Mystery of the Winged Lion, Page 2

  “When the guy looked in my small suitcase, I almost flipped. There was the most beautiful glass artpiece inside—”

  “What was it?” Bess interrupted, curiously. “It was an abstract figure of a horse with hooves shod in gold. The customs officer started to examine it. He called somebody else over as well. I tried to tell them it wasn’t mine, but nothing registered.”

  “The fact is,” Dave said, “that neither of the men spoke much English.”

  “I told them I was traveling with friends,” Ned said.

  “And the minute he introduced us,” Burt replied, “Dave and I were goners, too.”

  “Look, we’ll figure out where that piece of glass came from,” Bess declared, “and send it back where it belongs.”

  “That’s just the problem,” Nancy told her

  friend, prompting Ned to finish his story.

  “It broke into lots of little pieces,” he said. “What?” George gasped. “But how?”

  “When the customs people kept turning it, it slipped through their hands—”

  “And splat?” Burt said.

  “Oh, how terrible!” Bess cried, suddenly leaping out of her chair. “Well, then there’s no case, no evidence, no nothing.”

  “On the contrary,” Nancy said, “there’s a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

  The guard who had been standing near the door now moved forward, signaling the end of the discussion. But before they left, the young detectives promised to do all they could to help the boys.

  “Dad’s due back this evening,” Nancy said, “so I’m going to call home very soon.”

  “Sorry I messed up your trip,” Ned answered bleakly.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m happy you’re here—even if it is under lock and key!” There was a trace of laughter in her voice that barely masked her concern. “See you later,” Nancy said.

  When the girls reached the lobby again, she asked Antonio to request a look at the evidence.

  He spoke to the police captain for a moment but to Nancy’s chagrin, the officer was unwilling to show it to them.

  “Tell him I’m a detective, Antonio,” Nancy said.

  “Your name?” the captain replied.

  “Nancy Drew.”

  “Ah!” he said, adding something in Italian and finally the name of the Gritti Palace Hotel. Nancy also thought she heard him refer to the gondolier, Andreoli.

  I should have told the police what happened at the glass showroom the minute we arrived here, Nancy chided herself. She watched the captain study her and the other girls closely.

  “Signorina,” he said in a tone that forecast imminent doom, “I’m afraid you and these young ladies are also in trouble.”

  3. D. D. MYSTERY

  The word “trouble” was enough to send Bess reeling.

  “We haven’t done anything wrong,” she blurted out before anyone could stop her.

  “Bess!” George hushed her, allowing Nancy to talk instead.

  As concisely as possible, the girl detective told about the previous night’s events. Antonio translated whenever necessary.

  “I don’t think the captain believes her,” Bess whispered to her cousin.

  “Listen, they’re not going to throw us in jail,” George said under her breath.

  “Don’t count on it. Especially when—uh- oh —wait till you see who’s here.”

  “Who?” George asked, turning around sharply.

  Amazingly, it was the gondolier who had ferried them across the canal the previous night. It seemed he had been summoned by the police to give an account of the girls’ behavior.

  We never should’ve run away like scared rabbits, Nancy thought, listening to the drone of the gondolier’s words. He spoke in Italian, but too rapidly for her to understand everything. She looked questioningly at Antonio, who held up a hand to keep her quiet.

  It was only when Andreoli finished talking that the girls’ interpreter spoke. “The gondolier ?says you and the others insisted he take you to the glass shop last night,” Antonio began.

  “That’s because we heard a crash and concluded there was a thief inside,” Nancy said.

  You see, the lights went out suddenly and we figured one of the chandeliers fell—”

  Antonio smiled. “Andreoli says he heard the ;rash but did not know what happened because he was not looking in that direction. The police investigated and indeed, found a broken chandelier. They are still trying to discover whether anything is missing from the store.”

  “Then—they don’t think we’re thieves?” Bess stammered in relief.

  “Are they going to let us go?” George added. Antonio nodded. “But you must not leave Venice without telling the police, since the case has not been cleared up yet. Also, Captain Donatone says you must do no more investigating from now on. It will only get you into trouble. You understand?”

  Bess giggled when they all left the police station. “You heard the man, Nancy. No more detective work. That means we re about to take an enforced vacation—a dream come true!”

  “Oh, so you intend to leave poor Dave in jail!” George exclaimed.

  “Hardly!” Bess grimaced. “But once the boys are out, we’ll have no choice but to spend every moment lolling in the sun. Aah!”

  “Well, it’s still too early for me to call Dad” Nancy said, fumbling for the envelope in her pocket. “Antonio, I have something else to show you. Let’s get out of this crowd first.” The rain had slackened to a fine drizzle, causing the girls to push back the hoods of their slickers as they cut away from the swarming tourists and headed for the Piazza San Marco.

  “We’ll have some cappuccino, if you like,” their guide suggested.

  “Oh, I like,” Bess said gaily, following him to an empty table at Florian’s.

  It was one of several cafes where small orchestras played almost continuously in the shelter of the square’s unending arcade, its stony gray facade now lightening under the passing raincloud.

  Awestruck by the majesty of the cathedral opposite, Nancy temporarily forgot the reason she had hurried everyone away from police headquarters. The basilica, she concluded, was like a tapestry woven in mosaics and colored marble with figures of angels and saints standing guard over the huge gray domes.

  “That was the church of the Doge, you know,” the young man said, giving their order to the waiter. “He presided over the government of Venice—all one hundred seventeen islands that make up the city—and all official ceremonies were held there, not the least of which was the Doge’s election.”

  As the observers noticed that only one of the famous Quadriga, the four stately bronze horses, remained above the central archway, George asked, “Where are the rest of the horses?”

  “They are being restored,” Antonio said, smiling. “After all, they’ve been here since the thirteenth century!”

  Suddenly Nancy recalled Ned's description of the glass artpiece that had landed him in jail. It was an abstract horse shod in gold. Could it possibly be a modern version of this ancient statue? The idea penetrated her mind as Antonio continued to speak.

  “It was the Doge—Enrico Dandolo, at the time—who brought the horses from Constantinople,” he said. “To this day, though, nobody knows where they came from originally. Some believe Emperor Constantine took them from the Creek island. Chios. Others believe they used to decorate a Roman arch. But—”

  “Yes?” George said as he hesitated.

  “That’s the mystery. Because, you see, no horses exist in Greek or Roman art that resemble our Venetian beauties.”

  “Speaking of mysteries,” Nancy said, showing Antonio the message, “what do you make of this?”

  He pondered it carefully while the waiter placed a cup of cappuccino in front of each person. The girls swallowed the frothy hot beverage in small sips, waiting for Antonio’s reaction.

  “Are you sure this was intended for you and not the police?” he asked.

  “The envelope has my name on it,” Nanc
y replied. “Why?”

  “Well, because it seems to be a plea for help from someone who lives on the Grand Canal. That’s about all I can make out, though. The person’s name has all but washed away in the rain.” He steadied his glance on the missing letters. “There is a capital D followed by a small o or u, I’m not sure which. Then, there is another capital D followed by a small 9.

  “Maybe it’s from a dogaressa,” George suggested, drawing a grin from the young man.

  “I doubt it,” he said. “They all died centuries ago. But it could be from a duchessa or a duchessina—”

  “Who lives in a palazzo” Bess said eagerly. “Oh, Nancy, let’s try to find her!”

  “No police work, remember?” George needled back.

  “Who says this is police work?” Her cousin chuckled. “If someone asks us for help, we can’t very well deny it, can we?” She gulped the last bit of liquid out of her cup. “Come on, troops!”

  “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to go with you,” Antonio said, “I have a class—a special summer course I just signed up for. But, please, if you need me later, call me. Here’s my telephone number.”

  “You’ve already been a great help to us,” Nancy said gratefully, promising to contact him if necessary.

  Then, taking the lead, she and George left the cafe with Bess trailing behind. The latter had slipped under the arcade, pausing only a second in front of a shop window filled with glittering jewelry, much of it enamel.

  But seeing her friends dart through the sottoportego, the passageway that ran beneath the buildings, she called out, “Hey, wait for me!

  “You must’ve found something you want to buy,” George said when her cousin caught up to them finally.

  “I sure did. The most exquisite butterfly pin ever. You should see that place,” Bess went on eagerly.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Nancy said.

  “I agree,” George added. “We can’t waste the afternoon shopping. There’s too much to do.”

  Consequently, Bess carefully avoided looking in any other display windows along the streets that ran behind the square and the trio reached their hotel in less than five minutes.

  “I hope Dad’s home by now,” Nancy remarked, putting the key in their door.

  Her phone call proved fruitless, though. Hannah Gruen had not heard from Mr. Drew but she promised to have him return Nancy’s call the minute he arrived.

  “Thanks a lot,” the girl said, and hung up the receiver in disappointment.

  Then she hunted for the local telephone directory under the night table and scanned all the listings under D.

  “Looking for a duchessa?” George inquired.

  “No. Just someone whose initials are D. D.,” Nancy replied. “After all, there’s no reason to think the message came from royalty.”

  “That’s true,” Bess said, but a glance at the listings told her that if Nancy were right, the search could easily consume the rest of their stay in Venice.

  Nancy came to the same conclusion and shut the book.

  “No luck, huh?” George said, shifting some clothes out of her suitcase into an empty drawer.

  The young detective did not answer. She was staring at the message again, concentrating hard on it, when suddenly a vivid image of the elegant apartment across the canal flashed into her mind.

  Had the person who lived there seen her and her companions take the gondola back and forth from the Gritti? Had he or she somehow learned who they were and hoped to contact them?

  Nancy mentioned the possibility to her roommates.

  “Even though the police captain told us to stay away from Artistico Vetro, he didn’t say anything about the occupants above it,” she added with a grin. “Also, I don’t see why we can’t inquire about other residents in the area while we’re there.”

  Bess pinched her eyes in a tight frown. “I think that’s asking for trouble,” she said.

  “Well, we’ll go even if you don’t want to,” George declared.

  “I wouldn’t think of letting you go without me.” Bess smiled.

  When they went downstairs again, however, they were disappointed to find all of the gondolas had left the station.

  “We’ll have to take the vaporetto,” Nancy said, referring to the large water-bus that traveled regularly up and down the canal.

  She inquired about the nearest landing stage, then led the way through a small street that fed into a second one ending at the water’s edge. The boat was already there filled with passengers, but the young detectives managed to get on and squeeze through to the guard chain on the opposite side.

  They stood close to it, watching drops of sunlight on the small ripples as the vaporetto pulled away from the float, churning its engine loudly.

  Unexpectedly, a stranger stumbled roughly into Nancy, forcing her to move forward.

  Now she was poised at the very edge of the vessel with nothing but the chain between her and the water. She tried to step back, but the crowd behind her would not budge.

  Suddenly the stranger thrust his hands onto her shoulders, pushing her down hard. Nancy slipped and fell against the metal links, sliding under it before anyone could catch her!

  4. The Duchessas Secret

  As Nancy slid forward, the passengers gasped in horror. Luckily, however, the girl had managed to grab the chain, keeping herself from falling into the canal!

  “Nancy!” Bess cried, she and her cousin diving to help her. The stranger, meanwhile, had edged past them and lost himself in the crowd of onlookers.

  "Just pull me,” Nancy said hoarsely. “I can make it.”

  But her fingers were bone-white and threatening to give way any second.

  “Lean back as far as you can,” George told her, putting her arms under Nancy’s and tugging her upward.

  “That’s it. More, more,” Bess urged. She watched the girl’s feet grope for a toehold.

  The ticket collector, who had been at one end of the vaporetto, now hurried forward muttering in Italian.

  “Che cosa sta succedendo qui? What’s going on here?" he asked as the young detective finally managed to swing her weight onto the boat and stood up.

  “Someone pushed me,” she said.

  “Non capisco. Che cosa dice? I don’t understand. What is she saying?” the young man replied. He looked at George for an explanation.

  “My friend says someone pushed her,” Bess answered. “Like this.” She motioned with her hands. “You understand now?”

  But the ticket man shook his head.

  “Give up. Obviously, no one saw it because it’s so crowded in here,” Nancy said to the girls as the boat approached its first stop. She glanced through the passengers, most of whom where local people who spoke little or no English and quickly lost interest in the rescue once it was over. Which one of them, she wondered, had tried to push her overboard and why?

  No answer came, though, as everyone hurried onto the landing stage.

  “Do you suppose it was deliberate?” Bess asked Nancy after they debarked. “It seems to me there was very little standing room and someone could liave bumped against you accidentally.”

  “It was deliberate all right,” Nancy said, describing precisely what had happened.

  “But who would want to hurt you?”

  “And for what reason I’d like to know?” George added.

  “That’s what I keep saying to myself,” Nancy remarked, as they ducked down an alley and walked to the fondamenta, the street that ran parallel with the canal.

  When they reached the glass shop, however, they were surprised to find a sign on the door.

  “‘Chiuso,’” Nancy said. “How do you like that? It’s closed.”

  She peered inside at the array of stemware glistening on the shelves that swept past elaborate mirrors to the chandeliers in the back.

  Suddenly, Nancy’s eyes fastened on someone’s reflection in a mirror.

  “Look!” she said, but Bess and George had already seen him. “It�
��s Andreoli!”

  Nancy tapped on the window, hoping the gondolier would respond, but he had already slipped out of sight.

  “This is getting to be very frustrating,” Bess said as an overhead window slid open.

  “Prego. Can you come up?” A voice drifted down, causing the girls to step back from the building. The handsome elderly woman who had addressed them was probably in her seventies.

  “Who are you?” Nancy asked.

  “I will tell you when you come upstairs. There is a door to the right.”

  Without giving the girls another chance to speak, she closed the window.

  “I wonder why she wants to see us,” Bess said, following Nancy and her cousin to the second-floor apartment.

  “She probably wants to kidnap us.” George laughed, as the door swung open.

  “Please come in, young ladies,” the woman said graciously.

  She gestured to a beautiful silk sofa that sprawled in front of a marble fireplace in the living room.

  “I am the Duchessa Maria Dandolo. Perhaps you have heard of the Doge, Enrico Dandolo. I am a distant relative.”

  Nancy gulped excitedly, as she remembered Antonio’s story about the Doge who had brought the bronze horses from Constantinople. “Did you, by any chance, send a message to me—Nancy Drew—this morning?” she asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “But how did you know who Nancy was?” Bess inquired, incredulous.

  “A friend of mine told me. Professor Bagley. He called to say hello before his college tour left Europe. When I told him I had a problem, he informed me that a very bright young detective was on her way to Venice. ‘She’s the person to help you,’ he said.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Nancy responded, flattered by the professor’s glowing recommendation.

  “He also mentioned your friends, George Fayne and Bess Marvin,” the woman continued, lighting her eyes on them. “He described you all so vividly that I immediately recognized you when I saw you standing downstairs. So ... I take it you received my little note?”