The Secret of the Old Clock

“It would be a shame if all that money went to the Tophams! They will fly higher than ever!”

Nancy Drew, a pretty girl of sixteen, leaned over the library table and addressed her father who sat reading a newspaper by the study lamp.

“I beg your pardon, Nancy. What were you saying about the Tophams?”

Carson Drew, a noted criminal and mystery-case lawyer, known far and wide for his work as a former district attorney, looked up from his evening paper and smiled indulgently upon his only daughter. Now, as he gave her his respectful attention, he was not particularly concerned with the Richard Topham family but rather with the rich glow of the lamp upon Nancy’s curly golden bob. Not at all the sort of head which one expected to indulge in serious thoughts, he told himself.

Mischievously, Nancy reached over and tweaked his ear.

“You weren’t paying a bit of attention,” she accused him sternly. “I was saying I think it’s mean if those snobbish Tophams fall heir to all of Josiah Crowley’s fortune. Can’t something be done about it?”

Removing his horn-rimmed spectacles and carefully folding the paper, Carson Drew regarded his daughter meditatively.

“I’m afraid not, Nancy. A will is a will, you know.”

“But it does seem unfair that all the money should go to them. Especially when they never treated Josiah Crowley like a human being!”

She said goodbye and started the motor. Soon she was spinning along the road which wound in and out along the Muskoka River. Nancy met few automobiles, for the road was infrequently traveled. She did not hurry, but took time to enjoy the scenery.

Overhanging trees with dense foliage shaded the road and formed a tunnel which all but blotted out the sky. Presently, as Nancy drove into a clearing, she was astonished to see how dark it had become.

Evidently, the big black cloud which had attracted her attention earlier in the day was no longer bluffing. It had grown rapidly in size and was spreading over the sky in an alarming fashion. As Nancy Drew watched, the sun vanished as though by magic.

“How foolish of me to take this road,” she chided herself. “I’m going to be caught in the storm! There isn’t a chance that I can make it!”

Although the River Road was perfectly safe in dry weather, Nancy knew that a little rain would make it dangerously slippery. Then, too, the road was little traveled, and in case of accident she could not depend upon passing motorists for aid. If her roadster slipped into a ditch, it would be necessary to walk miles for help.

“Haven’t you any idea what became of the will?” Nancy asked hopefully.

“I reckon he hid it somewhere. That would be like Josiah. But I remember he did say something about putting it ‘where nobody can get it unless they have legal authority.’ So I dunno what became of it. For all I know, he may have turned it over to a lawyer.”

“Are you certain that was all he said?” Nancy inquired gently. She knew that Abigail had grown rather childish and that her memory was failing.

“It seems to me he did say something about what he was going to do with that will, but I can’t just recollect.” Abigail shook her head and sighed. “Many a night I’ve laid awake trying to think what it was.”

It seemed to Nancy that as victory was almost within her grasp, it had been snatched from her. Undoubtedly, Abigail Rowen held the secret of the Crowley will locked in her brain. And it was equally likely that she would never be able to recall the vital information unless in some unusual way her memory was given a particular stimulus.

“Try to think!” Nancy begged.

“I can’t remember,” Abigail murmured hopelessly. “I’ve tried and tried.” She leaned against the cushions and closed her eyes, as though the effort had exhausted her.

At that very moment the clock on the mantel chimed three. Abigail Rowen’s eyes fluttered open and an odd expression passed over her face.

For an instant she stared straight before her and then slowly turned her head and fastened her eyes on the clock.

“Well, I guess we have everything now,” the leader muttered at last.

He turned to follow his companions, who already had gone to the truck, but in the doorway paused for a last careful survey of the room.

At that fateful moment there came a muffled sneeze from the closet.

The robber wheeled about. Walking directly to the closet, he flung open the door and exposed poor Nancy, who was crouching in the far corner. Angrily, he jerked her out.

“Spying on us, eh?” he snarled.

Nancy Drew eyed the man defiantly.

“I wasn’t spying.”

“Then what were you doing in that closet?”

“I came to see the caretaker.”

“Looking for him in a funny place, ain’t you?” sneered the man.

Nancy realized that she was in a desperate situation. The look on the robber’s face frightened her.

“I heard someone coming and I was afraid,” she explained lamely.

“Well, it was unhealthy business that brought you here,” the man told her sharply. “What did you hear in that closet?” Without giving her an opportunity to answer the question, he added with a scowl: “I warn you this will be the last time you’ll ever stick your nose in business that doesn’t concern you!”