This Side of Evil Read online

  “But what kind?” Nancy asked.

  “I don’t know—yet,” Ned said thoughtfully. “Actually, the possibilities are pretty limited. When most substances get this cold, they freeze solid.”

  “Like the leaf,” Nancy said.

  “Yeah. Like the leaf.” Ned leaned closer. “Let’s see. There’s no color—that white steam is probably just the water vapor in the air freezing when it comes in contact with the gas.”

  Nancy sniffed. “I don’t smell anything, either.”

  “Neither do I,” Ned said, reaching for the box of matches on the stove. “I wonder if it burns.”

  Nancy grabbed his arm. “Are you crazy, Nickerson? The air is filled with the stuff. If it’s flammable, this place could go up like a box of fireworks!”

  “My bet is that it isn’t,” Ned argued. “But you’re right. We need to be on the safe side.” He got out a long-handled spoon and carefully scooped up a spoonful of the fuming liquid. Carrying the spoon into the other room, he touched a match to it. The flame died immediately. “My bet is that this stuff is liquid nitrogen—it doesn’t burn.”

  “Okay, enough with the chemistry lesson,” Nancy said impatiently. “What would have happened if this stuff had gotten in my eyes a few minutes ago?”

  Ned looked at her seriously. “You’d probably be blind,” he said. “And you’d need plastic surgery. You’d be badly scarred.”

  Nancy shuddered, thinking how narrowly she had escaped. If it hadn’t been for Ned’s quick action . . .

  “Who would have access to liquid nitrogen?” she asked, pushing the thought of danger away. “It’s not the kind of stuff you’d find on the drugstore shelf, is it?”

  Ned shook his head. “Only chemists, physicists, people who work with low-temperature materials—they’re the ones who’d be likely to have it,” he said. “Like astronomers making artificial comets, or doctors and medical technicians who freeze tissue for microscopic slides, or manufacturers—”

  “Doctors!” Nancy interrupted him excitedly. “Plastic surgery! Emile Dandridge is a plastic surgeon!”

  “Hey, yeah,” Ned said. “In fact, up until a few years ago, doctors used liquid nitrogen to burn off warts.”

  “Then he—or somebody in his office—could have access to it,” Nancy pointed out thoughtfully. “And the same person could have known about Lake Sinclair making those payments for the girl!” She looked at Ned. “Let’s go see how the booby trap was set up. Maybe that’ll give us a clue.”

  In the kitchen the puddles of liquid nitrogen were almost completely gone. It had evaporated into the air. Above the stove, the cabinet door was still open. Lying on the top shelf was a large metal Thermos—empty. The Thermos stopper hung suspended from a short string that was fastened to the inside of the cabinet door with a thumbtack.

  Nancy climbed up on a chair so she could see onto the top shelf. “There’s a short loop of string around the bottom of the Thermos,” she reported to Ned. “And the loop is tacked to the shelf. When I opened the cabinet door, the string on the lid pulled the stopper out while the loop around the bottom held the Thermos in place. That’s why it tipped over, but didn’t fall.”

  “Pretty ingenious,” Ned agreed. “He used the Thermos to make sure that the stuff stayed cold until the stopper was pulled out.”

  “Yeah,” Nancy replied, climbing down and brushing off her hands. “The evidence goes up in smoke, and all we’re left with is an empty Thermos and a couple of pieces of string.”

  “And, someone hoped, a blind detective,” Ned reminded her. Tenderly, he put his arms around Nancy. “I’m so glad nothing happened,” he whispered. He touched Nancy’s cheek. “I like your face just the way it is.”

  “So do I,” Nancy said, leaning against Ned’s chest.

  At just that moment, George walked into the kitchen. “Whoops,” she said, sounding flustered. She backed out of the door. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re not interrupting,” Nancy said as Ned gave her one more quick hug. She followed George into the living room and told her what had happened.

  George stared at her friend, dumbstruck. “Oh, Nan,” she whispered, “that’s awful! Somebody tried to blind you—right here, in the apartment!”

  “It wasn’t just me,” Nancy said, with a shake of her head. “I mean, either one of you could have opened that cabinet door. The person who set that trap couldn’t have guessed who would stumble on it first. No, whoever set this up wasn’t particular. He was out to get any one of us.”

  “So, what do we do next?” Ned asked, crossing his arms.

  Nancy looked at George. “Tomorrow,” she declared, “George is going to visit a certain prominent plastic surgeon—about a nose job.”

  George’s hand flew to her nose. “A nose job? No way! There’s nothing wrong with my nose!”

  Nancy laughed. “That’s just the ploy we’re going to use to get us into Emile Dandridge’s office,” she said, reaching for the phone. “I’ll explain everything later. Oh, maybe I should ask Ms. Amberton to set up the appointment. She could get you in for sure.”

  As Nancy dialed, there was a knock on the door. Ned started toward it, but stopped when he saw a piece of folded paper being slipped under the closed door. Ned picked it up and read it, his eyes narrowing. He handed it to Nancy without a word.

  Nancy put down the phone and opened the note. “ ‘If you’re not concerned for your own safety, Nancy Drew,’ ” she read out loud, “ ‘perhaps you should worry about your two friends. How would you feel if one of them suddenly disappeared?’ ”

  Chapter Seven

  CLUTCHING THE NOTE in her hand, Nancy leapt to the door and jerked it open. She looked up and down the corridor. The hallway was empty. There was no one in sight.

  “Too late,” Nancy said, coming back into the room. “He got away.”

  She sat down on the sofa and held the note under the lamp beside her, examining it closely. It was typewritten on a piece of plain cream-colored notepaper with a thin blue line printed down the left margin—nothing very significant there. But as Nancy turned it sideways, against the light, she noticed what seemed to be indentations in the paper.

  “Look,” she said, pulling out her magnifying glass, “I think this paper was under another piece of paper when somebody wrote on it. Whatever was written on that top sheet left an impression here.”

  “Oh?” Ned asked, leaning over her shoulder. “What does it say?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said. “I can’t quite make it out.” She glanced up. “We need some tissue paper.”

  “I bought a blouse today,” George said. “The salesclerk wrapped it in tissue paper. What are you going to do with it?”

  “An old detective trick,” Nancy said. “Let’s try a little scrap.”

  George got the tissue paper while Ned found a pencil. Then Nancy put the note down on the coffee table. Carefully, she laid the tissue paper on top of the impressions in the note and rubbed with the side of the pencil lead. As if by magic, the white shapes of letters emerged from a pencil-smudged background.

  “Hey, that’s neat,” George exclaimed.

  “But what does it say?” Ned asked.

  “There’re numbers,” Nancy replied, peering closer. “Looks like five hundred, and then the letters mg. Then there are some letters I can’t make out, and then m-y-c-i-n.”

  George frowned. “Sounds like a chemical.”

  Suddenly Nancy looked up, smiling. “That’s it! Five hundred milligrams of something-mycin! It’s a prescription for some sort of antibiotic!”

  “The doctor’s office again!” Ned cried, snapping his fingers.

  “Exactly,” Nancy agreed. “Another lead. I think we’re on the right track, don’t you? The sooner we talk to that doctor, the better.”

  George touched her nose again. “As long as he doesn’t do anything to my nose,” she said defensively. She shot Nancy a pleading look.

  “Don’t worry, George. He won�
�t get anywhere near your nose. Honest.” Nancy glanced again at the threatening note. What would she do if anything happened to either one of her friends? The thought was too frightening.

  “Look, this blackmailer is obviously determined to cause some damage—and he doesn’t care who gets hurt.”

  “We’re not worried, Nancy,” Ned said playfully. “If anything happens, you’ll protect us.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Nancy rolled her eyes. But she knew Ned and George understood. “Now, maybe we should get to work.” She reached for the phone and dialed Ms. Amberton’s number.

  “You nearly missed me,” Ashley Amberton said, when Nancy reached her. “I was going to leave a little early.”

  “I’m sorry to call so late,” Nancy apologized. “But I need to ask you to set up an appointment for me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, with a man named Emile Dandridge—Dr. Emile Dandridge.”

  There was a short silence. “Dr. Dandridge? The plastic surgeon?” Ms. Amberton replied. There was an odd note in her voice. “Why do you want to see him?”

  Nancy told her about the conversation she and Ned had had with Lake Sinclair. She also mentioned that she was beginning to suspect someone in the doctor’s office was blackmailing Lake.

  “And when we got back to the apartment,” Nancy went on, “I opened a cabinet door and narrowly missed getting a splash of liquid nitrogen in my face.”

  “You’re all right, aren’t you?” Ms. Amberton asked quickly. “You’re not hurt?”

  “Oh, no,” Nancy reassured her. “If it hadn’t been for Ned, though, I might have been blinded or badly burned.”

  “Was there any damage to the stove?” Ms. Amberton asked. Hurriedly, she cleared her throat and added, “Or to the rest of the kitchen? Shall I get the locks changed?”

  “No, everything’s okay,” Nancy said. “Although you might want to change the locks. There’s more, too.” When she finished telling her about the note, and the impression of the prescription she had discovered, Ms. Amberton gave a loud exclamation of surprise.

  “I must admit, Nancy Drew,” she said with grudging admiration, “that you are a very perceptive young woman. I didn’t expect—I mean, it’s quite amazing that you were able to trace down the connection to Dr. Dandridge with such slim clues. I’m quite impressed.”

  “How about that appointment? You could tell him that George wants to see him about getting her nose fixed.”

  “I’ll do it immediately,” Ms. Amberton promised. “And, Nancy, congratulations.”

  “For what?” Nancy asked, surprised.

  “Why, on your narrow escape, of course,” Ms. Amberton said.

  Nancy hung up, a puzzled frown on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” George asked. “Isn’t she going to make the appointment?”

  Nancy nodded, still frowning.

  “Then what is it?” Ned demanded.

  Nancy shook her head. “Nothing, I suppose.” There was something, some tiny thing that seemed out of place. But Nancy couldn’t think of what it was.

  “Well, then, wouldn’t you say it’s time for dinner?” he asked. He turned to George. “And I think it’s George’s turn to pick the place to eat.”

  Dr. Dandridge’s office was in a low, modern building that was secluded behind a high brick wall in the most fashionable part of town. The receptionist was sitting beside a bank of tall palms and exotic flowers at one end of a teak-paneled room, furnished with elegant chairs and sofas and luxurious Persian rugs. Several people were already waiting to see the doctor when Nancy and George arrived for George’s ten-thirty appointment.

  George gave her name to the receptionist, and she nodded immediately. “Yes, of course,” she said. “Ms. Amberton called late yesterday afternoon. If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

  She came back less than a minute later. “Dr. Dandridge will see you now,” she said. The other patients all glared at Nancy and George as the receptionist led them down a carpeted hallway.

  “Oh, by the way,” she said, “please tell Ms. Amberton that the staff enjoyed the candy she brought over last week. It was very kind of her to think of us—and so unexpected, too.”

  Nancy shot George a questioning look as they entered the doctor’s office. It was even more luxurious than the waiting room. The two girls sat down in plush, upholstered chairs.

  As soon as the nurse left, Nancy turned to George. “I never would have imagined that Ms. Amberton was the kind of person who would bring candy to a doctor’s staff—or flowers to a sick employee.”

  “Well, maybe she’s not the coldhearted career woman she seems to be,” George suggested. She got up and wandered over to look at the framed diplomas that hung on one wall. There were lots of them.

  “How does anybody ever have time enough to study for all those final exams?” she asked, amazed. “This guy must really be smart!”

  Nancy came to stand behind George. “And fast, too,” she said, looking at the certificates. “According to these diplomas, he completed his residency six months after he got his medical degree. Usually it takes years.”

  “Good afternoon,” a short, dapper-looking man said, coming through the door into the office. He was wearing a conservative navy blue suit instead of the usual white doctor’s coat. Nancy thought he looked more like one of her father’s lawyer friends than a doctor.

  “I understand you wanted to see me about the possibility of undergoing a rhinoplasty,” he said, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “Which one of you is the patient?”

  “A rhino—rhinoplasty?” George repeated in dismay. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. I just want a nose job, that’s all.” She felt her nose. “You see, it’s always been a little too long. And there’s a hump in the middle where I got hit by a softball when I was ten.”

  Dr. Dandridge laughed. “My dear young woman,” he said, “a rhinoplasty is a ‘nose job,’ as you put it.” He sat down behind his desk.

  “Oh.” George walked back to the desk and sat down, too, flushing with embarrassment.

  Nancy joined her. “Actually, Dr. Dandridge,” she said, “I’ve been having trouble with my nose, too, lately.”

  Solicitously, the doctor leaned forward. “What kind of trouble?”

  “I keep smelling something,” Nancy replied. “Something terribly wrong.”

  “Well, we can examine you, too, young lady. Sometimes the sinus passages become blocked, and—”

  “I’m not sure an examination would do any good, Doctor,” Nancy explained, watching him closely. “Because what I keep smelling is blackmail.”

  “B-b-blackmail?” he stuttered, staring at Nancy.

  “That’s right,” Nancy said. “You see, I’m a private detective. I’ve been hired by Cherbourg Industries to investigate a blackmailing ring. I have reason—very good reason—to believe that somebody in your office is the blackmailer.”

  “In my office?” Dr. Dandridge gulped. His face was white now. “What makes you think that?”

  “One of the blackmail victims is a young woman named Lake Sinclair. She’s been paying the bills for the plastic surgery you’ve been doing on a young girl. Lake claims that no one knows about her involvement with your patient except the staff in your office—and you, of course.”

  “Lake Sinclair is being blackmailed! But that’s not possible!” He picked up a small gold keychain and began to turn it over nervously in his fingers. In front of him, in a filigreed silver holder, was a stack of cream-colored notepaper with a thin blue line down the left margin. “No. No, I simply don’t believe it,” he said.

  “Well, consider this then,” Nancy told him, standing. “Yesterday, there was an accident in the apartment where we’re staying. I was nearly burned with liquid nitrogen that spilled out of a Thermos bottle in a cabinet over my head. It was a frighteningly clever booby trap, and it was set up by somebody with access to liquid nitrogen.”

  “Yes, but any chemist could ha
ve provided—” Dr. Dandridge began. His voice was thin and panicky.

  “Wait,” Nancy cautioned. “There’s more. A few minutes after that I received a threatening note. It was typed on cream-colored paper—paper identical to that pad right in front of you.” She picked up a piece of the paper, folded it carefully, and put it in her skirt pocket. “I submit, Dr. Dandridge, that there is very good reason to believe that you or one of your staff is deeply involved with blackmail.”

  “Well, it isn’t me!” the doctor exclaimed. The keys still in his hand, he stood up. “I have what you detectives call an airtight alibi. For the last two days, I’ve been in New York. I just got back this morning.”

  Nancy frowned. All the clues pointed to Dandridge. If it wasn’t him, then it had to be one of his staff.

  The doctor bent over and picked up an expensive-looking leather briefcase. He put it down flat on his desk. “Anyway,” he said wearily, “there’s another reason I can’t be your blackmailer.” He inserted one of the keys into the briefcase lock and began to open the lid.

  Nancy tensed, and behind her George gasped out loud. What did he have in the briefcase? A gun? Slowly, the briefcase was opened. . . .

  Chapter Eight

  “MONEY!” GEORGE EXCLAIMED.

  “There’s fifty thousand dollars here,” Dr. Dandridge said grimly. “It’s the third installment—and I don’t know how many more there’ll be.”

  Nancy whistled softly. “Fifty thousand dollars!” Annette LeBeau, Lake Sinclair, Emile Dandridge—each of them paying tens of thousands of dollars. There was no question about it. Nancy had stumbled onto a big-time criminal operation that was netting somebody lots of money.

  “See all this fine furniture?” Dr. Dandridge said, waving his arm. “Well, none of it belongs to me anymore. I’ve had to mortgage it. My office equipment, too. If it doesn’t stop pretty soon, I’m going to be totally ruined.”

  Nancy turned around and glanced at the diplomas on the wall. “The blackmailer found out about your phony medical degrees, didn’t he?”

  Emile Dandridge stared at her. “How did you know?” he whispered.