Free The Secret of the Wooden Lady by Carolyn Keene

grocery-hardware store.
    Nancy wired Mr. Drew at his sister’s apartment in New York City. Then she said to the proprietor, “Is there anyone in town who knows about the history of clipper ships?”
    “Clippers?” The man scratched his head and thought a moment. “Used to be a number of old-timers here who could have told you some tall tales, miss. I reckon the only fellow who takes an interest in such things now is Walt Frisbie.”
    “Where does he live?”
    “At the end of this street. He’s got a shop in an old barn where he carves out figureheads.”
    Nancy was excited. Figureheads! She thanked him, then hurried along Main Street until she came to a sign on a post:
    WALTER FRISBIE
FIGUREHEADS
    “This is just too good to be true,” Nancy thought excitedly.
    She followed a sandy path to the open barn door, stepped inside, and found herself in a fascinating room. A few restored figureheads leaned against the walls, but most of Mr. Frisbie’s possessions were figures without heads, or heads without bodies.
    At a worktable, on which lay an enormous block of black wood, stood a tall, middle-aged man with bushy black eyebrows. Mr. Frisbie had a chisel in his hand, and he looked as if he would like to use it on Nancy for disturbing him.
    “I’m busy,” he said shortly. “What do you want?”
    Nancy smiled. “I’m very sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Frisbie, but I’ve been told you’re the only man around here who takes an interest in old clipper ships. I need your help.”
    His frosty face softened. “What are you up to, young lady?”
    Nancy took the snuffbox from her purse and held it out to him. “Have you ever seen a figurehead like this cameo?”
    Mr. Frisbie studied it with great interest. “Where did you get this?”
    “On a ship called the Bonny Scot.”
    Nancy told him briefly about the lost figurehead of the clipper and how eager Captain Easterly was to find out what it had looked like.
    Mr. Frisbie put down his chisel and examined the little box. He could not recall having seen that particular figurehead, he said, nor did he know of any clipper whose initials were P. R.
    “My father has been trying to get a clear title to the Bonny Scot,” Nancy explained, “but so far he hasn’t found any record of her at all. We wondered if the ship’s name might have been changed.”
    “Tell you what,” the woodcarver suggested. “I have quite a library of books on clippers and old sailing ships upstairs. Why don’t you browse around?”
    “Oh, may I? That would be wonderful!”
    Mr. Frisbie pointed out a narrow stairway leading to the loft of the barn.
    Nancy thanked him and climbed to the loft. She was delighted to find an unusual collection of rare volumes and drawings, and sat down on an old grain box to look through them. She began by comparing the cameo with the illustrations of figureheads.
    The sun climbed high. Nancy was lost in the fascinating tales of another day.
    Mr. Frisbie poked his head up into the loft. “Don’t you ever eat, girl?” he demanded.
    “I hadn’t thought about it,” Nancy confessed. “But I am hungry.” She took time to hurry into town for a sandwich and a glass of milk, then returned to Mr. Frisbie’s studio.
    At half past five he came up and stood beside her. “Sorry,” he said, “but I lock up about this time. Glad to have you come back tomorrow, if you want to.”
    “I do want to, very much,” Nancy told him. “I haven’t found my figurehead.”
    “You stick to it like a bulldog, don’t you?” Mr. Frisbie laughed. “You’d make a good detective.”
    Nancy smiled, dropped the snuffbox into her purse, and hurried along the main street toward the waterfront, and the beach where she had left the dinghy.
    Suddenly hearing stealthy footsteps behind her, Nancy whirled.
    There stood Grizzle Face!
    He snatched her bag. Nancy clutched at it, but quick as a wink the man emptied its contents.
    He seized the snuffbox triumphantly.

CHAPTER XI
    A Favorite