Free The Clue in the Diary by Carolyn G. Keene Page A

reason for this, not wishing to betray Phil’s confidence about the money, money orders, and checks being stolen from mail.
    “Suppose he says yes,” George suggested.
    “Then I’ll ask him where he mails his letters and try a little detective work to see what happens.”
    The first shift of noonday lunchers was trickling from Mr. Weston’s factory as Nancy parked nearby. Soon the recreation area was filled with men. Some seated themselves on the ground to eat. Others began to play ball.
    “It won’t be easy to find Joe Swenson in such a large group,” Nancy declared in disappointment. “If we had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, we could have spotted him as he came out of the building.”
    Nevertheless, the girls eagerly scanned the faces of the workmen. A number of them had gathered near a drinking fountain, but Joe Swenson was not among this group. Not discouraged, the girls began to walk about, inquiring for a man named Dahl. The men they questioned had never heard of him.
    “I’m sure he works here,” Nancy declared to her friends.
    Workmen passing to and fro stared curiously at the girls, obviously wondering what had brought them to the electronics plant.
    Nancy was becoming a bit disheartened, when she chanced to observe a light-haired man leaning dejectedly against the high fence which surrounded the grounds. Apparently the man had picked an isolated, tree-shaded spot, away from the other workers. He had his back to the girls, but from a distance Nancy thought his tall, spare build was exactly like that of the stranger she had seen running away from the fire. Could he be Honey’s father?
    She watched expectantly, and presently the man turned around. He was the same person she had seen on the previous day’s visit to the factory. Nancy could not mistake the face—he was Joe Swenson.
    “You girls stay here a moment, will you?” Nancy requested. “I think I’ve found our man. I must speak to him alone. Be on your guard, and if he tries to escape, block the exit to the grounds. I don’t think he’ll make a disturbance, but if he’s guilty, he may attempt a getaway!”
    Nancy’s heart beat faster than usual as she approached the man who was leaning against the fence. His downcast manner, the girl thought, could mean a guilty conscience.
    “I beg your pardon,” Nancy said courageously, “but aren’t you Mr. Joe Swenson—alias Dahl?”
    The man wheeled around, but held his ground. After the first start of surprise, Nancy thought he did not look unusually disturbed at the sudden encounter.
    “Yes,” he replied, “Dahl’s my name. Anything I can do for you?”
    For a moment Nancy was at a loss for words. She had half expected that Joe Swenson would be defiant and sullen—not a sad-eyed, kindly man. He looked to her as though he could not have harmed anyone in his life.
    “It’s all a mistake,” Nancy told herself joyfully. “Mr. Swenson is innocent. He didn’t start the Raybolt fire.”
    The next moment she had regained her composure and was again the impartial, businesslike detective. She showed him her driver’s license for identification.
    “I have news of your wife,” Nancy said to him quietly.
    “Helen?” the man demanded eagerly, his face lighting up. “She’s not ill, I hope!”
    “Oh, no,” Nancy assured him, “but she’s dreadfully worried about you and is trying to locate you.”
    “I don’t understand,” Joe Swenson said, frowning. “I sent my address but didn’t want to go home until—er—a certain matter was cleared up.”
    “Then you have written to your wife?” Nancy questioned.
    “Yes, twice. I sent her two good-sized money orders.”
    For a second Nancy wondered if he was telling the truth. Looking him straight in the eye, she said, “Mrs. Swenson never received them.”
    “What!” her husband exclaimed in such genuine astonishment that Nancy had no further doubts.
    “They need money badly,” Nancy said, and summoned her friends to come forward.