This Side of Evil

by Carolyn Keene

  “But it’s important,” Nancy insisted. She hesitated. “If I can’t talk to you, I suppose I’ll have to go see Ms. Amberton—or maybe even Mr. Cherbourg.”

  “Nancy!” George hissed. “That’s blackmail!”

  “You bet,” Nancy agreed grimly. “Fight fire with fire, I always say.”

  The door opened again, a little wider this time. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Jacques whispered.

  “I will if I don’t get some answers,” Nancy replied in a firm voice. He backed up and let them in.

  All the curtains and shades had been drawn. Jacques was obviously hiding out. What was he afraid of?

  The chauffeur closed the door behind them. “What do you want to know?” he asked nervously.

  “We want to know why you borrowed the yellow Mercedes from the Mercedes dealer,” Nancy said.

  Jacques’s face paled. “But I didn’t—”

  “There’s no use denying it,” Nancy told him. “We’ve already talked to the dealer. He’ll swear that you borrowed it.” She looked around. “Where’s the wig you wore when you nearly ran us down?”

  Jacques sagged weakly into a chair. “I threw it away,” he said in a broken voice. “Into the trash can.”

  “Speaking of trash cans,” George said, “who took the money out of the trash can at Nelson’s Column yesterday afternoon?”

  “Money?” Jacques shook his head frantically, his eyes wide with fear. “I didn’t take any money.”

  “Well, then,” Nancy responded, “tell us what you do know.”

  “Somebody called me on the telephone yesterday at around noon,” the chauffeur said. “I couldn’t recognize the voice. I couldn’t even tell whether it was a man or a woman. I was instructed to—” He swallowed hard. “I was instructed to—to borrow the yellow Mercedes belonging to Mademoiselle Sinclair.”

  “You mean, steal it, don’t you?”

  Jacques shifted uneasily. “I didn’t want to do it, mademoiselle,” he said. “But the person said that if I followed his instructions, I would be free. There would be no more blackmail payments—ever!”

  “So when you couldn’t steal Lake Sinclair’s car, you went to the Mercedes dealer,” Nancy supplied. “And then you came after us.”

  “I was told you’d be in the plaza at five. I was told not to let you walk away.” He thought for a moment, and then repeated miserably, “I didn’t want to do it. Even though I wanted to be free of the blackmail, I couldn’t bring myself to kill you.”

  “You mean you missed us on purpose?” Ned asked.

  “At the last moment I swerved.”

  “It’s a good thing you did, too,” Nancy said. “If you’d hit us, it would have been a cinch for the police to track you down in that car. The blackmailer knew what he was doing. You were a sitting duck.”

  Jacques nodded. “I am sorry,” he whispered again.

  In the taxi on their way back to the apartment, Nancy stared out the window, thinking. “You know,” she said after they had climbed out and Ned paid the driver, “maybe we were tricked.”

  “How?” Ned asked, pocketing the change.

  “Maybe last night’s drop was a phony—set up to lure us to the plaza. Maybe we were the sitting ducks, and the blackmail money was just a decoy.”

  “You might have something there,” George said. They got into the elevator and pushed the button for the sixth floor.

  “If that’s true,” Ned remarked, “then Dandridge would have to be in on it.”

  “Maybe Dandridge is in on it,” Nancy said. “Maybe he set the whole thing up. When we confronted him in his office, he could have shown us that money just to throw us off—to convince us that he was a victim, too.”

  “Sure!” George exclaimed. “Then he could have called Jacques Olivier and arranged to have him run us down!”

  “That makes sense,” Ned said slowly. “In fact, Dandridge is the only one who knew that we were going to be there at five o’clock.” He pulled out his key to the apartment and opened the door.

  Nancy frowned. “It does make sense, but—” Something was nagging at the back of her mind. What was it?

  “Listen, you guys,” George said, dropping wearily onto a chair, “I’m ready to stop exercising my brain for a few hours and exercise my stomach. What do you say to some dinner?”

  “Yeah, I’m starving.” Ned grinned. “Do you have somewhere in mind?” he asked.

  “Well, it just so happens,” George said airily, “that Pierre works in a great restaurant.”

  “But we’ve already had so much French food,” Nancy objected.

  “Actually, it’s a Greek restaurant. Over on Prince Arthur Street.”

  “What’s a guy named Pierre doing working in a Greek restaurant?” Ned asked with a laugh.

  “Beats me.” George shrugged. “Anyway, we had lunch there the other day and the food is terrific!” She kissed the tips of her fingers. “What do you say?”

  Nancy giggled and turned to Ned. “How do you say yes in Greek?” she asked.

  “You got me,” Ned confessed.

  “Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to say oui,” Nancy replied, and they all laughed.

  The food was terrific, Nancy agreed after she had finished her dolmas, Greek salad, and slice of rich, sweet baklava for dessert. Afterward, there was live bouzouki music. Then Pierre, who Nancy decided was really cute, joined them for dancing. Yawning, Nancy and Ned said their good nights early, leaving George in the arms of her Frenchman. They held hands as they walked back to the apartment in the soft spring night, talking quietly and admiring the lighted shop windows.

  “It really was a terrific evening,” Nancy said when they got back to the apartment.

  “Yeah,” Ned agreed softly. “And you know, I’m not tired anymore. Let’s see if we can find some good music to dance to.”

  Nancy smiled. “Good idea,” she said. Ned fiddled with the tuning knob for a moment. The station he got was playing one of their favorite love songs. Nancy nodded to Ned, and when he stood back up, she went into his arms. The two of them danced slowly around the living room.

  “You’re so wonderful,” Ned whispered into Nancy’s hair. His arms tightened around her.

  Nancy felt herself growing breathless as she leaned against Ned’s chest. “So are you, Nickerson.”

  Gently, Ned leaned down and touched his lips to hers. “Oh, Nancy,” he whispered, “I—”

  Just then there was a knock on the door. Nancy pulled away and started for it. “Somebody’s got an absolutely rotten sense of timing.”

  Ned shook his head. “It’s pretty late for anybody to stop by,” he told her, putting his hand on Nancy’s arm. “Let me handle this.”

  “But—” she started to protest.

  “Listen, after all the things that have happened in the past few days,” Ned whispered firmly, “I’m not taking any chances.” He stepped in front of Nancy. “Who is it?” he called loudly.

  There was no answer.

  “Who is it?” Ned called again, more sharply.

  “The porter,” came the muffled reply.

  “Stand back,” Ned ordered Nancy. “This could be dangerous.” Then slowly, cautiously, making sure that the chain was hooked, he began to open the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  “HERE YOU ARE, sir,” the man said. “This arrived for you just now.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Nancy groaned. “It’s another threatening letter.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ned said, looking at the white envelope he had been handed. “This one has a return address on it. It’s from Lake Sinclair—to all three of us.”

  “Well, then, open it,” Nancy commanded.

  Ned opened the envelope and took out two red tickets and a green one. “Hey, they’re passes!” he exclaimed. “To get into Olympic Stadium.”

  Nancy took the passes from him. “The green one is for George,” she said, reading the fine print. “It lets her onto the track. And the red one
s get us into the press box. But they’re only good from eleven to twelve tomorrow. That’s weird.”

  “And here’s a note,” Ned said, reaching back into the envelope. “ ‘Here are your passes,’ ” he read. “ ‘Nancy and Ned can watch from the press box while George makes her debut appearance in Olympic Stadium.’ It’s signed ‘Lake.’ ”

  The door opened as George let herself into the apartment. She looked dreamy and starry eyed. “Hi,” she said vaguely, hardly noticing them. She drifted toward the bedroom.

  Nancy reached out and grabbed the sleeve of George’s sweater. “Hey, George, we’ve got something for you,” she said.

  “That’s nice,” she said, stopping.

  Nancy waved the pass in front of her friend’s eyes. “Drew calling Fayne,” she said. “Drew calling Fayne. Come in, please.”

  “Huh?” George’s eyes refocused. “What’d you say?”

  Ned laughed. “We said that Lake got us those passes. You’ll get your chance to run in Olympic Stadium.”

  George squealed and grabbed the pass, jumping up and down with excitement. “I can’t believe it!”

  “And we’ll be there to watch,” Nancy said. “We’ve got passes to the press box.”

  “Speaking of tomorrow,” Ned said, looking at Nancy, “what’s on the agenda?”

  Nancy sat down on the sofa and pulled her knees up under her chin. “Well, I’ve been thinking,” she said. “About Dandridge, that is.”

  “What about him?” George asked.

  “We definitely can’t strike him off our list of suspects. There’s every possibility that yesterday’s drop was a dummy.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Ned asked, sitting down beside Nancy.

  “We’re going to question him again,” Nancy said. “First thing in the morning. If he’s been telling us the truth, his bank account should show some very large cash withdrawals—and no substantial deposits.”

  “While you’re doing that,” George broke in, “I hope you don’t mind if I go out with Pierre. Tomorrow’s his day off, and he wants to show me the view from Mont-Royal. I could go to the stadium from there and meet you after my run.”

  Nancy stared at her friend in mock anger. “You know, it’s a good thing I don’t have to depend on you to solve this case, Fayne.”

  “Well, you can’t blame a girl for falling in love, can you?” George said dreamily.

  “So you don’t believe what I’ve told you?” Dr. Dandridge growled. He had agreed to meet Nancy and Ned in his office the next morning even though it was Saturday. “You still insist that I’ve got something to do with this blackmail business?”

  Nancy smiled pleasantly. “Right now there are just too many loose ends to permit me to draw any conclusions, Dr. Dandridge. However, there is a way you could help us tie some of them up.”

  The doctor frowned. “Just what did you have in mind, Ms. Drew?”

  “Your bank account should be a complete record of your dealings with the blackmailer. We’d like to see it.”

  Dr. Dandridge looked shocked. “My bank account? You want my personal records?”

  “Actually, it would be easier if you just called an officer at your bank,” Nancy told him. “I could review the account there and save you the inconvenience of digging out your statements.”

  Dr. Dandridge sighed and reached for the phone. “If this is the only way to convince you,” he said, “then it’s worth it. Fortunately, my bank is open on Saturday mornings.”

  On the way to the bank, Nancy stopped to call Ms. Amberton at her home to bring her up to date on what they’d done the day before, and on their talk with the doctor. But she wasn’t home.

  “It was okay,” Nancy told Ned. “I just left a message telling her that we found out who was driving the yellow Mercedes. That should interest her.”

  “You understand, of course, that this is extremely irregular,” the bank manager said. He was dressed in a conservative black suit and vest, and his hair was thinning on top. “It is highly unusual to give out information on other people’s accounts.”

  “But you had Dr. Dandridge’s phone call,” Nancy assured him smoothly. “And I’ve also brought you a signed request.”

  “Yes, of course,” the manager said with a sigh. He cleared his throat. “Well, then, here is a summary of the activity in the account.” He handed a computer printout to Nancy. “I must say, I have been puzzled by the recent large cash withdrawals from this account.”

  Nancy scanned the printout. She spotted the withdrawals right away. They exactly corresponded to what Dr. Dandridge had told them.

  “This is the only account the doctor has with this bank?” she asked, just to be sure.

  “The only one,” the manager said. “With the exception of his loan account, of course.” He shifted uneasily. “A rather large loan, as a matter of fact.”

  “Well, then, I think we’ve found what we came for,” she told the manager and stood up.

  “So, we can scratch Dandridge as a suspect,” Ned remarked as they threaded their way through the crowd of afternoon shoppers on Saint-Antoine Street.

  “I suppose so,” Nancy said, stopping to eye a fashionable flowered sundress in a shop window. “His bank account confirms what he’s already told us. Too bad—he was such a promising suspect. I mean, just look at the clues!”

  “Yeah,” Ned said, linking his arm in hers as they started to walk again. “First the liquid nitrogen, then the impression of the prescription written on notepaper from his desk.”

  “And don’t forget that he knew we’d be in the plaza at five,” Nancy added. “Everything definitely points to Dandridge. It’s almost as if somebody wanted us to suspect him. But here we are, up against a stone wall.” She shook her head gloomily. “And we thought this was going to be such an easy case.”

  A clock in a nearby church struck the half hour.

  “Hey, it’s ten-thirty,” Ned said. “We’d better hurry if we want to see George run in the stadium.” He tugged at Nancy’s arm. “I want to stop by the apartment and get my camera. We have to get pictures of this!”

  Nancy and Ned got out of the taxi at the edge of Olympic Park. Before them loomed a huge oval stadium. It was made of concrete and steel and supported by V-shaped concrete ribs.

  “It’s huge!” Nancy exclaimed, staring up at the gigantic building. Standing beside one of the massive supporting ribs, she felt tiny.

  “Over here,” Ned said, pointing to a sign that said Press Entrance. He slid his camera case higher on his shoulder. “The press box must be this way.”

  They presented their passes to the guard at the gate, who looked at them curiously.

  “Where’d you get these passes?” he demanded.

  “From Lake Sinclair,” Nancy told him.

  “Oh, that’s fine, then,” he said, his face relaxing. “We don’t usually let people into the building except on guided tours.” He shrugged. “Someone else with a pass came through here a few minutes ago. She a friend of yours?”

  “That must be George,” Ned said. “Come on, Nancy! I want to see the inside of this thing.”

  The stadium seemed even larger inside than it had from the outside—maybe because it was absolutely empty. The press box was a long glass booth along one side of the open-roofed structure. From there they had a bird’s-eye view of the track, far below. The far side of the track was over a hundred yards away.

  Nancy sat down at the table along the window, holding an imaginary microphone in her hand.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “we’re here in world-famous Olympic Stadium to watch the running debut of Ms. Georgia Fayne, international champion jogger. Beneath us is the track, where Ms. Fayne will perform. Above us we can see the sky. All around us are empty seats—rows and rows of empty seats.”

  Ned laughed. “Almost sixty thousand empty seats,” he said. He opened his camera bag and carefully removed a long lens, fitting it onto his camera. “This is a great place to try out my n
ew telephoto lens,” he said enthusiastically.

  “Oh, look, Ned!” Nancy exclaimed, pushing up the sleeves of her red blouse. “There’s George! Doesn’t she look tiny down there?”

  George came into view far below, moving swiftly from left to right around the track. She was wearing an Olympic running shirt and red, white, and blue shorts. Nancy waved as her friend passed in front of the press box, but George didn’t look up.

  As Nancy turned back to Ned, who was still busy with his camera, she noticed a second person coming down the ramp at the far end of the stadium. Apparently, George was going to have company on the track because the person was dressed in a white jogging jacket with the hood pulled up.

  Ned stopped fiddling with his lens and raised the camera to his eye. “Hey, neat,” he said, looking around the track. “Just like a telescope.”

  “What do you see?” Nancy wanted to know.

  “Well, George certainly has great legs,” Ned replied, a hint of teasing laughter in his voice.

  Nancy grinned and gave him a playful shove. “Hey, what about my legs?” she asked, pouting.

  Ned turned, pointing his camera at Nancy’s legs. He whistled. “Wow!” he said admiringly. “Some legs.”

  “What I really want to know about is that other runner,” Nancy said, directing his attention back to the track.

  Ned swiveled his camera. “I can’t tell about her legs. Or maybe his,” he reported with a grin. The other runner was almost opposite them then, on the far side of the track. George was catching up fast. “That’s strange,” Ned remarked.

  “What? What’s strange?” Nancy asked, watching George, who was now almost on the heels of the other runner.

  Ned shrugged. “That runner’s wearing white gloves and carrying a can of hair spray or something.”

  “Gloves? Hair spray?” Nancy exclaimed, alarmed. “Let me see!” She jerked the camera away from Ned and looked through the view-finder.

  Just as Nancy got the camera focused, George flashed into view on the right side of the frame, right behind the runner.