Flower gave us an assumed name,” Emily Foster
recalled. “For one thing, she never had any visi-
tors. No messages came for her, no letters. She
would not allow the authorities to notify anyone
of her accident. ‘I don’t want anyone to know,’
she would say. ‘Not until I’m well.’ ”
“Did she believe she would recover?” Nancy
asked quickly.
“Only in the beginning. Then the doctor told
her the truth-that she’d be lame for the rest of
her life.’
‘How did she take it?” Mr. Drew questioned.
“Very hard. Miss Flower cried for days, saying
the strangest things. One remark I recall was, ‘His
little Cinderella will never dance for him again.’
Oh, it was heartbreaking to listen to her.”
Cinderella!
Nancy was so sure she was on the right track
that her mind leaped from one possibility to an-
other. She nearly missed hearing her father’s next
question.
“Where did Miss Flower go after she left the
hospital?”
“I don’t know,” Miss Foster admitted regret-
fully. “From her remarks, I surmised she in-
tended to live in some secluded place near Hope-
well.”
“That name Flower,” Nancy mused. “Juliana
was interested in gardening,” she added, recalling
what Mrs. Fenimore had told her about the
dancer. “She would pick a place with flowers and
trees and vegetables, probably a farm.”
“Miss Flower no doubt did,” the nurse said.
“She was always asking me to buy her garden
magazines. Why, the day before her release, I re-
member she cut an advertisement from the local
paper-”
“What was it?” Nancy asked eagerly.
“The ad offered a small fruit and vegetable
farm for sale-a place known as Clover Farm.”
“Where is it?”
“It seems to me there used to be a Clover Farm
at Milton about ten miles from here. I don’t know
whether it’s the same one, though.”
Nancy turned to her father.
He sensed her thoughts and said, “Yes, we’ll
go there today. It may be a futile trip, but we
must follow every lead.”
“Oh, I hope it’s the right place!” said Nancy.
“We must find Juliana soon. Time is getting
short!”
CHAPTER XVII
Kidnapped!
After the Drews had said good-by to Emily Fos-
ter, they drove toward Milton. At a service station
near the edge of town, they stopped and inquired
where Clover Farm was.
“Never heard of it,” was the attendant’s disap-
pointing reply. He also did not know of a Julia
Flower or Juliana or Julie Johnson. The local
telephone book had no listing for any of the
names.
“Oh, Dad,” Nancy said, “have we run into an-
other dead end?”
She had never felt more frustrated. Her father
went into two shops to make the same inquiry,
but had no better luck. A distressing thought
came to Nancy that maybe the former dancer
had moved to another part of the country or was
no longer alive. Mr. Drew, trying to cheer his
daughter, suggested that the elusive woman might
be living in the area under another name.
At once Nancy took heart. “Let’s drive all over
this place. Maybe we’ll pick up a clue.”
Silence followed as they rode up one road and
down another. About a mile out of town Nancy
suddenly exclaimed, “Look!”
On one side of the road was an attractive white
arched arbor at the entrance to the grounds.
Fields of flowers, shrubs, and a nursery of trees
lined either side. A neatly painted sign on the
arbor read:
Jardin des Fleurs
Juliette Fleur, Prop.
“I’m sure this is the place!” Nancy cried ex-
citedly. “Julia Flower translated her name into
French, and calls her place Garden of Flowers.”
It was a quarter of a mile to the house, which
was surrounded by a high white picket fence with
a locked gate. A terrier with a staccato bark raced
from the building toward the callers.
“There’s no bell or knocker,” said Nancy.
“How does one get in?”
Her question was answered when two garden-
ers hurried from the rear of the enclosure.
“No visitors allowed here!” one of them said
curtly.
“We came to see Miss Fleur,” Mr. Drew ex-
plained, then introduced himself and his daugh-
ter.
“Did she send for you?”