The Secret in the Old Attic by Carolyn Keene

attic,” Nancy admitted. “After my flashlight went out there were all kinds of ghostly noises.”
    Mr. March grunted. “I’ll fix him,” he said and started up the stairs. Nancy tried to hold him back.
    “I’ve faced the enemy before,” he declared, holding the candle aloft. “And it’s high time I find out about that mysterious attic.”
    Nancy followed him. To her chagrin they found no one, nor was there any evidence of a secret entrance through which an intruder might have come. On the floor near the spot where she had stood lay a large toy bear.
    “It must have fallen from the rafters,” Nancy decided. She told Mr. March this was one of the strange events that had occurred in the past fifteen minutes. “I guess the bear fell on me,” she added.
    “That bear belonged to Fipp,” his father explained. “I haven’t seen it for years.”
    Nancy was apologetic for having worried him. She picked up her flashlight and said no more about the incidents. But she knew that she had not imagined the stealthy footsteps, the rapping sounds, and the musical notes. Who and what had made them remained a deep mystery.
    “Here’s a surprise for you,” she said, changing the subject. “I located one of the old songs under a pile of newspapers.”
    Mr. March scanned the parchment eagerly. Finally he spoke. “Oh, yes, I remember this—‘The Old and the New.’ ” He nodded, humming a few bars of the tune. “My mother composed the tune and Fipp later added to it. It was one of his finest.”
    “It’s the best find we’ve made yet,” said Nancy after they had gone downstairs. “If Ben Banks has published a song with this melody, you’ll certainly have a case against him.”
    “I hope you receive a reply to your letter very soon,” the elderly man said. He sighed, adding, “This suspense is rather hard on an old fellow like me.”
    Nancy spoke a few words of encouragement and showed him the valuable old shoe buckles. Then she said good night. That weekend she was kept busy with the housework, and had no chance to go to the attic. But she took time on Saturday to run into the business section of River Heights to see Mr. Faber.
    The dealer gave her a good price for the buckles. Mr. March was overjoyed at the encouraging news.
    “How wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Oh, Nancy, I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”
    Nancy brushed aside the comment modestly. She knew that the money she had been able to acquire was still not sufficient to take care of Susan or the house expenses indefinitely.
    By Monday Effie was able to assume the duties of the household once more, and Nancy returned to her own home. Mr. Drew greeted her cheerily.
    “Well, I’m glad to see my daughter again,” he said affectionately. “I believe I should take the day off and celebrate.”
    Knowing she was being teased, Nancy asked, “Are you taking a holiday?”
    “I’m on my way to see Mr. Booker,” her father replied.
    Nancy queried him about what progress he had made in clearing up the mystery of the stolen formula for creating the lovely silk material.
    “Absolutely none,” Mr. Drew confessed. “Men have been shadowing the Dight plant ever since you were there, but they haven’t seen Bushy Trott go in or come out of the building.”
    “Maybe he lives there. Would you like me to go back to the factory and find out?” Nancy asked.
    “Not yet, but I may call on you later. Mr. Booker is so sure his process is being imitated that whether or not Trott is there, he wants me to start suit against Lawrence Dight.”
    “Will you do it?”
    “Not until I have a little more evidence,” the lawyer replied. “One has to be mighty careful when accusing a person of Mr. Dight’s standing. Up to now Mr. Booker hasn’t explained much about how he makes the special silk material, so I’m on my way to find out. Want to go with me?”
    “You won’t have to ask twice!”
    “Then we’ll be on our way. Later, if one of us gets