(#30) The Clue of the Velvet Mask Read Online Free PDF Page A

guard in evidence was an elderly servant. Beside him was a house telephone.
    “Are you alone here?” Nancy asked.
    “Yes, miss,” he responded. “Mrs. Becker instructed me not to leave this room until the reception is over and the last guest gone.”
    Nancy supposed that the old man was a trusted and faithful servant. Nevertheless, it seemed to her that it would have been far wiser to have assigned a policeman to the upper floor.
    She decided to ask Detective Ambrose about it. Nancy could not find him, for the bridal party had just returned from the church. Photographers flocked about them taking pictures and guests were arriving in large numbers.
    Hearing a slight commotion at the front entrance, Nancy turned in that direction. Detective Ambrose was questioning a tall, white-mustached man. As she came closer, Nancy heard him speak with a pronounced English accent!
    “But I mislaid the invitation,” he said crisply.
    Nancy guessed what had occurred. Since the man had appeared without an invitation, the butler had summoned Detective Ambrose.
    The newcomer, indignant at being denied entrance, tapped his cane impatiently. “Dashed if I can understand all this fuss about an invitation. I have explained to the butler that I was detained at my hotel by Lord Atchfield. Hence the invitation was forgotten. Let me pass.”
    “Don’t be in such a rush,” Detective Ambrose advised him sharply. “Your getup and your speech don’t fool me.”
    “My getup? I say, your words mystify me. Mrs. Becker certainly shall hear of this affront!”
    “You bet she will!” Detective Ambrose replied firmly. “Come along. If a member of the family can identify you, fine. Otherwise, you’re going with me to headquarters.”
    “Police headquarters! I say, old chap, you’re making a frightful mistake.”
    Despite the Englishman’s protests, the detec. tive ushered him inside. He asked the butler to bring Mr. Becker to the hall. In a moment the worried father of the bride stepped out of the receiving line.
    “This man’s trying to get in without an invitation,” the detective informed him. “Says his name is Earl Contrey.”
    “The Earl of Contrey, Sussex,” the guest corrected, bowing slightly. “Sorry to have caused all this trouble, but—”
    “I never saw this man before,” broke in Mr. Becker.
    “Ha!” chortled Detective Ambrose. He gripped the Englishman’s arm. “Just as I thought! I figured that brush of yours was a fake!” he added.
    “I say!” the guest sputtered. “My mustache and I are quite real. I demand that you notify Mrs. Becker of my presence immediately.”
    The bride’s father had already turned away.
    “Okay, pal,” Ambrose said. “Let’s just say you’ve been grooming your act for a long time. Come along peaceful-like or I’ll put handcuffs on you.”
    Nancy vaguely recalled having read in the newspaper a few days previously of the arrival in New York of the Earl of Contrey. Suppose this man were he and not the thief in disguise!
    Determined to check the matter herself, she quickly approached the receiving line and whispered to the bride’s mother.
    “Do you know the Earl of Contrey?”
    “Indeed I do!” exclaimed Mrs. Becker. “He’s an old friend of mine. Don’t tell me he flew from New York to attend our daughter’s reception!”
    Mr. Becker was horrified at the turn of events. Quickly his wife explained that she had read of the Earl’s arrival and had sent him a last-minute invitation.
    Together she and her husband followed Nancy to where the detective’s car was parked. Mrs. Becker shook the Earl’s hand as her husband greeted him and apologized profusely for what had happened.
    “We have this young lady to thank,” Mrs. Becker said, turning to Nancy. “I presume you’re helping the Lightner people?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Becker,” she replied.
    Detective Ambrose glared at Nancy. Then he muttered, “I was only trying to do my duty, ma’am. We were tipped off to watch for an