The Clue in the Camera

by Carolyn Keene

  “Lieutenant Chin,” Nancy said, stopping him as he was about to return to the gallery. “Can you run a profile on Faith Arnold?”

  “You think that’s necessary?”

  “She’s been acting strangely,” Nancy answered. She described the nervous behavior of the gallery owner and was glad to see the lieutenant nod his head.

  “I’d planned on running one, anyway, but it’s good to have your observations to confirm my hunch. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her before.” Then he asked Nancy for the name of her hotel so that he could call if he had any news of Emily.

  “We’d really appreciate that, Lieutenant,” Nancy said, and she went to rejoin the others.

  Nancy, George, and Hannah made short work of saying goodbye to Faith Arnold. Glad to be free to leave the gallery, they walked out the front door. Peter Stine was close on their heels.

  Nancy tried to ignore him. She walked briskly, despite Stine’s efforts to get her to slow the pace and let George and Hannah move ahead of them. “We’re concerned about our friend, Mr. Stine. I have a feeling you’re not,” she finally said.

  “The big story here is the mob. And I’m warning you to keep your nose out of mob affairs. I’ve been digging around. Believe me, something is going to break in the next twenty-four hours, and you don’t want to be in the middle of it.”

  “I’m only interested in finding Emily,” Nancy assured him.

  “Right. Well, I know where you won’t find her—at the scene of this story. I plan to be the only reporter to cover this one, kid!” Stine abruptly broke away and turned back toward the gallery.

  Nancy was glad to see him go. She grabbed Hannah’s elbow and said, “Hannah, quick, can you go back to the restaurant across the street from the gallery? I want you to stay there, to keep an eye on Faith Arnold. George and I will come back later and meet you.”

  Hannah shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Nancy. I’m not sure I’m the best person for that. What if she leaves? I’m not as quick as you and George are.”

  “That’s okay,” replied Nancy. “Don’t worry about following her. Just keep an eye on things. Watch who goes in and out of the gallery. See whether Faith Arnold leaves. If she does, note the time she comes back.” Nancy patted Hannah on the shoulder and aimed her in the direction of the restaurant. “You’ll be doing this for Emily, Hannah.”

  “Have a cup of tea or something,” George suggested.

  Hannah crossed the street. The girls watched until she entered the restaurant. Then Nancy led the way toward the nearby wharves. She slowed as they reached a row of little stores close to the waterfront, not quite sure what she was searching for.

  Suddenly, Nancy touched George’s arm, and the two came to a halt. Directly ahead of them was the balding man who had stolen Emily’s camera two days before! He was leaving a store called Croft’s Curio Shop.

  Without a word, the girls began pursuing the thief, pretending to window shop as they followed him down the street. Moments later, two other men emerged from a doorway in front of the girls. They, too, moved down the street, behind the man, in front of Nancy and George.

  Nancy paused when she realized that the men were not just tourists or businesspeople. They were also following the thief! With a chill, she recognized one of them: the cold-eyed man who had operated the crane on the wharf.

  “George! One of those men is the crane operator!” Nancy exclaimed. “What could he want with that bald guy?”

  Nancy and George pulled back a bit but continued to shadow the thief as he moved down the docks. They almost lost him once or twice when they had to stop to avoid being noticed by the crane operator and his friend. After several more blocks, the balding man stopped abruptly, forcing Nancy and George to duck into a doorway to escape being seen. When they emerged a moment later, they saw only the crane operator and his friend farther up the street. They were standing near several mountainous piles of packing crates and dustbins, looking confused. The balding man was nowhere to be seen.

  “Looks like they’ve lost him,” George said.

  “Which means we’ve lost him, too.” Nancy shook her head.

  The girls watched as the men crossed the street to a pay telephone. The grim crane operator put some coins into the slot and dialed a number. Nancy and George darted through a passageway between two storefronts, coming out in an alley and stopping just behind the safety of a trash dumpster. From there, they could hear the man’s phone conversation.

  “We lost Blane,” he reported in a flat voice. Blane must be the balding man, but who is he? Nancy wondered.

  The crane operator spoke again, but he’d lowered his voice. Nancy leaned forward, trying to hear.

  “. . . Silence someone . . . before it’s too late.”

  Was Emily the one to be silenced? Nancy wondered. The man sounded awfully angry. He was apparently arguing with the person on the other end of the phone. But the girls could not make sense of the conversation.

  Nancy narrowed her blue eyes, puzzling over what she and George had heard. Was the man referring to what had happened on the dock the day before? Had she and Emily nearly been killed because someone had to be silenced?

  The girls heard the telephone receiver slam down, and they slipped farther back into the protection of the alley. From there, they saw the two men walk away. The men seemed to be arguing with each other. Nancy touched George’s wrist, indicating that they should stay hidden until the men were safely gone.

  “What did you make of that?” George whispered a few moments later.

  “I’m not sure,” Nancy replied. “It’s very puzzling. And our bald thief—‘Blane,’ they called him—has gotten away from us again. But what part do those two play in all of this?”

  Nancy was about to speculate further, when she heard a scraping sound behind her, the sound of shoe leather on the uneven surface of the alley. Before she could turn around, she and George heard another, far more terrifying sound: the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. In the next instant, Nancy felt the touch of a cold steel pistol barrel on the back of her neck.

  9

  A Warning Too Late

  “Turn around. Slowly,” ordered a gruff voice.

  Nancy and George did as they were told. They found themselves facing the wiry man they had seen watching outside Emily’s apartment.

  “Now,” he said, “suppose you tell me who you are and what business you have with Emily Foxworth?” He puffed up his chest like a pit viper, but his tough-guy bravado didn’t fool Nancy.

  “We’re friends of Emily’s,” she answered. “And we’re very worried about her.”

  The man pulled the gun away from Nancy’s head. “I’m an acquaintance of hers, too,” he said. “My name’s . . . Louie.”

  Nancy wasn’t sure he was telling the truth, but all she said was, “A friend who spies on her? Some friend.”

  “I wasn’t spying. I was trying to get to her. Alone. Then you showed up. Twice!”

  “Exactly what kind of acquaintance are you?” Nancy asked.

  “Well . . . sometimes I help Emily.”

  “Help her? How?” George wanted to know.

  “I guess you might call me an informant. Emily uses my—what shall I say?—my services sometimes when she’s working on a crime story.”

  “Well, now she’s missing,” Nancy said sternly.

  “I know. I saw. That’s why I wanted to talk to you two. But first I had to make sure you weren’t part of the mob.”

  “The mob? Us?” asked George incredulously.

  “I’ve been trying to warn Emily,” Louie went on.

  “Warn her? About what?” asked Nancy.

  “That she might be in danger.”

  “How did you know she might be in danger?”

  “I can’t tell you,” he answered. “All I know is that it has something to do with information regarding the mob. I think she’s got information that could be really dangerous for someone.”

  “But Emily doesn’t kno
w anything about the mob!” protested George.

  “Louie,” Nancy asked, “do you know if Emily’s phone was bugged?”

  “No idea.” He shook his head.

  “Look, you’ve got to do something for me, for Emily,” Nancy said urgently. “See if you can find out what mob action is supposed to take place in the next twenty-four hours.”

  Louie laughed. “Do you know what you’re asking? You must be crazy.”

  “I bet Emily could do you a big favor sometime, if you ever need one,” Nancy pointed out. “She has an in at the police department. But she can’t do you any favors unless we find her.”

  “Oh, brother,” said Louie disgustedly.

  Nancy ignored him. “We’re staying at the—” she began.

  “Never mind,” Louie interrupted. “If I have to find you, I will. I’ve got my ways.”

  “I can see that,” said Nancy, feeling slightly nervous. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know about Louie’s “ways.”

  “All right,” Louie went on. “Any news I hear, I’ll be in touch.”

  Nancy and George watched Louie disappear into the dark alley. They looked at each other. “Did that really happen?” George asked.

  “I don’t like him,” said Nancy, shrugging. “But at least he’s on our side. I mean, I think he is.”

  “Speaking of our side, we’d better get back to Hannah. She’s just about the only person we know we can trust, and we’ve left her at the restaurant for a pretty long time. I don’t think she’s too fond of this detective business, and I know she’s upset about Emily.”

  Nancy looked at her watch. “You’re right. It’s late. Let’s get Hannah and then go back to the hotel. I don’t think there’s anything else we can do tonight, anyway. Except hope Emily’s all right.”

  George nodded in solemn agreement, and the two made their way back to the restaurant across from the gallery.

  When the girls rejoined Hannah, they asked her if she wanted anything to eat. Hannah declined, saying she’d already eaten something with her tea. “I think we should return to the hotel in case Emily’s kidnappers or the police call,” she added.

  Outside, Nancy hailed a passing cab, and on the silent ride to the hotel, she thought about the day’s events. None of them made much sense to her. She wondered what—if anything—she could do to help find Emily.

  • • •

  The next morning, over an early breakfast in the hotel dining room, Nancy, Hannah, and George discussed what had happened the night before.

  “Tell us again about what went on at the gallery after we left,” Nancy suggested.

  Hannah sighed, having been over this information several times the night before when they had returned to their hotel rooms. “Okay,” said Hannah. “If you think it will help find Emily. Let’s see, the journalist. What was his name?”

  “Peter Stine,” Nancy told her.

  “Right. Well, after we left, he must have gone back. Because I saw him leave the gallery about fifteen minutes after I got to the restaurant. Then two men went in—one was carrying a camera. I think they were police officers. Then a woman in a big hat went in—and no, Nancy, I still can’t describe her, because I couldn’t see her face. Anyway, she only stayed in the gallery a minute. And that’s all I saw.”

  “You’re sure?” George asked.

  “No, I’m not sure,” Hannah replied testily. “You two were gone so long that I think I got punchy on all the tea I drank. I’m not sure of anything except that Emily’s been kidnapped!” Tears filled Hannah’s eyes.

  “We’ll find her,” Nancy promised. She only hoped they would find her in time.

  • • •

  Later that morning, Lieutenant Chin stopped by the hotel to tell Nancy that so far the police had no leads on Emily’s disappearance. “However, I found one bit of information I thought you’d be interested in,” he added. “The computer printout on Faith Arnold shows a previous arrest record.”

  Nancy was intrigued. “For what?”

  “Art scams. Falsely reporting artwork stolen, collecting the insurance, and then selling the art on the black market.”

  George whistled.

  “Was she prosecuted?” Nancy asked.

  “There wasn’t enough evidence to bring the case to court. She was released. The case was dropped.”

  “Lieutenant Chin, you’ll keep us informed, won’t you? You know how concerned we are about Emily,” said Nancy seriously.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he replied.

  The three said goodbye to the lieutenant, and Hannah began to pace. “I’m so worried, girls,” she said. “What if we never see her again?”

  “Oh, Hannah, you can’t think like that,” cried Nancy. “Besides, Emily’s pretty tough. Let’s not give up on her so soon. I was thinking George and I should go over to her apartment and take another look around. Besides, I’m sure poor Tripod is hungry and lonesome. Do you have the key Emily gave you?”

  “Yes,” replied Hannah, fumbling in her purse for the key to Emily’s apartment. “I think I should go, too,” she added.

  “It would be better if you stayed here, Hannah,” Nancy said. “Lieutenant Chin or the kidnappers might decide to get in touch. Or even Emily herself.”

  Hannah’s face fell. “I suppose you’re right, Nancy. Okay. You two go over to the apartment. I’ll wait for news. Good news, I hope.”

  Nancy hugged Hannah and urged her to hope for the best. Then she and George took the elevator to the lobby. When they stepped outside the hotel, a brisk breeze was blowing across Union Square. “Brrr,” said Nancy, shivering.

  “I guess this is the famous San Francisco wind they warned us about.” George backed into the hotel doorway and huddled between the marble columns.

  “I’ll run back upstairs for our jackets,” Nancy said, and she reentered the hotel. When she returned, she and George put on their jackets and braved the wind. “Shall we walk or take a taxi?” Nancy asked.

  “Let’s walk. I could use the exercise. But I wish I had thought to bring gloves.”

  “Me, too.” Nancy stuffed her hands into her coat pockets for warmth. And her right hand closed over something that caused her to stop in her tracks.

  “Nancy? What is it?” George studied her friend’s face worriedly.

  Nancy withdrew her hand from her pocket. She held out a roll of film.

  “I don’t get it,” said George, looking at the film.

  “This may be just what we’ve been looking for,” Nancy said. “Or what the kidnappers have been looking for. This is the roll of film Emily asked me to hold at the airport. I forgot all about it. Come on. Let’s get to Emily’s and develop it. We don’t have time to walk. We’ll take a taxi.”

  The girls flagged a cab and gave the driver Emily’s address. As the taxi sped along, they talked quietly.

  “Do you remember what, if anything, Emily said was on this roll?” Nancy asked.

  George frowned, trying to recall their first day in San Francisco.

  “Didn’t she say she had just come from Chinatown?” Nancy said. “That she’d been working on the ‘Children of Change’ story?”

  “But why would anyone go to so much trouble for Emily’s shots of cute kids? It doesn’t make any sense, Nancy.”

  “No. Not unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless there’s something else on this film. Something we don’t know about.”

  “I wish we could tell the driver to hurry,” George whispered, “like they do in the movies.”

  Five minutes later, they were standing in front of Emily’s building, paying the cab fare. Nancy glanced up and down the street to make sure they weren’t being watched. Then she led the way into the house.

  The girls hurried up the stairs to Emily’s apartment. But when they reached the door, Nancy pulled George back.

  “What?” George asked.

  “Shh. Listen.” Nancy put her ear to the door. George leaned closer.

 
; “All I hear is Tripod,” George whispered.

  “Exactly.”

  “So?”

  Nancy’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Remember? Emily said Tripod always talks up a storm when someone is around.”

  “You mean . . . ?”

  Nancy nodded. “I think someone’s in there.”

  “Hello there!” Tripod squawked. “Pretty bird. What a pretty bird!”

  Cautiously, Nancy tried the door. The knob turned easily in her hand. And then it clicked open! The girls looked at each other. Someone was inside Emily’s apartment. The question was, who?

  10

  The Buddha Clue

  “Hello. Hello. Pretty boy. Awwrrk!” The parrot kept up his squawking as Nancy silently pushed open the door. The apartment was quiet, and with the noonday sun streaming in through the skylight and the windows, it seemed a cozy, unthreatening place.

  George tugged gently at Nancy’s elbow. “Are you sure we should go in if someone’s here?” she whispered. She knew how many times the police had warned Nancy against entering a burglary scene if there was any chance the criminal might still be on the premises.

  Nancy weighed her decision. “We have every right to be here, George. Whoever else is here does not. Unless it’s Emily.”

  “I don’t care how much right we have to be here,” George retorted. “I’m not walking in on some intruder.”

  But Nancy stepped confidently into the room, and George followed, shutting the door behind them.

  “Emily?” Nancy called, trying to sound cheerful and casual. “Are you home?”

  The only answer came from Tripod. “Cake for Tripod. Cake for Tripod,” he chattered.

  “Hold on, bird,” George told him. “We know you’re hungry. We’ll take care of you in a minute.” Nancy gave George a grateful glance, realizing that although she was afraid, she was doing her best to act as if everything was normal.

  The girls searched each room of the apartment. They saw nothing out of order. Nancy began to wonder if Tripod was just talking from loneliness and hunger. Or maybe he’d somehow heard the girls before they reached the door of the apartment. But why had the apartment been unlocked? “All right,” she said. “Let’s hit the darkroom.”