Mystery of the Winged Lion, Page 3

  “We did, but we could hardly read it,” Nancy said. “It was washed out by the rain.”

  “Then, how did you know where to find me!?”

  “As you said, Duchessa, Nancy’s a first-rate detective,” George said, chuckling.

  With that, there was a knock at the door, and the woman rose to answer it. To the girls’ astonishment, it was Andreoli.

  “You almost got us into a heap of trouble!” George accused him. “If you hadn’t told the night clerk about our trip across the canal, we wouldn’t have had to explain ourselves to the police, who, by the way, warned us not to do any more detective work!”

  The gondolier looked crestfallen. “I not know who you were then,” he said haltingly.

  “Poor Andreoli. Don’t be so hard on him,” the duchessa said in his defense. “He told me about your conversation with Captain Dona- tone. I believe his restrictions concern only police matters. I am asking you as a private citizen to help me on a matter in which I do not wish to involve the authorities.”

  “Yes?” Nancy asked, her curiosity rising.

  “I have a nephew who is quite brilliant, an artist like his father, and he—” She paused as if unsure whether to continue.

  “And he?” George prompted her.

  “Well, he has been kidnapped—taken away from Venice, his family, his work, everything.” “Why didn’t you tell the police?” Bess asked. “Because I did not want the publicity. If I reported the kidnapping, there would be stories in the newspaper. My family would be very upset.”

  Gazing at the elegant appointments in the room, the fine brocade, the crystal and marble, the girls concluded there was great wealth hidden between the lines of Maria Dandolo’s story. Throughout, Andreoli had remained quiet.

  “I want you to find my nephew,” the woman went on. “I will pay you well.”

  “I never take money, and I am not sure I can accept the assignment anyway,” Nancy said, surprising her companions.

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Nancy Drew turn down a chance to solve a mystery!” Bess exclaimed.

  “Well, as Andreoli knows,” the girl replied, “our friends are in trouble.”

  “They’re in jail,” George stated flatly.

  “Yes, I know all about it,” the duchessa said, “but what does that—”

  “I’m afraid I have to devote my time to them until they are free. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “Of course, but perhaps I can help you in that regard,” Nancy’s listener replied, causing a flutter of excitement among the girls. “I cannot promise, but I can certainly try.”

  She said something in Italian to Andreoli whose head bobbed up and down at every syllable. “Si, si,” he replied.

  “But signora,” Nancy started to say. “Duchessa,” the woman corrected her. “Then, duchessa ,” Nancy continued, “please tell me how it is you can help my American friends when you fear going to the police about your own relative?”

  “That is an easy question to answer. You see, I have many friends in high government positions who can—how you say—move things

  along for you. But Filippo. Well, he would be in even greater danger if I revealed his disappearance to them. I do not trust anyone now— except you.”

  The woman lowered her eyes, tracing a thin crack in a black marble table. “It’s pathetic how old things break and fall apart with time,” she said. “I’m trying hard not to let it happen to me, especially now. Please, you must find Filippo. It is your duty as a detective!”

  5. Revelations

  Nancy was thunderstruck by the woman’s pronouncement and if it were not for her curiosity about the artist’s disappearance, she might have politely excused herself.

  The twinge of uncertainty in the girl’s face was very evident. “Please, forgive me for talking as I do,” the duchessa said softly. “I cannot force you to help me. I—I’m not myself these days.”

  “I understand,” Nancy said. “Why don’t you tell us more about Filippo. When was he kidnapped?”

  “Less than three days ago while he was making some deliveries to our factory in Murano.”

  “Are his captors demanding money from you?” George asked.

  “No. Not money.”

  “What do they want then?” Nancy asked. Maria Dandolo gave a long, arduous sigh. “I cannot give you any more information until you say yes, you will help the Dandolo family.”

  “I will,” Nancy said, “once the charges are dropped against my friends. They are completely innocent, you know.”

  “Fair enough,” the duchessa said, smiling. “Uno momento.” She excused herself to a nearby telephone while Andreoli rose from his chair.

  “Scusi, signorine,” he said. He spoke to the woman in Italian, nodded at the girls, and left immediately.

  “Strange, very strange,” Bess commented to her friends. “I mean what does a gondolier have to do with a duchess?”

  “Maybe he’s her private chauffeur or runs errands for her,” Nancy said. “What intrigues me more is, what was he doing in the store below?” When the woman finished making her call, she informed the young detectives of her success. It would take no more than two hours to clear the Emerson boys, she said. “You can pick them up about four o’clock,” she added, sitting down again.

  “Now I must confess something else to you,” she continued. “I’m partly responsible for your friends’ trouble.

  “But how?” Bess asked, dumbfounded.

  “My family has been in the glassmaking

  business for generations,” the duchessa explained. “We own a factory in Murano and have several stores throughout Italy, including the one downstairs.”

  “Oh, then that explains why we saw Andreoli in the window before,” Nancy interrupted.

  The woman nodded. “Yes. He helps me with many things. But what I want to talk about is the particular glass sculpture that was found in Mr. Nickerson’s luggage. It was one of the most beautiful things Filippo ever designed,” she said sadly. “Ever since he was a small boy he’s been fascinated by the Quadriga, the magnificent bronze horses atop the Basilica San Marco.” So I was right, Nancy thought. The glass statue was modeled after them! “Was Filippo carrying the piece when he was kidnapped?” she asked aloud.

  “No. As a matter of fact, it had disappeared from our showroom in Murano a few days earlier. I reported the theft, and the police alerted customs officials throughout Europe to be on the lookout for it.”

  “So the chances are, if we find the thief, we may also find the person who framed Ned,” George concluded.

  “No doubt,” the duchessa said. “I was afraid the sculpture would be taken out of the country, and apparently it was. But why it was planted in your friend’s suitcase is still a mystery.”

  “Well, it’s quite possible the burglary in your showroom last night was done by the same people who captured your nephew,” Nancy offered. “What was actually stolen?”

  “Nothing, or so it seems,” the woman replied. “And the police have no idea why the chandelier fell. It is all so very strange.”

  She stood up and went to a writing desk from where she removed a piece of paper and handed it to Nancy. On it was a winged lion with a small Bible next to it and underneath, a

  few words in Italian. Translated, they said, “Peace to you, Saint Mark, my evangelist.” “Does this mean anything to you?” Nancy questioned.

  “It does indeed. The winged lion and open Bible are the symbol of Venice. So are the words,” Maria Dandolo answered. “Our patron saint is the Evangelist St. Mark. Filippo uses the symbol as a signature on his work.”

  “Then, are you saying that your nephew sent this to you?” Bess asked.

  “Someone left it in my mailbox two days ago. You see, it has my address on the reverse side. Unfortunately, I don’t know who brought it here. But it’s unmistakably Filippo’s handwrit- mg.

  “Perhaps he wasn’t kidnapped,” George spoke up. “Since no one has asked you fo
r ransom, perhaps he just went away for a few days.” “No. There was a telephone call from someone—a man with a very deep, husky voice. .He told me they had taken my nephew somewhere and said, ‘You may not see him again unless—’”

  “Unless what?” Nancy prompted her.

  “‘Unless you give us the formula that your brother, Filippo’s father, uses to make glass with.’ ”

  “Is Signore Dandolo the only one who has the formula?” Bess inquired.

  “No, I think I have a copy somewhere among my papers.”

  “Why didn’t they kidnap your brother?” Nancy volleyed another question.

  “Apparently they couldn’t find him at the time,” the duchessa said. “So instead they took his most precious possession—his son.”

  “Where is Filippo’s father?” the young detective asked.

  “After my nephew’s disappearance, he went into hiding, and I assure you, no one will ever find him.”

  The statement drew a long pause from the girls until Nancy spoke. “I see now why you don’t want any unnecessary publicity,” she said. “Not only because you might be risking further harm to your nephew, but also to his father. Have you no idea where they could have taken Filippo?”

  “No, no idea at all.” Maria Dandolo’s eyes blinked sleepily as she finished speaking. “I am very tired now. I have not slept too well since all of this happened. Please forgive me. I must ask you to leave.”

  “We can talk later,” Nancy said. “Perhaps we will have a chance to meet your brother as well.”

  “Perhaps. We will see.”

  In the meantime, Nancy and the cousins intended to contact police headquarters about the release of their friends.

  “She seems to be holding something back from us,” George said as they boarded the va- poretto for the return ride.

  “She’s just being cautious,” Bess declared. “Don’t you agree, Nancy?”

  “I don’t know quite what to think—yet. But I’m hoping the brains of Emerson College will come up with something.”

  “I’m sure they will!” Bess gleamed brightly. “Just think if we hadn’t met the duchessa, Dave might have been forced to spend the rest of his days in a Venetian prison—”

  “Pining away for his beloved Bess.” Her cousin chortled.

  “It isn’t funny, George Fayne, is it, Nancy?” the girl said.

  But the Drew girl wasn’t paying much attention to the familiar, teasing banter between the two. She was thinking instead of the magnificent church built by the Doge Contarini for Venice’s patron saint. It dominated the main piazza and its immensity was staggering. Undoubtedly there were numerous rooms inside and, behind the chapels, dark, unthought-of corners where someone could hide or be secreted away from the world.

  Filippo’s intriguing signature might, in fact, be a clue to his whereabouts! Nancy deduced. So the cathedral, the monument to the Evangelist Saint Mark, was the next logical place to search for the duchessa s nephew.

  6. Captured!

  When the three girls finally debarked from the vaporetto, they returned to their hotel at once. To Nancy’s disappointment, she discovered that she had missed the long-awaited call from her father by only a few minutes.

  “I’d better try to reach him right away,” she said. “I don’t want him to worry.”

  So the instant the girls were in their room, Nancy dialed the operator who, unlike previous occasions, was able to place the call immediately.

  “Dad, is that you?” Nancy said when the man’s resonant hello crackled over the line.

  “Nancy?”

  “Yes, Dad. Oh, I’m so glad I finally got hold of you.”

  She explained the trouble that Ned and the other two boys had gotten into, quickly adding, “But we met a duchessa—”

  “Who has connections in high places?” Mr. Drew chuckled.

  “Exacdy,” Nancy said, smiling to herself.

  She revealed the details of what had occurred, finishing in a cheerful tone. “So that’s the story. No assignment for Dad this time!” she declared.

  “Maybe you’ll find one before I arrive, though,” he replied.

  “Before you arrive?” Nancy asked excitedly. “Are you coming to Italy?”

  “Day after tomorrow. Believe me, it’s as much a surprise to me as you. I have to help out a client in Rome. He was planning to consolidate his business with an Italian company that wants to expand to the States. But a problem came up, and I’ve been handling one end of it while his lawyer in Rome was supposedly taking care of the other.”

  “What do you mean ‘supposedly’?” Nancy inquired.

  “Well, it seems that the lawyer hasn’t been pushing things along fast enough to suit my client. Anyway, I don’t intend to spoil your fun with all of this dreary business.”

  “It’s not dreary,” Nancy insisted. “I just hope you find time to enjoy yourself while you’re here. You are coming to Venice, aren’t you?” There was some hesitation in her father’s voice before he answered. “If I can manage it—I’ll call you as soon as I get into the hotel in Rome. I’ll be staying at the Grand.”

  The conversation ended shortly, and Bess let out a long sigh. “I’m tired,” she said.

  “But it’s not even three o’clock,” George remarked, giving an involuntary yawn.

  “See what I mean?” Bess said. She stretched out on the bed, shutting her eyes for a moment while Nancy spoke.

  “It’ll be another hour before we can pick up the boys at the police station,” she said. “I’d like to visit the basilica on the way. Anybody want to join me?”

  “Sure,” George responded, but the gentle snore that dissolved in Bess’s pillow proved she had already fallen fast asleep. “We can leave her a message.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said and scribbled something on a piece of hotel stationery. “I’ll tell her to meet us in front of the central arch in forty- five minutes.”

  “What if she doesn’t wake up in time?”

  “Then we’ll go on to headquarters without her.”

  Wasting no more discussion on the subject, the girls left the hotel for the piazza, which was now filled with pigeons and a long line of tourists in front of the basilica.

  “It’s really awesome,” George said, following Nancy inside, and fastening her eyes on the colored mosaics and marble which were no less splendid than the arrangement of domes and arches.

  Although Nancy had told George her idea that Filippo might be held captive in the building, both girls now tended to dismiss the idea, seeing the number of people who poured endlessly through the cathedral.

  Nevertheless, they stayed in the line of visitors until they found themselves on the steps of the presbytery, the space around the main altar, gazing at a magnificent block of fine, hammered gold composed of enamels and precious stones.

  “It’s beautiful,” Nancy murmured, pulling back to get a broad view of it along with several other visitors who were taking pictures.

  George, at the same time, had moved down the marble steps, closer to the panel and away from Nancy. She was suddenly surprised when the young detective darted toward her and tugged on her arm urgently.

  “Come on,” Nancy said.

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  But as the young detectives pushed their way to the far side of the cathedral, the twilight glow from the overhead windows was swept into darkness.

  “Can’t you tell me where we’re going?” George asked her companion.

  “I’m looking for someone—a man who came up behind me while I was standing at the altar. Unfortunately, he ran off toward the north transept. I didn’t get a good look at him before he fled.”

  “Did he talk to you?” George asked.

  “Yes. He—he—warned me to stay away from the Dandolo family. Otherwise—”

  “Otherwise what?”

  “He said I’d end up like the Doge Dandolo himself.”

  “He’s buried in a
crypt below here,” George said, her throat catching on the words.

  “I know.”

  “Maybe we ought to go back to the hotel.’"

  “Are you kidding? No, sir.”

  Undaunted by the mysterious threat, Nancy pressed deeper into the arm of the transept, discovering a small, empty chapel at the end. The scent of burning tallow was unusually strong, suggesting that someone had recently doused candles near a door hidden in the shadows. Curious, the girls walked toward it, wondering whether the man had used it to escape.

  For a fleeting moment, they imagined footsteps running in their direction and turned sharply. Then, unexpectedly, the door flung open and four strong arms reached out and grabbed them.

  “Let g—” George cried, her words garbled quickly by the hand that dragged her through the doorway.

  Nancy also tried to shriek but to no avail as a gag was quickly drawn over her mouth and she was thrown face down alongside George on something soft and tufted like a quilt. The girls’ wrists and ankles were tied next. Then the men left, closing the door after them and locking it.

  Question after question tripped through Nancy's mind as she wondered who the men were and what they intended to do with their captives. Were they connected with Filippo’s abduction? If so, might they not keep Nancy and George prisoners until they had finished with the Dandolo family?

  We could be trapped here forever! Nancy concluded.

  A similar fear had also occurred to George and she made a futile attempt to roll over but found herself pinned next to a wall. It felt cold and damp as her fingers brushed against a thin opening that seemed to run up and down in a straight line. George grunted into her gag, trying to tell Nancy she had discovered another door, maybe one that was unlocked!

  Nancy understood instantly and looked up and down the crevice, searching for a doorknob but none was apparent in the darkness. So, with a hopeless sigh, she lay back on the blanket, breathing in its dank, musty odor.