“Ms. Drew,” the gardener said, rising.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr. Tung,” Nancy said as Su-Lin disappeared into the kitchen.
“No, no,” Lee Tung replied, motioning for Nancy to have a seat on the couch. Then, dropping back into his chair, he sighed. “Now I have all the time in the world, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry to hear you lost your job,” Nancy said.
For a moment there was a silence, broken only by the rattle of teacups in the kitchen.
“Yes,” the old gardener said finally. “But, to tell you the truth, I haven’t really been happy there since Mr. Stone was hired.”
“What do you think his problem is?” Nancy asked.
“He has a short temper,” the gardener replied. “And he always thinks he’s right.”
“Can you give me an example?” Nancy asked. She had to be sure whether Lee Tung’s grievances were real or imaginary.
“Well, take this incident of his firing me,” Lee Tung said, pulling his chair closer to Nancy. “The man had no business nosing around my things. But he was all upset when he learned that one of my tools was found near the parking lot. I had put the tool away, but then Mr. Stone came around and wanted to know where it was. For some reason, I just couldn’t find it. That’s when he got angry.”
“What kind of a tool was it?” Nancy asked.
“Just an old hacksaw,” Lee Tung replied with a shrug.
A sudden chill ran up Nancy’s spine. “A hacksaw?” she echoed.
At that moment Su-Lin appeared from the kitchen, carrying a china tea set on a black lacquered tray. “The whole thing was so unfair,” Su-Lin said. She put the tray down on a low table and began to pour the jasmine-scented tea.
Nancy took the teacup from Su-Lin and turned to Lee Tung. She definitely needed to get a look at the hacksaw. Maybe it was the same one that had been used to cut Stone’s brake pipe, she thought. But why had the curator been looking for it? Maybe the mechanic had told Nelson Stone how the brake pipe had been cut.
Nancy leaned forward. “Mr. Tung,” she said, “do you think I might be able to find the hacksaw in the shed?” She wanted to see if there was any trace of oil on the blade of the hacksaw—it just might match the brake fluid in Stone’s car. But she also had another reason to find the lost tool. “Maybe if I find the hacksaw,” she added, “I can persuade Mr. Stone to give you back your job. I guess he’s been under a lot of strain lately.”
“That’s true,” Su-Lin said, nodding.
Lee Tung smiled hopefully at his daughter. “Maybe Nancy can help us,” he said. “I’ll get my jacket and come along.”
“You’d better stay home,” Su-Lin warned her father. “Remember, Mr. Stone ordered you never to step foot on the premises again.”
“Don’t worry,” Nancy said. “I’ll be fine alone.”
Lee Tung gave Nancy a spare key to the toolshed. “Be sure to give us a call when you get back,” he said.
“Don’t worry about the time,” Su-Lin added as she and her father walked Nancy to the door. “We’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
Shortly after dark Nancy arrived at the Clinton Park Museum. Passing the main gate, she saw that it was locked. She then quickly turned off into a dark lane and parked her car.
Nancy took a pair of wire cutters from the trunk, then moved quietly between the trees. The moon provided just enough light to see the way.
Soon Nancy came to a tall wire-mesh fence that surrounded the museum. She bent down and started to snip a hole in the fence with the wire cutters.
It wasn’t long before Nancy had cut a hole large enough to crawl through. Then she darted across the lawn, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted by a night watchman.
Reaching the back of the museum, Nancy stood in a shadow and caught her breath. Had she heard foot-steps on the gravel driveway behind her? She listened intently, but the only sound was an owl hooting in the night.
Cautiously Nancy inched her way along the side of the museum. She could see the toolshed just a few yards away, bathed in moonlight. Nancy hesitated to cross the open ground.
A moment later a cloud passed in front of the moon. Nancy dashed across to the shed and pressed against the door. For a second she fumbled in her pocket for the key. Then, slipping it into the lock, she turned it slowly.
The lock clicked open, and Nancy pushed the door back. She slipped inside and illuminated the shed with her penlight.
Nancy saw a long workbench on one side of the room. Above it was a rack of garden tools. Glancing underneath the bench, she spied a toolbox. “That’s as good a place as any to start looking,” she muttered to herself.
Sliding the metal toolbox toward her, Nancy lifted the lid. At first all she could see was a rack of small tools and nuts and bolts. No hacksaw here, she thought.
Nancy flashed her light beneath the bench, but the only other thing she could find was a wicker basket filled with hedge clippers and a worn pair of gardening gloves.
This is turning out to be fruitless, Nancy decided. Frustrated, she pulled at the top tray of the toolbox. To her surprise it lifted up, and a hacksaw was lying under the hammer! Quickly Nancy took a clean white handkerchief from her pocket and wrapped it carefully around the handle of the hacksaw. Then, lifting the saw from the toolbox, she ran her penlight along the serrated edge.
“I knew it,” Nancy told herself. “Just what I was looking for.” She could see a slight sheen of brake fluid still clinging to the blade.
Taking a magnifying glass from her pocket, Nancy inspected the blade closely. Tiny dots of metal filings shone in the light. I’ll bet these filings match the metal of Stone’s brake pipe, she thought.
Nancy replaced the toolbox, her heart pounding as she left the shed with the hacksaw. She had to get the hacksaw to a forensic laboratory and have the metal filings and brake fluid analyzed. The wooden handle of the saw could also be checked for fingerprints. Both Nelson Stone and Lee Tung had handled the hacksaw, of course. But maybe another suspect would enter the spotlight.
Nancy turned to relock the door. Suddenly someone grabbed the hacksaw from her hand and pushed her violently inside the shed!
6
The Necklace
