"Not a diamond, I hope!"

"Dad!" Nancy cried in exasperation. "You're as bad as Bess and George! Ned-Mr. Nickerson-is coming here on business."

"In that case," the lawyer said, his eyes twinkling, "I promise to be very proper and not embarra.s.s you by asking the young man his intentions."

"You're absolutely hopeless!" Nancy laughed, gave her father a hug, and ran into the kitchen.

Even though Ned's visit was to be one of "business," Nancy coaxed Hannah to bake a cake to be served with ice cream later in the evening.

Mrs. Gruen smiled knowingly, and immediately set to work. After supper, Nancy washed the dishes, then hurried upstairs. There was barely time for her to change into a flowered dress and high-heeled shoes before the doorbell rang. She hurried down to admit Ned.

The first greeting over, they were both a trifle embarra.s.sed and felt a little shy. Nancy was glad that her father appeared just then, for the introduction relieved the situation.

She could tell that Mr. Drew liked Ned by the hearty way in which he shook hands. Many persons were awed in the presence of the attorney, but Nancy was delighted to discover that Ned felt at ease with him.

Seated in the comfortable living room, the lawyer skillfully directed the conversation. He had been rather curious concerning Nancy's new acquaintance. Mr. Drew sensed that his daughter was more interested in him than in other young men whom she dated.

"Tell us about the ring, Ned," Nancy urged. "May we see it?"

Ned took the object from his suit-coat pocket and handed it to her. Nancy observed that the signet ring probably belonged to a man, and was meant to be worn on the small finger. The polished black initial was set in relief on a gray background. Nancy studied the ring.

"It looks like an antique," she remarked, handing the ring to her father. "And the inscription inside is in Swedish, Dad. It's an expression my Swedish school friend always used: Bar denna med tur-wear this in luck!"

The discussion was interrupted at that moment by the ringing of the hall telephone. Carson Drew rose to answer it, and after a short conversation, came back and said regretfully to their guest:

"I must go down to the office-new development in a case-so I must excuse myself. Sorry. Glad to have met you, Ned."

After Mr. Drew had departed, Ned told Nancy the details of his call that morning at the Raybolt grounds. He had gone there before breakfast in order to view the wreckage before the arrival of curious townsfolk. The house had been razed by the fire. Nothing had been salvaged.

"Did the investigators find a clue to the cause of the fire?" Nancy asked.

"So far it's only a theory," Ned replied. "But I learned that the police and fire officials surmise explosives in the cellar may have been set off by remote control."

"But how?And by whom?" Nancy queried in amazement.

"They have no idea. Even a pa.s.sing car with a radio sending set could have done it accidentally."

"The house is pretty far from the road," Nancy countered. To herself she added, "Could that fleeing man who dropped the diary have used remote control-and not ever have been inside the house?"

Her thought was interrupted by Ned. "It's a queer case," he said. "Old Foxy Felix will get quite a jolt when he hears about the fire."

"Doesn't he know about it yet?" Nancy asked in surprise.

"Not according to latest reports. The Raybolts are still away. The neighbors tried to get in touch with them at the seash.o.r.e hotel where they usually stay, but they're not registered."

"I wonder how much they will lose."

"Even with insurance, I'd say a goodly amount, including furniture and irreplaceable art objects."

"That will be a blow to the Raybolts, Ned."

"Yes, but everyone around Mapleton seems to think the old man had it coming to him. You hear all sorts of stories about the way he has connived to make money at other people's expense."

Nancy nodded, recalling what her father had told her. "I'm curious as to how Mr. Raybolt, especially, will take the loss."

"In the worst spirit, I imagine." Ned grinned. "If I find out, I'll let you know."

"I wish you would."

Nancy was tempted to tell Ned about the diary but decided not to until she knew more about it herself. After a very enjoyable evening, which ended with ice cream and Hannah's cake, Ned reluctantly stood up to depart.

"I don't know what to do with this ring," he said thoughtfully. "Why don't you keep it, Nancy?"

"I will if you want me to," she said eagerly. "Perhaps I'll find a clue to the owner through the inscription."

"That's what I figured. Let me know if you do." Ned grinned. "On second thought, perhaps I'd better drop over now and then to inquire."

Nancy's smile gave consent. Ned was still lingering on the porch steps when Carson Drew came up the walk. Nancy repeated what she had been told about the Raybolts' being unaware of their loss.

The lawyer raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Odd it's so hard to locate Raybolt. Perhaps, for the sake of my own client, I'll look into the matter."

"Why don't you, Dad? Mr. Raybolt may be able to furnish a clue to what caused the fire."

"You're right, Nancy," the lawyer said. "Raybolt may have had enemies who deliberately set fire to the house. If so, this might affect my case." The lawyer did not reveal why.

A few minutes later Ned said good night, jumped into his car, and drove away.

"How do you like him?" Nancy asked Mr. Drew hopefully as they walked into the house together.

"Nice boy," the lawyer commented. "I suppose I'll be seeing a lot of him from now on."

"Could be." Nancy laughed, kissed her father, and ran off to her room.

She did not retire immediately. Instead, she examined the signet ring more carefully. Finally she placed it in the bureau drawer with the diary.

"I have two clues now instead of one," Nancy a.s.sured herself jubilantly. "But the question is, are they connected?"

As she undressed, Nancy determined to call on the Swedish baker early the next morning.

"I must find out what the diary says!"

CHAPTER V.

A Dangerous Detour

As SOON as the morning's ch.o.r.es were finished, Nancy and Hannah Gruen set out on a bus for Oscar Peterson's bakery. Entering the clean little shop, fragrant with the odor of freshly baked bread, they were disappointed not to see the Swedish owner at the counter.