A few minutes later Nancy was inside the cool marble halls of the museum. A silver-haired security guard sat behind a desk in the hallway. The name tag on his lapel read Ralph Hayes. He told Nancy that the museum was closed for a special school tour, but Nancy quickly explained that she had an appointment with Nelson Stone.
The security guard studied her with watery blue eyes. “Oh, right,” he said. “You must be Ms. Drew. Just sign your name in the visitors’ book.” He pushed a large leather-bound book across the desk and handed her a ball-point pen.
As Nancy scribbled in her name, she was surprised to see Hillary Lane’s name on the line above.
When she looked up, she saw a dignified-looking man, dressed in a navy blue suit, walking toward her. For a moment she studied the short, well-groomed figure. Everything about him was neat and precise.
That’s got to be Stone, Nancy thought, moving toward him. “Mr. Stone?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied in the same refined, nervous voice she had heard earlier on the phone. “May I help you?” Then he raised a thick eyebrow. “Just a moment,” he said. “You’re Nancy Drew? I thought you’d be . . .”
“Older,” Nancy finished, with a smile. At eighteen, she had grown accustomed to such comments.
The curator shrugged. “I suppose age is not important. Anyway, you seem to have an excellent reputation as a detective. I understand you’ve solved a number of cases.”
“A fair number,” Nancy replied, looking squarely into Nelson Stone’s deep-set brown eyes.
“Very well then,” he said, guiding Nancy past a display of Babylonian vases. Nearby, a teacher was leading a tour of chattering schoolchildren. “Let’s go to my office,” Mr. Stone said. “I’ll show you the letter.”
Nancy followed the curator into the Egyptian section, which was lined with huge bronze statues of Egyptian pharaohs. “The museum certainly has an interesting collection,” Nancy remarked as they passed a glass case filled with ancient Egyptian jewelry.
“Most of these artifacts are on loan from other museums,” Mr. Stone explained. “Though we are very proud of our permanent collection,” he added quickly as they passed under a marble archway into the next room. “Especially our most recent acquisition, the Golden Horse.”
A shaft of sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window as they entered the Tibetan section, a small room filled with Buddhist artifacts. Nancy’s eyes were immediately drawn to a small golden statue of a horse, displayed in a glass case in the center of the room.
“It’s magnificent!” Nancy stepped forward to admire the Golden Horse. The statue was no more than twelve inches high, made from the same burnished gold as the other artifacts in the room. With its prancing stance, the horse looked as if it were about to jump out of the case.
“It’s also very valuable,” Nelson Stone told her. “The museum has just bought it for a little over a million dollars.”
“It must be very old,” Nancy commented.
“Indeed it is,” the curator said, stooping down to the floor panel beneath the case.
Nancy watched as he slid back a false panel and flicked a switch.
“I’ll just deactivate the burglar alarm system before I open the case,” Mr. Stone said. He rose and took a key from his jacket pocket. Then he unlocked the glass case and carefully removed the Golden Horse.
“It’s pure gold,” he said, handing the horse to Nancy.
Nancy took the statue, surprised at how heavy it was. She ran her fingers along the horse’s intricate mane, its smooth arched back, and its bridle of rubies. The horse’s flowing tail was carved in minute detail, and every straining muscle was clearly defined. “It’s gorgeous,” Nancy said.
“A treasure,” Mr. Stone remarked as Nancy handed back the Golden Horse. “But so far it’s brought me nothing but trouble.”
“Why do you say that?” Nancy asked as the curator returned the artifact to the case.
“I’m afraid I stepped on a few toes when I purchased it for the museum,” he replied, leading Nancy down the corridor. “I outbid some people who wanted it for their own private collections. And then the museum trustees frowned on my spending so much on one piece. But I’ll tell you more about that after you read the letter.”
Turning left, Mr. Stone led Nancy past a partly open office door. As she glanced in, Nancy noticed a red purse lying on a chair.
“This way, Ms. Drew,” Nelson Stone said as they reached his office. He closed the door and sat down behind his desk. “Please have a seat.”
Nancy settled into a plush leather chair and looked over the many artifacts Stone had displayed in his office. The curator pulled a piece of paper from his desk drawer and handed it over. Nancy was just unfolding the letter when Nelson Stone suddenly jumped up from his seat.
“I can’t remember if I locked that case,” he muttered over his shoulder as he headed out the door.
Nancy skimmed the contents of the letter the curator had given her. It was typed on thick bond paper, and the letters were very faint. The sender hadn’t bothered to put in a fresh typewriter ribbon, Nancy thought.
The next moment Nancy was startled by an anguished cry from the corridor.
“It’s gone!” she heard Nelson Stone shout. “The Golden Horse has been stolen!”
2
A Fruitless Search
Nancy dropped the letter on the desk and grabbed her bag. Then she ran out of the curator’s office and bolted down the corridor to the Tibetan section. There, in the center of the room, Nelson Stone stood, shaking his head at the empty case. Turning to Nancy, he cried again, “It’s gone! I can’t believe it!”
Mr. Stone’s eyes looked vacant. Realizing he was in shock, Nancy took the curator by the arm and guided him gently back to his office. “Did you see anyone?” she asked, hurrying him down the corridor. She was eager to phone the police as soon as possible.
“I just can’t believe it would disappear like that,” Mr. Stone mumbled. “We were only away for a few minutes.”
“It didn’t just disappear,” Nancy said grimly. “Someone obviously took it.”
The curator sank into the leather chair in his office with a dazed look. “This is a nightmare,” he moaned.
“I’ll be right back,” Nancy said quickly. She left Nelson Stone’s office and rushed to the security guard near the front entrance of the museum. When she saw that he was dozing, she sighed, feeling frustrated. She figured it was useless to wake him up. The guard had probably been asleep since she left him. She could talk to him later.
Nancy headed back to Stone’s office. She reached for the phone and started to put a call through to the Clinton Park police.
