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know what this is all about. I didn’t come here to cause any trouble.”
    “Then why are you here?” George demanded.
    “I’ve come to see Mr. Carson Drew,” the man answered. “I understand that he is an attorney. I have a case for him.”
    Mr. Drew had stepped out of his study when the commotion began. He now came forward. “I’m Carson Drew,” he said. “And your name?”
    “Johann Koff.”
    “Millie Koff’s father?” Nancy exclaimed.
    “Yes.”
    “I understood from Mrs. Parsons that you and Millie had left town and no one knew where you had gone,” said Nancy.
    Mr. Drew added, “You will forgive us if your mysterious disappearance seems suspicious to us?”
    “I will explain everything,” Mr. Koff said.
    “You mean I’ve been shadowing you for nothing?” George exclaimed, sagging weakly against the door frame.
    Mr. Koff laughed. For the first time he recognized George as the young woman who had demanded an interview of him the night before last.
    “I assure you, the Drews do not need protection from me,” the caller said. “Because I need your trust, I’d like to offer proof of my identity.”
    He took out a wallet and several letters, which he showed the lawyer. When Mr. Drew seemed satisfied with them, Mr. Koff added, “And now may we talk alone?”
    Mr. Drew led the way into his study and closed the door. Nancy went to the kitchen and explained to the Fontaines what had happened. She advised that they remain there until Mr. Koff left the house.
    Five minutes later Mr. Drew came to the door of the study and called to his daughter.
    “Please come in, Nancy,” he said. “I want you to hear an amazing story.”
    As Nancy seated herself in a chair alongside her father’s desk, he told her that the caller was a writer for newspapers and magazines.
    “I’ve come to your father,” Koff explained, “with a law case that may also need a little detective work.”
    Mr. Koff leaned back in his chair, then went on, “I became excited on the plane, fearing it would crash, because I have much work to do for my native land of Centrovia, from which I escaped.
    “I was so upset that I picked up a briefcase that I thought was my own. When I reached my hotel, I discovered that it belonged to someone else. The papers inside indicated that the owner was a Mr. Buzby in New York, so I sent the case to him, air mail, special delivery, at once.
    “Then the trouble started. I received a phone call the following day from a man in River Heights who said that the briefcase belonged to him. Buzby had notified him and was sending it along. The man here is David Judson of Oakwood Avenue.”
    Nancy was startled to hear this name but felt it was best to reveal nothing at this time.
    “This David Judson,” the Centrovian went on, “told me that Mr. Buzby was a business competitor of his. As a result of seeing confidential material in the briefcase, he had learned business secrets and made a profit from them by getting several large orders. Mr. Judson claims he has suffered considerable financial loss because of it and is demanding damages from me.”
    “Could he collect?” Nancy asked her father.
    “Under certain circumstances,” the lawyer replied. “But listen to the rest of the story.”
    Koff continued, “Well, Judson was aggressive. He frightened me. My daughter and I packed at once and moved to the hotel in Cliffwood.”
    “But he found you?” Nancy asked.
    “Yes, and tonight he made a new demand by phone. He said he had proof that I had deliberately taken his briefcase. A girl on the plane near me would swear to it.”
    Nancy was startled. Did Judson mean her? There had been no other girl sitting nearby.
    “If he produces this witness,” said Nancy firmly, “she’ll be a phony. Don’t worry about that.”
    “I feel that the whole thing is a frame-up,” Mr. Drew stated. “This Judson hopes to get some money easily. We’ll try to put a stop to the threats at once. Suppose you drop a note to