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there was any connection between the two groups. She could think of nothing. Finally she took paper and pencils from her desk for herself and George.
    “Let’s try to decipher this thing,” she said.
    Nancy sat at her desk and George at the dressing table. Using the letters nst and le they tried to make a word. Every few minutes they would heave sighs of disappointment. But suddenly Nancy gave a shout.
    “I have it!” she said.
    “What is it?” George asked.
    “Constantinople! ”
    George stared at the young detective in admiration. “That used to be the name of Istanbul!”
    “Exactly.” Nancy began dancing around the room in exuberance. “The mannequin is to be taken to Istanbul!”
    The news was too good to keep. As George hurried downstairs to tell Hannah Gruen, Nancy telephoned her father.
    “That’s great!” he said, then chuckled. “Nancy, it begins to look as if you might have to go to Istanbul.”
    “And you too,” she said.
    “We’ll see about that,” he replied. “Farouk is certainly guarding his secret well. It was clever of him to use letters from the old name of Istanbul as a disguise.”
    By this time an hour had passed. Nancy and George got into the convertible and went to pick Bess up.
    “Hi, sleepyhead!” George greeted her cousin. “You missed all the excitement.”
    “Tell me about it,” Bess begged.
    Upon hearing of the message to bring the mannequin to Istanbul, her eyes popped wide open. “Are you going?” she asked Nancy.
    “How can I? I don’t have the mannequin and I have no idea where she is. By the way, the father of the boy we saved runs a travel agency and has arranged a trip to Turkey.”
    George grinned. “When do we start?”
    There was no more conversation until the girls reached Satcher Street. Then Nancy suggested that they separate to make inquiries about the mannequin. She would take the center section, while the girls inquired at the two ends.
    Nancy spoke to the shopkeepers on either side of Mr. Anthony’s shop. Both said they had moved there after Farouk had left, and knew nothing about his business.
    The young detective went across the street to interview shopkeepers there, but had no better luck until she went into a bakery. The owner said he could not help her, but he was sure that Mrs. Beimer, who occupied an apartment above his shop, would be able to give her some information.
    “She’s lived in this neighborhood for many years.”
    Nancy rang the bell of Mrs. Beimer’s apartment and a pleasant-looking woman came to the door. The girl smiled and said she was trying to find the mannequin that used to be in Farouk Tahmasp’s window. “Have you any idea where she was taken?”
    Mrs. Beimer shook her head. “Please come in,” she said and led the way to her living room. She motioned Nancy to a chair near a front window.
    In the conversation that followed, Nancy learned that the mannequin had never been left in the window overnight and at times it did not even appear in the daytime. Her costume was often changed.
    “I thought this might be some kind of Moslem custom,” Mrs. Beimer said.
    “Have you any idea,” Nancy asked, “where Farouk Tahmasp went?”
    “No. The whole thing happened so suddenly everyone around here was puzzled. We assumed that the rug dealer had taken the mannequin with him. No one knew why he had left. Although he seemed to have no particular friends, he was a nice person. I understand he didn’t owe anyone a cent when he left.”
    The woman sighed. “I sometimes think he got homesick and went back to his native land.”
    Since Mrs. Beimer could not provide any further information about Farouk, Nancy changed the subject. “Do you know who the humorous old man is who spends a lot of time in the tailor shop? The one who laughs a lot?”
    Mrs. Beimer grinned. “Oh, I know who you mean. He’s half cracked, but sometimes he hits the truth in what he says.”
    “What’s his name?” Nancy asked.
    “His last name is