Perfect Plot (10 page)

L
OOK OUT
! He's got a weapon!” Nancy gasped. She pushed George back from the study door with her elbow.

The door swung open, and Professor Coining seemed to fill the opening. His eyes widened as he recognized Nancy and George. Then an expression of relief came over his face. He took his hand from inside his coat pocket and let it fall to his side.

“Ah, my favorite dancing partners,” he said. “What brings you two here?”

“We saw you in Dorothea's study just now,” Nancy said. “We saw you open her safe.”

Cautiously he replied, “Oh?”

“We both saw you,” George said. “How did you know the combination?”

“Oh, that,” he said dismissively. “Shall we go inside? I hate carrying on an important conversation in a public corridor.”

“All right,” Nancy finally agreed.

The three of them went into the study, and the professor closed the door behind them. He immediately began talking.

“I found the combination on this index card,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

Nancy stiffened. “Not so fast,” she said, grabbing his right wrist with both hands.

He slowly produced a three-by-five card and held it out to George. She glanced at it and said, “It looks like a safe combination, all right.”

Nancy was still grasping the professor's wrist. “Now the weapon,” she said. “Take it out slowly and drop it on the floor.”

With a sigh, Professor Coining reached inside his jacket and took out a flimsy, plastic-handled paring knife. “I borrowed it from the kitchen,” he explained as he let it fall to the ground. “With all the mayhem in this house, I felt I should be prepared to defend myself if necessary.”

Nancy took the card from George. “Where did you find this?” she asked dubiously.

“In the most obvious place imaginable,” Professor Coining told her. “It was taped to the underside of one of Dorothea's desk drawers. Anybody who has read as much sensational fiction as I have knows to search there first.”

George was already halfway to the desk. “Which drawer?” she asked.

“The second one down on the right.”

George pulled out the drawer and peered at its underside. “Two strips of cellophane tape, about three inches apart,” she reported. “He could be telling the truth.”

“Of course I am,” he said indignantly. “May I go now?”

“Not yet,” Nancy told him. “What were you looking for in the safe?”

Professor Coining grew suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, if you must know, I was looking for that wretched manuscript,” he finally said. “The one Maxine told us about yesterday, before she was killed. Most of my book about Dorothea is already at the compositors, being set into type. I have to see this new manuscript, to make sure it doesn't contradict any of my important points about Dorothea and her work. If it does, and I let my book come out uncorrected, I'll be a laughingstock.”

He seemed sincere, but Nancy was still suspicious. “What made you think you'd find it in the safe?” she asked. “Why not in Maxine's room? She had it last, didn't she?” Nancy had purposely not told the other guests about Erika's theft of the manuscript, so as far as Professor Coining knew, Maxine was the last to have it.

“I did look there,” the professor admitted.
“Just before I came down to the party. It was simply a matter of breaking that ridiculous paper seal the police had put on the door. But the manuscript wasn't there. I searched carefully for it.”

George nodded. “So when you didn't find it you figured that maybe she gave it back to Kate.”

“That's right,” Professor Coining said. “Maxine did promise to return it, and I thought Kate would put the manuscript in the safe. Is there anything else I can tell you? I'd like to get back to the party before the band calls it a night.

“What do you say, George,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. “Shall we go cut a rug?”

“Oh, no! No, thank you,” George said quickly. “I—I have a headache.”

“So do I,” Nancy said as the professor turned to ask her. She didn't even bother trying to sound convincing.

“It's your loss, ladies,” he retorted, then headed for the door.

As soon as he was gone, Nancy went over to the safe and peered inside. No manuscript. Then, nudging the door shut with her knee, she turned to George and said, “Maybe he knew the combination to the safe all along. How do we know he didn't steal the figurines?”

George shrugged. “We don't, I guess. But it's pretty clear that he doesn't know about Erika
taking that manuscript, which means he's not the one who took it from Erika's room.”

“We're still not any closer to solving this case,” Nancy pointed out. “But maybe there's a clue in that book you mentioned.”

Hurrying to the small file room, she scanned the titles in the bookcase.
The Golden Antelope
was there, in five languages and in several editions. She pulled down a copy of the American paperback and put it in the pocket of her cape.

“Why don't we go back to the party now?” George suggested. “I was really having a lot of fun, until I got snared by the Dancing Professor!”

“Great idea,” Nancy said.

As they went back down the hallway toward the ballroom, Nancy saw a familiar-looking figure walking ahead of them. Hearing their footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder, and Nancy recognized Julian's well-trimmed beard.

He spun around and angrily stalked toward them. “You've been following me!” he said. “Well, it had better stop, right now!”

“We weren't following you!” George declared indignantly. “We were just walking down the hall, minding our own business.”

Julian ignored her, and continued to stare at Nancy. “Kate told me that you found out about me,” he said. “That was a long time ago. I'm completely legit now. I don't care if you believe me or not, but stop trailing me!”

He pointed an accusing finger at Nancy. “Don't bother denying it. I saw you follow me outside before. And I heard you behind me in the tunnel.”

Nancy couldn't believe he was admitting he'd been in the tunnel. “Now that you mention it, just what were you doing there?”

“Hunting for those stupid figurines, of course. I knew that the longer they were missing, the surer it was that someone was going to find out about—well, you know—and give me some major grief.”

“Why the tunnels?” George asked. “This place is filled with other possible hiding places.”

“I was up pretty early this morning,” Julian replied. “I was looking out the window of my room when I saw Erika Olsen go into the summerhouse, with a big tote bag over her shoulder. From the way she kept glancing back behind her, I knew she was up to something. And, of course, I knew all about the hidden tunnel entrance in the summerhouse. So I figured she was probably taking the figures down there to hide them.”

“Why her?” Nancy demanded. “She didn't even get to Mystery Mansion yesterday until after five o'clock. The figurines were probably stolen a little after noon.”

Julian shrugged. “With all the commotion here yesterday, she could have sneaked onto the property.
She had as good an opportunity to take the figures as anyone.”

He had a point, Nancy realized. Still . . . “Without any corroboration, that story won't hold up,” she told him.

“I'm not a detective,” Julian said bitterly. “I'm just an innocent—repeat, innocent—bystander.” With that, he stalked away.

“What do you think?” George finally asked.

“I don't know,” Nancy confessed. “Erika
was
in that secret passage this morning to get to Maxine's room. So maybe she was around yesterday, too.”

“Maybe Maxine knew Erika stole the figurines and accused her. Maybe Erika did kill her,” George said in a rush. “All that stuff about the manuscript could have just been a cover-up.”

“I don't know,” Nancy said slowly. “The manuscript
is
missing.” She shook her head in frustration. “Come on. Let's head back to the party. Maybe some dancing will help clear our heads.”

• • •

Nancy was running through a constantly changing maze of tunnels. She didn't dare look behind her. Something she couldn't name was close behind, and gaining on her. Suddenly the tunnel ahead ended abruptly at a heavy iron door. She tugged at the handle, but it didn't move. Desperately she pressed the pearl button
to the right of the door. A buzzer sounded, impossibly far away, but no one came. She pressed again. The buzzer was louder this time, as if it were right next to her ear. . . .

Nancy forced her eyes open and groped for the phone on the bedside table. “Hello?” she mumbled into it.

“Hi, Nancy. I didn't wake you, did I?”

Nancy smiled sleepily as she recognized Ned's deep voice. “What time is it?”

“It's after eight. I wanted to catch you before you went off to some mystery lecture. How's the conference going?”

Nancy sat up, pushed the pillow behind her back, and switched the cordless phone to her other hand. “So far we've got one murder, one case of safecracking, and one other important theft,” she reported.

After a short silence, Ned asked, “You mean, you've been discussing classic crimes?”

“No, we've got some real ones.” She quickly filled him in on what had been going on.

“Wow,” Ned said. “Well, listen, Nan, if you're on a case, maybe I should let you go.”

“I've always got time for you, Nickerson,” Nancy said quickly. “So how's everything at Emerson?”

They talked for about five minutes. When George showed signs of waking up, Nancy told Ned, “I'd better go. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Ned said. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Don't worry, I always do. 'Bye.” She blew a kiss into the handset before turning it off.

“Who was that?” George's sleepy voice asked from the other bed.

Nancy didn't answer. She was staring down at the cordless phone in her hand. A wild idea was tickling the edges of her mind.

“George!” she exclaimed.

George propped herself up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes. “What is it?” she asked.

“I think I know who stole the figurines!”

W
HERE ARE WE GOING
?” George asked, still half asleep as she followed Nancy down Mystery Mansion's main staircase.

The two girls had dressed in record time, throwing on jeans and long-sleeved shirts.

“I'll explain in a minute,” Nancy replied.

She hurried down the hallway to Dorothea's study and tried the knob. It was unlocked, just as it had been the night before. Pushing it open, she told George, “Wait for me here. I won't be long.”

Nancy didn't take the time to explain and took off at a run, returning to the second floor.

Bill Denton's door was three down from the landing, in the opposite direction from Nancy and George's room. Nancy tapped softly on it and waited. No answer. She knocked more vigorously,
but there still was no response. Good, she thought. He must have gone into town for the Sunday papers, the way he said he was going to. She tried the knob—the door was locked.

It took her three minutes of work with her own bedroom key, nail file, and bent paper clip, but she finally got the door open. Slipping inside, she shut it behind her, then checked out the room. It contained two single beds, one of them still made up. The ornate furniture and heavy curtains were old-fashioned, although Nancy didn't recognize the particular mystery genre they represented. The most modem touch was the cordless phone on the table between the beds.

Nancy went straight to the closet and began turning the coat hooks. On the fourth try, a hook moved and the secret panel opened. Clutching her flashlight, she stepped into the passage. The door closed behind her.