078 The Phantom Of Venice (12 page)

“So now you’re going to tell me what this is all about?” said Don. “The Marchese just called me at the plant and said I was to leave work early and meet you here. All very hush-hush and top-secret. No explanation.”

Nancy proceeded to fill him in, while Don listened with keen interest. Presently he ordered wine and antipasto, and they went on talking while they ate.

“All right, now run the whole thing by me once again,” Don said after Nancy had answered most of his questions.

“It’s still just a theory, remember, but try this for size. Number one—Rolf Egan and Pietro were
old buddies. Somewhere, quite a while back, maybe in North Africa, they met a man called Hans and cooked up some kind of secret deal with him.”

Don nodded. “Check.”

“Number two—as a result of this deal, they wound up in possession of something very valuable or important, which I’ll call
The Prize.
Unfortunately they also wound up in big trouble with some dangerous crooks, because these crooks want The Prize for themselves—in fact, they’re even willing to commit murder to get hold of it.”

“So it seems.”

“Now for a key question,” Nancy went on. “Where
is
The Prize? My hunch is that Hans brought it to Venice, and the crooks trailed him here. Hans then turned The Prize over to Rolf Egan and lit out for parts unknown, maybe hoping to lead the crooks astray on a false scent. But his ploy didn’t work. The crooks stayed put in Venice and went after Rolf Egan.”

Again Don nodded. “To be precise, they took a shot at him one night, and he fell into the canal.”

“Right! Which left them still without any answers to that all-important key question,” said Nancy, “namely, where’s The Prize? So they turned their attention to the one remaining partner in the deal, Pietro Rinaldi.”

“But wait a minute,” Don frowned. “We’ve been
assuming all along that Pietro was kidnaped for ransom . . .”

“Because that’s what the crooks
want
us to assume,” said Nancy. “But if my theory’s correct, the real reason they kidnaped him was to extract information about The Prize. The ransom was just an extra bet on the side. Or maybe call it an insurance policy—a guarantee that whatever happens, their project won’t wind up a total loss. In other words, if they can’t get the information they’re after, they can always sell Pietro back to the Falcone Glassworks for a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Don mused. “Neat trick if they can pull it off.”

“They
will
pull it off,” said Nancy, “unless we can stop them. The Marchese’s already worked out arrangements to raise the ransom money.”

“Which is where your two fake messages come in.”

“Check and double check. The messages are designed to accomplish two things: one—to convince the crooks they’ll have to work fast before the police raid their hideout, and two—to convince them that if they just let Pietro go, he’ll lead them straight to The Prize.”

“Okay, Miss Sherlock—sounds like it all adds up,” said Don. “At least, you’ve persuaded
me.
So what happens next?”

“You and I will stake out the Falcone Glassworks tonight and see what happens.”

Twilight was deepening over the lagoon as Nancy and Don made their way across the water to Murano. They were traveling in a small motorboat that belonged to the glassworks. At the Marchese’s suggestion, Don had used it to go to Venice, so that he and Nancy could return the same way, without being seen on a public
vaporetto.

“I still don’t understand how you talked the police into letting us handle this on our own,” Don remarked.

“I didn’t. They don’t even know we’re coming over here.”

Don flashed her a startled glance. “Are you kidding?”

Nancy shook her head. “No, I explained my idea for
tricking the kidnapers into turning Pietro loose, but I didn’t offer any guesses as to where he might go. Their strategy, I think, will be to alert every policeman in Venice to be on watch for Pietro throughout the night.”

“Why didn’t you want them at the glassworks?”

Nancy shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I had a feeling that once the
carabinieri
got into the act, things might get out of hand. They’d have so many stakeouts and sharpshooters planted all over Murano and around the glass factory, it might give the game away. And if one of them started shooting—well, let’s just say I don’t
want
any shooting. I think you and I can handle this better on our own.”

But was that the whole reason? Nancy wondered, or was it also an excuse to spend some time alone with Don under circumstances that almost
invited
romantic developments? With a nervous pulsebeat, Nancy suddenly realized that she wasn’t too sure, even now, if she could answer that question with absolute honesty!

When they reached Murano, Don turned up a canal that eventually brought them to the rear of the glass factory. In the gathering darkness, Nancy saw Zorzi waiting for them on the shallow stone quay. He waved an eager greeting, obviously happy that his vigil was at an end.

“What happened?” Nancy asked him as Don brought the boat alongside and moored it to a cleat.

“I give the letter to Signor Rubini like you say. Then I stop in that little
gelateria
across the street from the factory yard and wait, and pretty soon I see him come out and start off toward the boat landing.”

“Did you follow him?”

“
Si
, I keep him in sight all the way, but I make real sure he don’t see me!” Zorzi added proudly.

“Good for you!” said Nancy. “So what did he do?”

“He get on the next
vaporetto
and go to Venice.”

“Venice!” Don stared in surprise. “But Rubini lives right here on Murano.” He paused in silence for a moment, digesting the implications of this. Then he looked at Nancy. “Did you know Rubini was working for the gang?”

“No, but I thought someone at the glassworks might be. There has to be someone at the palazzo who’s in their pay, otherwise, who ransacked Tara’s and my room? And if they’re that thorough about covering all the bases and gleaning all the information they can, then it stands to reason they wouldn’t neglect the glassworks, either. After all, this is where Pietro worked.”

Don nodded. “Yeah, that figures, I guess.”

Nancy paid Zorzi an extra tip besides the five dollars and expense money, and sent him off to catch the next
vaporetto.
Then Don unlocked the loading dock door with his key and they went into the
vetreria.

Night had fallen. They dared not risk turning on a light, which might be seen from outside. However, several electric lanterns were hanging just inside the loading dock. Don took one and led the way through the one-story building to a closet near the front office where flashlights were kept. Don and Nancy each took one.

“Where would you like to wait?” said Don. He shone the lantern around to refresh Nancy on the plant layout.

“Right here will do—for the time being, at least,” said Nancy, gesturing to a small reception area or lobby, furnished with a plastic-covered sofa and end table.

They sat down, side by side, and a thoughtful silence ensued. Enough starlight seeped in through the factory’s grimy windows to discern their immediate surroundings.

“Say your plan works,” mused Don, “and the crooks let Pietro go. What makes you so sure he’ll come here?”

“I’m
not
sure. But I think it’s the likeliest possibility.”

“Why?”

“Put yourself in Pietro’s place. If the gang does intend to trail him, they’ll probably try to make him think he escaped by pure luck—you know, by having a guard pretend to fall asleep, or leaving
a door ’accidentally’ unlocked, something like that.”

Don nodded. “So?”

“Eventually he’ll want to go to the police or the Marchese, I suppose, and let it be known that he’s escaped from his kidnapers. But before that, first of all, if I’m thinking the way Pietro will be thinking, he’ll want to make sure The Prize is safe.”

“The
Prize?!”
Don was visibly startled, even in the shadowy gloom. “Are you saying it’s somewhere here in the glassworks?”

Nancy smiled. “I’m quite sure it is.”

“Care to enlarge on that?”

“Not for the moment.”

There was another silence. Then Don cleared his throat awkwardly. “Last night at the masquerade ball, you . . . you tried to explain something to me . . .”

“I’d still like to, if you’ll listen.”

“You don’t have to,” said Don.

“Maybe not, but please let me.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Gianni switched costumes with you. When I saw him coming in from the terrace, I thought it
was
you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have even danced with him. It was only when I noticed the difference in height and when he kissed me that I realized my mistake. And
then I didn’t want to make a scene—even when he grabbed me and kissed me again. But I was furious, Don. Gianni’s really a nasty, twisted character! I told him to leave, or I’d call the servants and have him thrown out as a gate-crasher! That’s all, Don. Now do you understand?”

“Of course I understand, Nancy. I acted like a total idiot. There was nothing to get upset about in the first place, if I . . . if I didn’t care about you so much. . . .
That’s the whole problem!”

Nancy knit her brows, perplexed. “I don’t understand, Don. I’m glad you care about me. I care about you, too. That’s why I was so anxious for you to listen.”

Don put his head in his hands for a moment. “I’m the one who should explain, Nancy. Do you remember me saying last night that I had other things on my mind?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s true. The main thing on my mind is that I . . . I’m engaged to a girl back home! So what am I doing falling in love with you?!”

The words came tumbling out, as if a dam had suddenly broken. Once having started, Don went on talking, pouring out his heart. “I think I fell for you the first moment I saw you getting off the boat, Nancy, even before we exchanged a word. You bowled me over completely! If I acted gruff and uptight, well,
now you know why. I couldn’t handle it, not when I already have a fiancee back in Ohio! Coral and I met in college, and we’ve been going steady ever since. It was love at first sight that time, too, for both of us. Only now I’ve started dreaming about
you!”

Nancy listened in a swirl of conflicting emotions—some pleasant, some not so pleasant. Her heart sang when Don said he loved her. She wanted to respond that she loved him, too. But he was somebody else’s guy, not hers. He belonged to a girl named Coral, back in Ohio, who expected to marry him . . . and where did that leave a girl from River Heights, named Nancy Drew?

She wasn’t quite sure when or how it happened, but suddenly she became aware that she and Don were holding hands in the darkness, and she was telling him all about Ned Nickerson.

“I’m glad you told me, Nancy,” Don was saying. “Now I don’t feel like such a two-timing, two-faced heel. The same thing happens to lots of people, I suppose . . . even to you, in a way. . . . The only thing is, what are we going to do about it, Nancy?”

He had an arm around her now, and her head was on his shoulder.

“We don’t have to make a crisis out of it,” she responded softly. “And there’s nothing to feel guilty about, either—not if we’re honest with ourselves, and . . . and with each other.” Nancy reached up and
touched his cheek. “There’s lots of time to decide. Sooner or later our feelings will sort themselves out, and when they do, then we’ll know if what we feel is really love, and who’s the most important person in our lives!”

Don was holding her tight now, and her arms were around his neck and their lips were meeting in a kiss that was warm and loving and exciting and, oh so tender! It seemed to Nancy that she’d never, ever before felt about anyone the way she felt about Don Madison at that moment—

They broke apart suddenly as a key turned in the lock of the building’s front door—!

Don sprang to his feet and pulled Nancy up with him. He looked around swiftly for a place to hide. “Back here, love—!”

He was pointing to a space behind the sofa, shielded by a row of chemical drums. They barely had time to duck down in it when the door opened.

A man came in—husky, dark-haired, thirtyish, in a stained, rumpled suit. Enough moonlight came in from the summer night outside to reveal his face—haggard and unshaven, with a week’s growth of beard.

It was Pietro Rinaldi!
His captors had taken the bait! Nancy felt Don squeeze her hand excitedly.

Pietro left the door open while his eyes became accustomed to the inner darkness. He strode toward the closet for a flashlight. Seconds later, he headed
swiftly toward the storeroom where the Falcone glassware was on display. He moved with the tense, single-minded air of a man gripped by a terrible urgency.

Don and Nancy rose from their hiding place and tiptoed after him. He flicked a wall switch, and the storeroom suddenly lit up. Then he began groping and searching among the glass paperweights.

Evidently the one he was looking for wasn’t there. His searching became more frantic and desperate. He began muttering aloud, and within moments the mutters became loud explosive curses. Don shot a baffled look at Nancy. She responded by putting a finger to her lips.

They backed quickly into the shadows as Pietro suddenly whirled around and rushed back to the office. They saw him snatch up the handset of a desk phone and start to dial. Moments later, someone must have answered at the other end of the line. Pietro cut loose with angry, frustrated outbursts in Italian, uttered at mile-a-minute speed.

“I don’t believe this!” Don gasped in Nancy’s ear. “He’s talking to Domenic, the butler at the palazzo! It sounds as though th—”

He broke off as Nancy’s fingers dug into his arm. Pietro had left the front door slightly ajar—and now it was being pushed open wider. Three people were coming in!