The Mystery at Lilac Inn - Carolyn Keene [24]
“One more question,” Nancy said. “Would you have any idea who used one of the inn’s canoes yesterday afternoon?”
For a moment Gil’s eyes narrowed. Then he brusquely replied No; he had not been near the dock all day. “Mr. John asked me the same thing. Well, I got work to do,” he muttered, and quickly resumed his mowing.
Nancy walked meditatively toward the inn. “If Gil doesn’t know what ‘blue pipes’ are, that message might well be a code phrase.”
It occurred to her that perhaps Mr. Daly would be able to explain the term. Nancy went inside and found the elderly gentleman in his office, going over receipts. He looked up as she knocked and entered.
“Good morning, Nancy. Sorry I missed meeting your father.”
Mr. Daly admitted that he had been wearied by his all-night vigil, and had gone to his room to rest. Nancy smiled understandingly and told him briefly of Lieutenant Brice’s investigation.
Mr. Daly looked grave. “If all this danger continues, I’m going to insist that Emily and Dick sell the inn. A nice young couple shouldn’t start marriage under such circumstances.”
“I agree. But the person responsible for the trouble here must be caught.”
“You’re right, Nancy,” Mr. Daly said, “I mustn’t lose hope so easily.”
The young sleuth then asked, “Mr. Daly, can you tell me what ‘blue pipes’ are?”
Mr. Daly chuckled. “Of course—my favorite subject matter is ‘blue pipes’—or lilacs.”
“You mean that ‘blue pipes’ are lilacs?” Nancy inquired with interest.
“Yes. The ancient name of the lilac was Blue Pipe Tree, a reminder of the time when pipes were made of its wood. See here.”
Mr. Daly reached into a drawer of his desk and handed Nancy a half-finished tobacco pipe. “Carving is my hobby. I’m making this pipe from the wood of a fallen tree limb right here at Lilac Inn.”
“Why, it’s beautiful!” Nancy held up the pipe, admiring the delicate stem.
At that moment Jean Holmes passed the office. She paused and looked in. Nancy greeted her, but the waitress barely answered. Her eyes were riveted on the pipe in Nancy’s hand.
“Isn’t this a handsome piece, Jean?” Nancy said pleasantly. “Mr. Daly made it.”
“Oh, very.” Jean nodded and hastened on into the dining room.
To Nancy it seemed that the waitress had acted almost frightened. Why?
Mr. Daly seemed not to have noticed. He went on to tell Nancy some interesting facts about lilacs. The old-fashioned, lavender-colored blossom and its white companion, so well known in America, originally came from Bulgaria, Hungary, and Rumania. But the double lilacs of pink, red, and purple, like those in the grove, were developed by horticulturists.
“The French developed the Lucie Baltet variety—the same as the stolen tree,” Mr. Daly said sadly. “Many beautiful lilacs are named after famous French people, such as Joan of Arc.”
“You’re certainly an expert on every aspect of lilacs,” Nancy complimented him as Mr. Daly paused.
Modestly, Mr. Daly admitted he had studied the subject intensively. He himself had planted most of the lilacs at the inn.
“They are considered a flower of mysterious power in the West Indies,” he said solemnly. “Some people there believe that the perfume keeps away ghosts and evil spirits. A lilac tree is often planted near the front door so its branches can act as protection against evil spirits entering the house.”
Nancy now pulled the sheet with the blue pipe notation from her pocket and passed it to Mr. Daly. “Do you know anything about this?” she asked.
He glanced at it and said, “No. And I write out all the instructions for the gardeners. I never use the term ‘blue pipes.’ They wouldn’t know what it meant.”
“Have you any idea who might have written this?” Nancy asked.
“None whatever. And I can’t figure out what it means. Besides, it’s not time to prune lilacs. Have you a theory?”
“I’m not sure, except I have a hunch it’s connected with the strange happenings at Lilac Inn and is a code message. I hope I can figure it out.”
Nancy pocketed the sheet and left the office. Deep in thought, she almost bumped into Emily.
“Oh, where