Mystery of the Winged Lion

by Carolyn Keene

  “You take the same door to leave please,” Mr. Chiais called as the group stepped into the second room. “We are closing now,” he noted sternly, but not before Nancy had observed Filippo’s distinctive signature on several pieces.

  “We’ll be back,” the young detective said with a courteous smile and followed her companions outside.

  “Let’s pretend we’re leaving and go to the landing stage,” she said. “Then we’ll circle back and watch the factory. It should be shutting down soon, and I want to see if the duchessa comes out.”

  “Good idea,” Dave said. “We can hide behind the bushes across the way.”

  Within a few minutes, everyone had stationed themselves accordingly. The wait, however, proved longer than they anticipated. It was almost an hour before the last workman left.

  Then, suddenly, a gray-haired woman in a fashionable suit emerged. She walked out of sight with almost imperious steps.

  “Nancy, maybe that’s the person you saw,” George remarked under her breath. “She could pass for the duchessa from a distance. Only this woman’s a lot younger.”

  Ruefully, Nancy had to admit George was right. Still, the young detectives waited for the manager to leave as well.

  As soon as he locked the door behind him, Burt said, “I guess that’s it for tonight. Everybody has gone home.”

  Nancy agreed. “Let’s go, too.”

  “What’s next on the agenda?” Ned asked.

  “How about dinner?” Bess declared, suggesting the girls return to the Gritti to freshen up first. “We can meet at the belltower again.”

  Everyone adopted the idea instantly. But when Nancy, Bess, and George arrived in their hotel room, the phone was already ringing. “Maybe it’s your father, Nancy,” George said. The look on Nancy’s face as she answered it suggested otherwise.

  “Oh—Duchessa, I’m so glad you called!” she exclaimed. “Are you home now?”

  There was a long pause, increasing the cousins’ suspense and prompting them to gaze searchingly at their companion.

  “What is she saying?” Bess whispered eagerly as the conversation continued.

  “Oh, I see,” Nancy said into the receiver. “Well—perhaps. Just a minute.” She held the phone away, pondering her reply, then spoke to the woman again. “Yes, I’ll be glad to come. Besides, I have a lot to report. Yes, I will. Ar- rivederci!

  “The duchessa wants to see me,” the girl went on after she hung up. “At the showroom in Murano.”

  “So she is there,” George murmured, overlooking the perplexity in her friend’s voice.

  “Then why didn’t she speak to you when you saw her?” Bess inquired.

  “It was probably the other woman I saw,” Nancy replied. “The duchessa didn’t mention knowing we were there—if in fact that really was the duchessa who called.”

  “So are you going back to Murano?” George asked tensely.

  “Tonight at ten.”

  “Not alone I hope.”

  “Well, she stressed that I ought to.”

  “Uh-uh,” Bess commented. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You could be sailing right into a big Venetian trap!”

  The identical thought had occurred to Nancy, and she dived into her closet, removing a dark, ankle-length skirt from a hanger along with a high-collared silk blouse. Then she hunted for her small disguise kit that she always carried when she traveled.

  Realizing what their detective friend was up to, Bess puffed her cheeks anxiously. “George and I absolutely refuse to allow you to do this,” she declared. “It’s too dangerous!”

  “Not if she has her own personal chauffeur and judo expert!” George exclaimed, donning the souvenir gondolier’s hat she had purchased earlier. “At your service, Duchessa!’

  17. Cagey Calls

  As George finished her statement with a deep bow, Nancy shook her head. “I thought of masquerading as the duchessa, but that could be just as dangerous as showing up as Nancy Drew,” she said.

  “So maybe you ought to pick a disguise somewhere in between,” Bess suggested.

  “Precisely,” Nancy went on. “Dark hair, different style, a few lines on the face, and—”

  “Voila! You’re thirty years older!” Her friend giggled. “Brilliant, my dear detective!”

  “I don’t know how brilliant it is, but I hope it helps me past the guards if there are any; and even if that phone call from the duchessa was on the up-and-up, I’m sure she won’t mind my little charade.”

  “You know, I’m beginning to think you’d be safer with a football captain at your side than with me!” George exclaimed.

  “We all ought to go along,” Bess said. “There’s greater safety in numbers.”

  “I don’t agree,” Nancy said. “I’m sure two can investigate more efficiently and secretively than six. I’ll call Ned to see what he says.”

  The boy concurred fully with his friend’s plan. “Just don’t disguise yourself before we have dinner,” Ned said in a teasing voice.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t change one strand of hair until afterwards.”

  When the group was all together, though, Ned’s bantering tone faded. “Maybe we ought to go armed with the local police force,” he told Nancy.

  “We can’t,” she said, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. “The duchessa would have a fit if she thought I had told you all about Filippo’s kidnapping—never mind the police!” “But what if the same thing happened to her?” Burt supported Ned.

  “I still can’t take the risk of telling the police anything,” Nancy said. “She made me promise."

  “Okay, okay,” Dave acknowledged, “but you shouldn’t refuse a back-up team—”

  “In case you both get stuck for some reason,” Bess joined in.

  “I’m hoping we won’t, but if we do, I’d feel better knowing the rest of you are safe on Venetian soil and can send reinforcements, if need be.”

  “That’s a good point,” Dave admitted. “But how will we know what you’ve found or didn’t find?”

  “And how will we know you’re all right?” George asked.

  “There are phones everywhere at the factory,” Nancy pointed out. “We’ll call you the minute we arrive.”

  “But the switchboard probably shuts down after hours,” Bess retorted.

  “Then . . Nancy laughed, snapping her fingers. “I’ll send a seagull with a message!”

  Although her lighthearted response did not bring a smile to anyone’s face, Ned was finally convinced that they should proceed as planned. The others would be certain to alert the police if they didn’t hear from the couple by morning.

  “Besides,” Nancy said, “what if something turns up while we’re gone that requires the attention of four skilled detectives?”

  The question, however, went unanswered as they left the restaurant. Ned and Nancy made arrangements to meet at the dock from where they had taken the boat to Murano.

  “See you in an hour,” the boy said, as they left in separate directions.

  But when Nancy and the girls reached their hotel room again, she was unprepared for the message waiting for her.

  “It’s from Andreoli,” the girl told her friends. “He is going to call me at eight-thirty.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to meet Ned then?” George responded.

  “Yes, but it’s only a five-minute walk to the square,” Nancy replied. “Besides, Andreoli doesn’t speak much English so I’m sure I won’t be on the phone long.”

  She stuck her head out the window, glancing toward the empty gondola station, then drew the curtains and disappeared into the bathroom carrying the disguise kit. When she emerged a while later, the girls were duly impressed by the remarkable transformation that had occurred.

  “Well?” Nancy asked, smoothing her hair. “What do you think?”

  “If I didn’t know better,” George said, “I’d say you were a middle-aged dowager!” Bess crowed.

  Nancy’s usually soft reddish-bl
ond hair was now quite brown and pressed back into an elegant knot. Her face had also been powdered to look wan and, using an eyebrow pencil, she had created lines under her eyes and across her forehead.

  “Who’s Ned going as? Father Time?” Bess quipped.

  “I don’t look that ancient, do I?” Nancy asked, chuckling. “Maybe George will lend him her gondolier’s hat.”

  “Why not?” the girl said. “Just make sure you don’t get caught, that’s all. I want my hat back!”

  Before Nancy had the opportunity to comment, however, Andreoli’s call interrupted unexpectedly early. To Nancy’s astonishment, he suddenly seemed to have acquired greater fluency in English.

  “Miss Drew,” he began, “I have heard from the duchessa. She told me to tell you she has found her nephew. There is no more for you to do.”

  As the words rang in her ears, Nancy caught herself questioning the identity of the caller. The voice was familiar and at first she believed it belonged to Andreoli; but when she finally put down the receiver, having only said a brief good-bye, she gaped at her friends.

  “What’s the matter?” George asked, watching Nancy’s pallid face turn crimson.

  “That was Erminio Scarpa!” she announced.

  “Huh?” Bess replied in utter amazement.

  “I’m positive,” Nancy said. “He called himself Andreoli, but his English was too good.”

  “Oh, Nancy,” Bess said, her anxiety blossoming again, “please don’t go to Murano!”

  “I have to. Suppose the duchessa is being held a prisoner there?”

  “In her own factory?” George asked.

  Without defending the point further, the young detective took off her robe and put on the blouse and skirt she had chosen for the occasion.

  “How about wearing this too?” Bess said, offering Nancy her evening shawl.

  “Oh, that’s perfect,” the girl said. She checked her watch. “It’s eight-thirty. I wonder if the message we received really was from Andreoli or Scarpa?”

  “Why don’t you wait five more minutes just to be sure?” Bess suggested.

  “Okay.”

  But no other call came, and Nancy finally left her companions. When she was gone, they confessed to a mutual feeling of uneasiness. Should they abide by Nancy’s request and not follow her, or ignore the young detective’s instructions entirely?”

  “Let’s discuss it with Burt and Dave,” Bess suggested. “I don’t trust myself to make this sort of decision, do you?”

  “No, ma’am,” her cousin replied. “Besides, what if we do something against Nancy’s wishes and it backfires?”

  Bess breathed heavily, whistling a sigh. “We’re really on the spot, aren’t we?”

  18. Unexpected Arrival

  The two remaining couples had telephoned and decided to meet at the entrance to a park not far from dockside after Nancy and Ned were safely on their way to Murano. Bess and George, however, had lingered in their hotel room until after nine o’clock, thinking that Mr. Drew might call, and that would be their opportunity to ask his advice as well.

  “Burt and Dave will be wondering where we are,” George finally said. “We’d better go.”

  “I guess so,” Bess said uneasily, following her to the elevator.

  When they reached the lobby, though, they saw a porter carrying in a suitcase from the

  hotel float. Directly behind him was Nancy’s father!

  “Mr. Drew!” Bess and George cried out.

  “Why, hello, girls!” he replied, looking beyond them for a sign of his daughter.

  “Nancy isn’t here,” George whispered out of earshot of anyone else.

  The secrecy in her voice carved a frown on the attorney’s face, and he registered as quickly as he could, following the porter to his room. Then he hurried back to the lobby where the cousins waited for him.

  “Now will you please tell me what happened?” he asked.

  George explained that they were already late for their date with Burt and Dave and suggested they head for the park.

  “You know, it’s funny how I had to shift my plans around,” Mr. Drew told the girls on the way, “only to discover Nancy is missing.”

  “Oh, she’s not missing,” Bess reassured him.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that, at least,” the man said, walking briskly toward the square.

  “We didn’t know you were coming to Venice today,” she continued.

  “I didn’t either,” Mr. Drew replied. “My flight was changed because of a last-minute call from my client, and I had to make a stopover in London on the way. As it is, I don’t have to go to Rome until the day after tomorrow, so I thought I’d surprise Nancy by coming here first.”

  “Believe me, we couldn’t be happier,” George said.

  She smiled affectionately at the man as she and Bess caught sight of the Emerson boys standing near the park wall. Upon seeing the girls and Mr. Drew, they darted forward.

  “Mr. Drew!” Dave shouted loudly, causing Bess to raise a finger to her lips. George motioned everyone toward some benches away from strolling passers-by.

  “Nancy told us you were going to Rome, Mr. Drew,” Burt said, ferreting out the same explanation the lawyer had given the cousins.

  “What’s happened to Nancy? I assume Ned’s with her,” the man said.

  “You’re right,” Bess replied and revealed his daughter’s plan, which, in view of her past ploys to uncover secret information, did not seem too extraordinary.

  “Sounds pretty clever to me,” Mr. Drew remarked, “but I can’t say I’m happy that she and Ned went to Murano alone.”

  “That’s what worries us,” George admitted. “As a matter of fact, Bess and I were wondering if we shouldn’t take a boat out there ourselves.”

  As she said this, Nancy and Ned were watching the night lamps around the factory penetrate the mist that had crawled over the island.

  “It’s not exactly the warmest night of the year either,” Nancy said, pulling her shawl closer, as their boat driver put on one final burst of speed. “Ned, please ask him to shut off his lights.”

  “Will do,” the boy replied, and within seconds the driver cut his engine, letting the boat idle forward in the darkness.

  Upon reaching the landing stage, Ned paid him the round-trip fare and asked him to wait. Then, he strode with Nancy to the factory.

  To their delight, no one was on guard to scrutinize them at close range and perhaps send them back to Venice. On the other hand, there was an iron grating across the factory door that bore a large padlock.

  “Well, we knew it wouldn’t be easy to get inside,” Nancy murmured, moving along the building to a closed window.

  Despite the chill in the air, the girl dismantled her shawl, throwing it over Ned’s shoulder while he lifted her up to push the frame.

  “It’s locked,” Nancy said when it refused to budge. “Now what?” she sighed, sliding down again.

  “This way,” Ned directed. He had observed a second door hidden in the shadows of a vine trellis. They walked toward it, discovering it was open! “Come on,” the boy whispered and started to go in.

  But Nancy quickly pulled him back, cautioning him to wait while she pressed her ear to the door. Hearing nothing, though, she pushed it back gently and took one step, then another until she was satisfied no one was behind it.

  Suddenly, a light flickered in the adjoining building that housed the showroom, and Ned jumped, startling his companion.

  “That must be your appointment,” he said.

  “I know,” Nancy replied.

  But she was determined to investigate the factory before making an appearance. She hurried on tiptoe toward the storage room, trying the door without success and digging into her purse for a hairpin.

  “How about this?” Ned asked, producing his small penknife and pushing one of its multiple blades into the hole.

  He turned it back and forth gently. For a moment he thought he heard a click, but realize
d it was only his imagination.

  “Let me try it, Ned,” Nancy said, slipping the hairpin in next, then dropping it in favor of a small, stiff postcard she found in her purse. She worked it against the bolt until it snapped! “Follow me,” she whispered, pulling out a pocketsized flashlight.

  The storeroom, which at first glance seemed to be no more than a small appendage to the factory, proved to be deceivingly large with metal supply shelves against the back wall and sacks of potash and lime under them. But contrary to what she had thought earlier, there was no other door besides the one they had just opened.

  “I don’t see the duchessa anywhere, do you?” Ned said, smiling into the shadows at Nancy.

  “She’s supposed to be waiting for me in the showroom. Remember?” Nancy chuckled. She felt her way past a long worktable, saying nothing more until her heel caught the edge of a floorboard.

  “Find something?” Ned asked.

  “Could be. I’m not sure.”

  The young detective flashed her light along the wood, stopping on three small hinges and a thick metal bar that stretched across the opposite edge.

  “It’s a trapdoor! Let’s try to open it,” the girl urged, while Ned dropped her shawl on the table.

  He fell to his knees, pressing his full weight against the bar, rolling it back inch by inch until the flashlight revealed a tiny finger hole. But the boy had no sooner started to lift the secret door when they heard a strange rustling sound outside and Nancy switched off her light.

  At this moment, Mr, Drew and Nancy’s friends were still talking and had decided, for the time being, not to hire a boat for Murano.

  “Did Nancy say how long they expected to be gone?” her father inquired.

  “No” George said, “but based on our trip there today, I’d say no more than two or three hours. She asked us not to call the police till morning, though, if we didn’t hear from them.” “That’s too long to suit me,” Mr. Drew said. “But let’s wait a bit longer before we plunge ahead. So long as Ned is with Nancy and they have a boat and a driver at their disposal, I’m sure Ned will head her back if the going gets too rough.”