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

She introduced Bess and George, then repeated what Joe Swenson had told her.
    “Your letters have been stolen!” George said vehemently.
    “But how? Where?” the inventor cried out. “I mailed them in the post office myself!”
    No one could answer this puzzle. Suddenly he pulled an unsealed envelope from his pocket.
    “Here is another letter to my wife with twenty-five dollars in it. I was going to send a money order today. Would you be so kind as to deliver this in person?”
    “I’ll be glad to,” Nancy answered, smiling, and tucked the envelope in her pocket.
    She then changed the subject to obtain more information on another topic. “Would you mind telling us, Mr. Swenson, why you’re using the name Dahl here?”
    “Certainly. I’m an inventor, and I’ve had hard luck. The name Joe Swenson seems to have brought trouble. My mother’s people were always successful. On the spur of the moment I decided to use that name here. A man I know vouched for me, since I didn’t have any references to give.”
    “I see,” said Nancy. She smiled disarmingly. “Your wife told me of some unfair dealings you’ve had with a man who buys patents.”
    “Indeed they were unfair. He cheated me. Felix Raybolt is a thief!”
    The three girls were unprepared for such an outburst from this seemingly mild-mannered man. Apparently he guessed what was going through their minds.
    “I shouldn’t burden you with my problems,” he said apologetically. “Things aren’t any easier, even though I have a job. Did you know the Raybolt house burned?”
    “Yes.”
    “To be truthful I am afraid I may be blamed if anyone finds out I was there.”
    “You were there?” Bess asked, a look of feigned innocence in her big blue eyes.
    “I had an appointment with Mr. Raybolt early that evening,” Joe Swenson explained. “The house was dark. I had just rung the bell when there was a terrific explosion inside the house, and it burst into flames. I called and called to Mr. Raybolt—but there was no answer.”
    “Did you try to break in to help?” George asked bluntly.
    “Yes, but I couldn’t budge the front door. I ran around to the back. Because of the flames, I knew I couldn’t do any good. Then I heard a car approaching the house. It occurred to me I might be blamed, so I ran away.”
    “Did you see anyone on the grounds?” Nancy asked.
    “No.”
    “Do you think Mr. Raybolt lost his life in the fire?” Nancy asked.
    “I really don’t know. I didn’t see or hear him inside, and the police haven’t located any evidence,” the inventor replied.
    Nancy had been endeavoring to formulate an honest opinion of the man’s story. Her hand went to her purse but she did not bring forth the diary. From their casual conversation so far, she could not be absolutely certain that Joe Swenson was innocent. She must question him further.
    “They’ve been searching the grounds for clues,” Nancy said nonchalantly. “A number of articles have been picked up in the vicinity.”
    Swenson looked sharply at Nancy, as though it had dawned on him that he indeed might be under suspicion. However, his next words were spoken casually.
    “I wonder if a diary was found. I lost one. Probably dropped it along the road.”
    Nancy made no move to give him the diary, although she was convinced that it was his.
    “I hated to lose that little journal,” Joe Swenson continued. “It was written mostly in Swedish and wouldn’t be of any value except to myself—and to Felix Raybolt. That sly fox!”
    “What has the diary to do with Mr. Raybolt?” Nancy asked.
    “The diary contains—” Joe Swenson hesitated. “Well, it contains things Felix Raybolt wishes were not written down. That man cheated me out of a fortune, but I haven’t a chance to prove my case without the diary and without money to retain a lawyer. To make matters worse, I’ve even lost a ring I treasured highly.”
    He made a hopeless gesture and lapsed into gloomy silence.
    Again