Mystery of the Winged Lion Page 10

  Despite all of his assurances, his listeners doubted that Ned could succeed in changing Nancy’s mind once she was on the track of something important.

  “Sir,” Dave said, changing the subject, “you started to tell us about your client. Did you say he’s in the glass business?”

  “That’s right,” the man replied, sitting back on the bench and gazing at the lagoon. “But it seems he’s gotten mixed up with some unscrupulous people over here who have accused him of stealing their designs. It’s absolutely ridiculous—”

  “Why do you say that?” Bess asked. “Because I know my client. He’s impulsive and enthusiastic, but he’s not a thief.” Mr. Drew

  paused before he continued his story. “On Giorgio’s last trip to Rome, the Italians gave him some dishware to show his sales people in the States. He asked me what I thought of his going into partnership with the Italian factory, and I said I wasn’t in favor of it, mostly because of his own particular business problems.

  “Unfortunately, Giorgio had already made his decision. He had started negotiations anyway, and they fell through. That didn’t surprise me completely—”

  “But I still don’t understand why the factory people say he’s a thief,” Burt interrupted.

  “Well, because in the midst of their talks, the designs started turning up on dishes sold in the States,” the lawyer replied grimly.

  “Maybe someone who works for him made a dishonest deal for himself,” Dave suggested.

  “Quite possible,” Mr. Drew said, “but I have a hunch that the Italian factory had a hand in it.” “Why would the factory try to frame Giorgio, though?” George asked.

  “To take over his business ultimately. They’re threatening to sue him for a lot of money—money he doesn’t have. It’s all tied up in his company.” “How terrible,” the cousins murmured almost in unison.

  “What are you going to do, Mr. Drew?” Bess added.

  “I’m not sure exactly. I’d like to meet Mr. Alberini. He’s one of the owners of the Italian firm. If he’s not available, I’ll try to see Mr. Scarpa.”

  “Did you say Scarpa?” Bess blurted out. “Is his first name Erminio?”

  19. Taking a Risk

  Carson Drew stared blankly into the expectant faces of his listeners, wondering why there was so much intense interest in his response. “Er- minio Scarpa?” he repeated. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember his first name offhand. It’s among my papers, I’m sure. But tell me about the man you mentioned.”

  That was all the prompting Bess needed. She and George described their encounter with the night clerk, mostly emphasizing his insistence about accompanying Bess to the basilica.

  “He and his cohorts just wanted to keep Nancy, George, and me out of their hair,” Bess concluded.

  As the discussion wore on, Nancy’s father became increasingly agitated. He asked several questions about the trip to Murano, finally proposing that they acquire a boat. “Or better yet a police escort,” he said. “I noticed a phone on the street for just such emergencies, so if you’ll excuse me a moment—”

  “We’ll wait right here,” George said, watching him disappear under the arcade toward the darkened street.

  “Nancy will have our hides for this,” Bess said to the others, even though she was sure their course of action was the right one.

  She had no idea that, only minutes before, the young detective and Ned had crawled under the long worktable in the glassmakers’ supply room, listening to the rustle of leaves outside in the still night air.

  “Someone’s out there,” Nancy whispered to the boy.

  “Maybe more than one person,” he added.

  The couple lapsed into silence as the factory door swung open, admitting a flash of light that streamed across the floor to the kilns and crates of broken glass where it stopped. Then the light moved again and the two detectives heard more than one pair of footsteps.

  “Just as I thought,” Ned murmured, while Nancy leaned forward to follow the traveling light through the small window. “They’ll see you,” her friend warned and drew the girl back.

  Now the steps shuffled closer to the storeroom door, and the handle turned back and forth, causing Ned’s heart to thump high in his throat.

  Good thing I locked it again, Nancy thought. But what if those men have a key?

  She held her breath, praying for the handle to stop moving. Then, to her relief, it did; and she felt Ned relax beside her as he put a hand on her arm. The men, moreover, had begun to talk in a normal, conversational tone.

  Too bad I didn’t take a course in Italian before I came here! Ned chided himself.

  Nancy, on the other hand, concentrated hard on the words and, catching a few of them that she understood, was able to construe the discussion.

  They don’t have a key for the storeroom door, she gathered. Someone else does. Someone named Alberini.

  Then, before she could discern the rest of what was said, the men moved toward the window. They peered inside, exploring the table with the flashlight and, in its beam, picked up the hinged side of the trapdoor. The other end, from which the bar had been removed, stayed hidden under the broad darkness of the table.

  Thank goodness, Nancy said to herself, now following the cone of light to the sacks of potash that stood nearby. Suddenly, she heard her name.

  “Nancy Drew,” one man had said unmistakably, among other words spoken in angry tones. A shiver of fright coursed through his listeners as he pounded his fist once on the small window. Had he seen them after all?

  No, he’s only trying to vent his frustration, the girl concluded, because if he knew for a fact we were in here, he’d break the glass!

  That thought, however, had not occurred to Ned, who was prepared to tackle either of the men if they so much as stepped inside the storeroom. But at last they left the factory.

  “Come on, Ned,” Nancy said, sliding out of their hiding place. “I want to see what’s below this floor.”

  “You know something?” Ned replied with a soft chuckle. “You really are amazing. My heart stopped beating about five minutes ago, and you’re ready to plunge right in again.”

  “And to think I believed your heart never stopped beating for me,” the young detective said lightly. “Come on.”

  She focused the small flashlight on the finger hole that Ned pulled back on. “It’s stuck,” he said, pretending it wouldn’t budge.

  “What?” Nancy gasped, disappointed; but seeing the grin on her friend’s face, she realized he was only joking.

  He swung the panel wide, revealing a ladder that stretched beyond the dimming glow of Nancy’s flashlight to a room bathed in blackness.

  “I’m afraid the batteries are ready to give out,” she admitted sheepishly, “so I’d better try to save them.”

  She flicked off the light once she had a firm foothold on the ladder and began to descend slowly, causing the boy to follow with equal caution. When they reached the bottom, Nancy turned the light on again, directing it to a full-length mirror that was obviously undergoing restoration.

  But besides seeing her image and that of Ned’s, she noticed a canvas sack heaped over something. A white lacy collar surfaced in the light. Instantly, the girl detective turned, letting the beam fall directly on the heavy cloth. It was covering the inert form of the duchessa!

  “Oh!” Nancy cried, running toward the woman, who appeared to be asleep.

  “She’s alive, isn’t she?” Ned asked an'xiously while his companion touched the figure. There was no reaction, however.

  “Yes, but I think she’s been drugged, Ned.”

  As she spoke, the duchessa let out a soft, pitiful cry much like that of a whimpering puppy. Ned lifted her frail body and carried it to the ladder.

  Then, sighing, he realized that he would be unable to take the woman upstairs unless he put her over his shoulder, and even that would be risky given the narrowness of the opening overhead.

  “I think we have a prob
lem,” he told Nancy, and pointed to their escape hatch.

  “You’re right,” she said, but could not come up with a solution.

  “Maybe you or I ought to climb up and tell the boatman to get the police,” Ned suggested.

  “But what if somebody catches us leaving?” Nancy responded, suddenly aware of the duchessa s eyes, which had begun to open ever so slightly. “Ned, put her down in that chair over there,” she said.

  He did, and Nancy curled her arm gently around the woman’s shoulder. “Who brought you here?” she asked.

  Maria Dandolo said something in Italian, then as if suddenly aware she had been addressed in English, she translated her words, weakly but with clarity.

  "Two men."

  “What are their names?” Nancy pressed her.

  “Alberini and—Scarpa.”

  “Did they tell you where your nephew Filippo is?” the girl continued.

  “Oh, no—poor Filippo.” The woman moaned and began to weep piteously. “No—don’t hurt him,” she pleaded.

  “Duchessa, do you know where he is?” Nancy repeated with an intensity and firmness that ended the crying.

  “No. Anyway, I wouldn’t believe whatever Mr. Alberini said.”

  There was another long, intolerable pause that made Nancy wonder if the woman had somehow hidden the answer in the recesses of her mind, vehemently refusing to accept it.

  “Oh, please, Duchessa, it’s very important that you tell me. I want to help you,” Nancy said slowly. “I want to find Filippo.”

  But again the woman moaned uncontrollably. “It’s no use, Ned,” Nancy remarked in despair.

  “Well, just tell me what you want to do. Other than my original idea, I can’t think of a thing.” Nancy, however, began questioning the duchessa once more.

  “Are the men going to take you to see your nephew?” she asked.

  “They promised me they would if—”

  “If what?” the young detective prompted her. “If I give them the formula.”

  “Is that why you came here to the factory in the first place?”

  “Yes.”

  Nancy then recalled the seeming intrusion at the woman’s apartment on San Gregorio. Papers had been pulled from the desk and strewn everywhere. Had Nancy’s first deduction been wrong about an intruder? Wasn’t it more likely that the duchessa had finally succumbed to the kidnappers’ threats and searched frantically for her own copy of the formula?

  When she didn’t find it she came to Murano! Nancy thought. “What happened to your own copy of the formula?” she blurted out to Ned’s surprise.

  “I don’t know. I could not find it in my desk.”

  “Did you find another copy?” the young detective went on. “Here, in the storage room, I mean.”

  “No.”

  Nancy sipped in another long breath. “Did the men say they’d be back to see you?”

  “Yes,” the duchessa said, her voice now almost inaudible. “Then—they made me call you. They said they would harm Filippo if I refused. I’m sorry, Nancy—so—sorry—” With that, she sank back exhausted and inert once again.

  “Pretty clever plan,” Nancy said. “Our two friends probably expected to catch me on their second visit. Perhaps I shouldn’t disappoint them!”

  20. Venetian Victory

  Ned stared at Nancy in utter surprise. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I am,” the young detective replied. “You see, if I stall them long enough, you’ll have time to get help.”

  “And you expect me to leave you on this island alone—without me to protect you?” “Look, Ned, it’s our only chance to find out where Filippo is,” Nancy insisted. “The minute you get back to Venice—”

  “Why don’t I stay here,” Ned cut in, “and send the boatman for help?”

  “I don’t know if we can rely on him. Besides if the police doubt his story, he may not persist enough to convince them.”

  “What’ll we do with the duchessa?”

  “We’ll have to leave her here for the time being. Ned, please, it’s the only way. Believe me!” Nancy urged.

  “Whatever you say,” Ned replied in a quiet voice.

  “I’ll keep the men talking as long as I can,” the girl said, pulling a small brush from her handbag. She worked the dark powder out of her hair and wiped off her makeup with a handkerchief before scurrying up the ladder.

  “Be careful,” Ned said anxiously.

  “I will. I promise. Now please, don’t worry.” Easier said than done, the boy thought, but he lay the duchessa on the floor again and prepared for his own departure while Nancy slipped out of the building and onto the grassy walkway that led to the showroom. She slowed her pace only a moment when she heard Ned’s feet on the pavement going in the opposite direction toward the dock, then sped forward again.

  Upon reaching the showroom entrance, however, she did not ring the bell but stepped softly inside, the thick carpet shielding her from detection.

  They must be upstairs, she decided and climbed to the landing.

  To her surprise, all doors on the second floor were locked. Men’s voices, however, came from one room. They were muffled by the separation of the wall, but as the young detective listened, she realized there were four people speaking in English. One of them was an American. The second was the manager of the glass factory, Mr. Chiais, and the third, Erminio Scarpa!

  “Now, Erminio, this is Beppe Alberini talking to you as a friend,” the American said, but his words were cut short by a disbelieving laugh—Scarpa’s, Nancy surmised.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Alberini continued. “So long as the other clerk was willing to give you an alibi, no one will believe some stupid amateur detective.”

  “But her friend—the one I took to the basilica— she can identify me; and Lucia says Nancy Drew knows where we live.”

  “But you and Francesco will be out of the country before we get caught. We’ll see to it.”

  “That’s right,” the manager said. “As soon as we get what we want from Signore Dandolo—”

  He’s talking about the formula, Nancy thought.

  “—we’ll join you. It’s all very simple,” Chiais finished. “Don’t worry about the girl. She is only a nuisance, nothing more dangerous than that.”

  Nancy felt her skin tingle in disgust as the conversation continued. The fourth man in the room, she found out, was Scarpa’s brother Francesco, who was in business with Alberini; and it was he, Alberini, and Erminio who had tried to kidnap Filippo’s father. But when they couldn’t find him, they took Filippo instead. Their plan was to ruin the Dandolo business. After that, they would take care of a contact in the United States by the name of Giorgio, a man whom they had induced into partnership.

  It sounds as if they want to create their own little monopoly, Nancy thought, and push all the competition out by any means possible.

  When the men started to talk about more casual matters that were of no further interest to the young detective, she knocked firmly on the door.

  A chair slid back in response, and Beppe Alberini snarled, “Who’s there?”

  “Nancy Drew,” the girl said cheerfully. “I’m looking for the duchessa.”

  “Ah, yes, of course,” the man replied and opened the door. He had a round face, balding black hair and a sarcastic smile on his lips as he pulled Nancy inside. "You know these gentlemen, I believe.”

  Nancy nodded even though she had never met Francesco Scarpa before. “I would like to see the duchessa, please.”

  “In a moment,” Alberini said. “First, I’d like to know how much you have been able to figure out about our operation.”

  The girl’s mind raced. Should she tell the men what she knew? Perhaps it was better not to, yet it might be the only way to stall them!

  "Well, I know one of you broke into the Artis- tico Vetro showroom on the night of our arrival in Venice,” she began. Then she voiced a hunch she had had all along. “Since nothing was stolen
, although a chandelier fell off the ceiling, I suppose your purpose was to bug the duches- sa’s apartment.”

  “Braval” Alberini exclaimed. “You are, indeed, a clever girl.”

  “Who did it?” Nancy inquired, but when no one responded, she answered her own question. “I would say Erminio Scarpa. Now I’m sure you’re wondering how I figured that out.” She watched the men’s rapt faces, stringing out her words slowly. “When Mr. Scarpa came to our room later that night, I noticed that the bottoms of his pants legs were wet.” Now Nancy turned to the night clerk. “You pulled that little job, didn’t you, just before you came on duty at the hotel? Your boat must’ve been leaking just enough to leave those telltale wet marks on your trousers.”

  Furious, the man glared at her but did not speak.

  “You were probably the one who also tried to push me off the vaporetto the next day,” Nancy accused him.

  Alberini smiled. “A young lady with your brains and good looks would be an asset to our company. Perhaps, when we’re all finished here, we’ll offer you a job.”

  “Thank you, but no thanks,” Nancy said coldly. She stared at the man with disgust, then let her eyes roam across the room. They settled on a cap hanging on a coatrack. It was similar to the one Ned had found on the bridge near the Hotel Excelsior after the boys’ boat had been attacked.

  “Who’s cap is this?” she asked, walking toward it.

  “Mine," Alberini said. ‘“Why?”

  It’s quite new, isn’t it?” Nancy went on. “You bought it after you lost your other one when you did your rope trick at the bridge, trying to sink my friends’ boat.”

  Alberini’s lips spread into an evil grin. “So you found my other one, eh? I’ll be glad to take it back. I can always use two.”

  Where you’re going you won’t need any, Nancy said to herself, adding aloud, “We’ve also figured out that it was Erminio Scarpa who went through the other hotel room—the one my Emerson friends were staying in.”

  “Yes, he was looking for something that belonged to us,” Alberini admitted.