The Quest of the Missing Map by Carolyn G. Keene Page A

is,” she said. “No one’s had an accident I hope.”
    “No, no,” came the sobbing reply.
    Mrs. Chatham’s face grew stem. “Well, then tell me what’s going on,” she said, raising her voice abruptly.
    “Trixie is missing!”
    “What!”
    “Your daughter is missing. We can’t find her anywhere.”
    The words ringing loudly in her ears, Mrs. Chatham made no response. She stumbled up the porch steps to a chair.
    Nancy had been silent, not wishing to interrupt the woman’s conversation with her employee. But now she inquired if Ellen Smith and Hannah Gruen had left.
    Tears trickled down the young woman’s face. She answered, “They both went away right after lunch. Miss Smith had to leave because of a singing lesson. And your housekeeper, Miss Drew, left because she couldn’t get anything to eat. The cook resented her being here and wouldn’t even make her a sandwich, much less let her into the kitchen to fix her own meal.”
    “Where are the guards?” Nancy asked.
    “Oh, they got better jobs, so they left.”
    Nancy coaxed the girl to tell as much, as she could about Trixie’s disappearance.
    “She’s been gone close to two hours,” was the reply.
    Mrs. Chatham spoke up. “Have you searched everywhere? Over the cliff—and down by the river?”
    “Yes, Madam, everywhere.”
    Mrs. Chatham seemed relieved by this statement. “Then Trixie has run away! Well, this isn’t the first time. She’ll come home.”
    “I don’t wish to alarm you, Mrs. Chatham,” said Nancy, “but I’m afraid she may have been kidnapped.”
    The widow gasped. “Then we must call the police at once!”
    As the child’s mother started toward the house, Nancy followed closely. When they entered the hall both noticed a sheet of paper lying near the telephone.
    “What’s this?” Mrs. Chatham asked, picking it up.
    At a glance she saw that it was a ransom note. Written in a bold scrawl was the alarming message :
    If you want to see your kid again have this amount ready when our messenger arrives. Do not notify the police or you’ll be sorry.
    At the bottom of the paper was a request for thousands of dollars.
    “Oh, no!” Mrs. Chatham groaned.
    For a moment Nancy thought the woman was going to faint but she managed to steady herself and sat down.
    “I don’t want to pay the money,” Mrs. Chatham stated, then said, “But what will happen to Trixie if I refuse?”
    “Please don’t worry about that—at least not yet,” Nancy said, studying the ransom note again. “The kidnapping could be an inside job.”
    “I don’t agree with you,” Mrs. Chatham returned with conviction. “While my servants may be careless, they’re all dependable. Whoever left this note here did so without the knowledge of my employees.”
    Nancy tactfully withheld her own opinion.
    “I think I should call the police,” Mrs. Chatham said nervously.
    “Please wait until we’ve had an opportunity to search the grounds thoroughly,” Nancy advised. “I have an idea.”
    Without explaining her hunch, Nancy hurried from the house. She ran down the path, a question burning in her brain. Was Trixie a prisoner somewhere on the estate? Perhaps in Ship Cottage with its secret room and sliding panels?
    Cautiously Nancy opened the door of the music studio and peered inside. The room was vacant, but on a chair lay a child’s hair ribbon.
    Nancy groped for the peg which opened the secret panel. As the wall slid back slowly she was almost certain she heard a movement in the dark chamber.
    “Trix—” she started to call.
    At the same moment a hard object struck Nancy and she blacked out.

CHAPTER XIII
    Tracing the Warwick
    WHEN Nancy Drew opened her eyes, the room was spinning. A little girl, her mouth gagged with a white handkerchief, was staring down at her.
    “Trixie!” Nancy murmured weakly and slowly got to her feet.
    She removed the handkerchief and the child began to sob. “Oh, I didn’t mean to hit you!”
    “You hit me? But why and