A Dangerous Plan

Nancy caught her breath in surprise. The Duval family again! This had to be more than a coincidence, she felt.

" How did you staff find out the intruders were trying to steal that particular painting? " she asked the curator.

" Because it's gone."

Nancy was dismayed at this unexpected news. Now more than ever she was convinced that the stolen painting must be connected in some way with the mystery of Louise Duval's letter to Pierre's grandfather. But with the picture gone, she might never learn what linked the two cases.

" Exactly how was the robbery discovered? " she asked, probing for a clue.

Mr. Gregory explained that when the stack of crates was knocked over in the basement storage area during the second break-in, several were smashed open and their contents spilled out.

" It was rather a mess, " he went on, " especially since the whole storage area is littered and long overdue for a cleanup. Anyhow, to make sure everything was restored to its proper place, my staff had to check and make sure each item got put back where it belonged."

" How did they do that? "

" When anything is assigned to storage, " Mr. Gregory replied, " it's logged by its number in the museum collection. Its storage location is also entered in the logbook, and by that I mean the crate or rack or shelf on which the object will be placed. I'd already asked the staffers to bring up the Duval painting for you to look at, so while they were going through the logbook, they decided to attend to that at the same time. But when they went to get the painting, they found out it was missing from its slot in the rack."

Nancy knit her brow thoughtfully. " If that's the case, the robbers may have taken other things too, " she said, " but perhaps your staff just hasn't discovered they're missing yet."

The balding curator nodded. " That's possible, of course. But, you see, something else happened which also indicates the thieves were after the Duval painting."

" What was that? " Nancy inquired with keen interest.

" One of my staff assistants, Miss Heron, now tells me she had a phone call about it on the afternoon before the second break-in."

Mr. Gregory related that the caller had asked where the Duval painting was hung, saying he had looked for it during a recent visit to the museum but hadn't been able to find it. Miss Heron then informed him that the picture was no longer on display, that it had been taken down to the basement storage area some years ago.

" This could have been what led the intruders to search the storage room, " the curator surmised.

Nancy was inclined to agree. " Actually, I came to offer a suggestion. But from what you've just told me, I guess it's too late to do any good, " she added with a rueful smile.

" What did you have in mind, Nancy? "

Before the pretty young sleuth could reply, there was a knock on the door.

" Excuse me a moment, " Mr. Gregory said to her, then called out, " Come in! "

An attractive young woman with curly dark hair opened the door. She was wearing a rather rumpled, soiled-looking smock with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. On seeing Nancy, she apologized for interrupting, and Mr. Gregory introduced her as the staff assistant he had mentioned earlier, Jane Heron.

" I'm afraid we misinformed you about the Duval painting, " she told the curator.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. " You've found it? "

" No, but this afternoon we've discovered that other paintings and art objects are also missing from their proper places. And some have turned up in the wrong places."

Mr. Gregory frowned in annoyance. " That sounds as though the whole storage area's in a state of mixup."

" I'm afraid so, " Miss Heron agreed. " Whoever broke in the other night may be partly responsible, but I'd say everything down there's gotten pretty disordered over the years. So we won't really know if the Duval painting is missing until everything's been sorted out."

Under the circumstances, Nancy decided to tell the curator the idea which she had come to suggest in the first place. Before doing so, however, she waited until Miss Heron left the office. Then she asked if he had considered the possibility that the break-ins might be an inside job, with someone at the museum helping the intruders.

Mr. Gregory nodded gloomily. " Yes, there's always that chance, I'm afraid. Why do you ask? "

" Suppose you let on, both to the staff and to the public, that the repairmen have run into trouble, and the alarm system isn't fixed yet."

" You mean as bait, to tempt the thieves into trying again? "

" Exactly! And I'll keep watch in the museum tonight myself, " Nancy went on, " to see if they do come back."

The curator looked worried. " Nancy, what you're suggesting could be dangerous—very dangerous! "

" Not really, Mr. Gregory. I'll bring a friend or two along to keep me company, and if an emergency should arise, we'll call for help at once. We can keep in touch with the night watchman by walkie-talkie, and also stay close to a phone so we can ring the police if necessary."

Somewhat reluctantly, the curator agreed to her plan. He said the repairmen expected to have the alarm system back in working order by mid-afternoon, but he would arrange privately to have them stay on till the end of the day. He would also tell them to leave their ladders and other working paraphernalia in place, and go off grumbling and shaking their heads, so as to give the impression that they had encountered unforeseen difficulties that kept them from finishing the job and hooking up the alarm again.

Nancy said good-bye to Mr. Gregory and went back down to the lobby, hopeful that her plan would produce prompt results.

Coming out of the museum, she glimpsed a figure standing in the bus shelter, just beyond the green parklike stretch of lawn. He seemed to be watching the museum entrance. The man looked familiar.

Nancy paused to stare more carefully, then gasped. It's that swarthy thug again! she realized. The one who keeps spying on me!

This time Nancy decided not to let him get away. She started boldly down the front walk of the museum, heading toward the bus shelter. But the dark-visaged spy saw her coming. With a scowl, he darted off across the street.

Before Nancy could reach the corner and cross, the traffic light turned red against her. Vehicles rumbled across the intersection, blocking her path of pursuit. By now, the swarthy man was fast disappearing from view among the passersby on the other side.

Nancy realized she had no chance of catching him now. With a sigh of annoyance, she gave up and turned back toward the museum parking lot.

Driving home, Nancy looked forward to a hot cup of Hannah's skillfully brewed tea. To her surprise and delight, she found Bess Marvin and George Fayne waiting for her in the living room.

" Any exciting developments? " George asked with a twinkle.

" How would you like to help me catch some crooks? " Nancy proposed.

Her words brought both girls instantly to attention.

" Gee, Nancy! What do you want us to do? " asked Bess, opening her blue eyes wide.

" Tell you in a minute. First, though, do you remember that girl you saw poking into my car this morning? "

Bess nodded. " Sure we do. What about her? "

" Can you recall what she was wearing? "

After a moment's thought, Bess and George agreed that she had been wearing a green pantsuit. This confirmed Nancy's hunch that the culprit was probably Nyra Betz.

Then the young detective described her plan to stake out the art museum that night. She asked if her friends would like to help her keep watch for possible intruders. Bess and George eagerly agreed.

The three girls enjoyed a relaxing afternoon tea. Later, they all piled into Nancy's car. She dropped the two cousins off at their homes to get ready for their night watch session. Then she drove to nearby Westmoor U. to follow up the lead Mrs. Ferbury had given her.

Nancy was already acquainted with some of the faculty members at Westmoor. On this occasion, however, an unexpected obstacle was in store. The dean of students informed her that Professor Crawford, a history instructor, had passed away several years ago.

Nancy's face showed her disappointment. " Oh, dear! Is there anyone else who might be able to answer some questions about his work? "

" Hm, well, I suppose the best person to ask might be Professor Schmidt. He's the person who took over Professor Crawford's position in the history department."

Professor Schmidt turned out to be a friendly, pipe-smoking, middle-aged man. But when Nancy asked him if he had any idea what sort of research work Professor Crawford might have done for the late Miss Duval, he shook his head.

" I'm sorry, but I really have no idea." He added after a moment's thought, " One would imagine, of course, that it would have concerned his particular specialty."

" What was that? " Nancy inquired.

" He specialized in the history of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars."

Nancy felt a surge of hope. " Roughly, that would be around 1800? "

Professor Schmidt nodded. " Yes, both before and after that date. Say from the 1780s to 1815."

This was about the time that Louise Duval's ancestress, Yvette Duval, had immigrated to America and settled in River Heights!

Professor Schmidt frowned as he paused to reload his pipe. " Perhaps if you spoke to Professor Crawford's daughter, " he went on, " she might be able to supply the information you need."

" Do you know how I could get in touch with her? " asked Nancy, crossing her fingers.

" Yes, she lives not too far from here. I think I have her address in my desk book."

Nancy drove home, feeling much encouraged. Over the dinner table, she told her father and Hannah Gruen about the day's events.

" Why not ask the town historical society about that French couple? " the housekeeper suggested. " They have all sorts of information about the early settlers in River Heights."

Nancy beamed. " Hannah, that's a wonderful idea! I never even thought of that."

After dinner, she picked up her two friends and drove to the art museum. However, instead of parking in the museum lot Nancy left her car a block away, and they approached the building on foot. It was already twilight, but to make doubly sure no one observed them, the trio went to the back door of the museum in the gathering darkness.

The night watchman answered their knock and opened the heavy metal door. " 'Evening, girls. Sure you want to go through with this scheme? "

Nancy smiled. " Quite sure, Mr. Baxter. If we can keep in touch with you, I think we'll be okay."

Shaking his head dubiously, the watchman took them down to the basement storage area. Before leaving them alone, he provided them with a walkie-talkie which they could use to call him.

The vast, cement-walled room was carefully air-conditioned. Just now, it was strewn with crates, as well as wrappings that had been removed by the staff in order to check out individual paintings and other stored art objects.

For a while, the items were interesting to look over. But as time passed, the girls settled down to chat and sip coffee from Thermoses they had brought to help keep awake.

Suddenly George sat upright and raised her hand for silence. " What was that? " she whispered.

Clank... clank... clank.

Faint, metallic footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway!