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The French Imposter






 

Nancy gasped in dismay on hearing about the lawsuit. But Carson Drew merely smiled at his daughter.

" Come now, don't be upset. I think a good lunch is just what you need. Let's go."

" Okay, Dad, " Nancy said, accompanying him out the office door. " You know, I think I'm as angry at Lee Talbot as I am worried."

Mr. Drew chuckled. " Good! But don't let it interfere with your appetite."

They were soon seated in the quiet, oak beamed, English-style restaurant that Carson Drew favored for its good food and efficient service.

Nancy was so hungry that she tucked into her eggs Benedict and listened to her father discuss one of his interesting cases. When dessert arrived and he saw that she was in better spirits, he changed the subject.

" Now let me tell you about a visit I had this morning concerning Pierre Michaud." Carson Drew paused to take a sip of coffee as Nancy looked up from her French pastry with keen interest.

" A visit?... From whom? "

" Fellow said his name was Henri Grison. A French lawyer."

" What did he want, Dad? " Nancy asked.

" Information about Pierre. Did I know him? Where was he staying? What was he doing here in the United States? Anything and everything he could pry out of me."

" How much did you tell him? "

" Exactly nothing, except that I'd met the young man in question." Carson Drew took a forkful of apple pie.

" I wonder what he was after, " Nancy mused aloud.

" Precisely what I asked him after he finished trying to pump me for information, " Mr. Drew replied.

" Yes? " Nancy prompted.

" He said Pierre was an unsavory character, out to cheat people out of their money—a con man, in fact. He claimed to have followed Pierre's trail from Paris to this country. But he never did give me a straight answer to my question regarding his own interest in Pierre Michaud."

Carson Drew reached into his pocket and took out a business card, which he handed to Nancy. " So after he left my office, I called one of my French legal colleagues, gave him the address on the card, and asked him to check out Grison."

" Has he reported back yet? "

" Yes, just a few minutes before you showed up in my office. He told me there's no attorney at that address, and no such person as Henri Grison even practicing law in Paris."

Somehow Nancy was not too surprised at this news. Suddenly she had an inspiration. Could Henri Grison be the menacing thug who had been following her, and who had lain in wait for her outside the house the other night?

" Dad, was Grison a rather tough-looking, swarthy man with thick, dark eyebrows and sort of a heavy jut jaw? "

" Doesn't sound much like him. This fellow was a tall man, slightly balding, with glasses."

Nancy sighed and smiled. " I guess this isn't my day."

While her father was finishing his coffee,

Nancy excused herself to call Police Chief McGinnis from the telephone booth in the restaurant's lounge.

" Chief McGinnis, this is Nancy Drew. I won't keep you but a minute. May I ask a favor? "

" Any time, Nancy. Just fire away."

The teenage detective related the details of Louise Duval's death thirty years ago.

" Would you please check the police files to see if there was any report of foul play in connection with her heart attack? I mean, did her maid or doctor call in to report that it was brought on by a red car trying to run her down? And if so, was there any follow-up investigation? "

" Hm." The police chief paused to consider for a moment. " That may not be too easy, Nancy. I'm not sure how complete our files would be, going that far back. But I'll see what I can find out and let you know if I turn up anything."

After thanking him, Nancy hung up.

The Drews walked back to the law office together and Nancy said good-bye. " I really feel a lot better, Dad, " she said cheerfully as they parted. " See you at 3: 30."

Nancy got into her car, keyed the ignition, and swung out into traffic. She was going to keep her promise to drop by Emily Owsler's apartment.

Gradually, she became aware that she was being followed. But this time it was not a big, old-fashioned red car. It was a smaller, dark green one. To make sure her imagination wasn't working overtime, Nancy pulled over to the curb as if for a closer look at some dresses on display in a shop window. Sure enough, the shadow car too came to a stop down the block. And as Nancy drove away, the dark green car also pulled out from the curb again to follow her.

Nancy decided on a plan. A minute or two later, after passing a gas station, she stopped for a second time, pulling over to the curb abruptly just past the service station driveway. Taking out her compact, she pretended to check on her hair and makeup. But as the dark green car went by, she noted the license plate number and studied its driver in her compact mirror.

He was the swarthy snoop she had just described to her father!

Closing her purse, Nancy quickly backed around into the gas station driveway, then sped off in the opposite direction. After zigzagging back and forth for a number of blocks, she felt confident that she had shaken off her pursuer.

Before reaching Emily Owsler's home, however, Nancy stopped at a corner phone booth and called Chief McGinnis.

" Sorry to bother you again, " she apologized, " but I'm being followed by a man in a dark green car. If I give you his license plate number, could you check it out, please? "

" Sure thing, Nancy. I'll let you know as soon as I have any information."

Nancy finished the trip to Emily Owsler's apartment and rang the doorbell, wondering if her visit would prove a waste of time. One look at Miss Owsler's happy face, however, was a more than sufficient answer, in one respect at least. The lonely old woman obviously enjoyed having company and was delighted at the chance to become involved in something exciting.

" Oh, Nancy, I do hope you can get a clue from this album! " she said, leading the way into her tiny, crowded living room.

" We both hope so, " Nancy responded with a smile.

" I keep it in this closet, " Miss Owsler went on, opening a door in one corner of the room.

The closet contained a few coats and jackets and an umbrella. On a shelf above the rack lay a thick, old black book with a hat on top of it. Emily Owsler reached up with both hands. But as she tried to hold the hat and take down the book, she lost her grip on the heavy album and it fell to the floor. A folded, yellowing sheet of parchment spilled out from between its pages.

" Oh dear, how clumsy of me, " Miss Owsler quavered.

Nancy picked up the album and glanced at the parchment, which had come open. Suddenly her eyes sparkled with excitement. " Why, it's an old letter, " she exclaimed, " written in French! "

Even more important, Nancy saw at a glance, it began with the words Ma chere Yvette!

 


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