The Sinister Omen Read online

  "Miss Drew?" he asked politely. "May I ask which of you ladies is Miss Nancy Drew?"

  Nancy identified herself and the chauffeur bowed from the waist. "We are so happy to welcome all of you to Fort Lauderdale. I'm Andre, chauffeur to Señor Ricardo Segovia. If you will be good enough to come with me, you and your friends. Til drive you to the mansion."

  Nancy thanked him as he led them to a beautiful gray limousine that seemed as long as a football field. He seated them and then went back for their luggage, reappearing in a few minutes with his arms full. After stowing it away in the trunk, he got into the driver's seat and then paused before putting the car into motion.

  "Miss Drew," he said hesitantly, ''I must tell you something, and I want to do it in a manner that will not alarm you. Since Señor Segovia could not be here, he authorized me to—"

  His sentence was drowned out by a little scream from Bess. "Oh, no. Look!" She pointed to the roof of the car. There, directly above the girls' heads, was the dark, brooding picture of a vulture!

  They stared at the ceiling and cringed. Neither Nancy nor George could speak. The effect on Andre was like that of an electric shock. He leaped from his seat, almost tore off the back door on his side, and reached in to rip away the offending decal of the evil bird.

  "Oh, young ladies," he cried, ''please, my apologies. It's nothing. Just a prank. A schoolboy must have slipped into the car while I was greeting you at the dock. I know it frightened you, but—'' He tried to smile. ''I assure you it's nothing."

  Nancy and the girls exchanged looks.

  "That wasn't just a prank," Bess finally declared. ''Someone's after us. He stuck one of those things on our airplane, too. And he drained half our gas tank. We ran out of fuel at Charleston and had to make an emergency landing."

  "She's right, Andre," Nancy said, now in full control of herself. "Someone is trying to frighten or harm us!"

  Andre nodded. "Perhaps you are right. I—we had better go to the mansion."

  He started the car and took them on a slow, safe ride to the Segovia home. The scenery was lovely but the girls barely noticed it, so upset were they by the reappearance of the grisly symbol.

  "It's so evil-looking," Bess said, shuddering.

  "It's like an omen," George added.

  Nancy nodded. "I'm afraid it is. A sinister omen!"

  6. The Sinister Omen

  George frowned. "But it's not natural. It isn't something that just happens, Hke lightning or an earthquake. It's a man-made omen, and a threat!"

  They rode in silence for a time, then Bess spoke up. "I guess that was what Andre wanted to talk to us about. But I screamed and interrupted him."

  "That can't be," Nancy said. "If he knew the omen was there, he would have torn it down before we got in. Didn't you see the way he jumped?"

  "That's right! There must be something else he's trying to tell us."

  Nancy tapped on the glass panel dividing the chauffeur's compartment from the passenger section that had been closed at the start of the drive. Andre slid back the panel.

  "Yes, Miss Drew?'

  "What was it you were going to tell us?''

  Nancy saw the man's hands tighten on the wheel and the color drain from his face. "!...! cannot tell you now. I made a mistake. It is not the proper place. I am not the proper person. Wait until we get to the mansion, please." He shut the compartment partition with a firm snap.

  "Better leave him alone," George said. "He's very distressed about something."

  By the time the girls arrived at the Segovia home, they were tense and worried. Andre helped them out and escorted them up the steps where they were met by a dignified woman of middle age identified as Consuelo, the Segovia housekeeper. She assigned a maid to the visitors and saw to it that they were taken to their private rooms. For a few moments, the opulence and grandeur of the Segovia mansion took the girls' breath away and they forgot the question of Andre's mysterious silence.

  The chauffeur disappeared without saying anything, bringing in their luggage so quickly that before they knew it, the bags were all in the right rooms and Andre had vanished.

  Frustrated, Nancy tried to track down Consuelo. But she, too, was nowhere to be found, having told the girls that the maid would take care of all their needs including any snacks or full meals they might wish.

  ''Oh-h," Nancy said, shaking her hair from side to side, ''this is maddening. I know that what Andre had to say was terribly important. In fact, it was scaring him. I wonder where Dad or Señor Segovia are."

  She decided to ask the maid, and received a smiling comment in Spanish, which she could not understand. But after much smiling back and forth and a lot of arm waving and sign language, she managed to make her question understood. And the maid gave her the answer. Her father and Señor Segovia were not here, but Nancy would see them later.

  The girl thanked her, remembering the Spanish words. ''Muchas gracias," she said.

  "You're welcome,'' the maid replied in English as she curtsied and left.

  Nancy bathed in a huge tub with black soap, something she had never seen before, and wrapped herself in a white towel that was almost as big as a bed sheet. She then blow-dried her hair and lay on her side on a chaise longue sipping the lemonade the maid had brought.

  What a life, she thought. But then -she began puzzling again about Andre's secret. Something was wrong. But what? Was it something about her dad? Or Señor Segovia? Or was it Mrs. Palmer? She knew she had to call Mrs. Palmer but she hesitated to get involved in that case until she was sure of what was happening with the stamp smugglers. And then, there was that buzzard symbol. The sinister omen. And her nightmare. Nancy was worried.

  At five o'clock, the girls met downstairs and were thinking of a swim before dinner, when Señor Segovia arrived. He was a tall and handsome man with a dashing manner, about the same age as Carson Drew. But where the attorney was cool, methodical, and almost scientific in his approach, Señor Segovia was obviously fiery, impulsive, and a man of quick action. Nancy understood instantly why he and her father made such a good team. Each had characteristics to complement the other.

  Bess and George had to suppress giggles when Señor Segovia bowed and kissed their hands upon being introduced. But after exchanging some pleasantries with the girls, their host drew Nancy aside and his face became serious.

  "Nancy, I must tell you about your father."

  A cold hand seemed to grip the girl's heart.

  She halfway knew what was coming. It was the message Andre had been too afraid to deUver and that had made Consuelo hide somewhere in the house until Señor Segovia came home.

  "Dad? Something has happened to Dad?"

  "Nothing bad. Nothing we can't correct. He's going to be all right."

  "Is he in a hospital?"

  "No, no. Nothing like that. He's—well— been kidnapped. The group we've been fighting must be really terrified—and stupid—to do such a thing. They must know they can't get away with it!"

  "Yes," Nancy interrupted, "but the point is my dad was kidnapped. We don't know where he is or how to rescue him."

  "Ah," said Señor Segovia, waggling a long forefinger. "We know exactly where they have taken him and we're about to close in tonight. That's why I must ask you to excuse me again so I can help direct the search." He bowed and began to move toward the door, calling over his shoulder, "Now don't worry, Nancy. I promise you he will be all right."

  "Señor Segovia!" Nancy's voice was so firm that the man turned around. "Do you really think that while my father is in danger, I'm just going to sit here and do nothing about it?"

  Her host looked at her intently. Then he smiled, and motioned with one hand. "Come," he said. "I should have known better. But I think Bess and George should stay here.''

  George looked as if she were going to object at first, but Bess nodded silently and pulled her cousin by the hand. ''It's a whole search party," she whispered. ''We'd probably be more of a hindrance than a help.'

  Na
ncy and Señor Segovia left the mansion in an old, battered Volkswagen. "We must not advertise who we are or that we are coming," he said.

  They drove south, out of Fort Lauderdale, past Hollywood and Miami proper, into the southwest district of the city. Their destination was a dark and deserted section, an area of warehouses in which few people traveled at night and those who did were generally considered to be up to no good.

  ''How do you know Dad is here?" Nancy asked.

  "Through an informer," Señor Segovia replied. "Your father had not been missing for more than a day when I received a phone call telling me where he could be found."

  "How do you know you can trust your source?" the girl went on.

  ''I have worked with this man before. He is reliable."

  "Then why do you and Dad have such a hard time rounding up the men behind this stamp smuggling racket?"

  ''Ah," Señor Segovia replied, ''that is because that gang is very clever. They deal through middlemen all the time. You never catch anyone but the underlings, and they don't even know who their bosses are. But eventually we will find out!"

  As they were talking, he pointed ahead to a long, low warehouse set back from the road. "That's it," he said as they drove past. "We'll come back, of course. But I wanted you to notice the old cars parked there. See how one is run up on the sidewalk as if it had been abandoned there? Those are police cars. There are plainclothesmen inside waiting for my signal."

  Nancy nodded. "Who owns the building?" she asked.

  "It belongs to a firm that buys up the inventory of companies that go out of business and then resells the stuff. I understand they are not doing too well. A lot of merchandise they have acquired does not seem to be moving."

  Señor Segovia drove a mile down the road, then came back with the lights out, and parked a hundred yards from the building. When they got out, they left the doors slightly ajar rather than slamming them and making a warning noise. Then they walked cautiously toward the building in almost pitch darkness. Suddenly, Nancy felt someone on her left side and the hairs on her forearms stood up.

  "Señor Segovia," she hissed. "Someone is walking with us."

  "Si'," said her host, "That's Detective Gomez. But we've no time for introductions now. Just stay close to me."

  Nancy could now make out a ring of men closing in on the building. They became faintly visible in the pale street lights swathed in heavy fog. The group approached the large double doors on the end of the building and then paused while four policeman came up with a metal battering ram. With a quiet count of one, two, three, they slammed the ram into the door. The tremendous noise breaking through the night air made Nancy jump.

  It was over within four swings. The door splintered and gave way. The police piled through while others guarded the windows and doors against anyone trying to escape.

  Nancy ran inside right behind the battering ram, calling her father's name. But the police searchlights sweeping the single giant room revealed nothing. Except for dust, some old office furniture, and large storage cartons, the warehouse was empty. There was no sign of Carson Drew!

  7. Where Is Carson Drew?

  Nancy's face was stricken, her lower lip trembled, and she was on the verge of tears. As the lights were switched on in the warehouse, she heard a detective shout, "Don't touch anything! Don't touch anything!"

  Señor Segovia was white with anger, the muscles in his jaw twitching. Nancy saw his lips moving and knew that he was saying something in Spanish but she didn't know what. When he had gotten some control over himself, he came over to where she was standing.

  "I don't know what could have gone wrong," he said. 'Tm sure your father was here!" He beat one clenched fist into the palm of his other hand.

  "I know it, too," Nancy said. She was staring at a stack of cartons with different names printed on them. On one, the letter D had been scribbled with a ball-point pen.

  "You see—'' Nancy traced the outline with her finger, "—how the lines are extended a bit? That's our signal. Dad made this mark to let us know he was here.''

  Señor Segovia studied the letter. ''You are right!" he cried out excitedly. ''That proves he was here. So my informant wasn't wrong. We just weren't quick enough!"

  Nancy nodded. "I'd like to check around some more. Perhaps there's another clue we haven't found yet."

  "Sure. Let's go ahead."

  But an extensive search by both Nancy and the detectives brought nothing to light. When everyone was ready to leave, Señor Segovia turned to Nancy. "ril have to stay in Miami and contact various people who might know something about this. Do you want to drive the Volkswagen home or shall I have the police take you?"

  "I'll drive, thank you," Nancy said. "I remember the way quite well."

  "Good. I'll call you as soon as I have more information."

  The search party left the warehouse, and minutes later Nancy was on her way back to the mansion. Her mind was racing and something was nagging her about the clue she had found, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Finally, she realized what it was. She remembered storage cartons in the warehouse all standing neatly in a row. Different names were printed on them. The one with the letter D bore the inscription "Belfont.'' Had her father chosen that particular carton for a reason? Was Belfont the place he had been taken?

  "Belfont," Nancy said aloud. ''It sounds like a hotel. Maybe it's out of business and the company that owns the warehouse bought things from them. Vd better find out!"

  She pulled up in front of a restaurant and went inside to use the telephone. Quickly, she dialed the Miami police department. A sleepy voice answered and she asked for Señor Segovia.

  "He isn't here," was the curt answer.

  ''May I speak to Detective Gomez, please?" Nancy said.

  ''He's not here, either. Who is this?"

  "Nancy Drew."

  "Well, you'd better call back in the morning."

  "Tell me, where's the Hotel Belfont?" Nancy pressed.

  "Belfont? There's no such thing. There was a hotel in town by that name, but it's been closed for several years now," the policeman replied.

  "Can you tell me where it is?"

  "I don't remember the street. All I know is that it's in a rundown area."

  "Perhaps someone else knows the address?" Nancy continued, not wanting to give up.

  There was a moment of silence, then the officer came back on the line. "It's on Huston Street. But as I said before, it's in a bad part of town. You wouldn't want to go there, especially at night."

  "Thanks," Nancy said, and hung up. She went into the dining room and asked several people how to get to Huston Street. Finally, one of the patrons was able to give her directions. Before he, too, could warn her about the neighborhood, she thanked him and ran back to her car.

  On the way to the hotel, she became worried. Maybe I should have told that policeman what it's all about and asked for an escort, she thought. Oh, well, it's too late now. I don't want to waste any more time. Dad might be in bad trouble!

  Finally, she found herself in the middle of broken and sagging buildings. Trash cans were knocked over on the sidewalk and two cats started a fight down an alley to her right. She stopped the car and let her eyes sweep all around her while her ears picked up each new and strange noise of the night. From somewhere, she could hear a radio and she saw shadowy lights here and there. But there were no other human beings in sight and no building that had been painted or cared for during the past several years.

  On the opposite side of the street a bit further down, her headlights picked out the letters BE FON HOTEL. She shivered. What a terrible place for her father to be held captive! She got out her flashlight and walked away from the car.

  Crash!

  Nancy almost jumped out of her skin. Wide-eyed and breathing hard, her back against a wall, she looked quickly left and right to see what had made the dreadful noise. Then she recognized the source of the racket. A garbage can rolled out of an alleyway, teetered on the edge
of the curb, crashed into the gutter and came to rest.

  A cat or dog probably knocked it over, Nancy thought. But she couldn't be sure and she felt the palms of her hands grow moist. What a difference between this scene and the huge bathtub at the Segovia mansion, with the black soap and the lovely, soft towels!

  She was beginning to feel despair and panic now. Suppose the Belfont clue was not correct after all? Suppose Señor Segovia had already found out where Carson Drew was really being held? Suppose someone came out of the dark and attacked her?

  But Nancy resolutely pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Squaring her shoulders, she walked up to the decrepit building that had once apparently been a respectable hotel. When she got there, a new shock awaited her. Every door and window was boarded over with wood and metal. There was no way to get in!

  Once again, Nancy felt like giving up on her lonely effort. She considered calling the police, but finding a phone booth in this neighborhood was like trying to find gold. There simply were no phones visible.

  She continued to examine the Belfont, bit by bit. Finally, she walked up on the big, decaying porch, feeling the boards sag under her feet. She carefully checked the doors and windows to see if there were some crack, some opening where she could pry away the boards and the metal in order to squeeze inside. But there was nothing.

  Then she went back and looked up at the second story. There was a roof over the first-floor porch, and the windows on the second floor were not boarded. But she saw that it would be impossible to climb up the shiny, smooth pillars that supported the roof.

  "If Dad's really in there, the crooks must have taken him through some kind of entrance," she said softly. "Of course, they'd make sure it's well hidden. If only I could find it!"

  She stepped back on the porch again and suddenly felt her heel sink into the flooring. Startled, she leaped to the side. Then she carefully shielded her flashlight and turned it on the spot where the wood had given way.