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Authors: Carolyn G. Keene
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there and they all sat down to breakfast.
Nancy had nearly finished eating, when suddenly she said, “Oh!”
“What’s the matter, dear?” Mrs. Flockhart asked.
Nancy said she had just remembered that Mr. Vincenzo Caspari was coming to look at the parchment. “And the parchment is not here!”
Junie suggested that Nancy go at once to call the man so he would not make the trip in vain. Nancy hurried to the phone and dialed the artist’s number. A woman answered. When Nancy asked for Mr. Caspari, she was told that he had already left. The young detective, worried, came back to report this to the others at the table.
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Flockhart said. “What will you do?”
Nancy thought a moment, then said, “I’ll try to make a sketch of the paintings on the parchment as nearly as I remember them. You can help. I’ll recite what I know and you add to it.”
She described the first picture of a beautiful woman. “I hope I can make her look as much like the original as possible.”
Junie spoke up, saying the woman had shiny coal-black hair, large brown eyes with long lashes, a rosebud-shaped mouth, and a lovely olive complexion.
“That’s absolutely right,” Nancy agreed. “Besides, she had a sad smile.”
The others nodded and she went on to mention the man with his back to the viewer, the cluster of angels with one of them holding a baby, and the collision of a sailboat and a steamer.
Mr. Flockhart laughed. “You don’t need our help,” he said. “Now scoot upstairs and draw the pictures before your guest comes.”
“But what if I don’t finish them in time?” Nancy replied, worried.
“Don’t get so uptight. Just relax,” Junie said. “If he arrives while you’re upstairs, Dad and I will talk to him.”
Nancy darted to the stairs, then stopped. “I don’t have any paper or colored pencils with me.”
Without saying a word, her friend left briefly and returned with a large, unlined pad and a box of crayons. “Sorry I can’t supply pencils.”
“Thanks,” Nancy said, then hastened to her room. She took a deep sigh as she stared at the blank sheet before her. Then, as if the images on the parchment had suddenly flooded her memory, she began to draw them.
In about twenty minutes she had finished rough sketches of the four paintings. Then, on the back of the one with the baby in it, she printed an A. In the lower lefthand corner of the sheet she put in the initials DB and under it the word Milano.
Nancy had just finished when she heard a car drive in. She looked out the window to be sure that the person arriving was Mr. Caspari.
The man who alighted was in his forties and was alone. Was he the great Vincenzo Caspari?
Before Nancy could decide, she noticed something that horrified her. The man’s car had begun to roll slowly. If it kept going it would crash into a tree!
CHAPTER XI
A Tough Suspect
TAKING two steps at a time, Nancy leaped down the stairway of the Flockhart farmhouse and raced out the front door. Could she stop the rolling car before it crashed into the tree?
The owner, who seemed to be unaware of what was happening, was walking toward the house. Nancy passed him in a flash. He turned to find out why she was in such a hurry, then gasped at what he saw.
Fortunately, his big car was rolling slowly. It had not yet gathered momentum. Nancy was able to yank the front door open, jump in, and jam on the brake. The automobile stopped within an inch of the tree.
“Oh thank you, thank you!” the man exclaimed, catching up to the car. “I am so sorry to have caused you all this trouble.” He spoke with an Italian accent.
“I’m glad I saw the car moving,” Nancy said. “By any chance, are you Mr. Caspari?”
“Si, si,” the middle-aged man replied, bowing slightly. “And you are Miss Nancy Drew?”
“Yes, I am,” she answered, stepping from the car, with his assistance. The two walked toward the open front door of the farmhouse.
The
Nancy had nearly finished eating, when suddenly she said, “Oh!”
“What’s the matter, dear?” Mrs. Flockhart asked.
Nancy said she had just remembered that Mr. Vincenzo Caspari was coming to look at the parchment. “And the parchment is not here!”
Junie suggested that Nancy go at once to call the man so he would not make the trip in vain. Nancy hurried to the phone and dialed the artist’s number. A woman answered. When Nancy asked for Mr. Caspari, she was told that he had already left. The young detective, worried, came back to report this to the others at the table.
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Flockhart said. “What will you do?”
Nancy thought a moment, then said, “I’ll try to make a sketch of the paintings on the parchment as nearly as I remember them. You can help. I’ll recite what I know and you add to it.”
She described the first picture of a beautiful woman. “I hope I can make her look as much like the original as possible.”
Junie spoke up, saying the woman had shiny coal-black hair, large brown eyes with long lashes, a rosebud-shaped mouth, and a lovely olive complexion.
“That’s absolutely right,” Nancy agreed. “Besides, she had a sad smile.”
The others nodded and she went on to mention the man with his back to the viewer, the cluster of angels with one of them holding a baby, and the collision of a sailboat and a steamer.
Mr. Flockhart laughed. “You don’t need our help,” he said. “Now scoot upstairs and draw the pictures before your guest comes.”
“But what if I don’t finish them in time?” Nancy replied, worried.
“Don’t get so uptight. Just relax,” Junie said. “If he arrives while you’re upstairs, Dad and I will talk to him.”
Nancy darted to the stairs, then stopped. “I don’t have any paper or colored pencils with me.”
Without saying a word, her friend left briefly and returned with a large, unlined pad and a box of crayons. “Sorry I can’t supply pencils.”
“Thanks,” Nancy said, then hastened to her room. She took a deep sigh as she stared at the blank sheet before her. Then, as if the images on the parchment had suddenly flooded her memory, she began to draw them.
In about twenty minutes she had finished rough sketches of the four paintings. Then, on the back of the one with the baby in it, she printed an A. In the lower lefthand corner of the sheet she put in the initials DB and under it the word Milano.
Nancy had just finished when she heard a car drive in. She looked out the window to be sure that the person arriving was Mr. Caspari.
The man who alighted was in his forties and was alone. Was he the great Vincenzo Caspari?
Before Nancy could decide, she noticed something that horrified her. The man’s car had begun to roll slowly. If it kept going it would crash into a tree!
CHAPTER XI
A Tough Suspect
TAKING two steps at a time, Nancy leaped down the stairway of the Flockhart farmhouse and raced out the front door. Could she stop the rolling car before it crashed into the tree?
The owner, who seemed to be unaware of what was happening, was walking toward the house. Nancy passed him in a flash. He turned to find out why she was in such a hurry, then gasped at what he saw.
Fortunately, his big car was rolling slowly. It had not yet gathered momentum. Nancy was able to yank the front door open, jump in, and jam on the brake. The automobile stopped within an inch of the tree.
“Oh thank you, thank you!” the man exclaimed, catching up to the car. “I am so sorry to have caused you all this trouble.” He spoke with an Italian accent.
“I’m glad I saw the car moving,” Nancy said. “By any chance, are you Mr. Caspari?”
“Si, si,” the middle-aged man replied, bowing slightly. “And you are Miss Nancy Drew?”
“Yes, I am,” she answered, stepping from the car, with his assistance. The two walked toward the open front door of the farmhouse.
The
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