Where does this half brother live?” Nancy asked.

“Ira doesn’t know. Edgar never would tell him. And also, he would never tell him what business he was in. Only yesterday when Ira came here with the mail, he told me that Edgar had been to see him the night before and became furious when Ira would not give him any money. He called him all sorts of dreadful names and finally said, ”I’ll make you suffer for this! I’ll ruin you!”

Hannah’s last statement gave Nancy an idea. “Do you suppose the person who stole the mail could have been Edgar Nixon?” she asked.

“I’ll bet it was,” Bess replied. “When you described him to Ira, the poor old man recognized who he was and that’s why he fainted. Edgar must be an absolutely despicable person.”

The others agreed. Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of George with the doctor. The girls went to the kitchen during the examination that followed, but Hannah Gruen remained with Ira.

Nancy said she should notify the police and the postal inspector about the theft. “And I’d better call Dad, too.”

When her friend Police Chief McGinnis came on the wire she gave him the story.

“We’ll put out an alarm for the man in the yellow coat,” he told her.

Nancy next called the River Heights post office. The postal inspector was not in, but an investigative aide took the message and said he would pass the word along.

Nancy’s third call was to her father’s office. Mr. Drew was a prominent attorney and his daughter always felt flattered when he asked her opinion or advice on a case where a mystery was involved. In a few minutes Mr. Drew’s secretary put the attorney on the line.

“Dad, we’ve had some real excitement at the house this morning,” she said, and proceeded to tell him what had happened. “Ira Nixon hasn’t regained consciousness yet. The doctor is here now.”

“Well, you are full of news,” Mr. Drew said. “Keep me informed on what’s happening. Now about this registered letter. I’m afraid it may have contained a large sum of money.”

Nancy was horrified. Did the thief know this and was it the reason he had waited for a chance to steal the mail?

“Where was the letter from?” she asked. “Isn’t it unusual for people to send money through the mail nowadays?”

“Indeed it is, and a very bad thing to do,” the lawyer replied. “I suspect that this registered letter may have come from a client of mine, Mrs. Quigley. I take care of most of her affairs and she sends me money every so often. I’ve told her repeatedly to mail me only checks, but I have a hunch that she has ignored my advice again.”

“Does she always send her letters to the house?” Nancy asked.

“Usually,” Mr. Drew answered. “I’ll call her at once and find out if—Hold the line a moment, Nancy.”

She waited several seconds, then her father came back on the line. “My secretary has just buzzed me to say that Mrs. Quigley is in the outer office. I’ll talk to her and call you back.”

While waiting, Nancy told Bess and George about the client who insisted upon sending large amounts of money through the mail. It was not long before Mr. Drew called back.

“Hello? Nancy? ... What I feared is true. Mrs. Quigley feels very bad about the whole thing. We are sure it was her letter that was stolen.”

“Oh, Dad, this makes an embarrassing situation for you, doesn’t it?” Nancy queried.

“Yes, it does,” her father replied. “Having my client’s money stolen from my house!” Then he added, “How’s Ira Nixon?”

Nancy put down the phone and hurried toward the living room, calling out, “Mrs. Gruen, my father is on the line. He wants to know how Mr. Nixon is.”

“He’s coming around,” the housekeeper answered. “The doctor says he’ll have to go to the hospital, though, for a complete checkup.”

Nancy ran back to the kitchen and reported this to her father. He sighed in relief. “I’m glad the poor old man is regaining consciousness,” he said. “Well, I must talk to Mrs. Quigley now. See you at dinner.”

Mrs. Gruen came to tell the girls that they might return to the living room. Dr. Amundson explained that he must get back to his office immediately to see a number of patients who were waiting.

“Mrs. Gruen has kindly offered to get in touch with Mr. Nixon’s regular doctor,” he said. “She will ask him to make arrangements for an ambulance to come from River Heights Hospital and take Mr. Nixon there. He’s recovering nicely, but he shouldn’t go home yet.”

Ira’s physician promised to be at the hospital by the time his patient reached there. The ambulance would arrive at the Drew home in about twenty minutes. Nancy was eager to ask the carrier some questions, but realized he was in no condition to discuss his brother. “Especially one who is so mean to him,” she thought.

Ira Nixon himself brought up the subject of the missing letters. “I feel better now. Guess that doctor’s shot put new life into me. Sorry I can’t tell you where your father’s registered letter came from. I didn’t notice.”

Nancy asked gently, “Did you, by any chance, see the return address on the envelope to me?”

Ira Nixon closed his eyes and his brow furrowed as he tried to remember. Finally he said, “Seems to me your letter was not from one person. It was more like three names.”

“A business firm,” Nancy suggested.

Again the mail carrier tried hard to remember. Finally he shook his head. “It’s not much hope I guess. My head’s getting too old to remember things very long. But I seem to recall the first word in the name. It was—”

Nancy and the others waited expectantly. They could see Ira Nixon’s lips move as if he was murmuring several names before saying one aloud. Finally a faint smile spread over his face.

“I remember now,” he said. “Clear as a bell. The first word was Malmsbury.”

“That’s a wonderful help,” Nancy told him. But she was thinking there probably were a lot of Malmsburys in London or its vicinity. It would take her a long time to find out who the sender of her mysterious letter was.

Just then the ambulance arrived and two interns came into the house with a stretcher.

Ira Nixon brushed the stretcher aside. “Long as I got two good legs, I’m gain’ to walk,” he insisted.

“I’m sorry, sir,” one of the interns said, “but it’s a hospital rule.”

The letter carrier frowned. “You mean it’s a law I’ve got to ride on that thing? What’ll people think?”

The others smiled. The interns helped Ira Nixon onto the stretcher and carried him to the ambulance.

“We’ll follow in my car,” said Nancy.

She hurried to her car and the three girls hopped in. As soon as Ira Nixon was comfortably settled in the hospital, the girls said good-by and left. Nancy first took George, then Bess to their homes.

“What a morning!” Bess remarked as she waved good-by. “Keep us informed on what happens.”

“I will,” Nancy promised.

She had been in her own house only long enough to say to Hannah, “What’s for lunch?” when once again the front doorbell rang. Nancy went to answer it.

A young man stood there. He introduced himself as Mr. Horace Moore, an investigative aide to the River Heights’ postal inspector.

“Are you Nancy Drew?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes, I am.”

The young man stared at her hard. Then he said, “Young lady, you’ve broken the law. You’re in trouble with the authorities!”

MR. MOORE’S accusation left Nancy speechless for a few seconds. Finally she asked him how she had broken the law.

The young man looked at her superciliously. She judged that he was not very many years older than she and his attitude annoyed her. But out of respect for his position she said nothing.

“Miss Drew,” he began, “you may not be aware of this, but it is against the law to invite mail carriers into your home while they are on duty.”

“I see,” Nancy replied. “But don’t you think this case was an exception? Poor Ira Nixon had been battling the wind for a long time and he was exhausted. Anyway, he didn’t bring his mailbag inside our house. He left it in this vestibule where you are standing.”

“That’s even worse,” the aide told her. “Our carriers know the rule—they must keep their bags with them at all times. But this doesn’t excuse you.”

“Perhaps not,” said Nancy. “I shall take the matter up with my father and he will come to your office.”

Moore was not to be dismissed so easily. In a pompous manner he asked, “What does your father have to do with this?”

Nancy looked him straight in the eye. “The law says that when anyone is accused of a crime he may consult his lawyer. My father is a lawyer.”

Her caller blinked. “I—I suppose you’re right. When the inspector returns, I shall pass the information along to him.”

Nancy did not comment on this. She knew that the postal inspector was a very reasonable man. Surely he would understand that the case of Ira Nixon was indeed an exception.

“Are you aware,” she asked Moore, “that Ira Nixon is in the hospital?”

“I heard something of the sort but this doesn’t excuse him.”

“And now if you’ll excuse me—” Nancy said, starting to close the door.

With a mumbled reply the officious young man turned and left the house.

Mr. Drew came home early, explaining that he was so curious about what had taken place during the day he wanted to get more details from Nancy at once.

She smiled. “The whole thing gets more mysterious every minute. Listen to this.” She told him about the investigative aide from the post office.

When she finished, Mr. Drew burst into laughter. “My congratulations to you on telling him you would turn the case over to your lawyer.” Then he sobered. “You are not to blame, Nancy, for the stolen letters. I’m sure Postal Inspector Wernick will agree with us.”

Nancy asked him how his client Mrs. Quigley had taken the loss of her money. “Was she very upset?”

“She certainly was,” the lawyer replied. “My secretary had to bring smelling salts and a cup of black coffee. Finally Mrs. Quigley began to cry and admitted that she should have followed my advice and sent a check.”

Father and daughter talked a long time about the whole affair. Their conversation was interrupted by a phone call for Mr. Drew. He came back from answering it to tell Nancy an emergency had arisen. “I must go at once to see a client. He has been in a bad accident. I probably won’t be home until late so don’t wait up for me, Nancy.”