Part 13 (2/2)
When they reached the main section of the village, Nancy managed to attract the attention of a policeman, who left his post and came over to the car.
”The road to the Weston factory?” he repeated. ”You should have taken the left fork several miles back.”
The girls exchanged looks of consternation. After their recent experiences the thought of returning over the same route was cheerless indeed.
”There's another way you can get there,” the policeman told them, ”but it will take you a little longer.”
”That's all right,” Nancy said thankfully.
He then explained in detail how they could reach the factory. Nancy thanked him and drove on.
”We'll have to hurry,” she remarked to her friends, ”or the factory will be closed. Just our luck to take the wrong turn.”
Swift driving partially made up for lost time, but Nancy's wrist watch warned her that it was nearly four o'clock when they at last reached the factory on the outskirts of Stanford. It took the girls a few minutes to locate the office.
Nancy presented herself to the young woman in charge, stating that she wished to see Mr. Baylor Weston.
”It's rather late,” the secretary informed Nancy with a superior air. ”Mr. Weston doesn't like to make appointments after three o'clock.”
”We've driven here from River Heights,” Nancy explained patiently. ”Please give him my name.”
The young woman vanished into an inner office. The girls sat down on a bench to wait. Five minutes pa.s.sed.
”Looks as if we're out of luck,” George grumbled. ”The man probably suspects what we came for and means to get out of it if he possibly can.”
She lowered her voice, for at that moment the secretary returned.
”Mr. Weston will see you,” she told Nancy. ”Step into his office, please.”
If Nancy and the other girls expected to meet a defiant Baylor Weston they were mistaken. His every movement disclosed that he was as intensely nervous as he had been the day of the accident.
Mr. Weston recognized Nancy, and it was not necessary for her to state her mission. Evidently her visit had been antic.i.p.ated.
He motioned the girls to be seated, and still without speaking, the manufacturer reached for the bills which Nancy held in her hand. He glanced at them and a look of relief came over his face.
”Well, that's not half bad,” he remarked, relaxing. ”I was sure it would be much more.”
Nancy expected Mr. Weston to mention his insurance company's paying the amount, but instead he opened his desk drawer and took out a checkbook. As he wrote in it, he said:
”I'm decidedly pleased that the total expense is so small. The last time I crashed into a car it cost me real money, to say nothing of the threatened lawsuit.”
”The last time?” Nancy echoed with a smile.
”I'm very nervous-excitable,” the manufacturer reiterated. ”Doctor's right-I shouldn't drive a car.”
He handed the check to Nancy. ”That covers everything?”
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