This Side of Evil Read online

  Nancy shrugged and pointed to a diploma. “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” she said. “Nobody finishes a residency in six months.”

  Dr. Dandridge seemed to shrivel, Nancy thought, like a balloon after the air had been let out of it. “So that’s how the blackmailer discovered it,” he said wearily. “Why didn’t I ever notice?” He went to the wall and took the diploma down, shaking his head. “I just never paid any attention to the dates.”

  “You don’t even have a medical degree, do you?” Nancy asked.

  “That’s not true. I did graduate from medical school—in Mexico. My grades weren’t good enough to get me into a Canadian school.”

  Nancy looked at him. “And you figured that a Mexican degree would turn off your wealthy clients. So, instead, you had someone forge a diploma from a prestigious American medical school.”

  Dr. Dandridge sank into the leather chair behind his desk. “The blackmailer must have seen the diplomas, just the way you did, and then checked it out. I’m sure there’s no other way it could have been discovered. I was very careful.”

  “That means that the blackmailer has been in this office,” Nancy said. “I’ll need to question your staff members. But first”—she looked at the briefcase filled with wrapped packets of bills—“you’ve been told to leave this money at Nelson’s Column, right?”

  Dr. Dandridge stared at her. “Exactly. I put the money into a red plastic bag and dump it in a trash can. How did you know?”

  “It’s the blackmailer’s method,” Nancy said. She glanced at the money again. “Is the drop scheduled for today?”

  The doctor nodded. “At five o’clock,” he said.

  “George, this is it!” Nancy told her friend excitedly. “It’s just what we’ve been waiting for—a real break!”

  “What do you want me to do?” Dr. Dandridge asked.

  “Go ahead with the drop, exactly as you’ve been instructed. But our blackmailer’s going to have some company. When he picks up the money, we’ll be there to pick him up.”

  “If the blackmailer is one of Dr. Dandridge’s staff, it won’t be a ‘him,’ ” George reminded her.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Nancy said. “The blackmailer could be a woman.” She turned to the doctor. “I’d like to talk to your staff now. One at a time, please.”

  Nancy and George didn’t learn a thing from the doctor’s staff—a receptionist and two nurses. It was hard to picture any of them as the blackmailer, Nancy decided. The receptionist was barely out of her teens. One of the nurses was a grandmother in her sixties, and the other had worked in the office for only a few days. They hardly seemed like killers, either. They were all genuinely surprised by Nancy’s questions. And George’s careful check of the office typewriters revealed nothing.

  “What about the person your new nurse replaced?” Nancy asked the doctor when she was finished.

  “I’ve just expanded the staff,” he explained. “I’ve had to take on more patients in order to meet the blackmailer’s demands, so I had to hire another nurse.”

  Nancy frowned in frustration as she and George left the office. “I just don’t understand it,” she said. “All of the clues—the liquid nitrogen, the notepaper, the blackmailing of Lake Sinclair—led to Dandridge’s office. I’m afraid we’ve reached a dead end.”

  “Not quite,” George said, her voice full of anticipation. “There’s still the drop this afternoon.” She was obviously looking forward to the action.

  “Right,” Nancy said. “We’d better tell Ned. And I’ve got to call Ashley Amberton to let her know about this new development.”

  Ms. Amberton sounded very impressed with Nancy’s detective work. “You mean, you actually spotted the discrepancies in his diplomas yourself?” she asked in disbelief.

  “That’s right,” Nancy said. “He admitted it, of course. But now we know that the blackmailer must have had access to Dr. Dandridge’s office. Otherwise, he couldn’t have known about the fake diploma.”

  “You are an incredibly astute young woman, Nancy,” Ms. Amberton said. “I’ll report your progress to Mr. Cherbourg when I see him this afternoon.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll have an even better report this evening,” Nancy said. “By then, we might even know who our blackmailer is!”

  At five o’clock the rush-hour traffic was heavy and the plaza around Nelson’s Column was crowded with tourists and people on their way home from work. It was beginning to drizzle, and lights were coming on in the late afternoon.

  “Let’s wait across the street, behind those brick pillars,” Nancy told George and Ned. She pointed to a large building on the other side of the street. “That way, we can watch what’s going on in the plaza without being seen.”

  “There’s Dr. Dandridge,” George said excitedly as soon as they crossed the street.

  Carrying a red plastic bag, the collar of his tan raincoat pulled up, the doctor was walking quickly across the plaza. He ducked around a knot of people standing in front of the column.

  “Look!” Ned exclaimed. “He’s making the drop!” Glancing quickly around the square, the doctor dropped the bag into the open trash can and hurried away.

  “Okay,” Nancy said. “Everybody watch closely! Our blackmailer’s bound to be here soon. He wouldn’t risk leaving that money in the trash can for very long.”

  While they were watching, a large green bus pulled up just across the street, blocking their view.

  “Come on!” Nancy exclaimed. “We’re going to have to get back across the street so we can see.”

  Together, they started to cross the crowded street, slick now from the rain. They wove through the traffic single file.

  At the end of the line, George looked over her shoulder. “Nancy! Ned!” she screamed. “Look out!”

  Nancy, who was at the bus, turned and looked. Behind her, Ned gave a shout. A bright yellow Mercedes had just rounded the corner, its headlights glaring in the gathering dusk. It was headed straight for them!

  Chapter Nine

  SUCKING IN HER breath, Nancy grabbed Ned and pulled him flat against the bus with herself. She felt a swoosh as the Mercedes brushed past them frighteningly close. A moment later it was gone, its taillights flickering around the corner.

  George, who had moved in the opposite direction, asked, “Are you guys all right?”

  “I’ll live,” Ned croaked. “Nancy, you okay?”

  “Aside from being slightly squashed,” Nancy said, brushing a damp curl away from her face, “I’m fine. But that was too close!”

  “Yeah!” George cried angrily. “What did that idiot woman think she was doing, anyway? Driving like that in rush-hour traffic! She could have killed us!”

  “That,” Ned growled as they stepped onto the curb, “is exactly what she was trying to do.”

  Nancy nodded. “I can see you’re thinking the same thing I am.”

  George brightened. “The yellow Mercedes! Lake Sinclair! She’s no victim—she’s our blackmailer. She came to get the money and decided to get us as well.”

  “Could be,” Nancy agreed. “From the glimpse I got of the driver, it looked as if she had long auburn hair.” Suddenly her head snapped up. “The money!” Nancy exclaimed and darted toward the trash can.

  But it was too late. While Nancy, Ned, and George had been escaping from the yellow Mercedes, the money had vanished. The red plastic bag was nowhere in sight!

  “Oh, no!” Nancy exclaimed, dejected. She dropped down on a bench beside the trash can, disappointment rushing through her. “This was our big chance to catch the blackmailer, and we blew it.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Ned remarked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It looks to me as if the whole thing was pretty carefully planned, and it went off just like clockwork. I have to admit,” he added with admiration, “that Lake Sinclair is a lot smarter than I thought she was.”

  “Yeah,” Nancy said, nodding. “That brush with the car was timed exactly, to keep us busy while
the money was picked up. But we’re forgetting one important thing.”

  George frowned. “What’s that?”

  “If the blackmailer was driving the car that nearly ran us down, who picked up the money?”

  “You mean,” George said, pushing a wet brown curl out of her face, “that Lake Sinclair isn’t our blackmailer?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Nancy said cautiously. “Maybe we’re up against a team.” She stood up. “Come on, you guys, we’ve got work to do.”

  “Where to?” Ned asked, falling in step beside her as George hurried to catch up to them.

  “To Lake Sinclair’s place,” Nancy said determinedly. She quickened her pace. “She may not be our blackmailer, but that yellow Mercedes is the hottest lead we’ve got.”

  Through the wrought-iron gate, Nancy could see the yellow Mercedes parked in the shadowy brick courtyard beside Lake Sinclair’s.

  “How do we get in?” George asked. She craned her neck to see through the gate. The courtyard was surrounded by a six-foot brick wall.

  “Easy,” Nancy said, taking her lock-pick kit from her shoulder bag. “This is a pretty simple lock.” She looked in both directions. The now-dark street was empty, the reflections of the streetlights shimmering silver in the puddles from the earlier rain. A moment later she pushed the gate open. “Come on.”

  In seconds, the three of them were inside the courtyard. Ned felt the hood of the car, then got down on his hands and knees and reached up inside the front.

  “There’s no way this car could have been driven in the last few hours,” he reported, shaking his head. “The radiator’s cold.”

  “I don’t understand it,” George said with a frown. She went around to the driver’s side and peered in, cupping her hands around her face. “This has to be the car!” She reached down for the door handle.

  “Don’t touch that handle!” Nancy exclaimed—but not in time. The alarm on the car had begun to emit short, sharp blasts. George gasped and leaped back.

  “The door handle was wired with an alarm,” Nancy whispered urgently. “Come on! Let’s get out of here before somebody finds us!”

  But at that moment a door opened in the house and light spilled out. A shadowy figure stood outlined against the light.

  “Don’t move,” Lake Sinclair cried viciously, “or I’ll blow your heads off!” A gun glinted in her hand. “Line up against the car and put your hands on the top.”

  Cautiously, Nancy turned. “It’s me, Lake,” she said. “Nancy Drew.”

  “I don’t care if you’re the queen herself,” Lake said, gesturing with the gun. “Line up! This is the second time today that somebody’s tried to steal my car—and this time I’ve got you!”

  “What do you mean, you’ve got us?” George exclaimed indignantly, putting both hands against the car. “We’ve got you is more like it. You nearly killed us a little while ago!”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lake snapped, coming a little closer. “I haven’t been out of this house all day.”

  “She’s not lying,” Ned reminded George. “The car’s cold, remember. It couldn’t have been this Mercedes that nearly ran us down.”

  “Ran you down?” Lake asked, lowering her gun.

  Nancy told her what had happened in front of the plaza after they turned around to face Lake. “We came over here,” she added, “to check out your car. After all, the driver did have auburn hair—just like yours.”

  “The blackmailer tried to kill you?” Lake repeated.

  Nancy shrugged. “Somebody did. And not for the first time, either.” She looked at Lake. “Did you say this was the second time today that somebody tried to steal your car?”

  “That’s right.” Lake slipped the gun into her pocket. “I heard the alarm go off around three this afternoon. By the time I got out here, the thief was gone.” She nodded toward the gate. “First thing in the morning, I’m having a better lock put on that gate.”

  “It certainly was a surprise,” George said with relief, “when your car alarm went off.”

  Lake looked at George. “You’re the one who wants to run in Olympic Stadium?” she asked.

  George nodded vigorously. “I sure do.”

  “Listen,” Lake said, with an embarrassed shake of her head, “I’m sorry about what happened just now. I’ll see if I can arrange a pass.”

  “That’d be terrific!” George replied with a wide grin.

  Lake turned toward the door. “Well, good night. And good luck! I hope you find this guy before I have to make another payment—I don’t have much left to sell!”

  Back at the apartment, Nancy was just unlocking the door as the telephone began to ring. It was Ashley Amberton.

  “I just thought I’d check,” she said. “What happened when you went to Nelson’s Column this afternoon?”

  Nancy sketched out the events of the afternoon and evening. “Now that we know it wasn’t Lake’s Mercedes that nearly ran us down,” she said, finishing her story, “we’ll try to find out just who the car really belonged to. It shouldn’t be hard. There can’t be that many yellow Mercedes in Montreal.”

  “How do you even know the car came from Montreal?” Ms. Amberton asked quickly. “Maybe you shouldn’t waste valuable time trying to trace it.”

  “All our other leads have dried up,” Nancy pointed out. “The car is the only thing we have to go on right now.”

  “Still,” Ms. Amberton persisted, “it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Don’t worry—we’ll find it,” Nancy promised. “There are three of us to work on it.”

  Ms. Amberton sighed. “Well, if you think you must,” she said. “But be careful. Remember that last warning. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your friends, would you?”

  Finding the yellow Mercedes wasn’t as easy as Nancy had thought it would be. Reasoning that the most obvious way to get a specific type of car would be to rent one, they started calling rental agencies the next day. It was one dead end after another. Not a single agency had a yellow Mercedes to rent. Even worse, nobody had any idea where one could be found.

  It was already the middle of the afternoon, and they had called all the agencies in the phone book. George plopped down on the sofa and sighed dejectedly. “This is nothing but a wild-goose chase,” she said.

  Nancy thumbed through the Yellow Pages, thinking. “Wait,” she said. “There’s something we haven’t thought of.”

  “What’s that?” Ned asked, coming from the kitchen with three glasses of lemonade.

  “What else? A Mercedes dealer!” Nancy exclaimed. “Maybe he’d know.”

  George shrugged. “Of course. And there seems to be only one dealer for this whole area,” she said, handing the phone to Nancy.

  “A yellow Mercedes?” the manager of the Mercedes dealership said when Nancy reached him. “Actually, it just so happens that I do have one on the lot. It’s probably the only one for sale in Montreal.” He laughed. “Yellow must be a very popular color this year.”

  “Really?” Nancy asked, suddenly even more interested. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, yesterday a man wanted to test-drive a Mercedes—but it had to be yellow. He brought it right back after the drive, and he said he didn’t want it. It’s still here and still as beautiful as ever.”

  “Hmmm,” Nancy said. “Who was this man? I wonder if I know him.”

  “You might,” the dealer replied. “He’s a very influential man in Montreal.”

  “Oh?” Nancy sat tensed on the edge of the sofa. “What’s his name?”

  “I really shouldn’t say,” said the dealer. “But, oh, well, he was Pierre Cherbourg.”

  Chapter Ten

  “PIERRE CHERBOURG!” NANCY exclaimed.

  “Well, not Mr. Cherbourg himself, of course,” the dealer added hurriedly. “I didn’t deal with him directly. Just his chauffeur—Jacques Olivier—late yesterday afternoon. Now, when can I arrange a test-drive for you?” the deal
er asked smoothly. “Would today be convenient?”

  “No, not today,” Nancy replied. “I have some other pressing business to attend to. I’ll call later to make the appointment.” She hung up.

  “Mr. Cherbourg?” Ned and George asked in unison.

  Nancy shook her head and reached for the lemonade Ned had brought. “It was the chauffeur,” she said. “The dealer lent the car to Jacques Olivier.”

  “But wait, the driver had long auburn hair,” Ned reminded them.

  “It could have been a wig,” Nancy replied with a shrug.

  “Of course!” Ned exclaimed. “The chauffeur tried to steal Lake’s car—and when he got scared off by the alarm, he borrowed one. And then he dressed up like Lake to fool us into thinking it was her behind the wheel!”

  George shook her head. “This whole thing is too confusing,” she said, frowning. “It’s giving me a headache.”

  “Want to know the best cure for a headache?” Nancy asked, getting up. “Action!”

  George’s frown turned suspicious. “What kind of action?”

  “Come on, gang. We’re going to question a certain chauffeur!”

  Jacques Olivier, Nancy learned from the personnel department at Cherbourg Industries, lived in a small white cottage behind the Cherbourg mansion. It was late afternoon by the time they got there. Nancy, with Ned and George right behind her, walked up the brick path that led to the doorstep of the cottage. To her left, Nancy could see the large garage. Inside was the Cherbourg limousine.

  “I don’t hear anything,” George whispered after Nancy had knocked twice.

  She knocked harder. “The car’s here,” she said. “I think he’s hiding out.”

  Finally, after Nancy had knocked a fourth time, the door opened a tiny crack.

  “Who is it?” Jacques asked. His voice was fearful.

  “It’s Nancy Drew,” Nancy told him. “I need to talk to you.”

  The door slammed shut. “Go away,” Jacques called, his voice muffled through the door. “I’m sick. I don’t want to see anybody.”