Tad was as much amazed as the girl detective by the unexpected word clue. “You think the connection with Madame Onides’ first name is more than just a coincidence?” he asked.
“It must be,” Nancy declared. “There are altogether too many ‘coincidences’ cropping up in this case!”
But the explanation still eluded her. “Did your mother, by any chance, learn to speak Greek while she was working for Madame Onides?”
“Not really,” Tad Farr replied after a moment’s thought, “although now that you mention it, she did pick up a few words of the language. Some of them weren’t polite,” he added with a chuckle. “Madame O had quite a temper, I guess. But why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering,” Nancy mused, “if that drawing your mother made after suffering her stroke might have been the simplest way she could think of to indicate the opera singer.”
Tad was struck by this idea. But as she mulled it over, Nancy’s instincts inclined her to doubt that she had hit on the true explanation.
“I’ll just have to keep probing away at the mystery,” she told him before hanging up. “At least this gives me another lead to work on.”
Over a bedtime cup of cocoa, Hannah Gruen asked Nancy if Bess Marvin and other members of her amateur theatrical group called the Footlighters had won the honor they were hoping for.
“Oh, yes! Didn’t I tell you?” Nancy replied.
“They were chosen last Thursday to take part in the Oceanview Festival!”
This annual event was a week-long music and drama festival held in the pleasant seaside town of Oceanview. In addition to world-famous stars, various college and community groups were invited each year to perform in the outdoor amphitheater which had been especially built to stage the glamorous summer festival.
“That’s quite an honor indeed,” remarked Carson drew from the depths of his arm chair. “I don’t recall hearing anything about it on the local news.”
“That’s because the festival committee hasn’t put out any publicity release yet, Dad. The official announcement will be made at the Footlighter’s matinee tomorrow.”
The Footlighters, under the direction of a veteran Broadway couple named Hamilton and Margo Spencer, made their home in a lovely old three-story house on the edge of town.
The next day after an early lunch, Nancy drove there with George Fayne. Both girls had joined the Footlighters briefly during one of Nancy’s earlier cases, and they still helped out occasionally, though neither was as stagestruck as Bess.
“What’s all this I read in the paper yesterday about someone trying to conk that jewelry designer, Brett Hulme, with a rock?” George asked. “The report said you were with him when it happened.”
“Yes, it was rather scary---and definitely unpleasant.” Nancy described the incident. Then she changed the subject by bringing up the Oceanview Festival. “Have the Spencers decided yet what play they’ll put on there?”
“Yes, that British mystery melodrama, A Scream in the Dark. You should be starring in it, Nancy!”
The girl detective chuckled. “Thanks, but I have my hands full right now with the mystery of Kim Vernon and that weird spider drawing.”
“Speaking of stars,” George went on, “did Bess tell you who’s going to make the announcement today? . . . I mean about the Footlighters being chosen for the festival.”
Nancy shook her head as she steered the car down the pleasant tree-shaded road. “No. Who?”
“If you don’t know yet, I won’t spoil the surprise,” George said with a grin. “Wait and see!”
An artistic wooden sign hanging from a tree and bearing the name THE FOOTLIGHTERS marked their destination. Nancy turned up the drive and parked in the graveled lot which was already filling with cars. Then she and George joined the stream of patrons strolling toward the converted barn that served as the troupe’s theater.
The Wednesday matinee featured a revived Broadway comedy that drew frequent laughs and hearty applause from the audience. After several curtain calls, the house lights went on. Then the tall, graying director, Hamilton Spencer, stepped forward with a smile.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a deep, resonant voice, “may I present that world-famous tenor, Renzo Scaglia!”
A storm of handclapping, even punctuated with a few bravos, greeted the stocky, black-bearded man who now walked out from the wings. Nancy was as thrilled as George had expected. The darkly handsome Scaglia was not only a star of the Metropolitan Opera in New York, but also sang frequently at London’s Covent Garden and La Scala in Milan.
He began by announcing that as one of the outstanding little theater groups in the area, the Footlighters had been specially chosen to take part in the Oceanview Festival. Then he asked Hamilton Spencer to tell the audience about the play which his troupe would perform there, and he urged everyone to sign up for festival tickets before leaving.
As a final touch, Scaglia brought down the house by singing one of the operatic arias for which he was famous, “La Donna é Mobile.”
When the exciting conclusion of the matinee was over and the audience had finally left, Mr. Spencer introduced his guest personally to the Footlighters, including Nancy and George.
“Miss Drew is quite a famous young lady herself,” he told the opera star. “Her specialty is solving mysteries!”
“Indeed?” As Nancy blushed, Renzo Scaglia fixed her with his deeply glowing brown eyes. “I believe I have read about her exploits.”
“Very likely,” said Hamilton Spencer. “She once solved a mystery on these very grounds that involved a weird dancing puppet.”
He described the mystery, which was one of Nancy Drew’s most unusual cases. Scaglia looked impressed.
“Perhaps the signorina would be interested in applying her detective skill to a famous crime that once occurred at an earlier Oceanview Festival,” he murmured. With a playful smile quirking his bearded lips, he went on, “In fact I might even suggest to the festival committee that her sleuthing be used as a---how do you say?---a publicity gimmick to help promote this year’s operatic performance!”
“Hmmm, you may have something there,” said Mr. Spencer. “What crime are you referring to?”
Acting on a sudden flash of intuition which she could never afterward explain, Nancy put in, “Did it have anything to do with that famous diva, Madame Arachne Onides?”
She was scarcely prepared for the effect her question seemed to have on the opera star. His smile vanished abruptly. For a moment he stared at Nancy with a look as startled as if he had just seen a ghost. But Scaglia quickly regained his composure.
“Why not come down and view the scene of the crime for yourself, mia cara?” he murmured suavely. “if you accept my challenge, I shall tell you the whole story!”
“I may take you up on that,” said Nancy, returning the bearded singer’s smile.
She was still pondering Signor Scaglia’s strange reaction the next morning when her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, arrived at the Drews’ home to pick her up in his car. Ned had asked her to play a round of golf to help him sharpen up for the River Heights-Oakville tournament.
“How’s the Kim Vernon mystery coming?” he inquired on the way to the country club.
Nancy gave a helpless little shrug. “I’m not sure myself, Ned. But that reminds me---I have something important to ask her if we see her on the course today.”
Privately the teenage detective realized that her question might cause a few sparks, since Kim had requested that she discontinue her investigation.
As it turned out, Nancy heard her name called in the clubhouse soon after changing into golf shoes and before going outside again to tee off with Ned.
“Oh, Nancy!”
Turning, she saw the black-haired golf star hurrying toward her. Kim Vernon’s attractive face bore an expression of muted anxiety.
“Oh hi, Kim.” Nancy greeted her with a calm smile. “What’s up?”
“I read about the attack
on Brett Hulme. Is he all right?”
“Of course. He was just scratched a bit by the flying glass, that’s all.”
Kim hesitated. “I guess what I’m really asking, Nancy, is whether or not he’s still in danger.” Her dark eyes searched Nancy’s keenly.
The titian-blond sleuth was uncertain how to reply. “Do you have any private reason for thinking he may be?” she probed, turning the question back on Kim.
“Of course not!” A rosy flush crept up into the golf star’s cheeks. “I mean, I . . . I just don’t know. If some enemy is out to harm him, I only wondered if . . . well, if whoever it was might try again.”
Seeing Kim’s obvious concern and interest, Nancy could not help wondering if she now regretted having broken off her romance with Brett Hulme and was still in love with him.
They walked out through the clubhouse entrance, then paused as Kim said, “I might also ask why you were seeing Brett, Nancy. Did it concern me?”
The teenager’s thoughts raced, trying to decide how best to respond. “I’ll tell you that if you’ll tell me something, Kim,” she said at last.
“Tell you what?”
“Are you acquainted with Maggie Farr?”
“Maggie Farr?” Kim looked puzzled, then frowned slightly and shook her head. “Not that I know of. Why? Who is she?”
“A scrubwoman. But she was once employed by a famous opera singer.” Something strange seemed to be taking place in Kim Vernon’s expression. Noticing the change, Nancy pressed on. “She was a dresser for Madame Arachne Onides. Does that name mean anything to you? . . . or a spider?
Nancy was hoping Kim might betray whatever was going on in her mind by a few words or a look. But she was totally unprepared for the violence of the golf star’s reaction.
Kim’s facial expression dissolved into one of utter dismay. With a sobbing gasp, she barely stopped herself from bursting into tears! Putting one hand to her face, she rushed off toward the parking lot!
A moment later Nancy saw the golf star climb hastily into her car and go speeding off down the country club’s exit drive!
7. Enigma in Red
Ned was waiting to tee off when Nancy joined him. He had glimpsed the outcome of her conversation with the black-haired golf star.
“What’s the matter with Kim Vernon?” he asked.
“Some questions I asked upset her,” Nancy confessed ruefully, taking a deep breath. “Ned, I may be on to something that has a bearing on her withdrawal from the Charleston match. Do you know where I can get in touch with Russ Chaffee?”
“Sure, he’ll be over at Oakville this morning, filling in for the club pro.”
“Oh, good!” Nancy exclaimed. “Maybe I can catch him there when we finish our nine holes.”
The pretty young sleuth called from the clubhouse as soon as she came off the course. Although she was unable to reach Chaffee, the telephone operator at the Oakville Country Club promised to give him Nancy’s message.
Then Ned drove her home, where Nancy transferred to her own blue sports car. Soon she was whizzing along the highway that led to Oakville.
Russ Chaffee was waiting to greet her as she pulled into the country club parking lot. “The phone girl said you wanted to see me, Nancy. Is it anything to do with Kim Vernon?”
“Yes, very much so. Where can we talk?”
“Let’s go in the club lounge.”
As soon as they were seated in comfortable wicker chairs by the window, with tall glasses of iced tea on the table between them, Nancy asked, “Does the name of Madame Arachne Onides mean anything to you?”
Kim’s trainer frowned. “Well, I’ve heard of her, of course. She was that famous opera star. Died in a transatlantic plane crash, I believe.”
“That’s right. But you never met her?”
Chaffee shook his head, his expression somewhat puzzled by Nancy’s line of questioning.
“No.”
“Was Kim acquainted with her?”
“Not that I know of. Why”
Nancy described the strange urgency with which Maggie Farr had been trying to communicate something that seemed to concern Kim Vernon, but also to involve Madame Arachne and a spider---or something resembling a spider.
Russ Chaffee gave a low, startled whistle.
“Does what I’ve said ring any bells?”
“I’ll say it does! Though I probably never would have remembered if you hadn’t brought up the subject.”
Nancy waited for the coach to explain. Chaffee told how, on a tournament trip to Florida, Kim came bursting out of her motel room one morning looking angry ad near tears, and how he had seen her hurl away a crumpled-up piece of paper.
“Did you discover why?” Nancy asked.
“Yes, I picked up the paper and uncrumpled it, just to see what has upset her. Believe it or not, it bore a drawing of a spider---in red ink!
This time Nancy was the one who looked startled. “How strange! Is Kim afraid of spiders?”
“Not that I ever heard of,” the coach replied. “Which doesn’t prove anything, of course. But that wasn’t the only incident of its kind.
“During another tournament, in Chicago, she didn’t come down to breakfast one morning at the hotel where most of the players were staying. So I went up to her room to see what was wrong. Kim had been crying and wouldn’t tell me why. Her eyes were all red and swollen. Then when she went to the bathroom to bathe her eyes, I saw this little transparent plastic box sitting on the writing table. In it was a red spider!”
Nancy was both intrigued and baffled. “have you any idea how it came into her possession?”
Chaffee shrugged. “Only a guess. There was some wrapping paper lying nearby, with some postmarked stamps and Kim’s hotel address on it. My hunch is, the spider had been sent to her through the mail by special delivery.”
“I don’t suppose that helped her game any,” Nancy remarked sympathetically.
“It sure didn’t! As a matter of fact, on both those occasions I just described, the emotional upset put her off her stroke completely.”
“Can you remember any other such occasions?”
Russ Chaffee frowned and was silent for a moment. Then he rose from his chair to pace uneasily toward the window and back again.
“Yes,” he said, “now that you mention it, I do recall another time. This was in summer, almost exactly three years ago. Kim came on the course one day in the middle of a match, looking terribly upset, and . . . well, her game went all to pieces. She’d been tied for first place, but that day she bogied three times and dropped eight strokes behind! Black Thursday we called it. I remember it especially because most of the time Kim’s a very cool, unflappable player.”
“Any idea why it happened?”
“Not really. But now that you’ve got me digging up the past, something else comes back to me!” Chaffee remarked with a touch of uncertainty.
“What’s that?” the young detective inquired keenly.
“You asked me if Kim knew that opera singer, Madame Arachne Onides. Well, she may have seen her at least once.”
“When was this?” asked Nancy.
“On the evening of that same day I just told you about, when Kim got all upset and blew her game. The tournament was being held near Oceanview, and that evening Kim insisted on going to the festival, to see some opera that was being performed there. But mind you, I’m not absolutely sure that Madame Arachne was in it.”
Chaffee could offer no reason to explain Kim Vernon’s sudden operatic interest.
Nancy drove back to River Heights in time to keep a lunch date with her father. Mr. Drew had reserved a table for two at their favorite Chinese restaurant, the Golden Pavilion. Over delicious servings of moo goo gai pan and tiny cups of scented tea, Nancy told him the latest startling developments in the mystery.
“Where do you suppose I could find out if Madame Arachne did perform on that occasion?” he mused aloud.
“Well, you might consult old Judge Drake,�
� the lawyer suggested.
“Judge Drake?” echoed Nancy, looking somewhat intimidates. “But, Dad, you’ve told me he’s one of the greatest jurists in the state!”
Carson Drew chuckled. “he’s also one of our greatest opera buffs. You should see his collection of photographs and programs---and you probably will, if you get him talking on the subject! I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to have you ask him such question, my dear.”
“well, in that case perhaps I will,” Nancy decided with a smile.
Her father’s prediction turned out to be correct. When Nancy telephoned from the restaurant, Judge Drake invited her to come over that very afternoon as soon as she pleased.
A valet ushered her into his large and old-fashioned but lavishly furnished apartment. Nancy noticed a bronze gavel on the mantelpiece along with framed photographs of his law school friends and legal colleagues. But most of the wall space was taken up with autographed pictures of famous opera stars and colorful posters announcing their appearances at opera houses throughout the world.
The retired judge himself, a short, heavyset man, looked like a jolly, gray haired gnome with spectacles. He came bustling out of a back room with an armload of albums and opera programs.
“What a pleasure to meet you, my dear!” he beamed, putting down his burden to squeeze Nancy’s hand. “I might have known that any daughter of Carson drew’s would have the good taste to be interested in grand opera! Now The, I understand you wish to know something about Madame Arachne Onides. Ah, what a voice she had! Without doubt, one of the greatest prima donnas of this century!”
As if to lend atmosphere to their chat, Judge Drake put a stack of her recordings on his stereo player. The room soon throbbed with her dramatic soprano arias. Meanwhile, the elderly judge showed Nancy numerous programs and other mementos of Madame Arachne’s career.
“Do you know if she sang at the Oceanview Festival three years ago?” Nancy inquired.
“Three years ago? . . . Hmm.” Judge Drake frowned thoughtfully and pushed up his spectacles, which were slipping down his nose.
The Silver Cobweb Page 4
