“Absolutely,” George replied.
“Then it’s almost certain that Margaret was at the museum when the Golden Horse was stolen,” Nancy said.
A few moments later the tow truck arrived. As it pulled the Mustang from the ravine, Nancy filled out a report on the accident. Flipping to the previous page, she glanced at Margaret’s report and noted the young woman’s Clinton Park address.
• • •
An hour later, as dusk began to fall, Nancy and George drove up to Margaret Parker’s small white house.
“She can’t be too terrible a person,” George said. “After all, she did report the accident.”
“That’s true,” Nancy replied. “But I’d like to know why she was following us and then ran away.” Even more, Nancy added to herself, I’d like to know why she insisted she wasn’t at the museum on the day of the robbery.
As the girls walked up the driveway, Nancy dug into her bag, found the gold earring, and tucked it into her skirt pocket. Then, reaching the front door, she rang the buzzer.
“No one seems to be answering,” George said after a few moments. She went around to the driveway. “Her car’s here,” she called out.
Nancy buzzed again. Then, lifting the letter slot, she called through the door, “Margaret, it’s Nancy Drew! Please open up. I’d like to talk to you.”
A few moments of silence passed. The girls exchanged glances.
“Margaret,” Nancy tried again. “I know you’re in there. And I know you must be frightened, or you wouldn’t be hiding like this.”
Suddenly the door flew open. “I’m not afraid of anything,” Margaret snapped, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
“Then I’m sure you won’t mind if we came in for a few minutes,” Nancy told her. “I’d like to give you a chance to clear something up.”
Margaret’s lips tightened. “There’s nothing to clear up,” she said. “I saw your car go over the edge of the ravine, and I called the police. That’s all there is to it. I’ve already made a statement to the police.”
“Did you also tell the police that you were following us?” Nancy asked.
The color drained from Margaret’s face. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “I wasn’t following you.”
“Right,” Nancy retorted, “just like you weren’t at the museum on the day of the robbery.”
George stepped forward and looked straight at Margaret. “I saw your car leave the museum a few minutes after the robbery,” she said evenly. “I’m willing to testify to it.”
Margaret looked from Nancy to George, her lower lip trembling slightly.
Nancy produced the gold earring from her pocket. “Does this look familiar?” she asked. “I believe you lost it near a window on the second floor of the museum on the day of the robbery.”
Margaret lunged for the earring.
Nancy clenched her fist around the gold earring and returned it to her pocket. “I think we’d better talk, Margaret,” she said.
With a heavy sigh the young woman turned, and the girls followed her into the house. Moving through the hallway, Nancy noticed a red leather purse on the telephone table. This time she was certain it was the same purse she had seen on a chair in Margaret’s office, just before the Golden Horse was stolen.
They entered a small, comfortably furnished living room, and the girls seated themselves on the couch. Margaret sat across from them on a blue velvet chair and crossed her legs. “You can’t prove anything, Nancy Drew,” she said, studying her nails.
“You’d be surprised what I can prove,” Nancy said, bluffing. “Not only can I prove you stole the Golden Horse—I can prove you cut Stone’s brake pipes and sent him poisoned chocolates. That’s attempted murder.”
Margaret gasped in horror. “You’ve got it wrong!” she insisted. “I didn’t do all of those things.” She looked confused.
“It’s the police you’ll have to convince,” Nancy said, continuing to bluff. “Attempted murder is a very serious crime.”
Margaret hid her face in her hands. “Oh, no! This has gone too far,” she sobbed. “I told him I didn’t want to get involved. But he said my job depended on it. He made me promises. He said he’d help me in my career.”
“Who did?” Nancy pressed.
Margaret slumped back in her chair and sighed. “Mr. Stone. It was all his idea to . . .” She shook her head, as if she couldn’t bear to say the words.
“To what?” Nancy persisted. “Steal the Golden Horse?”
Margaret shook her head again. “It wasn’t the real Golden Horse that I stole. It was a fake.”
“You mean,” George blurted, “the museum’s statue was actually a fake?”
“Yes,” Margaret whispered.
“But how could that be?” George said, frowning. “The museum just paid over a million dollars for it.”
“I know, I know,” Margaret said. “It was a ridiculous mistake. Believe me, Mr. Stone thought he was getting the genuine article. It was authenticated by an expert.”
“Professor Herbert?” Nancy asked.
“Right,” Margaret replied with a nod. “But then, a month later, Mr. Stone showed the statue to a visiting Tibetan anthropologist, who recognized it as a fake. We took it somewhere else for another carbon dating. And sure enough, it was a recent copy.”
“Why didn’t you complain to the person who sold it to you?” George asked.
