Part 3 (2/2)

”No wonder people dislike Mr. Raybolt,” Nancy remarked. ”I suppose there are certain persons who might have set fire to his house out of pure revenge.”

”Undoubtedly.”

After a late, light supper, Nancy admitted being tired. She said good night to her father and Hannah and went upstairs.

As she slipped off her dress, the red leather booklet which she had found on the Raybolt estate dropped to the floor. Nancy s.n.a.t.c.hed it up with an exclamation of eagerness.

”This may furnish the clue I need!” she thought. ”At any rate, I have an idea it will prove interesting. I'll read it this very night!”

Nancy forgot that she was tired and sleepy. Undressing hastily, she adjusted the reading lamp and took the book to bed with her.

”This is a diary,” she decided, noting that each entry was preceded by a date. ”Perhaps it contains the owner's name and address.”

Settling herself comfortably against the pillow, Nancy opened the loose-leaf booklet. She stared in surprise at the first entry. The page was filled with baffling words, written in a foreign language.

She studied the text. Finally two familiar words struck her eye. ”Adj-good-by.And G.o.d vn-good friend.Swedis.h.!.+” Nancy murmured, recalling that a schoolmate of hers, a girl from Sweden, had often spoken these words in her native tongue.

”Oh, dear, I can't read the rest of it!” The young detective groaned.

She rapidly leafed through the pages. All the entries were in Swedish except the last few, which were written in cramped English.

Nancy held the diary closer to the reading lamp and tried to make out the words. But it was a discouraging task, since the letters had been run together in an indistinguishable fas.h.i.+on. She did manage to decipher a few scattered phrases, but try as she would, Nancy could not figure out a single entire sentence.

”How exasperating!” she thought impatiently. ”This diary may contain a valuable clue, but I can't read it!”

The notations in Swedish were in larger handwriting than those in English. Nancy felt sure the diary belonged to a man, for though the writing was small and cramped, the characters were bold. She reflected, too, that if the little journal had been dropped by the stranger whom she had seen running away from the fire, it was all the more important for her to learn his name and what he had written in the diary.

”I'll have to find someone who can read Swedish,” she said to herself. ”If only Karen were here!” But Nancy's former schoolmate had returned to her native country with her family.

With that thought Nancy lowered her pillow, put out the light, and the next instant was asleep. It seemed only minutes later when she was awakened by the ringing of the telephone in the hall. The sun was s.h.i.+ning through the windows and from the angle of the rays Nancy guessed that it must be after nine o'clock. Hannah, knowing that she was exhausted, had let her oversleep.

With a guilty start, Nancy jumped out of bed. Before she could open the door, Mrs. Gruen came in. ”Good morning, Nancy. A young man wishes to speak to you on the phone.”

”I'll be there in a jiffy. Don't let him escape!”

Thrusting her feet into dainty black-and-gold slippers and s.n.a.t.c.hing up her dressing robe, Nancy hurried to the hall telephone.

”Hope I didn't get you out of bed,” a low, pleasant voice came over the wire. ”This is Ned -Ned Nickerson,”

”Oh!” Nancy stammered, taken completely by surprise.

”You probably think I'm rus.h.i.+ng things a bit,” Ned went on, ”but I picked up a ring at the Raybolts' this morning, and thought it might be yours.”

”I didn't wear one yesterday,” Nancy returned, finding her voice at last. ”George or Bess might have lost one, though.”

”The ring couldn't be theirs. It has a 'D' on it.”

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