Free (#23) Mystery of the Tolling Bell by Carolyn Keene Page B

entire lot is ruined! Not in thirty years have I had such a loss.”
    “Are they bayberry candles?” Bess asked, since the color of the liquid was green.
    “Oh, no, my bayberry candles are the only ones which turned out well this week.”
    The candlemaker pointed to a rack of fragrant tapers, explaining they had been made by cooking berries, skimming off the wax, refining it, and pouring it onto strings suspended from nails.
    “Isn’t that a rather unusual way of making candles?” Nancy asked. “I thought they were always made in molds, or else the wicks were dipped into hot wax.”
    “You’re right. But years ago my family perfected the method of pouring the liquid onto the wick. When one layer hardens, we put on another coat. But I was the one who added the perfume,” she announced proudly. “And never in the thirty years that I’ve been making scented candles have I had a failure until now.”
    Mother Mathilda explained that after she added a newly purchased perfume to her “batter,” it neither held well to the wick, nor produced the desired fragrance.
    Nancy noticed three large empty bottles on a shelf above the kettle. They bore the Mon Coeur trademark!
    “Did you use the perfume from these bottles?” she asked.
    “Yes. I bought them from a woman who claimed her products were superior to any other on the market. But why am I burdening you with my troubles! You came to buy candles, or to see how they are made.”
    “We do want to buy some of the bayberry variety,” Nancy replied. “What really brought us here, though, is to ask you about that woman who sold you the perfume.”
    Mother Mathilda looked surprised. Then she said, “There is little to tell. The woman, a foreigner, came here and gave me samples of a lovely oil. It seemed exactly what I needed for my candles, so later I bought a large supply. But the perfume was inferior to the oil.”
    “What a shame!” George murmured. “That woman has sold worthless perfume all along the coast.”
    “Have you any idea where she is?” Nancy asked Mother Mathilda.
    “No. I asked several of my neighbors, but no one knows.”
    “It won’t be easy to trace her, I’m afraid,” Nancy said, worried. “Once she cheats a person, she’s wise enough not to return.”
    “It must have been only Madame’s perfume that was of poor quality,” the woman went on. “Mon Coeur products are of the best.”
    Nancy stared at her curiously. “Have you used them before?”
    “No, but Monsieur who sold me stock in the company showed me testimonials signed by a dozen moving picture stars praising their products.”
    This statement stunned the three girls.
    “You also bought Mon Coeur stock?” Nancy asked.
    “Monsieur Pappier, president of the company, sold them to me himself. Oh, he’s a fine, elegant gentleman!”
    “Can you describe him?” Nancy asked.
    “Monsieur is a stout man with plump apple-red cheeks. He wore a velvet jacket with braid. His voice sounded husky as if he had a sore throat.”
    “My father may know the man. The description fits a certain Harry Tyrox, wanted in New York for a similar sale of Mon Coeur stock.”
    “You think he is a fraud?”
    “I am afraid he is, Mother Mathilda. Did anyone else in the neighborhood buy stock?”
    “Oh, my yes! Maude Pullet, who lives a couple miles down the road. And Sara Belle Flossenger, the seamstress, took forty shares. Also the tailor, Sam Metts. They all bought stock the same day I did.”
    “What a day for Monsieur Pappier!” Nancy commented grimly. “I’m sorry to tell you that the stock he sold has no value.”
    “Oh, it can’t be true! There must be some mistake! Almost all my life savings were given to that man!” The woman sank into a chair.
    As Mother Mathilda wept softly, Nancy attempted to comfort her by saying Mr. Drew was trying to trace the swindlers.
    “Nancy is working on the case, too,” Bess spoke up. “I’m sure those awful men will be caught.”
    After some time the