The Clue In The Diary Part 11

Nancy was disappointed that her father had not returned. It was only a little after eight o'clock, but after talking to the housekeeper a few minutes, Nancy went to her bedroom.

"I'll have another look at that diary," she thought. "Perhaps I'll be able to make something out of it, now that I know more about Joe Swenson."

For one hour Nancy, with added incentive, patiently applied herself to the task of deciphering the cramped English scrawl. She looked at the drawing again and wondered whether it was a sketch for part of the stolen invention. Finally she was able to distinguish a few paragraphs-mostly notations of supplies purchased from various manufacturing concerns.

"Maybe Joe Swenson found a job in one of those places!" Nancy thought optimistically. "I'll go from one to another and inquire!"

Any possible lead was welcome at this point, Nancy told herself excitedly. She scanned the notations again. Her eyes lingered on the name of a company in the small city of Stanford.

"That's where Mr. Baylor Weston lives-the man who ran into my car," the young detective murmured. "I'll go to Stanford first, and see Mr. Weston at the same time!"

When Nancy came down to breakfast the next morning she found a sealed envelope beside her plate. She was mystified to note there was no return address on it.

"A man left the envelope early this morning," Mrs. Gruen told Nancy.

CHAPTER IX.

A Scare

EAGERLY Nancy tore open the envelope and unfolded the sheet inside.

"A bill for the repairs to my car," she told Hannah Gruen. "It sounds very fair. Mr. Baylor Weston-who ran into me-shouldn't mind paying this amount."

The housekeeper laughed. "The garage mechanic was certainly prompt in delivering his bill."

"I asked him to be," Nancy defended the man. "I want to present this bill and the Mapleton garage one right away to Mr. Weston."

"That's the spirit," came a voice from the doorway. "Good morning!" Mr. Drew walked in, kissed Nancy, and asked, "How are you, Hannah?"

Carson Drew took his place at the head of the table, then said, "Nancy, I learned yesterday that Baylor Weston owns an electronics factory in Stanford."

"What a break for me!" Nancy exclaimed. "I can do two errands at once." She told about having seen the name of the Stanford Electronics Company in the diary, and her intention of finding out if Mr. Swenson worked there.

"Excellent idea," said Mr. Drew. "And now for more news."

"You found Mr. Raybolt?" Nancy asked eagerly.

"Yes and no. To be strictly correct, I found Mrs. Raybolt."

"Where is she, Dad?"

"At a summer resort on Lake Mentor. I talked with Mrs. Raybolt on the phone. She became very upset about the fire and told me she would return today to look into the matter."

"And her husband?"

"She didn't say where he is and was rather evasive when I questioned her about him."

"I'd like to talk to Mrs. Raybolt, Dad."

"Well, why don't you? She'll surely stay at the Maplecroft Inn because it's the only hotel within three miles of the Raybolt estate. My guess is that if you go there for luncheon you might meet her."

"That's a grand idea!" Nancy said excitedly. "I see now why you're called River Heights' leading lawyer!"

She asked her father if he knew of someone who could translate the diary. "I've already checked," Mr. Drew replied. "But my two friends who speak Swedish are away on vacation."

Nancy was so enthusiastic about the idea of visiting the inn that as soon as she had finished breakfast, she phoned Bess and George. Always eager for adventure, they quickly said they would love to go along. By eleven o'clock the three girls were en route.

"I have a feeling that we're about to learn something important!" Nancy confided to her friends.

It was only a few minutes after twelve when the girls reached the pleasant little inn. Nancy parked beside a row of cars at the rear of the building. The girls went inside and inquired for Mrs. Raybolt.

"She hasn't arrived yet," the desk clerk said, "but we expect her any minute."

The girls strolled outside and sat down on the porch. But after an hour had elapsed, the wealthy woman still had not arrived. Bess gave a huge sigh. "I'm starved! We may as well have luncheon. I don't believe Mrs. Raybolt is coming."

"It looks that way," Nancy admitted in disappointment. "Wait a second, though, here comes another car."

Hopefully, the girls watched as a large automobile swept up the driveway. A chauffeur a.s.sisted a frail, nervous-looking woman of middle age to alight. She clung unsteadily to his arm and for a moment the girls thought she would faint.

The chauffeur said encouragingly, "You'll feel better, Mrs. Raybolt, after you have had your lunch."

So this was Mrs. Raybolt! She made no response other than to give a low moan. Still leaning on the chauffeur's arm, she walked uncertainly up the porch steps.

"Goodness," Bess exclaimed in a whisper, "isn't that poor woman pale? She looks ill. I'm surprised her husband left her alone."

Nancy did not comment. She was watching Mrs. Raybolt closely and it struck her that the woman was actually ill. As she reached the porch, Mrs. Raybolt caught hold of a post for support.

"I can't go on," she whispered weakly. Then she fainted.

The chauffeur caught her in his arms as she fell and eased her to the level of the porch. Nancy and her friends, thoroughly alarmed, rushed forward to be of a.s.sistance.

"I'll get some water!" Nancy cried, and dashed inside. The desk clerk came rushing out.

"Take her into the manager's office," he suggested kindly. "I'll call a doctor."

The chauffeur quickly explained that they had just been to the scene of the fire. Then Mrs. Raybolt was carried inside and made comfortable on the couch. Her face was pale, but as Nancy applied a wet cloth to her forehead, she revived somewhat.

"Felix!" she moaned. "Oh, Felix!"

"Your husband will be here soon," Nancy a.s.sured her soothingly.

Her words had an astounding effect upon the woman. She half raised herself and her eyes, fluttering open, had a wild expression in them.

"My husband is dead," she moaned. "He burned to death."

"She must be hysterical," said the manager's secretary. "I hope the doctor gets here soon."