A Strange Present

AT THE broadcasting studio, Nancy and Ned were even more startled than Hannah Gruen. In the midst of a beautiful passage, the gaze of the musician suddenly focused upon them. His eyes blazed. He struck a discord and stopped playing.

The musician pointed his bow at Nancy and cried out, “Murko will play no more! I will not have spies watching me! You play tricks....”

Murko the gypsy violinist! In his excitement “Mr. Martin” had blurted out his real name!

At this moment the program was cut off in the control room. Murko stumbled from the studio. Nancy, too, rushed outside and down a stairway, followed by Ned. On the floor below, the musician was gesticulating wildly with his bow at the studio director, who had come to find out what had happened.

“You break promise to me! ” Murko shouted at the man. “When I sign to play here, you promise no one ever see me! Only hear me! And now, two people in studio. Spies! They follow me now! ”

The violinist pointed accusingly at Nancy and Ned in the hallway.

“Take it easy, Mr. Martin, ” the director said. “I did not know anyone was watching you. But these people meant no harm, I’m sure.”

“They come to make trouble! ” the musician exclaimed.

“We’re not here to harm you, ” Nancy said. “We just wanted to see you play. One misses so much not watching a great artist like you! ”

At these words of praise, Murko calmed down somewhat. Nevertheless, he moved along the hallway, a furtive look in his black eyes.

“Let us drive you to your home, Mr. Martin, ” Nancy suggested, purposely using his radio name.

“No! ” shrieked the man, apparently frightened anew.

“I believe we can help you, ” Nancy said kindly.

“What can you do for me? ” he demanded suspiciously. “There is no help for poor Murko. None.”

“Why do you say that? ” Nancy asked. As he did not answer, she said, “Is it because you work so hard and are forced to give all your money to Anton and Nitaka? ” Murko remained silent. “You are discouraged because all your earnings must go to the Cause? ”

Murko’s head dropped. “Yes, ” he muttered bitterly. “Yes, it is so.”

“Why don’t you refuse to contribute? Surely you realize there’s nothing in it for you—any more than for Marquita or Romano Pepito? ”

Murko raised his head and looked straight into Nancy’s eyes. “No, there is not. Poor Romano, ” he murmured. “A man broken in spirit.”

Nancy’s heart started to pound. Was she on the verge of learning about Rose’s father?

“Where is Romano now? ” she asked.

“Wherever his tribe is—unless they have moved him as they did me.”

“What do you mean? ” Nancy asked, puzzled.

Murko did not reply. A look of panic suddenly came over his face. As if frightened at having told the visitors too much, he bolted for an elevator, which had stopped at that floor. He dashed in and the door slammed shut.

By the time Nancy and Ned had descended to the main floor in another elevator, Murko was nowhere to be seen. No one could tell them which direction he had taken.

“Guess he gave us the slip, ” Ned said, disgusted, “If I’d only been quicker.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ned, ” Nancy consoled him, and added, “At least I’ve found out why the gypsies at that camp wouldn’t let anyone see Murko. To the outside world, he is ‘Mr Martin.’ ”

The young people thought perhaps he had fled to his tribesmen so they inquired at the local police station if there were any gypsies in the vicinity. They were told of a camp approximately ten miles distant, off the Woodville Road. Nancy wondered if the group from the carnival was there.

“Murko probably is with them, and maybe Anton and Nitaka, ” she speculated. “Let’s try to find the place.”

“We’re off! ” Ned said.

He and Nancy soon discovered that police directions on how to reach the camp had been somewhat sketchy. To find the Woodville Road was easy enough, but to locate the gypsies’ encampment was another matter.

“They may have pulled their trailers along any one of these side roads, ” Nancy commented. “It’s so dark and wooded, we probably couldn’t see the spot unless we were right on it.”

“Looks like a bad storm coming, too, ” Ned said, as he rolled the window up partway. “That’ll make it harder to find.”

Suddenly a flash of lightning cut across the inky sky and revealed a mass of ugly, boiling clouds.

“Maybe we’d better postpone our search and start for home, ” Nancy suggested.

Ned agreed, and turned the car in the narrow road. Before they had traveled two miles, the storm broke. During the slow ride back to River Heights, the rain came down in torrents. It was not until they reached the Drew home that it stopped.

“Lucky we started back when we did, ” Nancy commented as she said good night to Ned. “I hope your boys’ camp wasn’t washed out! ”

“If it was, I’ll be ready to see you again in the morning, ” he said, grinning.

Early the next day George and Bess stopped by to see Nancy. She invited them to help her search for the missing gypsies.

George was eager for the adventure, but cautious Bess reminded them of their unpleasant experience some days before.

“You two must like being thrown out by gypsies! ” she remarked.

Bess decided to go along, nevertheless, and up to the time they reached Winchester, she was very gay, chatting about a new restaurant she had found in River Heights, to the detriment of her figure. But as they turned up a side road out of town, and learned from a farmer exactly where the gypsies were, she became uneasy.

When the three girls finally reached the wooded spot, though, she sighed in relief. There was no one in sight. The group had departed.

“Maybe Murko will show up at the broadcasting studio sometime today, ” George suggested as she noted Nancy’s disappointment.

“I doubt it, but we’ll stop there, ” Nancy replied. She turned the car back toward Winchester.

A few minutes later they reached the radio station, and were told by the manager that Mr. Martin would broadcast no more. A woman had come there early that morning and left a note from the violinist. The message had merely said he would never again play over that station.

“We had a contract with him, too, ” the manager said, “but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Nancy and the other girls were ready to leave, when he called, “Are you Miss Nancy Drew? ” To her yes, he added, “There’s something here for you. It was brought by that woman who left the note. She merely said to give it to you.”

From an inner office the man brought out a package. Puzzled, Nancy decided to open it at once. Inside was a red, black, and white hand-woven blanket.

“This is strange, ” she remarked. “Did the woman leave her name? ”

“No, I scarcely noticed her, except that she had blue eyes, unlike most gypsies, and was about fifty years old.”

Nancy caught up a corner of the blanket. The name H. Bostwick was woven in the blanket in small letters.

“Could she be Henrietta Bostwick? ” Nancy wondered, remembering the name on the album she had bought in New York. “If so, is she a gypsy? Or does she merely live with the tribe? And why did she send me this blanket? ”

On the way home Nancy discussed the incident with Bess and George. “I feel sure that woman was trying to send me some information.”

At home, Nancy seated herself on the living-room floor and examined every inch of the gypsy blanket.

“These figures woven in here and there mean something. I’m sure of it! ” she told herself. “If only I could get at the meaning of the thing, I might have a valuable clue! ”

An outside door slammed. Hannah came into the room, her arms loaded with packages.

“Shopping is an awful trial—” she began, then exclaimed, “Nancy, where did you get that? ”

“It’s a gift from a gypsy.”

“Destroy it! Get it out of the house! ” Hannah cried.