Mystery of the Winged Lion Read online

  Nancy Drew Mystery Stories #65

  Mystery of the Winged Lion

  Contents

  1. Crash in the Night

  2. Ned’s Story

  3. D. D. Mystery

  4. The Duchessa’s Secret

  5. Revelations

  6. Captured!

  7. Reverse Approach

  8. The Cap Clue

  9. Thwarted Search

  10. Troublesome Discovery

  11. Undeserved Accusation

  12. New Developments

  13. An Inescapable Snare

  14. Strange Behavior

  15. Sisterly Protection

  16. Inquiries

  17. Cagey Calls

  18. Unexpected Arrival

  19. Taking a Risk

  20. Venetian Victory

  1. Crash in the Night

  “Isn’t Venice romantic?” Bess Marvin sighed dreamily. Her eyes drifted from the hotel terrace where she and her cousin George Fayne were sitting to the moonlit canal that barely rippled under the oar of a passing gondola.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” the pretty, dark-haired girl said, mildly enthusiastic.

  “Is that all you can say?” Bess replied. “I’m sure if Burt were here, you’d feel different. I mean, just imagine if he and Dave were—” “And don’t forget Ned,” Nancy Drew interrupted as she walked toward the table.

  Ned Nickerson, Dave Evans, and Burt Eddle- ton were special friends of the girls.

  “Nancy!” Bess exclaimed, a bit startled. “What happened to you? We were beginning to think you were kidnapped by the hotel concierge!”

  Despite the smile the blond girl thought she would elicit, she noticed a grimness in Nancy’s face that hadn’t been there earlier when they arrived in Italy.

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” George said, making the same observation.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Don’t tell me there’s a mystery in the Venetian air?” Bess put in. She rested her chin in one hand. “I mean, we are going to finish our vacation in peace, aren’t we, Nancy? Please tell me we are.”

  “I wish I could,” the young, titian-haired detective answered.

  Her blue eyes traveled to the darkened windows of the great domed church across the Grand Canal, the largest course of water dividing the city. “If I live to be as old as that basilica, Santa Maria della Salute, I will never understand how this happened.”

  “How what happened? What are you trying to tell us?” Bess pressed the girl. Nancy drew in a deep breath.

  “Ned, Burt, and Dave are in jail,” she said.

  “What?” her listeners cried aloud.

  “Sh-sh. Keep your voices down,” Nancy cautioned. “We just received a message—”

  “From the boys?” Bess interrupted. “Where are they?”

  “Here”

  “Here—in Venice?”

  “Let Nancy talk,” George rebuked her cousin, but found it difficult to follow her own advice. “I thought they were flying directly back to New York after the Emerson College tour ended.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Nancy replied. “But now I have a hunch they were planning to surprise us.”

  “So they’re in Venice!” Bess exclaimed.

  She was ready to ask several more questions but Nancy quickly intervened. “The fact is I don’t know any of the details—least of all, why they’re in jail. Ned apparently phoned here. The message was brief and there was a phone number, which I tried calling. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anyone who spoke English.

  “I finally asked the concierge to get on the line. He said something in Italian, mentioned Ned’s name, and from that point on, all he kept

  saying was ‘Si. . . si. . . si.’ When he hung up, he told me that the boys were in jail, and we would have to go there if we wanted to know more.”

  “Incredible,” Bess said, pushing her chair back from the table.

  “Where are you going?” George asked.

  “To the jail, where else?”

  “But it’s after ten,” Nancy said, “and according to the concierge, we must wait until morning when we can bring a suitable interpreter with us. He promised to get one.”

  “Gee, I hate to leave the guys stuck in that place overnight,” Bess objected.

  “We all do,” George said, “but I doubt we could get them out without the help of a lawyer and maybe even the American Embassy.” Nancy now revealed that she had placed a telephone call to her father in Biver Heights. He was a distinguished attorney whose international connections might prove instrumental in freeing the three young collegians.

  “There’s a six-hour difference between Italy and the States,” Nancy said, “so it’s almost four-thirty at home. Dad’s probably still in the office. At least, I hope so.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s go back to our room. That call should be coming through soon.”

  Bess took one final glance at the glint of light dancing on the black water. It filtered out of several windows opposite the Gritti Palace Hotel where the girls were staying, including those of a large store displaying two fully lit crystal chandeliers and other glassware. Above the store was an elegant apartment framed in arches that curved roundly to an inverted V.

  Suddenly, however, the chandeliers were turned off and there was a faint shatter of glass.

  “One of the chandeliers must’ve fallen!” Bess cried out, causing Nancy and George to stop in their tracks.

  “Well, I’m sure it didn’t drop all by itself,” Nancy said. “Maybe there’s a thief in the store! Come on, we’d better investigate!”

  “What about your father’s phone call?” Bess asked as the young detective hurried ahead of her.

  “I’ll leave a message with the concierge to tell Dad I’ll call him when we get back,” Nancy said. After stopping in the hotel lobby for a moment, the three friends darted outside to the gondola station, where the gondoliers were talking animatedly. Apparently, they were unaware of what had happened across the way.

  In the few Italian words she knew, Nancy persuaded one of them, a man with a full black beard and a deep crust of wrinkle over his eyes, to take her and the cousins to the other side of the canal. She told him what they had witnessed.

  “Oh, I heard crash,” the gondolier said in halting English. “But did not know where come from.”

  “The thiefs probably gone by now,” Bess announced as the boat pushed off.

  “I’m not sure of that,” Nancy said. “There’s an awful lot of crystal in that place.”

  The ride took less than five minutes, and Nancy requested the gondolier to wait for them while they ran down the alley that led to the front entrance of the store. Upon reaching the building, they paused indecisively.

  “There’s nobody here now!” Bess whispered hoarsely.

  “Sh!” George said, as footsteps sounded inside.

  “He’s coming out,” Nancy murmured, pulling her friends into an adjoining doorway.

  “What if he’s bigger than we are?” Bess went on, but neither of her friends answered.

  The door was opening slowly, almost too slowly to suit Nancy. Then it closed again.

  Oh, why doesn’t the thief come out? Nancy wondered, her eyes suddenly lowering to the pavement.

  The angle of a nearby street lamp had caught the girls’ figures in its glow and threw their shadows in front of the store!

  “Look!” she whispered to her friends, pointing to the shadows. “He’s seen us.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Bess pleaded.

  “Just a minute,” George said. “The door’s opening again.”

  She felt the muscles in her throat tighten as the entrance remained ajar. No one emerged, however. Then, o
n impulse, Nancy surged forward, peering inside.

  “Oh, Nancy, please don’t,” Bess begged as the young detective stepped into the store.

  “Come on, there’s no one here now,” Nancy urged.

  Beluctantly, Bess and George followed. They

  tiptoed through one room into another, until they came to an open back door that led to the canal.

  “He’s gone!” Nancy exclaimed in disgust, staring at a speedboat that was just leaving.

  “And we ought to go, too,” Bess murmured.

  Just then, as the boat passed the large window facing the canal, the intruder threw a heavy stone. It shattered the window instantly, setting off a shrill alarm.

  “Come on, now we have to get out of here!” Nancy exclaimed, and rushed her friends to the front entrance. They ran into the street and down the alley into the waiting gondola.

  “Hurry, please hurry!” Bess told the man.

  The ear-piercing shrill of the alarm made him hesitate only a moment before he pushed off again across the black water. When they reached the dock, he helped the girls out of the boat, accepting several bills from Nancy.

  “Grazie,” she said, thanking him and darting toward the hotel without turning back to catch the look of puzzlement in the man’s face.

  To her dismay, there was no message from her father; and as they took the elevator upstairs, Bess added another note of concern.

  “You realize, of course, that the gondolier thinks we broke into the store,” she said.

  “Well, we didn’t,” George said. “The door was wide open, if you remember.”

  “Try explaining that to the polizia,” Nancy said. “I know we didn’t do anything wrong, but somehow I do feel very guilty about it.”

  Once they were in their room, she swung back the shutters that overlooked the street entrance to the hotel. She saw their gondolier talking with someone who wore a hotel uniform, and motioned the cousins to the window.

  Bess moaned. “He’s probably turning us in.” “Maybe we ought to call the police before they do,” George agreed.

  “I suggest you learn a few words in Italian first,” Nancy said. “Like ‘I am not a thief.’” “Very funny,” Bess said.

  “I’m dead serious,” Nancy replied, as the jingle of the phone suddenly broke the conversation.

  “There they are. The police. They’ve come to take us away.” Bess groaned. “Well, at least the boys will have company in jail.”

  To Nancy’s relief, however, the call was from her father’s office. “It’s Dad,” she announced happily, her expression quickly fading when his secretary spoke.

  Miss Hanson explained that Mr. Drew had left town on business and was not expected back until the next evening.

  “Oh, I see,” Nancy said. “Well, would you please ask him to call us at the Gritti Palace Hotel in Venice as soon as you hear from him? Also, please call our housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, in case Dad checks in at home. It’s very important.”

  “I’ll be glad to, Nancy,” the woman replied as the young detective said good-bye and hung up.

  The girls spoke little while they readied for bed, taking turns in the shower and slipping into nightgowns before they slid under the covers. They had no sooner switched off the lamps, when a heavy rap on the door startled them.

  “Don’t answer it,” Bess said fearfully, but Nancy had already turned the lights back on.

  “What? And pretend we’re not here?” George said, shaking her head. Nancy scrambled out of bed.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, throwing on a robe.

  Surprisingly, no one answered but there was a second, more insistent knock.

  “Who is it?” Nancy asked again. She stepped closer to the door.

  This time a voice responded, but the words unraveled so quickly, the girl did not catch all of them. One, however, was painfully clear— polizia The police!

  2. Ned’s Story

  While Nancy reached for the door handle, Bess and George leaped out of bed and pulled on their robes.

  “Oh, Nancy.” Bess shivered nervously. She imagined that on the other side of the door was a big, burly police officer holding very large handcuffs.

  To her amazement, though, it was only the night clerk. He smiled in a perfunctory manner.

  “I am sorry to disturb you,” he said in a heavy Italian accent, “but it seems that Andreoli, the gondolier—well, he told me you girls may be in some trouble.”

  He searched Nancy’s face, then glanced at the others, waiting patiently for an answer.

  “You’re right,” Bess said impulsively, and felt a sharp nudge from her cousin.

  “On the contrary,” George said, “someone else is going to be in trouble as soon as we find out who he is.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” the clerk replied.

  “It’s very simple,” Nancy said and explained the details of what had just happened.

  When she finished, the man released a long sigh. “I think perhaps it would be wiser if you told all of this to the police. Do you not agree?” “Yes, I do. In fact, I plan to tell them everything tomorrow when we have an interpreter with us. The concierge said he would locate one to help us on another matter.”

  “I see. Very well, then. Good night.”

  As the clerk walked away, Nancy noticed that the bottoms of his pants legs were wet. Since it had not been raining, that seemed odd, and she mentioned her observation to the others.

  “Maybe he fell into the canal.” Bess giggled, feeling greatly relieved that her imaginary policeman had proved otherwise.

  Nancy rolled her eyes in mock disgust. “Let’s go to sleep,” she said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a full day.”

  In the morning, the three girls awoke to a steady downbeat of rain. They dressed more warmly than usual, putting light slickers over their clothes, then headed for the terrace where they seated themselves under the protective tarpaulin cover. Immediately, they noticed the name of the glass showroom that bore a large crack in its front window.

  “Artistico VetroNancy said, translating the words. “Artistic glass. I wonder who owns it.”

  “Probably an old Venetian family,” George replied, shifting her glance to the menu in front of her. “Prosciutto and melon. That sounds good.”

  Bess wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather have yogurt,” she said, “with honey, of course.”

  “For a minute there, I thought you had finally decided to go on a diet!” her slim, athletic cousin teased, then turned to Nancy. “What about you? What are you going to have this fine, misty morning?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve been studying that store across the canal.”

  “Well, other than that hole in the window,”

  Bess commented, “I don’t see anything of interest.”

  “Even so, I’d still like to investigate further,” Nancy countered.

  “If you want my advice, I think we should stay as far away from that place as possible, especially since we’re under suspicion for breaking into it!” Bess declared. “Besides, we have lo see the boys.”

  “We have to do more than that,” George said glumly. “We have to free them, and that’s not going to be easy.”

  Nancy concurred with a deep, impatient sigh as their waiter handed her an envelope. She opened it hastily, then let out a cry of disappointment. The message inside had almost been entirely obliterated by the rain!

  “I can barely read it.” The girl detective moaned, passing it to her companions. “See if you can do any better.”

  But they were just as stymied. They hurried through the meal, finishing it with an inquiry.

  “Who gave you this note?” Nancy asked the waiter.

  “The concierge.”

  Questioning the concierge, however, provided no additional information.

  “All I can tell you, Miss Drew, is that the envelope was here at the desk when I returned from the back office,” he said. “Now let me introduce you to your interpreter.”
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  He motioned to a young man who was seated on a bench opposite them.

  “Antonio, these are the American ladies who require your assistance today,” he said. “They need to go to the Questura Centrale.”

  “St,” the young man said with an engaging smile.

  “Antonio is a student at the university,” the concierge continued. “I think he will prove most helpful.”

  When the young man heard about the Emerson boys’ predicament, he nodded sympathetically. “I will take you to police headquarters right away,” he said. “Perhaps we can straighten things out. Follow me.”

  He led them out of the hotel and through a maze of small streets called calli, whisking the girls to the Rialto Bridge and finally, the police station. There in the lobby stood a high desk flanked by smaller tables. A captain in uniform looked up and greeted them very pleasantly in Italian.

  Antonio spoke to him briefly, then the group was ushered to a room at the end of a narrow corridor. Except for a table and a few chairs, it was empty.

  “Please sit down,” Antonio said, as the captain disappeared to get the prisoners.

  None of the girls spoke, listening instead to the echo of their companion’s foot tapping on the tile floor.

  “How much longer do we have to wait?” Bess asked, but a minute later the Emerson students were brought into the room.

  Instantly, it was filled with chatter and a deluge of questions from both sides that prompted the accompanying guard to clap his hands sternly. Antonio helped quiet the group, whispering to the officer who nodded back.

  “You only have a little bit of time to talk,” Antonio informed the Americans.

  “In that case,” Nancy said, “Ned, please repeat what you just told me. I especially want Antonio to hear this since he is going to help us get you out of here.”

  Ned, whose clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them all night, smiled gratefully at the young man. “If the police hadn’t confiscated everything we brought with us, I could show you what they found,” he said.

  “Dave says you were stopped at Marco Polo Airport here in Venice,” Bess interjected.

  “That’s right,” Ned replied. “We stepped off the plane, went to the baggage area, picked up our luggage, and went to the customs officer. He made us open everything. That surprised me because I’ve always gone through foreign check-ins very quickly. Not this time, though.