The Secret Panel

NANCY advanced a few steps, then stopped to listen. She might hear the thief, she figured, if he were lurking in the woods. But the only sound in the ominously silent thicket was the sudden, chirping of a robin.

“I must be careful, ” Nancy thought. “I’d be foolish to try tracking the thief alone. But if I don’t follow him, I may lose a valuable clue.”

As she pondered, her thoughts were jarred by the screech of brakes, accompanied by the skidding of tires on pavement.

Nancy’s heart skipped a beat. A sickening thought flashed through her mind. Maybe someone was coming to meet the man in the woods!

“I may be trapped! ” she chided herself. “What a goose I was to walk right into it! ”

She hastened toward the road, carefully concealing herself from the newcomer. When Nancy saw the other car she gave a sigh of relief. In it were Bess and another girl, with the boyish name of George Fayne.

“Hi! ” George called gaily. “What’s the idea of going sleuthing without us? ”

George, as well as Bess, had shared many of Nancy’s exciting adventures. George, athletic and outspoken, was a striking contrast to her mild-mannered cousin Bess.

Nancy did not answer her dark-haired friend. She motioned for the two girls to get out of the car quickly and follow her.

“I think I’m on the trail of the person who stole the vase, ” she explained, starting off.

Bess locked her car and followed the others. Footprints were clearly visible in the woods. But fifty feet farther on they vanished in the thick undergrowth. There was no sign of the man.

“Oh dear! ” Nancy said, disappointed.

George grinned. “What did you expect—that he was going to wait for you? ”

Reluctantly Nancy turned back. “I know one thing about the man who was here, ” she said, “whether he’s the vase thief or not. He’s not very tall.”

“How do you know? ” Bess asked.

“By the small footprint and the short stride. Also, he wears lifts in his shoes, ” Nancy replied.

“Hypers! ” said George, using one of her pet expressions. “You slay me! ”

“Tell me about the shoes, ” Bess demanded.

Nancy explained. “These imprints are deeper than the usual footprints, and here’s the trademark, anyway.” She pointed to the heelprint. “I just happened to read an ad yesterday about this make of elevator shoes.”

“Nancy, what are you up to? ” asked George. “Bess told me about the stolen vase and elephant. Is that why you came here? ”

“Not exactly. I was on my way to Masonville to look for a leaning chimney.”

“A what? ” George demanded.

Nancy explained about the clue to the China clay pit, and that it might be in Masonville.

“That’s where we’re going, ” said Bess. “To that darling dress shop next to the inn. How about having lunch with us? ”

“Love to, ” Nancy replied. “Meet you at the inn at one o’clock.”

Bess and George hopped into their car and followed Nancy. Entering the outskirts of Masonville, Nancy slowed her car and motioned she would leave the girls and start her sleuthing.

She drove around the city slowly in ever-narrowing circles, her keen eyes alert for a chimney that leaned, bent, curved, or was anything but perpendicular. At the end of half an hour, she was convinced she had never seen so many smokestacks in her life.

Then suddenly she saw it. A chimney that clearly leaned at an angle of several degrees!

“This is luck! ” she told herself elatedly.

The chimney was on a house next to the corner dwelling in a row of old-fashioned, red-brick homes. The chimney was the only feature that distinguished the house from the others. The adjoining corner house was boarded up.

Nancy parked the car at the curb in front of the house with the leaning chimney. As she climbed the creaking steps to the porch and rang the bell, she saw a sign in the front window: ROOMS FOR RENT.

After a short interval, a white-haired, elderly woman came to the door, wiping her hands on an apron. She adjusted her spectacles and looked at Nancy inquiringly. The young detective smiled and said a trifle self-consciously:

“I know this sounds a little silly, but I’ve been looking for a leaning chimney and the first one I’ve found is yours. I’ve been told the chimney may have some connection with China clay.”

The woman looked puzzled. “China clay? ” she repeated slowly. “What do you mean? ”

“Perhaps I’d better introduce myself, ” said Nancy. “My name is Nancy Drew—”

“Nancy Drew! ” the woman interposed with surprise. “From River Heights? ” When Nancy nodded, she added, “Is Mrs. Gruen your housekeeper? ”

It was Nancy’s turn to show surprise. “Yes, do you know Hannah? ”

The white-haired old lady chuckled. “Land sakes, yes! I helped Hannah’s mother take care of her when she was a little girl.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come in and sit for a while. I’m Mrs. Wendell.”

“Oh, I’ve heard Hannah speak of you.” Nancy smiled. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”

Nancy went into the neat, old-fashioned living room and sat down. Hastily removing her apron, Mrs. Wendell settled herself in a rocker.

“How is Hannah? I haven’t seen her in so long.”

“Oh, she’s fine, ” Nancy answered politely. Then she steered the conversation back to China clay.

Mrs. Wendell was thoughtful for a moment, then she said:

“I’ve been living in this house for several years, Nancy, and never saw nor heard of a pit of China clay anywhere in the neighborhood. But—now let me see, ” she added, moving gently back and forth in the rocker. “I have something that may help you.

“There’s an old trunk in the attic room. It belonged to Mr. Petersen, who sold me the house. He’s dead now. The trunk’s got some old papers and maps in it. I’ve been hankering to read them, but somehow never got around to it. Getting old, I guess. No curiosity left.”

Nancy laughed.

“Seems to me if the leaning chimney’s got anything to do with the China clay you’re looking for, ” continued Mrs. Wendell, “the papers might mention it.”

Nancy listened with mounting interest. “I’d like to look at them, ” she told Mrs. Wendell.

“All right, ” the woman agreed. “I’ll fetch my keys.”

She went to the kitchen, then returned and they started slowly up the long, narrow stairs. Arriving at the third floor, Mrs. Wendell knocked gently on a door.

“I’m sure Mr. Manning, who rents this room, isn’t home, ” she said. “He hardly ever is around during the day.”

When there was no answer, she turned a key in the lock. Just then the front doorbell rang.

“Seems every time I come upstairs the bell rings! ” Mrs. Wendell sighed. “You go along inside. The trunk is in the closet.”

Nancy entered the small, one-windowed room. It was simply furnished with an iron bedstead, a chest of drawers, and two straight-backed chairs. A washbasin sat on a wooden stand under a mirror next to a closet door. She walked across the room and opened the door.

“Oh! ” Nancy gasped.

A man was just stepping through a panel in the rear of the closet!

A man was stepping through a panel in the rear of the closet

Quick as a flash he stepped back. The panel slid across the space and a lock clicked into place.

“Mrs. Wendell! Come here! ” Nancy cried at the top of her lungs.

Nancy quickly thrust aside a couple of suits that dangled on a rack and tried to open the panel. It would not budge. She examined the faint cracks in the closet wall that outlined the panel. They might easily go unnoticed in the subdued light. Then she turned to see the startled landlady.

“A man just sneaked through a panel in the back of this closet, ” said Nancy.

“Well, I never—! ” Mrs. Wendell exclaimed in astonishment, then she began to tremble nervously.

Nancy dashed to the window and looked out to see if anyone would leave the adjoining vacant building. Glimpsing no one, she raced downstairs and looked on the street. The intruder did not appear.

“He must be hiding back of the panel, ” Nancy decided, and reported this to Mrs. Wendell. “Shall we break through? ”

“If you think we should, ” the woman said shakily. “There’s a hatchet in the basement.”

Nancy got it and returned to the attic.

“Stand back, Mrs. Wendell, ” she warned, raising the hatchet.

Nancy gave the secret panel several hard whacks. The partition sagged. Then a final bang sent it flying into the space beyond.

She stepped through the narrow opening. After a second’s hesitation, Mrs. Wendell followed. They stood in the attic of the corner house. The room was empty. Whoever had closed the secret panel had disappeared!

Nancy went to the door. It was locked, but the key was on the inside. Apparently the thief had not gone out that way.

She investigated a closet, Mrs. Wendell holding her breath in fear. No one was inside the cobwebby space.

Puzzled as to where the man had gone, Nancy noticed that the room’s single, dirty window was half open. Lifting it all the way, she looked out just in time to see a man’s hand grip the top of the high back-yard fence, then disappear!

Pursuit, Nancy figured, would be useless. The man had too much of a head start.

“We’d better call the police, ” she suggested.

“Oh dear! ” said Mrs. Wendell. “I never thought I’d get mixed up with the police.”

“I wonder how he got down, ” Nancy mused. She leaned out the window. The answer to the riddle was apparent. A foot away was a rainspout, entwined with heavy vines. It would be a simple matter for someone to cling to the vines and climb down to the ground.

As Nancy turned around, Mrs. Wendell gave a loud sneeze. The sound echoed through the musty attic.

“Such dust! ” she said. “Nancy, what do you make of all this? ”

“I don’t like it.”

Glancing about the room, Nancy saw several packages on the floor. They were wrapped with newspapers and tied with string. She bent over one of them and examined it closely. The newspaper was printed in Chinese!

Quickly untying the string, Nancy opened the bundle. It contained a beautiful Chinese vase decorated with lotus blossoms!

She untied a second bundle, then a third. They, too, held exquisite Oriental vases.

Mrs. Wendell stared at the porcelains in amazement. “My lands! ” she burst out. “Where did they come from? ”

Nancy had a hunch about that. But she decided to say nothing of her suspicions for the present.

“Don’t be worried, ” Nancy begged. “Everything will come out all right.”

Mrs. Wendell went downstairs. She waited a moment for one of her roomers to leave, then called police headquarters.

Meanwhile, Nancy unwrapped the remainder of the bundles. Each one contained a beautiful Oriental vase. She had hoped Mr. Soong’s Ming piece and the jade elephant would be among them, but she was disappointed.

The Chinese newspapers intrigued her. After carefully unfolding one of them she stuck part of it in her handbag.

Two Masonville policemen arrived, and Mrs. Wendell at once told them of Nancy’s prowess as a detective. Nancy smiled and explained what had happened.

“What was the fellow like? ” asked one of the officers, named McCann.

Nancy said she regretted not having had a better look at the intruder so that she might identify him, but the man had his head down as he was stepping through the opening.

“Looks like you discovered something big, Miss Drew, ” said Officer McCann as he picked up the vase patterned with lotus blossoms.

“This one fits the description of a vase stolen from the Masonville Museum last week, ” Officer McCann declared. He turned to Mrs. Wendell. “What do you know about all this stuff, ma’am? ”

Mrs. Wendell was flustered, but Nancy put her arm reassuringly around the woman’s shoulder as she spoke up falteringly:

“I don’t know anything about it, Officer.”

“Who lives in this room? ” he asked, stepping back into the attic room.

Mrs. Wendell told of having rented it to a John Manning six months before. He had asked to be left alone because he was working very hard “writing a book” and did not want to be disturbed. The secret panel mystified her, she said. She was sure it had not been there before Manning rented the room.

“Manning probably installed it while you and the other tenants were away from the house, ” Officer McCann declared. “What does he look like? ”

“Why, he’s medium tall, ” the woman reflected, “with black hair and sort of olive skin. He... he spoke very nice, not like a rough thief. Seemed to me like he’d traveled a great deal.”

“Um.” The officer pondered, as if mentally reviewing the rogues’ gallery.

“Oh, and he has piercing black eyes, ” Mrs. Wendell added quickly.

At once Nancy recalled the piercing black eyes of the strange-acting man she and Bess had encountered the previous night. Her gaze wandered around the floor of the room and the closet. “Mrs. Wendell, ” she asked, “did you ever notice anything unusual about the height of Mr. Manning’s shoes? ”

“Why, no, ” she said, somewhat surprised.

Nancy told the policeman about the unusual footprints she had found at Hunter’s Bridge. He agreed that the prints might well have been made by the thief, and that the thief might be the man known as John Manning.

While the three had been talking, the other policeman had been examining the attics in both houses, searching for additional loot. Finding none, he wrapped up several of Manning’s personal belongings to study later for fingerprints and compare them with those on the vases. Finally the two officers gathered together the pieces of pottery and started down the stairs.

“If you ever want a job on the Masonville force, let us know! ” one of them said to Nancy.

“I really only stumbled on this, ” Nancy said modestly. “I came here looking for a leaning chimney and found an attic full of loot.”

The policemen glanced at each other incredulously. “A leaning chimney? ” echoed McCann. “And that led you to discover a crook? ”

The other officer cocked his head. “I guess that’s what they call woman’s intuition. I wish I had some of it! ”

After the police officers had descended the stairs, accompanied by Mrs. Wendell, Nancy looked about Manning’s room. What a sight! Dresser drawers were pulled out, the mattress overturned, the rug rolled back, the contents of the trunk scattered over the floor. Even the cardboard backing had been removed from the pictures. Manning’s suits had been examined also. The pockets had been turned inside out and their linings inspected.

“I wonder if there could be anything the police missed, ” Nancy mused as she surveyed the room.

True, they had found plenty of loot, but they had not uncovered a single thing that might be a clue to the identity of the thief.

“The floor! ” Nancy said half-aloud. The police hadn’t examined the floorboards.

Getting to her knees, the young detective scrutinized the rough-hewn planks. Perhaps a loose one might have served as a hiding place for Manning’s mail. But every board was secured by big, broad nails used by carpenters sixty years before.

“Nothing there, ” sighed Nancy, rising to her feet.

Then a thought flashed through her mind. “The window shade! ”

Nancy had a sudden vision of letters falling from the tightly rolled-up shade when she pulled it down. Going to the window, she tugged the cord. The shade came halfway down, but no letters fluttered to her feet.

Nancy made a discovery, however. The sun, streaming through the window, faintly outlined some dark squares on the shade. Excitedly Nancy removed the shade from its little brass fixtures and laid it on the bed.

“This is a find! ” she mused in puzzled delight.

Taped to the outside of the shade were four pages torn from an art magazine. They were full-color photographs of rare old Chinese vases!

Attached slightly above them were two yellow sheets of paper listing the museums and homes where the vases could be found!