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    The Case of the Safecracker's Secret
    The Case of the Safecracker's Secret
    The Case of the Safecracker's Secret
    Ebook155 pages2 hours

    The Case of the Safecracker's Secret

    By Carolyn Keene

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    About this ebook

    Someone has broken into the safety depository at the Wilputte Bank & Trust, but nothing has been stolen. Nancy is called in to investigate—and meets a couple of robbers comparable to Bonnie and Clyde!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAladdin
    Release dateAug 20, 2013
    ISBN9781481401968
    The Case of the Safecracker's Secret
    Author

    Carolyn Keene

    Carolyn Keene is the author of the ever-popular Nancy Drew books.

    Read more from Carolyn Keene

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    • 5/5
      This book is about a bank robbery by a top 1 guard and some one close .Nancy and her friends risk their lives on this grate mystery.

    Book preview

    The Case of the Safecracker's Secret - Carolyn Keene

    Contents

    1 An Inside Job

    2 Ransacked!

    3 The Telltale Glove

    4 Dead End

    5 A Broken Engagement

    6 A Cloud of Smoke

    7 An Unpleasant Encounter

    8 Intruder in the Night

    9 New Suspicions

    10 An Unusual Skyline

    11 All Locked Up

    12 A Deadly Poison

    13 A Revealing Brand

    14 Who Is Jasmine?

    15 Den of Thieves

    16 Death Ride

    17 Foiled!

    1

    An Inside Job

    So what does this bank guy want, anyway? George Fayne asked Nancy Drew. And why is he so desperate? The two girls hurried up the steep main street of Bentley, Illinois, as George’s cousin, Bess Marvin, trailed behind.

    Ooh, sailboats! Bess cried, staring down the hill, over the small town’s roofs and across Bentley Lake. The water glittered in the morning sun. Tiny white triangles crisscrossed each other as they glided along the silver surface.

    Hey, Bess, Nancy called over her shoulder. We’d better pick up the pace or we’ll be late to meet Alan Charles. Too bad I didn’t park my car closer. Quickening her stride, Nancy sped up the hill, her reddish blond hair flying in the wind behind her. Her steady blue eyes burned with determination. She could smell a mystery in the air.

    To answer your question, George, Nancy said as they hurried, I’m not exactly sure what Mr. Charles wants. He wouldn’t explain anything on the phone. All he told me is that he’s president of the bank here and he needs our help.

    Interesting, George said, fixing her dark brown eyes on Nancy. She ran one hand through her short dark brown hair as she rushed to keep up with her friend. And he found out about you because your dad used to be his lawyer?

    Nancy nodded. Her father, Carson Drew, was a well-known attorney in their hometown, River Heights.

    What really gets to me, Bess complained, are these outfits we have to wear. She rolled her eyes as she took in Nancy’s conservative light blue skirt suit, George’s emerald green dress, and her own black skirt and white bow blouse. The girls had wanted to fit in with the bank’s dress code in case they needed to do some undercover work. Bess usually liked to dress a little more flashily.

    Nancy and George only half listened to Bess as they rounded the corner. Over the crest of the hill the Bentley Bank rose before them. Broad stone steps led through a row of white marble columns and up to two carved wooden doors.

    At last, Bess said, huffing and puffing, and finally catching up to her friends. I knew I shouldn’t have quit my aerobics class. Bess was just a little too fond of eating—she was always gaining and losing the same five pounds.

    We’re late, Nancy said, hurrying up the bank’s stairs. George, trim and athletic, bounded up the steps two at a time behind Nancy, while Bess lagged in the rear. Then Nancy pulled open the heavy door, and the girls stepped inside.

    Wow. George gave a low whistle that echoed in the cool, cavernous lobby. Her eyes opened wide as she stared up at the painted ceiling. Clouds and cherubs floated thirty feet above the girls’ heads. A long mahogany counter with a thick Plexiglas window above it stretched the entire length of the room. Half a dozen male and female tellers stood behind it, helping a handful of customers.

    Pretty impressive, Nancy said.

    A guard in a gray uniform walked over to the girls, his footsteps clicking against the smooth marble floor. May I help you? he asked.

    We’re here to see Mr. Charles, Nancy told him. We have an appointment.

    The guard stepped over to the nearby security desk, spoke softly into an intercom, then nodded. Past the tellers’ windows, up the stairs, and all the way at the end of the hall, he told them.

    The girls followed the guard’s directions. At the top of the stairs a long, dark, windowless hallway spread out before them. Gone was the elegance of the main floor. The hallway went on and on, but finally, at the very end, they came to a door with a brass plaque that read, Office of the President.

    I’ll bet he’s about a hundred years old, Bess quipped.

    Nancy knocked. A moment later the door opened, and the girls blinked at the bright fluorescent light that suddenly illuminated the dim hallway.

    An attractive older woman with curly silver hair greeted them. You must be Nancy Drew and company, she said. I’m Elaine Kussack, Mr. Charles’s personal secretary. Please come in. Mr. Charles is waiting for you.

    Ms. Kussack wore tailored slacks and a blouse topped with heavy, old-fashioned costume jewelry. Somehow, Nancy liked her looks right away.

    The woman led them through a small office with a desk, word processor, and coffee maker to another door, which stood ajar. Poking her head through the doorway, she called, Mr. Charles?

    Send them in, Elaine. A deep male voice answered her.

    The girls followed Ms. Kussack through the door and into the inner office. Nancy heard Bess gasp as she got her first look at Alan Charles. Nancy felt almost as surprised herself. Instead of the aged banker they’d all expected, there sat a handsome man in his midthirties. His curly brown hair was just a bit tousled, and his blue eyes sparkled. His navy blue suit looked like the newest style from Italy. No doubt about it, Mr. Charles was quite attractive.

    Is there something wrong? Mr. Charles asked, looking at Bess.

    It’s nothing, Nancy said. She shot her friend a reproving glance, then explained, Except that you look so young to be a bank president.

    Mr. Charles smiled. I just took over from my dad. He decided he’d had enough of banking, so he moved to Florida to play golf. He flashed them a winning smile and motioned for them to sit down.

    Nancy introduced everyone.

    So, Mr. Charles, Nancy began as Ms. Kussack left, closing the door behind her. You sounded pretty upset on the phone. How can we help you?

    The smile quickly faded from Alan Charles’s face. First of all, he told them, "you must promise that what I tell you won’t go any further than these four walls. If word of this gets out to anyone, the bank could be out of business in a week. My great-great-grandfather founded Bentley Bank. I can’t let down four generations of my family."

    We’ll keep your problem completely secret, Nancy guaranteed, and Bess and George nodded their agreement.

    Mr. Charles heaved a deep, troubled sigh. I hope you’re as talented a detective as your father said, because something strange is going on here.

    A robbery? Nancy inquired.

    Not exactly, Mr. Charles said. Not yet, anyway. But a few days ago there was a mix-up in our vault.

    A mix-up? Nancy asked. What do you mean?

    Mr. Charles explained. "This past Monday a longtime customer of mine, Mrs. Unruh, came storming in here, telling me her two-carat diamond ring was missing from her safe-deposit box. In its place was a ruby and diamond necklace she’d never seen before. Then yesterday another customer, Mr. Abrams, reported that his wife’s ruby and diamond necklace were missing—and that he had a diamond ring that wasn’t his."

    Somebody switched them, Nancy said.

    Exactly, Mr. Charles stated with a nod. As soon as I realized this, I called you. So far no one’s pressed charges, because the property was retrieved—

    "But this means that someone has access to the safe-deposit boxes, Nancy finished for him. Someone who shouldn’t."

    Security’s been breached, Mr. Charles confirmed. And even if this person hasn’t stolen anything yet, I figure it’s just a matter of time. There must be at least a million dollars’ worth of jewelry and valuables in our vault.

    The thing I can’t understand, Nancy said, thinking out loud, is why a thief would run the risk of breaking into the vault and then not take anything. Think of all the work to get inside, and all that was accomplished was an accidental switching of some jewels.

    I can’t explain it, Mr. Charles said. "But I do know that once there is a robbery, or if our customers hear about what happened, there’s going to be panic. People will be pulling their money out of here so fast that—"

    Excuse me, Mr. Charles.

    Nancy turned, startled at the sound of Ms. Kussack’s voice. She’d been so intent on what Alan Charles had been saying that she hadn’t heard her enter the room.

    I’m sorry to interrupt, Ms. Kussack went on, but I thought you all might like some coffee or hot chocolate.

    None for me, thanks, Mr. Charles replied. The girls shook their heads no.

    You don’t know what you’re missing, the secretary said. This is real Swiss chocolate. Once you try it, you’ll never drink any other kind.

    Mr. Charles smiled as Ms. Kussack ducked out of the room. "It really is good hot chocolate, he told the girls, but she sounds like a commercial sometimes."

    The smile disappeared as Mr. Charles got back to business. This safe-deposit box switch has to be an inside job, he said. Only a few bank employees have access to the vault. And our security system would be virtually impossible for an outsider to crack.

    How do safe-deposit boxes work? Bess asked.

    It’s pretty simple, Mr. Charles explained. Each box requires two keys. The customer has one, and we have the other.

    So for a bank employee to break into a box, he or she would need a copy of the customer’s key as well as the bank’s key, Nancy concluded. Do you keep duplicates of the customers’ keys?

    Yes, Mr. Charles said. I have them securely locked in my private safe. And I’m the only one who knows the combination.

    Are they in there now? Nancy asked.

    That’s the problem, Mr. Charles answered. When I checked after the mix-up, the keys were gone! He stood up and paced up and down in front of the girls, clearly upset. I have to get this straightened out right away or it will be a catastrophe for the bank.

    "This is a mystery, Nancy said. Pulling a small notepad and pen out of her purse, she made a few notes about what Mr. Charles had told her. We’d better get started at once. Where exactly is the vault located?"

    In the basement, Mr. Charles told her. I’ll take you down there after we’re through.

    Nancy made another note on her pad. What about video security? she asked. I noticed a camera in the lobby. Is there one in the vault?

    Mr. Charles nodded. We keep the camera recording all night and review the videotape each morning. But in this case the videotape was erased! I still don’t know how they managed to open up the camera. Its casing is made of solid steel.

    What about the camera on the main floor? Nancy asked.

    The tape was there, Mr. Charles said, and it hadn’t been erased. But there was no record of anyone entering or leaving the building. And the night watchman didn’t hear or see anything unusual.

    Maybe the watchman did it, Bess suggested.

    That would be pretty unlikely, Mr. Charles said. He doesn’t know any of the codes to open the vault, and there’s no way anyone could get in without them.

    Do you have any suspects? Nancy asked. Any ideas at all about who it might be?

    Mr. Charles’s worried gaze met Nancy’s intent blue eyes, and she saw his expression begin to crumble. No, he replied miserably. I’ve always trusted my employees. I was sure they were completely trustworthy. And now I find out that—that they’re not.

    Nancy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the bank president. Well, maybe just one of them isn’t, she said, trying to console him. Then she turned to Bess and George. "It looks

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