Free The Whispering Statue by Carolyn Keene Page B

there.”
    Suddenly he began to chuckle. “It’s possible Mr. Basswood may think he recognizes me from photographs he might have seen in magazines or newspapers, so I believe I’ll change my name too. How about Harry Silver?”
    “I’ll remember,” Nancy answered. “I think it’s a good idea.”
    The next morning, when they arrived at the shop, Nancy had a hard time keeping a straight face as she said to Mr. Basswood, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Harry Silver. He was staying at the yacht club and offered to drive me over. Mr. Silver, this is Mr. Basswood.”
    The two men shook hands, then the visitor was invited to sign the register. Nancy was confident Harry Silver, New York City, was a good disguise. She went on, “May I show Mr. Silver some of our fine pieces?”
    “Go ahead. I’ll be in my office any time you need me.” Whenever the shop owner disappeared, Nancy wondered if he had some secret means of spying on her.
    She showed Mr. Silver some of the fine paintings, but he shook his head and said, “How about some of the statuettes? This is an attractive one.” He pointed toward a boy, wearing ragged knee trousers and a loose-sleeved, low-necked shirt. He was barefoot and carried a fishing pole over one shoulder.
    As Mr. Holden picked up the statuette, Mr. Basswood suddenly reappeared and watched him sharply. The sculptor turned the piece over and looked at the base.
    He whistled. “This is highly priced,” he remarked, and set the statuette down. “Too much money for me.”
    Some of Nancy’s suspicions had been confirmed! She gave no sign of her elation.
    “Mr. Silver,” she said, “perhaps you would be interested in a smaller piece.” She led him to the statuette of a man seated cross-legged and whittling a piece of wood.
    “That is interesting,” he commented. Once more he turned the statuette over and looked at the sales sticker. Then he sighed. “I’m afraid there isn’t anything here within my price range.”
    Mr. Basswood’s eyes flashed. “Sculptors don’t give away their work,” he snapped.
    “ A nd these are originals?” Mr. Silver asked. “Of course.”
    The caller said he guessed he would have to go somewhere else and buy a copy. Nancy noted that the sculptor avoided the word reproduction. She also wondered if the pieces were not originals. She hoped for an opportunity to ask Mr. Silver.
    When the sculptor said he must leave, because he had a long drive back to New York City, she followed him to the door. Mr. Basswood went along, so there was no chance for her to speak privately to Mr. Holden. Disappointed, she said good-by and closed the door.
    Turning to Mr. Basswood, she asked, “How is Mr. Atkin?”
    “Coming along. It was certainly mighty inconsiderate of him to pick a time like this to get sick. You know yourself how rushed we’ve been here.”
    Nancy pretended to look hurt. “I’m doing the best I can, Mr. Basswood.”
    “Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “But we’ve got to keep this place cleaner. Go get a dustcloth and wipe off the books.”
    Before Nancy went for it, she remarked, “When Mr. Silver turned over the statuette, I noticed the initials M De K on the base. What do they stand for?”
    Was it her imagination, or did Mr. Basswood show a sudden bit of alarm?
    His fright was gone in a moment and he replied, “I really don’t know. I bought those pieces at an auction and never did inquire who the sculptor was.” He turned toward the rare book section and Nancy went to the back room for the dustcloth.
    Unlike other mornings, half an hour went by and not a customer had come in. Nancy said to her employer, “Since I’ve finished the dusting and there isn’t any special work to do in the shop, is there anything I can help you with in the office?”
    Mr. Basswood’s face took on a dark look. “You stay out of my office!” he almost shouted at her. “Get another cloth and dust off the paintings.”
    She was back in a few seconds—apparently before Mr.