10 Password to Larkspur Lane

CHAPTER V
Blue Fire
“WHO’S there?” Nancy called sharply into
the darkness. She heard a stirring near the
porch, but could see no one.
“Never mind who,” came a rasping whisper
from the shadows. “We warned your father to
mind his own business. Now we’re telling
you: forget the doctor’s story or you’ll be
sorry.”
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Just then headlights swept up the driveway.
Instantly a dark figure dashed across the lawn
and disappeared into the night.

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Nancy recognized her father’s car. Moments
later Mr. Drew parked beside the house and
hurried up the porch steps.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Why are
you out here?”
“A man rang the bell, Dad, but wouldn’t let
me see him. He gave us another warning.”
The lawyer’s face was grim. “Did you
recognize his voice?” he asked.
“It sounded something like Adam Thorne’s,”
Nancy replied, “but I can’t be sure because he
spoke in a whisper. The man was big,
though, like Thorne.”
Nancy explained why the light was not on,
and turned to examine it. “The bulb’s gone!”

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she exclaimed. “I suppose the man took it out
so I couldn’t see him. I’ll put in a new one.”
“I’d like to wring that fellow’s neck,” her
father stormed. “I’ll put the car away, then
report this to Lieutenant Mulligan.”
“Dad, before you put the car in the garage,
would you drive me to the flower show? I’m
just a little bit curious as to who won the
prizes.”
He grinned. “Of course I’ll take you.” He
patted her shoulder. “While I phone Mulligan,
go tell Hannah and Effie where we’re going
and not to answer the doorbell.”
Twenty minutes later father and daughter
arrived at the greenhouse on the Blenheim
estate. The display was beautiful, but the cut

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flowers were beginning to wilt. Nancy’s
pulse quickened as she approached her own
entry.
“Dad!” she cried out. “Look!”
Attached to her bouquet of larkspur was a
dark-blue satin ribbon with the inscription
FIRST
PRIZE!
“Nancy, that’s wonderful,” her father said.
“Congratulations! Maybe you ought to give
up solving mysteries and raise flowers.”
“Not a chance,” she said.
“But it’s far less dangerous,” he countered.
“Take this present mystery, for instance. It

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might be wise for you to drop it.”
Nancy looked shocked. “Why, Dad! Think of
the poor old woman who is a prisoner.”
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“But, Nancy, my first concern is for your
safety. You are more important to me than all
the mysterious old ladies in the world!”
Nancy’s face showed her disappointment.
“Oh please, Dad, no.”
Mr. Drew looked uncomfortable. “I know, I
know. You’re like me. You’ll never be
satisfied until you lick the problem. Go
ahead.”

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“Thank you, Dad,” Nancy said happily. “I
will.”
“Hold it, Miss Drew!” said a voice nearby.
Nancy looked up to see a news photographer
pointing a camera at her. “There! Stand right
next to your exhibit.”
Before she could comply, Nancy heard
another voice say, “Go get her!” At the same
instant a big, vicious-looking dog sprang at
her!
“Oh!” she screamed, dodging just in time.
The Great Dane crashed into the vase of prize
flowers, knocking the exhibit to the ground
and shattering the vase. He yelped in fright,
then ran off.

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“Who owns that beast?” cried the
photographer.
No one claimed to be the owner. The Drews
guessed Thorne was behind the attack, but
could see him nowhere in the crowd. He—or
his henchmen—had taken advantage of the
excitement to escape.
Nancy reported the incident to Mrs. Winsor,
who told her to take the blue ribbon home.
When she and her father reached the house,
Hannah and Effie were delighted to hear that
Nancy had won first prize in the delphinium
class. “Here’s hoping,” said Mrs. Gruen, “that
you’ll come out ahead in your mystery, too.”
“You’re sweet,” Nancy told the housekeeper,
then kissed her good night without telling of

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the dog episode. But she was alarmed over it.
Nancy went to her pretty yellow-and-white
bedroom. There she changed into pajamas,
robe, and slippers, then seated herself at her
desk. She was determined to figure out the
strange message which the pigeon had been
carrying.
22
She opened a gardening book and turned to
bluebells, then delphinium and larkspur. She
learned that bluebells were different from the
others. Delphinium were perennial flowers
and usually blue, though some were white or
lavender. Larkspur, the annual flower of the
genus, occurred in pale and dark blue, mauve
and other shades. In common usage,

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however, the names delphinium and larkspur
were often interchanged.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Nancy thought, “but
it doesn’t get me much further.” She closed
the book with a sigh and put it away. “Maybe
if I just forget the whole thing until morning
an answer will come to me.”
She stretched out on her comfortable bed and
tuned in the clock radio to her favorite
musical program. But her mind kept returning
to the problem.
“I have larkspur on the brain. Larkspur—
larkspur,” she mused, clasping her hands
behind her head. “Funny name. I wonder
how they came to be called that. Maybe
because the blossoms have little points or

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spurs. But why the lark? Why not
sparrowspur or ostrichspur?
“Spurs are for horses, and horses don’t look
like larks, and larks don’t suggest anything
that wear spurs. Larks sing and—Oh!” Nancy
sat bolt upright. “I have it! I’ll bet that’s it!”
She raced to her father’s study and knocked.
Mr. Drew called, “Come in.” He looked up
from the letter he was writing when Nancy
exclaimed:
“Dad! I think I have a clue to the kidnappers’
hideout. It’s larkspur! Singing horses stands
for lark—spurs!”
“Nancy, that could be it!”

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“Maybe the kidnappers got the idea of using
that flower in their code, because it grows at
the headquarters of the gang!”
The lawyer nodded thoughtfully as Nancy
went on, “There may be bluebells there too,
but I’m not sure. Blue bells in the pigeon’s
message might mean something else since it is
two words. I’m going to drive through the
countryside until I find a place—a house, a
street, or something else—that has larkspurs,
bluebells, or both as its most conspicuous
feature.”
“It’s certainly a lead worth working on,” said
her father. “Better than trying to follow the
pigeon to its home loft.”
In the morning Nancy studied a map of the
River Heights area and decided to ride

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through the countryside east of the town on
her search for the telltale flowers. She drove
tirelessly, stopping only to ask people if they
could direct her to places where either
larkspurs or bluebells grew. Here and there
she found larkspurs in gardens of private
homes too small to be the place Dr. Spire had
described. After lunch she drove on, but had
no luck. At four o’clock she gave up,
disappointed.
“My score is exactly zero,” she thought.
“Well, tonight I hear about the Corning
mystery.”
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Back home again, Nancy went to Hannah
Gruen’s room to see how the housekeeper
was getting along. “I’m feeling much better,”

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Hannah reported, and told Nancy that her
father would not be home for supper.
Nancy showered, put on a pretty lime-green
dress with a matching sweater, and left the
house. Twenty minutes later she was ringing
the bell of Helen’s apartment. The door was
opened by Helen’s handsome husband, Jim
Archer.
“Hi, Nancy!” he said, smiling. “We’re ready.”
“Jim will drive his car out to the lake,” Helen
said as she came into the living room. “Leave
yours here.”
On the way, Helen asked about Nancy’s two
close girl friends, Bess Marvin and her cousin
George Fayne. “How are they?”

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“They’ve been vacationing in California,”
said Nancy, “but they’re coming home
tomorrow.”
She chuckled. “Won’t they be surprised when
I tell them I have two mysteries they can help
me solve!”
Helen grinned. “It’s my guess they won’t be a
bit surprised!”
Presently Jim turned onto the side road which
led to the lake. When they reached it, the
setting sun had turned the water to a golden
color. A few sailboats, silhouetted against the
red sky, were heading toward shore.
“What a lovely scene!” Nancy exclaimed.

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The road circled the lake and at one point
branched onto a drive which led up the
wooded hillside. The Comings’ modern
house was nestled among the trees and rocks
at the top, overlooking the water. The drive
wound around it to a large flagstoned area,
surrounded by shrubs. Jim parked the car
there.
“The front door is in the back,” Helen said
with a laugh as she led the way to it and rang
the bell.
The door was opened by a middle-aged
houseman with red hair. He wore neat dark
trousers and a white jacket.
“Hello, Morgan,” Helen said cheerfully.
“How are you?”

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“All right, thank you,” he answered, but did
not smile. Nancy wondered if he, too, was
worried about the strange happenings here.
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Mrs. Corning hurried into the hall to greet her
guests. She was a pretty woman, with short
fluffy white hair, and just as petite as Helen.
She took them into the big living room with a
huge picture window.
Mr. Corning rose from a chair. He was a tall
man with a bold, aristocratic nose. Though he
had to use a cane to support his frail-looking
body, his dark eyes were alert and usually
sparkled with humor. But now, Nancy noted,
there was a strained expression on his face.

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“What is frightening the Cornings?” Nancy
wondered.
She had no hint until after dinner when the
group returned to the living room. As the girls
seated themselves in deep pumpkin-colored
chairs, Mrs. Corning went to the picture
window. She began to draw the soft beige
draperies, shutting out the dark wooded
hillside below and the few lights of houses on
the opposite shore.
“Oh, please leave the curtains open, Gram,”
said Helen. “Let’s watch for the thing tonight.
After all, that’s what Nancy’s here for.”
“Thing?” Nancy repeated, leaning forward in
her chair. “Please tell me about it.”

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“Of course,” said Mr. Corning. As his wife
opened the curtains again, he began, “One
night about two weeks ago, my wife and I
were sitting here enjoying the view when we
saw a large circle of blue fire at the bottom of
the hill.”
“Blue fire!” Nancy exclaimed.
Mr. Corning nodded. “Yes, it’s a circle about
as big as a car wheel and glows with an eerie
blue fire. It’s approximately seven feet off the
ground.”
“Sounds weird,” Helen remarked.
“How long did it last?” Nancy asked.
“About five minutes—then vanished. The
next night it came again—this time closer.”

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“We’ve seen the thing every night since,” put
in Mrs. Corning. “It has come nearer each
time. Somehow, I feel it is a threat.”
“In the meantime,” her husband went on,
“there have been strange happenings in the
house. I want to show you something.” He
arose unsteadily, then suddenly gasped.
Seizing the chair back with one hand, he
pointed with his cane out the huge window.
“There’s that spooky blue flame again!”
Nancy leaped to her feet. In the darkness of
the woods, not far below the house, glowed a
large blue fiery circle.
25

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“Helen! Jim!” Nancy exclaimed. “Let’s go
see what it is!”
“Be careful!” Mrs. Corning urged as the
young people dashed from the room. The trio
let themselves out the main door.
“Helen and I will go to the right,” Nancy
whispered. “Jim, you take the left. When
we’re even with the light, let’s close in on it.”
As Jim slipped away in the darkness, the girls
went quietly down through the woods. The
blue circle continued to burn steadily.
“Queer,” Nancy murmured. “What is it?”
Unfortunately, Helen slipped on a stone and
turned her ankle. Involuntarily she gave a cry

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of pain. Both girls froze, their hearts
pounding.
For a moment the circle of light did not move.
Then, slowly, it began to turn toward them!

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