078 The Phantom Of Venice

by Carolyn Keene

  The gallery light was off, and the corridor lay in darkness, but Nancy could dimly glimpse the intruder. She raced after him. Muffled sounds indicated that other guests had been awakened.

  Seconds later she reached the stairway. Footsteps echoed below. She stopped short as she heard the door of the palazzo open and slam!

  Nancy hurried back to her room. Tara stared at her, wide-eyed and trembling. Without a word, Nancy rushed to the window, drew back the draperies and stared down at the moonlit canal. A dark figure had just untied a gondola from its mooring pole in front of the palazzo and was pushing off.

  Nancy let go the draperies and turned back to her friend. “Tell me what happened!”

  “The ghost wh-wh-whispered my name!” gasped Tara. “And look—!” She pointed to the floor.

  Wet footprints were visible on the carpet!

  14

  Game Plan

  Tara’s eyes were still wide with fear and shock. Nancy put her arms around the stricken girl and murmured gently, “Whatever it was that came into our room, Tara, it’s gone now! There’s nothing to be afraid of, believe me!”

  Soon Nancy hoped, she might be able to provide a full solution to the mystery, backed up by evidence and proof. But for now, all she could offer was words of comfort. Reliving what had just happened or nitpicking over the details would just reawaken Tara’s fears and upset her more than ever.

  “Y-y-you’re right,” the blond girl agreed shakily. “Ghost or not, worrying about it won’t help any, I guess . . . and it certainly won’t bring Daddy back!”

  Under Nancy’s soothing influence, Tara gradually settled back on her pillow and became calmer. Meanwhile, Nancy’s own mind was busily processing the available data and trying to compute the most logical explanation that would cover all the facts.

  “Remember yesterday afternoon when we ran into Don Madison coming back from Murano?” Nancy said presently.

  Tara nodded. “What about it?”

  “When you got back here to the palazzo, did you stop and chat with anyone, or just come straight up to our room?”

  “I came straight to our room.”

  “You didn’t speak to anyone, or mention that I was out with Don?”

  “No. Why?”

  Nancy smiled and patted her friend’s hand. “Just trying to fit together a few more pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, that’s all.”

  As she returned to her own bed, Nancy reflected. If Tara said nothing, how did Katrina van Holst find out I spent the evening with Don? Who else but Tara would have known—unless I was followed!

  It was a disturbing notion, well worth checking into, Nancy decided. Gradually she drifted off to sleep again.

  Next morning Nancy awoke brimming with energy. She had made up her mind overnight to press ahead for a solution to the mystery, actively setting events in motion, rather than waiting passively for clues to turn up. A plan was already taking shape in her mind.

  A number of guests had stayed on after the ball, and the breakfast table was humming with conversation. After a quick bite to eat, Nancy quietly arranged to have coffee with her father in his room.

  “Any report from Interpol yet, Dad?” she asked.

  “Yes, I had a call from Paris this morning. You were right, Nancy. Oliver Joyce does have a criminal record as a jewel thief and art swindler. The Italian police have already picked him up for questioning, but he doesn’t have the bird from the Fabergé egg.”

  “Someone beat him to it, I suspect. What’s the latest word on the kidnapping and the ransom?”

  “My client, Crystalia Glass, is willing to put up half the ransom money if the Marchese can provide the rest. He’s agreed to that, and his bankers are willing to advance him a loan. The police chief here in Venice, Commandante Manin, is coming to the palace this afternoon to put his okay on the plan.”

  “Great! Do you suppose I could sit in on the meeting, Dad?”

  “Why not? You came here to help.”

  Nancy quickly explained what she had in mind. Mr. Drew was enthusiastic. Then she spoke in turn to the Marchese, to Isabella Gatti and to Tara. All fell in with her plan willingly.

  Presently Tara and Signora Gatti set out in the Gattis’ luxurious motor cruiser, heading first for Angela Spinelli’s flat to invite her along for the day’s outing, and then for the great domed church of Santa Maria della Salute at the southern end of the Grand Canal. Their instructions were to act like typical sightseers, but to wait at the church for a squad of plainclothes officers of the Sicurezza, the government security force, who would arrive soon afterward and stay with them as a protective escort until further notice.

  Meanwhile, broad hints were dropped to the servants that a sensational break in the kidnaping case was near. By the time the police chief arrived, the whole palazzo was humming with excitement.

  At the outset, Commandante Manin of the carabinieri was none too cooperative. A burly, hard-eyed cop who had coped with many terrorists, he had little faith in any plan put forward by a mere slip of a girl—even one with the mystery-solving reputation of Nancy Drew. But as she talked, his eyes warmed, and he finally broke into an appreciative chuckle. “You are a clever little fox, Signorina Drew! Something tells me these kidnapers may soon regret the day they were foolish enough to match wits with you!”

  When the meeting was over, everyone walked out of the room with an air of suppressed excitement and confident good humor—a fact duly noted by everyone else at the palazzo.

  Nancy sat down and dashed off a note to Tara, which she tucked in the edge of their dressing table mirror where it would be plainly seen by anyone entering the room.

  Dear Tara,

  Hang onto your hat and get ready for some exciting developments!

  The police have just had an incredibly lucky break—they expect to close in on the kidnapers’ hideout within 24 hours!

  I’ve found out the crooks are after something that’s worth a fortune, and Pietro Rinaldi knows all about it.

  Once he’s free, he’ll lead us right to it! He also knows what really happened to your Dad!! See you soon!

  Bye now,

  Nancy

  She also jotted another note, hand-lettering the words with a bolder, thicker-tipped pen.

  TONIGHT IS THE DATE WE AGREED TO GET TOGETHER BEFORE I HAD TO CLEAR OUT OF VENICE AND LIE LOW, REMEMBER? I’LL MEET YOU AT MIDNIGHT WHERE WE PLANNED, AND YOU’LL HAND IT OVER TO ME. DON’T DOUBLECROSS ME, OR YOU KNOW WHAT’LL HAPPEN TO YOU!

  HANS

  When she finished, Nancy tucked the letter in an envelope which she addressed to:

  PIETRO RINALDI

  VETRERIA FALCONE

  MURANO

  Then she changed to jeans and a cotton top, repaired her makeup and kissed her father goodbye. Outside, on the palace loggia, she hailed a passing water-taxi which took her to the Pensione Dandolo. As she walked in, she was greeted happily by the Signora’s little boy.

  “Hi, Zorzi!” Nancy replied. “You’re just the person I’m looking for!” She took a five-dollar bill from her purse and held it up for him to see. “Would you like to earn this by running an errand for me?”

  “Si! Si, Signorina!” Zorzi exclaimed, his eyes as big as saucers.

  “All right, I want you to deliver this letter for me to a certain glass factory on Murano—and of course I’ll pay your boat fare over and back, besides the five dollars. But you must listen carefully and do exactly as I say!”

  Zorzi listened intently, then nodded. “Okay! I do just like you tell me!”

  Leaving the pensione, Nancy went next to the charming old inn, the Antica Locanda Montin, where Don had taken her to dinner. She sat down at a table under the arbor and ordered tea. Twenty minutes later, Don Madison arrived.

  His steps slowed as he approached, and he stood waiting for her to speak.

  “Can we be friends, Don?” said Nancy. Her heart was thumping, and she felt unexpectedly nervous.

  There was a moment of silence before he replied,
“I guess that depends on whether or not you can forgive me for acting like such an idiot last night.”

  Nancy relaxed, and they both broke into smiles. Don sat down, facing her across the table. Suddenly the atmosphere between them was as though the previous night’s painful episode had never occurred. He reached across the table and they clasped hands happily.

  “So now you’re going to tell me what this is all about?” said Don. “The Marchese just called me at the plant and said I was to leave work early and meet you here. All very hush-hush and top-secret. No explanation.”

  Nancy proceeded to fill him in, while Don listened with keen interest. Presently he ordered wine and antipasto, and they went on talking while they ate.

  “All right, now run the whole thing by me once again,” Don said after Nancy had answered most of his questions.

  “It’s still just a theory, remember, but try this for size. Number one—Rolf Egan and Pietro were old buddies. Somewhere, quite a while back, maybe in North Africa, they met a man called Hans and cooked up some kind of secret deal with him.”

  Don nodded. “Check.”

  “Number two—as a result of this deal, they wound up in possession of something very valuable or important, which I’ll call The Prize. Unfortunately they also wound up in big trouble with some dangerous crooks, because these crooks want The Prize for themselves—in fact, they’re even willing to commit murder to get hold of it.”

  “So it seems.”

  “Now for a key question,” Nancy went on. “Where is The Prize? My hunch is that Hans brought it to Venice, and the crooks trailed him here. Hans then turned The Prize over to Rolf Egan and lit out for parts unknown, maybe hoping to lead the crooks astray on a false scent. But his ploy didn’t work. The crooks stayed put in Venice and went after Rolf Egan.”

  Again Don nodded. “To be precise, they took a shot at him one night, and he fell into the canal.”

  “Right! Which left them still without any answers to that all-important key question,” said Nancy, “namely, where’s The Prize? So they turned their attention to the one remaining partner in the deal, Pietro Rinaldi.”

  “But wait a minute,” Don frowned. “We’ve been assuming all along that Pietro was kidnaped for ransom . . .”

  “Because that’s what the crooks want us to assume,” said Nancy. “But if my theory’s correct, the real reason they kidnaped him was to extract information about The Prize. The ransom was just an extra bet on the side. Or maybe call it an insurance policy—a guarantee that whatever happens, their project won’t wind up a total loss. In other words, if they can’t get the information they’re after, they can always sell Pietro back to the Falcone Glassworks for a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Don mused. “Neat trick if they can pull it off.”

  “They will pull it off,” said Nancy, “unless we can stop them. The Marchese’s already worked out arrangements to raise the ransom money.”

  “Which is where your two fake messages come in.”

  “Check and double check. The messages are designed to accomplish two things: one—to convince the crooks they’ll have to work fast before the police raid their hideout, and two—to convince them that if they just let Pietro go, he’ll lead them straight to The Prize.”

  “Okay, Miss Sherlock—sounds like it all adds up,” said Don. “At least, you’ve persuaded me. So what happens next?”

  “You and I will stake out the Falcone Glassworks tonight and see what happens.”

  15

  Stakeout

  Twilight was deepening over the lagoon as Nancy and Don made their way across the water to Murano. They were traveling in a small motorboat that belonged to the glassworks. At the Marchese’s suggestion, Don had used it to go to Venice, so that he and Nancy could return the same way, without being seen on a public vaporetto.

  “I still don’t understand how you talked the police into letting us handle this on our own,” Don remarked.

  “I didn’t. They don’t even know we’re coming over here.”

  Don flashed her a startled glance. “Are you kidding?”

  Nancy shook her head. “No, I explained my idea for tricking the kidnapers into turning Pietro loose, but I didn’t offer any guesses as to where he might go. Their strategy, I think, will be to alert every policeman in Venice to be on watch for Pietro throughout the night.”

  “Why didn’t you want them at the glassworks?”

  Nancy shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I had a feeling that once the carabinieri got into the act, things might get out of hand. They’d have so many stakeouts and sharpshooters planted all over Murano and around the glass factory, it might give the game away. And if one of them started shooting—well, let’s just say I don’t want any shooting. I think you and I can handle this better on our own.”

  But was that the whole reason? Nancy wondered, or was it also an excuse to spend some time alone with Don under circumstances that almost invited romantic developments? With a nervous pulsebeat, Nancy suddenly realized that she wasn’t too sure, even now, if she could answer that question with absolute honesty!

  When they reached Murano, Don turned up a canal that eventually brought them to the rear of the glass factory. In the gathering darkness, Nancy saw Zorzi waiting for them on the shallow stone quay. He waved an eager greeting, obviously happy that his vigil was at an end.

  “What happened?” Nancy asked him as Don brought the boat alongside and moored it to a cleat.

  “I give the letter to Signor Rubini like you say. Then I stop in that little gelateria across the street from the factory yard and wait, and pretty soon I see him come out and start off toward the boat landing.”

  “Did you follow him?”

  “Si, I keep him in sight all the way, but I make real sure he don’t see me!” Zorzi added proudly.

  “Good for you!” said Nancy. “So what did he do?”

  “He get on the next vaporetto and go to Venice.”

  “Venice!” Don stared in surprise. “But Rubini lives right here on Murano.” He paused in silence for a moment, digesting the implications of this. Then he looked at Nancy. “Did you know Rubini was working for the gang?”

  “No, but I thought someone at the glassworks might be. There has to be someone at the palazzo who’s in their pay, otherwise, who ransacked Tara’s and my room? And if they’re that thorough about covering all the bases and gleaning all the information they can, then it stands to reason they wouldn’t neglect the glassworks, either. After all, this is where Pietro worked.”

  Don nodded. “Yeah, that figures, I guess.”

  Nancy paid Zorzi an extra tip besides the five dollars and expense money, and sent him off to catch the next vaporetto. Then Don unlocked the loading dock door with his key and they went into the vetreria.

  Night had fallen. They dared not risk turning on a light, which might be seen from outside. However, several electric lanterns were hanging just inside the loading dock. Don took one and led the way through the one-story building to a closet near the front office where flashlights were kept. Don and Nancy each took one.

  “Where would you like to wait?” said Don. He shone the lantern around to refresh Nancy on the plant layout.

  “Right here will do—for the time being, at least,” said Nancy, gesturing to a small reception area or lobby, furnished with a plastic-covered sofa and end table.

  They sat down, side by side, and a thoughtful silence ensued. Enough starlight seeped in through the factory’s grimy windows to discern their immediate surroundings.

  “Say your plan works,” mused Don, “and the crooks let Pietro go. What makes you so sure he’ll come here?”

  “I’m not sure. But I think it’s the likeliest possibility.”

  “Why?”

  “Put yourself in Pietro’s place. If the gang does intend to trail him, they’ll probably try to make him think he escaped by pure luck—you know, by having a guard pretend to fall asleep, or leavi
ng a door ’accidentally’ unlocked, something like that.”

  Don nodded. “So?”

  “Eventually he’ll want to go to the police or the Marchese, I suppose, and let it be known that he’s escaped from his kidnapers. But before that, first of all, if I’m thinking the way Pietro will be thinking, he’ll want to make sure The Prize is safe.”

  “The Prize?!” Don was visibly startled, even in the shadowy gloom. “Are you saying it’s somewhere here in the glassworks?”

  Nancy smiled. “I’m quite sure it is.”

  “Care to enlarge on that?”

  “Not for the moment.”

  There was another silence. Then Don cleared his throat awkwardly. “Last night at the masquerade ball, you . . . you tried to explain something to me . . .”

  “I’d still like to, if you’ll listen.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Don.

  “Maybe not, but please let me.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “Gianni switched costumes with you. When I saw him coming in from the terrace, I thought it was you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have even danced with him. It was only when I noticed the difference in height and when he kissed me that I realized my mistake. And then I didn’t want to make a scene—even when he grabbed me and kissed me again. But I was furious, Don. Gianni’s really a nasty, twisted character! I told him to leave, or I’d call the servants and have him thrown out as a gate-crasher! That’s all, Don. Now do you understand?”

  “Of course I understand, Nancy. I acted like a total idiot. There was nothing to get upset about in the first place, if I . . . if I didn’t care about you so much. . . . That’s the whole problem!”

  Nancy knit her brows, perplexed. “I don’t understand, Don. I’m glad you care about me. I care about you, too. That’s why I was so anxious for you to listen.”

  Don put his head in his hands for a moment. “I’m the one who should explain, Nancy. Do you remember me saying last night that I had other things on my mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s true. The main thing on my mind is that I . . . I’m engaged to a girl back home! So what am I doing falling in love with you?!”