“Oh, if only we had installed a telephone at the mansion,” Rosemary fretted, as Nancy Drew’s roadster sped along over the smooth road toward Cliffwood.

“Isn’t there any house along the road where we can stop to call the police?” Nancy questioned. “It would save us considerable time.”

Rosemary shook her head.

“There aren’t any houses until we get almost into Cliffwood.”

“Then we may as well drive straight to the sheriff’s office,” Nancy decided. “It’s only a short distance, anyway. A few minutes delay ought not to make such a big difference.”

“But it may,” Floretta declared uneasily. “I believe Nathan is beginning to be suspicious. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come to us this morning with the offer to buy the house.”

Nancy did not respond, but concentrated her attention upon the road before her. In exactly twelve minutes flat she brought the automobile to a quivering halt in front of the sheriff’s office.

Switching off the engine, she sprang from the car, and, with the Turnbull sisters close behind her, ran into the building. The sheriff, the picture of repose, with his feet comfortably placed on the top of a roll-top desk, was laughing and talking with several men who were seated about the room. As Nancy Drew and the two women came in, he swung his feet to the floor and eyed them with respectful attention.

“Anything I can do for you?” he inquired.

Without mincing words, Nancy quickly told of the strange things that had happened at the Turnbull house and of the discoveries she had made. At various points, Rosemary and Floretta corroborated her story.

“I want you to arrest Nathan Gombet,” Nancy ended. “He is the guilty man.”

The sheriff scratched his head in perplexity.

“Well, I don’t know what to say. Nathan Gombet is no friend of mine and folks say he’s a little queer, but I never heard of his doing any harm.”

“There’s always a first time,” Rosemary snapped.

“He’s just a clever crook—that’s all,” Nancy declared impatiently. “Don’t you believe our story? We can show you the staircase.”

“Yes, I believe your story, all right,” the sheriff said hastily. “But I dasn’t proceed without evidence. You can’t arrest a man unless you’ve some proof he’s guilty.”

“What more proof do you want?” Rosemary interposed tartly.

“Well, if you’d found the silver urn in his house, or something like that——”

“If my father were here, he’d convince you all right,” Nancy said, with rising temper.

“Your father?”

“Yes, Carson Drew.”

“You don’t mean Carson Drew, the lawyer from River Heights? You’re his daughter?”

“I am.”

“Well, that’s different. Why didn’t you say so at first?”

“What has that to do with the case?”

“Well, I reckon a daughter of Carson Drew knows what she’s about. If you say Nathan Gombet is a crook, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Well, it seems to me you’ve taken plenty of time to make up your mind,” Nancy said sarcastically.

The sheriff, thus goaded to action, turned to the other men in the room. His indolent manner fell from him.

“Come on, boys!” he shouted.

Turning to Nancy he ordered:

“You lead the way and we’ll follow.”

Nancy nodded, and with Floretta and Rosemary hurried outside to the waiting roadster.

“I never could stand that sheriff,” Rosemary commented. “You can see now why we didn’t like to put the matter in his hands before. He would have made a mess of it.”

“I can see all right,” Nancy admitted dryly.

She sprang into the car and the Turnbull sisters climbed in beside her. She started the motor and waited impatiently for the sheriff and his deputies. The moment the police car was ready to leave, she shifted gears and was off.

As the two cars raced down the side streets of Cliffwood, many passersby turned to stare curiously after them. Nancy did not notice, for she was intent only upon one thing, and that was to reach the old stone house before Nathan Gombet had an opportunity to escape or to hide the booty he had stolen from the Turnbull mansion.

“The sheriff may be stupid enough to refuse to arrest him unless he finds evidence on the place,” she thought, in disgust.

She drove swiftly and soon came within sight of the gloomy old stone house owned by the miser. Believing that it would be wisest to approach cautiously and not give an alarm, she slowed down. To her chagrin the police car raced ahead and roared down the driveway. It came to a sudden halt in front of the house.

The sheriff sprang from the automobile and turned to his men.

“Surround the house!” he ordered crisply. “We won’t take any chance on letting that old boy get away!”

“Oh, why does that sheriff have to be so dramatic?” Nancy murmured, in alarm. “After all this noise, it will be a wonder if Nathan Gombet doesn’t slip through the secret tunnel and escape. That will ruin everything!”

Impatiently, she opened the door of the roadster and started to get out, but Floretta held her back.

“Don’t go,” she begged. “There may be shooting!”

Nancy permitted herself to be pulled back into the safety of the automobile. From there, the three watched the sheriff with misgiving. They saw him walk up to the back door and knock. When there was no response, he knocked again. He tried the door, but it was locked. Then he peeped in at the kitchen window.

“No one at home,” he muttered in disgust, turning away.

Nancy could stand it no longer. Springing from the roadster, she ran toward the sheriff.

“You can’t expect Nathan Gombet to welcome you with open arms after all the noise you made coming up the drive,” she cried. “He’d be more apt to welcome you with buckshot! He’s probably watching now from an upstairs window. We’d all make good targets!”

The sheriff glanced anxiously upward and stepped closer to the house.

“It’s pretty serious business to go breaking into a man’s house,” he said, somewhat crestfallen, “unless you’re mighty sure you’ve got the right man.”

“Nathan Gombet is the right man!”

“Well, maybe he is, I don’t know.” The sheriff’s old doubt was returning to assail him anew. “I suppose I could ram the door, but I don’t like to do it.”

“I’ll assume the responsibility,” Nancy said shortly.

“All right, we’ll do it.”

“There’s an easier way.”

“How do you mean?”

“Climb through the cellar window and get in that way. There’s a stairway from the cellar leading to the kitchen.”

“That’s an idea.”

The sheriff motioned to his deputies, and Nancy led the way to the cellar window. One by one the men crawled in. Nancy hesitated an instant, and then she followed.

Silently, she indicated the stairs leading to the kitchen. The sheriff and his deputies crept quietly up to the landing, and there they paused and listened. The house was as silent as a tomb.

Then unmistakably, there was a slight shuffling sound which seemed to come from the kitchen. The sheriff turned to a deputy near him and whispered into his ear:

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes, chief,” the deputy whispered in reply. “There’s someone hiding in that kitchen!”

“Get set, boys, we’ll see who it is!”

The sheriff placed his hand on the door knob and gave it a quick turn. The latch clicked. As the sheriff thrust open the door, he started back involuntarily, for he stood looking straight into the muzzle of a sawed off shotgun, held in the hands of Gombet’s colored servant!

The old colored woman advanced threateningly, her face convulsed with rage.

“You git, white man!” she ordered, “or I’ll fill yo’ system full of lead.”

Somewhat sheepishly, the sheriff retreated. He dared not reach for his own revolver which hung in its holster, lest the colored woman carry out her threat. As he backed away, the negress slammed the door and locked it.

“I reckon we’ll have to take the place by storm,” the sheriff muttered to his companions. “She’s locked the door. We’ll have to ram it.”

“And while we’re doing it, she’ll pepper us with shot,” one of the deputies observed.

“I reckon you’re right, at that,” the sheriff said slowly. “I guess we’d better fire a volley through the door.”

“We haven’t any call to kill the woman,” a deputy argued. “And a stray shot might hit her. We don’t want to do that.”

“That’s so. Anyone have an idea how we can get into the house?”

“I have,” Nancy Drew announced quickly. “I know of a secret passage which leads from the Turnbull mansion to an upstairs room of this house. Give me two men, and the rest stay here to keep watch. We’ll get into the house through the passage and take her by surprise.”

“That’s an idea,” the sheriff murmured. “I’ll go with you myself.” He indicated one of the deputies. “You come along too. The rest of you boys stay here.”

“And make a little racket every so often to hold the attention of the old colored woman,” Nancy suggested.

“When we get into the kitchen I’ll blow my police whistle,” the sheriff added. “When you hear it, rush up from below.”

The sheriff and the deputy assigned to the venture, followed Nancy Drew from the cellar. They crept past the kitchen window and hurried toward the police car. There was no time for Nancy to stop to explain matters to Rosemary and Floretta. They sat huddled in the roadster where she had left them a few minutes before.

“They’ll be safe enough so long as they stay in the car,” the sheriff said, as the three ran across the courtyard and sprang into the police car. “That colored woman isn’t likely to make trouble unless she’s bothered.”

The sheriff took the wheel.

“Drive to the Turnbull mansion,” Nancy directed.

The police car sped rapidly down the road and up another and came to an abrupt halt in front of The Mansion. Nancy tried the front door. To her relief, she found it unlocked. In their haste to reach the sheriff’s office, the Turnbull sisters had neglected to fasten the doors and windows.

Nancy opened the door and led the way to the library. Quickly lifting the cover of the sofa, she disclosed the hidden opening. Deftly, she lowered herself into it. The sheriff and deputy stared after her in astonishment.

“Well, what do you know about that!” the sheriff exclaimed.

“We’re going through a secret passage,” Nancy explained hastily. “Hurry!” she called impatiently. “There’s no time to lose!”

Hesitating only a moment longer, the sheriff and the deputy likewise lowered themselves through the opening into the hidden staircase.

“You know where you’re going?” the sheriff questioned doubtfully.

“Yes,” Nancy returned. “Watch these stairs, or you may take a tumble.”

As her eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, she moved rapidly down the staircase, warning the two behind her of treacherous steps.

At last she reached the lower level and paused before what appeared to be a solid wall.

“Now what?” the sheriff demanded.

Nancy did not respond, but ran her hand over the wall in search of the tiny knob which would open the panel. She found it, and as she pushed firmly upon it, a portion of the wall swung back.

“Come on,” she urged, stepping through the opening.

The sheriff and his deputy followed. They turned and looked back uneasily as the panel grated shut behind them.

“What if we are locked in here?” the sheriff questioned.

“We shan’t be,” Nancy told him quietly. “I know the secret.”

The three rapidly descended the flight of stone steps and entered the tunnel which led directly to the bird room of Nathan Gombet’s house.

Reaching the stone steps at the end of the passage, she paused only long enough to warn the two officers that they were now within the house and must remain silent. Quickly ascending the stone steps, she groped about the walls, searching for the hidden spring which would open the panel.

“Look for a brass ring or a tiny knob,” she directed the two men.

Even as she whispered the instruction, her hand struck a solid object on the wall. Eagerly, she felt of it and discovered it was a small metal ring.

“I’ve found it!” she whispered in delight.

She gave the ring a hard pull, and, to the amazement of the sheriff and his deputy, the secret panel opened.

Nancy stepped out into the light and motioned for the two men to follow. She now stood in the closet of the bird room. Cautiously opening the closet door, she peered out.

“The coast is clear,” she informed her companions quietly. “Follow me.”

Softly, she tiptoed across the room and tried the door leading into the corridor. It was unlocked. Treading quietly down the hall, she led the way to the stairs.

Reaching the lower floor, Nancy Drew and the officers crept toward the kitchen where the belligerent old colored servant had taken up her post.

The sheriff listened for a moment at the inner door of the kitchen and peered through the keyhole. The old woman had not relinquished the gun, but stood before the basement door making vehement threats.

“I’s waitin’ fo’ you,” she muttered. “You just make one pass t’rough dat doah and I’s gwine lose control o’ mah trigger finger. I’ll fill you so full o’ buckshot dat you’ll look like a sieve, and I don’t mean possibly.”

Satisfied that the old negress was occupied at the basement door, the sheriff quickly stepped into the room and covered her with his pistol.

“You’re under arrest!” he said sharply.

The colored woman turned suddenly and gazed into the muzzle of the sheriff’s gun. She hesitated an instant as if debating whether it would be wise to attempt resistance, then threw up her hands in surrender. The shotgun clattered to the floor.

Nancy Drew, who by this time had rushed into the room, ran to the basement door and unlocked it. As the sheriff gave one short blast on his police whistle, the deputies who had been left stationed below burst into the kitchen. One of them caught up the shotgun from the floor and placed it out of reach. Another quickly slipped handcuffs on the woman’s wrists.

“Now that we have her, what are we going to do with her?” the sheriff asked bluntly.

Nancy turned toward him.

“Sheriff, may I question the prisoner?”

“Go ahead; but I’m afraid you’ll not get much out of her.”

“I’ll try, anyway,” Nancy said, smiling. She faced the negress and demanded:

“Where is Nathan Gombet?”

“How come you asks me? I ain’t keepin’ track o’ dat man just ’cause I works heah.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Nancy replied sharply. “I know that you are not only Nathan Gombet’s servant but his partner in crime as well.”

The woman assumed an innocent expression.

“How you talk! Crime? What you mean crime? I’s just an old culled woman who makes her victuals workin’! You can’t bluff me with yo’ scary talk.”

“I’m not bluffing. It will be the best for you to tell us where he is. If you don’t, you’ll be behind bars within an hour.”

“Fo’ doin’ what?”

“For resisting an officer. Isn’t that true, sheriff?”

“Yes, I reckon it is,” the sheriff returned. “The woman has laid herself open to imprisonment by trying to thwart justice.”

“Now will you tell?” Nancy looked straight into the old negress’ eyes as she asked the question.

For a moment the woman met her gaze defiantly and then a frightened look came over her face and she began to whine.

“I’ll tell! I’ll tell! Don’t send me to no jail!” she implored. “Please, Mr. Sheriff!”

“Then, if you don’t want to go to jail, tell us where Nathan Gombet is hiding.”

The colored woman eyed the girl sullenly for an instant, and then pointed to the floor above.

“Up dar!” she mumbled. “He’s up dar with de prisoner.”

“Prisoner!” Nancy exclaimed, giving the sheriff a quick glance. “What prisoner?”

The colored woman stubbornly shook her head.

“We’ll find out who you mean,” Nancy declared. She turned to the sheriff with decision. “We must capture Nathan Gombet before he escapes. If he’s upstairs he may have heard us and try to get away through the secret passage!”

“He’ll not get away,” the sheriff assured her grimly.

Delegating one man to remain below to guard the colored woman, he ordered the other deputies to follow him. Nancy, who could not bear to remain behind, crept up the stairs after them.

At the top landing the party paused, undecided which way to go. As they hesitated, the sound of a harsh, rasping voice reached their ears.

“Listen!” Nancy commanded in a tense whisper.

Instantly, she recognized the voice. It belonged to Nathan Gombet!

As she listened intently, the man began to speak again and she caught the words distinctly.

“I give you just one minute, Carson Drew! If you don’t sign that paper before then I’ll——”

Nancy did not hear the rest of the threat, for Nathan’s voice had dropped to a lower pitch. What could it mean? Had Nathan held her father a prisoner in the house? She turned frightened eyes toward the sheriff.

“They’re in that room,” she whispered, pointing to the chamber in which her father was imprisoned.

The sheriff nodded, and with his pistol held ready for instant use, moved softly toward the room. Quick as he was, Nancy was ahead of him.

Without a thought for her own safety, now that she knew her father was in danger, she flung open the door.

At a glance she took in the situation. Her father, haggard and pale with suffering, was bound to a chair and Nathan Gombet, a taunting grin on his evil face, was bending over him.

“If you don’t sign this paper, you’ll never get out of here!” he snarled.

At the sound of the opening door, the miser wheeled about and saw Nancy Drew. As he instinctively retreated, she advanced.

“The police will have something to say to you!” she said tensely.

As Nancy Drew spoke, the sheriff and his men closed in around Nathan Gombet.

“Your game’s up,” the sheriff announced covering the miser with his pistol.

Nathan Gombet’s shifty eyes roved to the door, and, suddenly, he made a spring for it. One of the deputies caught him roughly by the arm and dragged him back.

“Oh, no, you don’t!”

“Handcuff him,” the sheriff ordered.

The miser saw that escape was cut off entirely. As the realization came over him, he wilted and offered little resistance when the handcuffs were snapped upon his wrists.

Nancy immediately lost interest in the miser and ran to her father. Frantically she began to work at the ropes which bound him to the chair.

“Oh, Dad!” she murmured brokenly, “are you hurt?”

“I’ll be all right,” Carson Drew forced a wan smile. “Couldn’t have stood it much longer, though. If you hadn’t come just when you did——”

With the aid of one of the deputies who had a knife, Nancy quickly cut the ropes and set her father free. In relief he stretched his cramped limbs.

Slowly getting upon his feet, he took a step forward and would have collapsed had Nancy not helped him. Wearily, he sank down upon the chair again.

“Legs feel paralyzed,” he complained.

“Don’t you want me to call a doctor?” Nancy asked, as she began to rub the cramped muscles.

Carson Drew shook his head.

“No, I’ll be all right after a while. I’m just weak. If only I could have a glass of water! That fiend hasn’t given me anything to eat or drink for more than twenty-four hours. My throat is parched.”

“I’ll get you a drink!” Nancy cried.

She darted from the room and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Pumping a cold drink of water at the sink, she paused only long enough to step to the outside door and call Rosemary and Floretta Turnbull, who were still waiting anxiously in the roadster. They came in response to her summons, and followed her upstairs.

“Tell us everything, Dad,” Nancy begged, as she gave her father the glass of water.

Carson Drew set down the tumbler which he had emptied at one draught and fastened his eyes upon Nathan Gombet.

“That man induced me to come here by trickery,” he explained, a hard glint coming into his eyes. “He has tortured me here for several days trying to force me to sign over money to him.”

“Well, he won’t try any more of his tricks,” the sheriff broke in. “We’ll have him behind prison bars inside of twenty minutes.” He turned to the prisoner. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing,” Gombet muttered sullenly.

“Do you admit that you were trying to get money which did not belong to you?” Carson Drew questioned sharply.

Nathan Gombet did not reply.

“You’ll talk all right when we get you to the station,” the sheriff told him harshly. “It’s no use to deny your guilt. You were caught in the act.” He picked up a piece of paper from the table and glanced at it. “Is this the agreement he was trying to force you to sign, Mr. Drew?”

The lawyer nodded.

“Yes, he wanted me to turn over a large sum of money and then promise not to prosecute.”

The sheriff folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

“I’ll just keep this for evidence.”

“And don’t forget, he tried to force us from our home,” Rosemary Turnbull broke in. “We intend to file a charge against him.”

“I didn’t mean no harm,” Gombet grunted.

“Oh, no,” Rosemary retorted sarcastically. “I suppose those nightly visits of yours were merely friendly calls.”

“I thought I saw an easy way to make a little money. I offered to buy your house.”

“Yes—at your price,” Floretta sniffed.

“It was a cowardly trick—to try to cheat two women,” Carson Drew observed.

“He nearly succeeded, too,” Rosemary declared feelingly. “If it hadn’t been for Nancy Drew, we would have been forced to give up our home. We couldn’t have stood it there another day.”

For some time Nancy had remained silent, but now she turned to the old miser.

“When did you first discover the hidden staircase?” she questioned curiously.

Nathan hesitated as though debating whether or not to tell.

“You’d better make a clean breast of everything. It will go easier with you if you do,” the sheriff warned him.

“It was two months ago,” Nathan muttered. “Found the hidden spring by accident.”

“You explored the staircase and discovered that it led to the Turnbull mansion?”

Gombet nodded.

“How many openings are there into this house?”

“Only the one in the room where I keep my birds.”

“There’s one more thing I want to know,” Nancy continued. “It was you who sent me the threatening note, warning me not to come to the Turnbull mansion, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I sent it,” the man grunted.

“How did you learn that I was going there?”

“Hid in the staircase and heard the old ladies talking about the letter you’d sent.”

“Just as I suspected. And now where are the things you took from their house?”

“What things?”

“Oh, you needn’t pretend,” Floretta broke in, enraged. “You took our silver urn and a diamond pin.”

“And a pocketbook and a silver spoon, to say nothing of Floretta’s silk dresses,” Rosemary added severely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes you do,” Nancy told him quietly. “It won’t do you any good to deny it, for we intend to search the house from cellar to garret. You may as well tell us what you have done with the things.”

Nathan Gombet debated the question silently and then muttered reluctantly:

“You’ll find ’em in my room.”

“Which room is that?”

“Straight across the hall.”

Nancy hurried from the room without waiting for more. Rosemary and Floretta followed her eagerly. As they flung open the door of the bedroom they gave a little cry of pleasure, for on the dresser stood the silver urn.

“What a relief!” Rosemary cried, rushing forward and snatching it up. “It’s a wonder he didn’t try to dispose of it.”

Floretta, who had been investigating the closet, triumphantly brought out an armload of dresses.

“But where is the diamond pin?” Rosemary demanded. “That is the most valuable of all.”

“Is this it?” Nancy, who had opened a bureau drawer, held up a tiny object.

Eagerly, Floretta reached for it.

“That’s it. Oh, I’m so glad.”

“And here is the spoon,” Nancy continued, removing it from the drawer. “And the pocketbook. The money is gone though.”

“Oh, we don’t care about that,” Rosemary said quickly. “There wasn’t much in the pocketbook, anyway.”

“Then everything is here,” Nancy declared.

Armed with the booty, the three returned to the chamber across the hall and disclosed their findings.

“It’s a clear case of theft, all right,” the sheriff said, as he examined the articles. “We’ll take this fellow to jail and lock him up. He’s a dangerous character and ought not to be at large.”

“How about the negress?” Nancy questioned.

“She is an accomplice,” Mr. Drew put in. “Take her along.”

The sheriff grasped Nathan Gombet roughly by the arm and shoved him toward the door. Two of the deputies helped Carson Drew downstairs.

The old miser and the negress were put into the police car, and the sheriff and his men drove away, leaving Nancy and her father to say good-bye to the Turnbull sisters.

“We’ll see to it that the various openings into the staircase are boarded up,” Rosemary told the lawyer. “With Nathan in jail, we probably will never be bothered again.” She regarded Carson Drew anxiously. “You don’t look a bit well. You’re in no condition to return to River Heights to-night.”

“I think I can make it,” Carson Drew replied.

“Nonsense. You must spend the night at The Mansion. Floretta and I will be delighted to have you. A good rest will do wonders for you. You need a good meal, too.”

“To tell the truth, I don’t feel very strong,” the lawyer admitted. “Are you certain it won’t inconvenience you if I stay?”

“Of course not. What a thing to ask, after all your daughter has done for us! No, it’s all settled. You must stay at The Mansion until you have recovered your strength.”

“And we’ll promise you there will be no ghosts to trouble you,” Floretta added, with a laugh.

So it was decided. Nancy helped her father into the roadster and drove him to The Mansion. As soon as she saw that he was comfortably settled on the sofa, she returned for the Turnbull sisters.

Although Carson Drew had suffered a great deal at the hands of Nathan Gombet, he had received no permanent injury. His strength gradually returned and he began to walk with less difficulty. Food and rest accomplished wonders. After a good night’s rest he appeared at the breakfast table and announced that he felt able to travel.

“Oh, we were hoping you would stay another day,” Floretta said regretfully, after the lawyer had announced his decision to return to River Heights that morning.

“I’m afraid I must go,” the lawyer returned. “My business has been neglected the past week, you know. By the way, have you heard anything more about Nathan Gombet?”

“The entire story is in the morning papers,” Rosemary turned to Nancy with a warm smile. “Haven’t you seen them?”

“Not yet,” Nancy admitted.

“You’re certainly in the limelight,” Floretta told her. “Evidently the reporters learned everything from the sheriff.”

Nancy caught up one of the papers, and as her eye scanned the story on the front page a deep flush crept into her cheeks.

“Mercy! I don’t deserve all the credit!” she protested modestly.

“Indeed, you do,” Rosemary told her firmly. She glanced significantly at Floretta, who nodded firmly. “I hardly know how to begin,” she went on, addressing Nancy with some hesitation. “But I want you to know how much Floretta and I appreciate what you have done for us.”

“I was glad to do what little I could,” Nancy declared graciously. “It was really fun for me. I thoroughly enjoy a mystery—though for a time I thought this one would prove my undoing.”

“We want to reward you for what you did,” Rosemary went on earnestly.

“Oh, I don’t want any reward!” Nancy exclaimed. “You know, we discussed that before.”

“We were afraid you wouldn’t take money,” Floretta sighed.

“So we’ve decided to give you a little gift as a remembrance,” Rosemary continued. “We want you to accept our silver urn.”

“Your urn!” Nancy gasped. “Oh, I couldn’t do that! Why, it’s a valuable heirloom and you prize it highly!”

“We want you to have it,” Floretta insisted stubbornly. “We’ll feel hurt if you don’t take it.”

“It will serve as a reminder of your adventure in The Mansion,” Rosemary coaxed. “Please take it.”

As she spoke she picked up a wrapped package from a table and handed it to Nancy.

“If you insist, I’m afraid I can’t refuse,” Nancy said, as she accepted the urn. “There’s nothing in the world I’d rather have! This will make my second trophy! I’ll keep it on the mantel with the clock!”

After thanking the Turnbull sisters for the gift and for their generous hospitality, Nancy and her father departed. Floretta and Rosemary watched them until they had disappeared down the road.

For a time Nancy and her father rode in silence, and then Carson Drew turned to his daughter with a look of deep admiration in his eyes.

“That was a neat piece of detective work you did,” he said.

“Everything turned out all right,” Nancy admitted. “But when I was going through that dark tunnel the night I discovered it, I told myself I’d never dabble in another mystery as long as I lived if I ever got out of there alive!”

“Do you intend to live up to that?”

“Not if I can help it! Now that you are safe and the mystery is solved, I’m aching for another one. I suppose that’s all the good it will do me, though!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mr. Drew smiled. “This affair has won you quite a reputation.”

Indeed, Nancy Drew’s days of adventure were by no means over. Before many months had elapsed she was destined to be involved in another mystery case, equally as baffling as the one she had just solved. Readers who wish to follow her strange adventures may do so in the next volume of this series, entitled “The Bungalow Mystery.”

But as Nancy Drew drove along the smooth road she had no idea of what was in store for her, and so it was that a semi-melancholy expression settled over her face. Carson Drew, who noticed the look, laughed aloud.

“You’re a true daughter of your old dad all right, Nancy! Pining for another mystery before you’re well out of this one!”

“Oh, I wasn’t pining exactly,” Nancy declared gayly, resolutely shaking off the mood of despondency which had claimed her for the moment. “I just couldn’t help thinking that perhaps this would be my last chance to solve a mystery. And I do enjoy detective work!”

“Don’t worry; opportunity will come knocking at your door sooner than you expect,” her father told her lightly. “A good detective is always in demand.”

“Meaning that I am that?” Nancy demanded, a happy light in her eyes.

Carson Drew nodded and gazed tenderly upon his daughter.

“Meaning that I am mighty proud of you, Nancy. From this day on I intend to turn over my mystery cases to you.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “As a detective, you have me backed completely off the map!”

The End

Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been fixed.