Carolyn Keene - The Clue in the Jewel Box

The other defended himself. “I was walking along the street, minding my own business, when you grabbed me! I never saw your wallet!”

The argument waxed warmer, and a police officer arrived. Nancy edged closer.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I saw a young man who looks like this brown-haired one. He was running up the street and had on the same color suit.”

“There!” cried the alleged culprit triumphantly. “I’ve been mistaken for the real thief!”

“Which way did the fellow go?” the officer asked.

She directed him to the four-story apartment building, and he hurried off. Everyone followed.

Scarcely had the policeman entered the building when a figure appeared on a fire escape above an alley. Light as a cat, the man leaped to the ground and fled.

“That’s the one!” cried Nancy.

The heavy-set officer came back and ran after the thief, commanding him to halt. Instead, the young man squeezed through a gap between two buildings and vanished.

“Look!” Nancy cried. “He dropped the wallet!”

Had he deliberately thrown it away? the young detective wondered. A moment later the policeman returned.

“Sorry I couldn’t overtake that guy,” he said, handing the wallet to its owner. “I’ll make a report to headquarters. Name, please?”

“Francis Baum,” the other replied, checking the contents. “Never mind the report. I’m satisfied to get my stuff back.”

He examined the contents carefully. Nancy, who stood close beside him, saw part of a business card. Her photographic mind noted:

thson

ter St.

“My money is all here,” the owner assured the policeman. “Thanks for your trouble.”

Francis Baum and the man he had accused walked off, and the crowd dispersed. Bess and George would have gone on also, but Nancy held them back.

“Just a minute,” she said. “I want to search the ground between those two buildings.”

“Surely you don’t think the thief is still there!” George protested, following reluctantly.

“No, but I thought I saw something fall from the wallet when it was dropped.”

“The policeman would have found it,” Bess argued. “If we’re ever to eat-”

“Here is something against the wall!” Nancy interrupted excitedly and stooped to pick it up. She held up the slightly soiled photograph of a small boy wearing a sailor suit.

“This is the same child whose picture was in Mrs. Alexandra’s miniature!” she cried. “Do you suppose she’s related to Francis Baum?”

“Haven’t the slightest idea,” Bess replied, shrugging her shoulders. “And look! There’s a hamburger stand. George and I have an appointment at three o’clock, so we ought to eat.”

“Please do,” Nancy said. “I want to go to Faber’s first.”

The young detective went on alone to the antique shop. It was an inconspicuous place on a busy street. A bell jingled as she entered.

A pleasant-faced man emerged from a rear workroom. Nancy explained that she was trying to find a gift for her father, and handed him the business card with Mrs. Alexandra’s message on it.

“Oh, Madame sent you herself.” The shop owner beamed, speaking with a noticeable accent. “Ah yes, I am honored to serve you.”

The little man moved briskly about the cluttered room, scanning various objects.

“No, I have nothing suitable now,” he finally said. “You must give me a few days.”

Before leaving the shop, Nancy decided to show him the photograph she had found. She inquired if he knew who the boy might be.

With trembling hands Mr. Faber took the picture of the child in the sailor suit.

“Where did you get this?” he asked tensely. “Tell me! Tell me at once!”

ASTONISHED by the tone of Mr. Faber’s voice and his interest in the photograph, Nancy readily told how it had come into her possession.

“Unbelievable!” the antique dealer murmured. “You say this picture belongs to a young man named Francis Baum?”

“I’m pretty sure it fell from his wallet,” Nancy replied.

“Please describe him,” the shop owner pleaded. “Did Francis Baum bear any resemblance to this boy in the photograph?”

“Why, no. Mr. Baum is tall and has a dark complexion. The boy is very fair.”

“The age of Francis Baum?” he asked quickly.

“Well, it’s difficult to say. He might be in his late twenties-or possibly a little younger,” Nancy replied.

Nancy’s curiosity had grown steadily as Mr. Faber queried her. She longed to ask a few questions of her own, but wisely waited.

“You wonder perhaps why I ask you so much,” he said. “The answers concern the happiness of Madame Alexandra, a royal lady indeed. You see, the boy in this photograph is her long-lost grandson!”

“Please tell me more,” Nancy urged.

“Years ago, when revolution came to their country, the little boy was taken away secretly by his nurse. His mother, father, sisters, the entire family-except the grandmother-perished at the hands of the enemy.”

“How dreadful!” Nancy murmured.

“Those were terrifying years,” the antique dealer went on sadly. “Madame Alexandra, through the aid of loyal friends, escaped. Since then she has devoted herself to a search for her grandson.”

“The nurse has never been traced?”

“It is believed that she came to America, but here the trail ends. If the grandson still lives, he must be thirty years old. You understand now how important it is that we find Francis Baum?”

“Indeed I do,” Nancy replied. “I’ll gladly help you trace him.”

Nancy had inherited her love of mystery. She was the daughter of Carson Drew, a well-known lawyer, who often handled criminal cases. Her mother had died when she was three, and since then the Drews’ home in River Heights had been managed for her and her father by capable Hannah Gruen.

Nancy’s first case was The Secret of the Old Clock, and her recent one, The Quest of the Missing Map.

“Will Francis Baum be difficult to find?” the man questioned her anxiously.

“He shouldn’t be,” Nancy assured him. “No doubt he’s listed in the phone book.”

Acting upon the suggestion, Mr. Faber called to an assistant in the back room. He asked that the book be brought to him at once. Ivan, a young man with a pleasant grin, appeared with the directory. Unfortunately Baum’s name was not listed in it.

“I’ll trace him somehow,” Nancy assured the dealer. “The policeman who recovered the stolen wallet must have his address.”

“If you find Francis Baum, I will reward you richly for the sake of my friend Madame Alexandra,” the shopkeeper declared.

“Oh, I don’t want a reward,” Nancy protested with a laugh. “I’ll find him just for the fun of it, and to help Mrs. Alexandra.”

“But I will repay you in some way,” the man insisted. “Maybe by obtaining a handsome gift for your father. A gentleman’s box perhaps?”

“I’m sure he would like one.”

“That kind of box is something very special,” said Ivan, grinning at Nancy. “In Europe my boss’s father and grandfather were famous jewelers who made many pieces for royal families.

“Mr. Faber’s father once constructed a little train for a prince,” Ivan went on. “The locomotive was of platinum, and the cars were gold. It ran, too.”

“Was Mrs. Alexandra’s Easter egg made by your father?” Nancy asked.

“Ah, so you have seen it!” he commented.

“Only the outside.”

“Madame Alexandra’s Easter egg was indeed made by my famous father,” Mr. Faber declared. “It contains a most unusual object. You must ask her to disclose the secret.”