The Whispering Statue Page 7

  The statue was set in place again. As Mr. Holden walked back to the clubhouse with the girls and Mr. Ayer, he offered to consult various trade journals to find out who had sold the original whispering statue.

  “Also who purchased it, and what the price was. But don’t get your hopes up too high,” he warned. “I’m inclined to think it was a secret deal and not reported because the whispering statue was stolen. Later I’ll take some measurements of this reproduction. These will be the same size as the original.”

  “How can that be?” Bess spoke up.

  Mr. Holden explained that the rubbery material a sculptor brushes over the original work produces a skin-tight mold. “The cast which is made from the mold is therefore the same size as the original.

  “And I would say that the patina of the stolen statue—meaning its surface color—would be somewhat different from that of the lady out on the lawn, even though the reproduction is an excellent one.”

  George asked, “Mr. Holden, could the thief have sold the original statue at such a high price he became worried and tried to ward off suspicion by having a reproduction made to try to fool people?”

  “Oh yes,” the sculptor replied. “I would say that the original was worth many thousands of dollars.”

  “Hypers!” George burst out. Then she said, “I wonder if this M De K is in league with the thief —or if he was just paid to do a job without knowing the reason.”

  Mr. Ayer looked at the girls and smiled. “I expect Debbie Lynbrook and her friends to find that out.”

  Mr. Holden proved to be a fascinating companion and related many interesting and amusing stories about his work.

  “I think my worst subject was a small boy whose mother wanted a statue of her little darling. But the boy couldn’t sit still for more than fifteen seconds at a time. He seemed scared to death of me every time I came near him with a tape measure. Finally I gave up and just took a lot of pictures of him.”

  The girls laughed and George asked, “How did it all work out? Did you make the statue?”

  “Oh yes,” Mr. Holden answered. “But I had to charge the mother a rather high price for all the extra time it took.”

  During a slight lull in the conversation, Nancy asked the sculptor if he would stop at Basswood’s Art and Bookshop the following morning.

  “I’d like you to look over the statues and statuettes and see if they’re fairly priced.”

  “I’ll be glad to,” Mr. Holden promised. “Since I’ll be going through the town on my way home, I’ll drive you there.”

  Suddenly he began to chuckle. “It’s possible Mr. Basswood may think he recognizes me from photographs he might have seen in magazines or newspapers, so I believe I’ll change my name too. How about Harry Silver?”

  “I’ll remember,” Nancy answered. “I think it’s a good idea.”

  The next morning, when they arrived at the shop, Nancy had a hard time keeping a straight face as she said to Mr. Basswood, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Harry Silver. He was staying at the yacht club and offered to drive me over. Mr. Silver, this is Mr. Basswood.”

  The two men shook hands, then the visitor was invited to sign the register. Nancy was confident Harry Silver, New York City, was a good disguise. She went on, “May I show Mr. Silver some of our fine pieces?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be in my office any time you need me.” Whenever the shop owner disappeared, Nancy wondered if he had some secret means of spying on her.

  She showed Mr. Silver some of the fine paintings, but he shook his head and said, “How about some of the statuettes? This is an attractive one.” He pointed toward a boy, wearing ragged knee trousers and a loose-sleeved, low-necked shirt. He was barefoot and carried a fishing pole over one shoulder.

  As Mr. Holden picked up the statuette, Mr. Basswood suddenly reappeared and watched him sharply. The sculptor turned the piece over and looked at the base.

  He whistled. “This is highly priced,” he remarked, and set the statuette down. “Too much money for me.”

  Some of Nancy’s suspicions had been confirmed! She gave no sign of her elation.

  “Mr. Silver,” she said, “perhaps you would be interested in a smaller piece.” She led him to the statuette of a man seated cross-legged and whittling a piece of wood.

  “That is interesting,” he commented. Once more he turned the statuette over and looked at the sales sticker. Then he sighed. “I’m afraid there isn’t anything here within my price range.”

  Mr. Basswood’s eyes flashed. “Sculptors don’t give away their work,” he snapped.

  “And these are originals?” Mr. Silver asked. “Of course.”

  The caller said he guessed he would have to go somewhere else and buy a copy. Nancy noted that the sculptor avoided the word reproduction. She also wondered if the pieces were not originals. She hoped for an opportunity to ask Mr. Silver.

  When the sculptor said he must leave, because he had a long drive back to New York City, she followed him to the door. Mr. Basswood went along, so there was no chance for her to speak privately to Mr. Holden. Disappointed, she said good-by and closed the door.

  Turning to Mr. Basswood, she asked, “How is Mr. Atkin?”

  “Coming along. It was certainly mighty inconsiderate of him to pick a time like this to get sick. You know yourself how rushed we’ve been here.”

  Nancy pretended to look hurt. “I’m doing the best I can, Mr. Basswood.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “But we’ve got to keep this place cleaner. Go get a dustcloth and wipe off the books.”

  Before Nancy went for it, she remarked, “When Mr. Silver turned over the statuette, I noticed the initials M De K on the base. What do they stand for?”

  Was it her imagination, or did Mr. Basswood show a sudden bit of alarm?

  His fright was gone in a moment and he replied, “I really don’t know. I bought those pieces at an auction and never did inquire who the sculptor was.” He turned toward the rare book section and Nancy went to the back room for the dustcloth.

  Unlike other mornings, half an hour went by and not a customer had come in. Nancy said to her employer, “Since I’ve finished the dusting and there isn’t any special work to do in the shop, is there anything I can help you with in the office?”

  Mr. Basswood’s face took on a dark look. “You stay out of my office!” he almost shouted at her. “Get another cloth and dust off the paintings.”

  She was back in a few seconds—apparently before Mr. Basswood expected her. She had seen him take a book from a shelf and upon hearing her footsteps had tucked it under his coat. She was puzzled. Why didn’t he want her to know he had it?

  “I wonder what the book is,” she thought.

  As soon as she had dusted the paintings, Nancy went over to the bookshelves. Because of her special interest in the books, she had memorized the titles of all the volumes. In a few moments she realized that Mr. Basswood had taken one on modern painters and sculptors. Did he think M De K was mentioned in it and did not want her to find out?

  As she stood in the book section mulling over this, suddenly the whole building began to shake. Statuettes, paintings, and books flew through the air.

  “It must be an earthquake!” Nancy thought, trying to keep her balance.

  The next instant an enormous book was dislodged from an upper shelf and fell directly toward her headl

  CHAPTER XIII

  Living Pictures

  NANCY saw the heavy volume falling and jumped aside. The big book crashed to the floor inches from her feet. The violent shaking of the earth ceased abruptly.

  Mr. Basswood had rushed from his office and into the street. Nancy, too, hurried toward the doorway. She could see people running and hear shouts of “What happened?” “Was it an earthquake?”

  Noticing that Mr. Basswood’s office door was open, Nancy ran inside and turned on the radio to a local station. She was just in time to hear, “We interrupt this broadcast to give you a report on the earth
tremor in Waterford.

  “It was not an earthquake. There was a gas-main break underground with a resultant explosion. All danger is over but everyone is asked to be sure gas burners are turned off. We will broadcast a further report as soon as it is received.”

  The young detective made a quick survey of the office. Half buried under a pile of papers that had shifted on Mr. Basswood’s desk was the volume he had removed from the bookshelf.

  Hearing Mr. Basswood’s footsteps, Nancy tucked the volume under her arm and scooted back into the main room. Quickly she hid the book behind some others, and began picking up the volumes that had fallen to the floor.

  Mr. Basswood walked toward her, saying, “This is terrible, terrible! What a loss!”

  “You’re insured, of course?” Nancy asked him. He did not reply and Nancy could not decide whether it was because he did not want to, or because he was not paying attention to her question. He went outdoors.

  All around the shop paintings lay upside down on the floor and nearly every art object in the place had fallen over. Nancy noticed a statuette that had slipped from a pedestal to the floor and cracked wide open. It was tagged as an original marble piece and highly priced. Nancy was amazed to see that it had an inner metal armature to support the arms and legs. The piece was not solid marble but a reproduction made of white cement and marble dust!

  “And not worth what Mr. Basswood was asking for it,” she thought.

  On a hunch Nancy picked up the base of the statue. She was not surprised to see M De K faintly carved into it.

  “I must find out who that person is,” Nancy said to herself as she began to pick up the scattered pieces.

  Half an hour later Mr. Basswood came back. “I’m going to dose the shop for the day. There’s too much of a mess in the place for customers to shop. You go on home, Miss Lynbrook. I’ll send for you when I want you back.”

  “But I don’t like to leave you with all the cleaning up to do,” Nancy remarked. “I’ll stay and help.”

  Instead of being grateful, the shop owner looked at his employee angrily. “I said go and I mean go.” He pointed toward the door.

  Nancy shrugged. “All right, if you say so.”

  As she went to get her coat from the back room, Mr. Basswood returned to his office. In the rear room of the shop, Nancy found things topsyturvy. To her amazement a large highboy had slid out of place, revealing a hidden door.

  “I wonder what’s behind the door,” Nancy thought. “And how much damage has been done.”

  She opened the door and gazed into a dim room with a small skylight. Nancy could vaguely see small pieces of statuary on the floor, sculpting tools which apparently had fallen from a workbench, and several large portrait frames. These stood along one wall on which hung an enormous canvas cloth. Miraculously the frames had not toppled over.

  “I must investigate this room further,” Nancy thought.

  She closed the door, put on her coat, and walked toward the front entrance. Mr. Basswood was standing there. He held the door open, impatient for her to leave. Hurrying toward the shop were Bess and George. The cousins looked excited.

  “You all right?” they asked Nancy. And Bess added, “Wasn’t the quake a fright?” The two girls stepped into the hallway of the shop.

  “Oh, Mr. Basswood, you’re to go to the hospital immediately,” George told him.

  “What!” he exclaimed.

  Bess said the two girls had taken an injured woman to the hospital. “The patients there were pretty frightened. We went up to see Mr. Atkin. He kept saying he had to talk to you at once, and that somebody must go get you immediately.”

  A look of alarm came over Mr. Basswood’s face. Then he regained his composure. “You’re sure of this?” he asked.

  Both Bess and George nodded. Bess said, “We told him we were coming over to your shop and would tell you.”

  Mr. Basswood looked skeptical. Did he suspect some trick? He asked, “If Atkin wanted me in such a hurry, why didn’t he telephone?”

  “The nurse at the desk said she’d tried but your phone didn’t answer,” George said.

  “It didn’t ring,” the shop owner said. “Did it, Miss Lynbrook?”

  “No. I’ll go try it now and see if it’s out of order.”

  “You stay out of my office!” Mr. Basswood said firmly.

  Nancy was eager to do some real sleuthing. If she could get Mr. Basswood to go to the hospital and leave her there, she would have an opportunity to look around for clues. To her relief Mr. Basswood turned, went back to his office, and closed the door.

  Quickly Nancy whispered to the girls, “Don’t go! Hide some place.”

  George took the cue. In a loud voice she said, “Come on, Debbie! Hurry! What say we go have some fun?”

  Nancy grinned gratefully, then closed the front door with a bang. Quickly she tiptoed to the rear room and slipped behind the highboy. Bess and George had already hidden themselves in the large room.

  Seconds later they heard the shop owner lock his office door from the outside. He walked through the hall and let himself out the front door. When Bess and George felt sure he was not going to return, they hurried to the back room.

  “What do you want us to do?” George asked Nancy.

  “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

  Bess grabbed the other two girls. “This is awfully scary. Suppose we’re caught!”

  “We’ll have to take that chance,” Nancy told her. “I found a hidden room. There are lots of things in it.”

  She opened the door and tried to find a light switch on the wall but could not locate one. Figuring there might be a hanging light over the workbench, she started toward it.

  “Shouldn’t we shut the door?” Bess queried. “Yes,” Nancy replied.

  By this time the girls’ eyes had become accustomed to the small amount of light which filtered through the dusty skylight. Bess and George were intrigued by the huge picture frames. They were old and covered with gold leaf.

  Nancy noticed a stack of books, tied up, that stood on the floor. “I wonder if they’re part of Mrs. Merriam’s collection,” she thought. “I’ll look.”

  She walked over to the pile and her suspicions were confirmed. A card had been tucked under the cord. There was one word on it—Merriam.

  Before the girls had a chance to examine the books, they heard heavy footsteps outside the door. Nancy knew they were not Mr. Basswood’s. Was there a burglar in the shop? And what should she do?

  Instantly the young detective made a decision. Grabbing Bess and George by their arms, she pointed toward the empty portrait frames.

  “Pose!” Nancy whispered.

  The three girls stepped through the frames against the canvas. Each one kneeled and took a different pose. They assumed profile positions so they could not be identified easily if the intruder should happen to know them.

  “This is fearful,” Bess thought nervously, but she held very still. George and Nancy held rigid poses.

  The door opened and a muscular man clomped into the room. Nancy almost forgot to hold her pose. He was the man who had forced his way into the Drew house by their front door and attacked her father!

  “I must capture him!” she told herself but wondered how to do so.

  The man began looking around and mumbling to himself. At first the girls could not distinguish any words but presently he talked louder.

  “The money’s got to be here somewhere!” he said. “He owes it to Marco and me. We got a right to take it!”

  The girls held rigid poses as the intruder entered the room

  In his search the newcomer suddenly lurched into Bess’s frame. It fell over, striking Bess who also went down. Instantly the intruder realized that the person in the frame was alive!

  “Oh!” cried Bess.

  The man gave a deep grunt, then yanked Bess up from the floor. At the same instant Nancy and George leaped from their frames!

  CHAPTER XIV

  Suspicious
Caller

  THE intruder was taken completely by surprise. It was easy for the three girls to hold him. As he became obstreperous, George used a judo trick which buckled the man’s knees and he fell.

  “Let me go!” he shouted.

  “Hold him!” Nancy said. “I’ll get the police!” She was sure George with Bess’s help could manage the man until officers arrived.

  In her excitement Nancy forgot to disguise her voice and wondered if the intruder might have recognized it.

  “I hope not.”

  She raced from the shop to a corner pay telephone a block away and called the police. Nancy explained the situation to Captain Turner. He promised to send a squad car at once.

  As she hung up, a disturbing thought occurred to Nancy. Although the police captain could be relied upon to keep her real identity a secret, Debbie Lynbrook’s part in the incident was bound to come out.

  “Mr. Basswood will know I was investigating the place. He’s so suspicious of me already he’ll probably discharge me.”

  As Nancy ran back to the art shop, she hoped that Bess and George had been able to hold the man. A moment later she saw the shop door burst open. The girls’ captive was running away! Nancy was too far away to stop him, but in a moment Bess and George dashed from the building.

  By this time the man had sped across the street and jumped into a car with its motor running. A companion who sat at the wheel immediately took off.

  Nancy cried out, “Stop! Stop!” and ran into the street.

  Instantly the driver swerved in her direction as if he intended to run her down. She jumped back to the sidewalk just in time.

  “What luck!” she thought. “I wonder what happened.”

  By this time Bess and George had come up to her. Shamefaced, they said that despite George’s judo skill, they had been unable to hold the man.

  “He has muscles like steel,” George remarked. “Sorry, Nancy.”

  Bess spoke up. “We did our best. Who do you think the man was—a burglar?”

  Nancy explained that he was the man who had escaped through the front entrance of the Drew home the night Mrs. Merriam was there.