“Sure you haven’t time for a bite, dear?”
“I wish I could, but I seem to be running later than ever,” nancy replied with an apologetic smile.
‘Just don’t take any chance – please!” the housekeeper begged.
“I promise!” Nancy gave her a quick hug and went flying out the door.
Fortunately, traffic on the freeway thinned out considerably during the dinner hour. Nancy made such good time that, as she neared Oceanview, she was able to stop at a diner for a hamburger, French fries, and a milkshake.
By doing so, it turned out that she had also avoided the worst jam of cars crawling bumper-to-bumper up the hill to the festival amphitheater. Luckily a few empty spaces were still left as Nancy pulled into the parking area.
By the time she reached their dressing rooms, the Footlighters were almost ready to go on stage. Nancy, who had chosen a dress suitable for her understudy role and would only require makeup, apologized for her lateness to the Spencers. “Do you think you’ll need me tonight?”
“Doesn’t look that way, darling,” said Margo, “but it’s still a comfort to know you’re here.”
Standing in the wings, nancy and George whispered encouragement to Bess, who looked a bit pale and nervous with last-minute butterflies. Presently the house lights dimmed and the curtain rose on A Scream in the Dark.
The audience was soon gripped by the suspenseful yet amusing melodrama. Hamilton Spencer played an irritable author of mystery thrillers who had come to a holiday resort for a restful weekend, only to find himself stumbling into trouble at every turn. Bess played his harried secretary.
Laughs and startled gasps punctuated every scene, and the first act ended to tumultuous applause.
During the intermission, nancy stayed in the wings with the stagehands while George accompanied Bess and the others down to the dressing rooms.
“Buona sera, mia cara Nancy!” said a familiar voice. The pretty sleuth turned and saw the smiling, bearded face of Renzo Scaglia.
“How nice to see you again, Signor Scaglia,” she smiled back.
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you! This has turned into a most rewarding evening. Your play is certainly pleasing the audience – though I am sure the performance would be even more enjoyable were you in the cast!”
“Thanks, but they seem to be doing very well without me,” Nancy twinkled. “Anyhow, I’ve been too busy detecting.”
“Indeed? And what sort of a mystery case are you working on now?”
“It may be connected with that mystery you challenged me to solve,” said Nancy, then added: “I mean the theft of Madame Arachne’s jeweled spider while she was singing here at Oceanview.”
The tenor’s olive-skinned face seemed to turn a shade paler.
‘You are indeed a gifted sleuth, signorina,” he murmured. “Almost uncannily so.”
“Then I’m right that that was the unsolved crime you were referring to?”
Scaglia nodded reluctantly. “Si, you are correct. Of course the challenge was foolish and unfair on my part. Obviously there is no possible way you could trace the thief after all this time.” With a captivating smile he added, “So I hope you will forgive me and forget the whole matter!”
Nancy’s sapphire eyes however, did not wave from his gaze. “I’m not at all convinced it’s impossible to solve,” she said coolly, “though of course that depends on many things . . . such as your willingness to tell me exactly what happened. The theft occurred during a performance of Carmen, did it not? – and that night you were singing the role of Don José.”
Renzo Scaglia looked around uncomfortably, as if he wished there were some way to cut short their conversation. “Si, that is so,” he admitted with a sigh. “The robbery occurred during Act II. When Arachne returned to her dressing room and found out her priceless brooch had been stolen, she insisted on calling the police even though we were in the middle of the opera. The whole theater was in an uproar. The performance was ruined, of course. Though I must say, with all the excitement, I doubt that the audience felt cheated!”
The tenor laughed and flung out his hands in a helpless shrugging gesture. “So there you have the whole story. What more can I tell you?”
Peeking out between the curtains for a moment, Scaglia added, “Your audience is returning, I see. Ah, and here come the actors from their dressing rooms! Time for me to leave, I think. Ciao, Nancy!”
The tenor’s attitude puzzled the young detective. When Scaglia had first mentioned the crime back at the Footlighters’ barn theater, he sounded eager to have the case reopened. But from the moment Nancy showed interest in probing the mystery, he seemed to draw back and become reluctant to discuss the matter.
The last act of the play scored an even bigger hit with the audience than the first half of the play. Loud handclapping and cheers filled the amphitheater as the final curtain came down and as the cast took repeated bows.
Nancy accompanied them down to the suite of dressing rooms below the stage level, where a happy celebration began. Numerous bouquets had been delivered, including a large cluster of gardenias and carnations for Bess.
“Oh, my goodness. They’re from Mr. Horvath,” Madame Arachne’s husband!” Bess gasped, blushing with pleasure. “And he’s inviting all three of us out to Moonlight Island as his overnight guests! Isn’t that a romantic name for it, by the way?”
George and Nancy eagerly read the card which Bess handed them. It bore Eugene Horvath’s signature boldly inscribed in purple ink, and said that he would send his manservant, Sandor, to pick up the girls, as he promised when they had met.
He added that he had hired a maid especially for this evening, to look after his hope-for-guests, and by accepting his invitation, they would make an elderly gentleman very happy.
Bess was thrilled at the chance to visit the glamorous island hideaway where Madame Arachne and her husband had spent their brief but happy marriage. Nancy felt this might be a chance to discover some valuable clue to the mystery surrounding the late opera star. George, adventurous as always, was more than willing to go along.
Minutes later, Sandor, the chauffeur-valet knocked on the dressing room door. He was a strongly built, stony-faced man in a smart powder blue cap and uniform, but so silent that Nancy almost wondered at first if he were a mute.
At the wheel of Horvath’s big, shiny darl limousine, he whisked the girls first to Bess and George’s motel, then down to the boat landing where a luxurious motor cruiser was berthed and waiting. Soon they were cruising out over the moonlit waters of the bay toward their host’s island estate. As they neared their destination, Sandor radioed ahead to announce their arrival.
The island loomed out of the sea, looking every bit as romantic as Bess could have wished. Rock-walled and roughly crescent-shaped, it was dotted with beautiful oaks and evergreens. In their midst, shimmering in the moonglow, rose Horvath’s lovely white marble home, fronted by classical columns.
“Oh, isn’t it lovely!” murmured Bess. “It looks like a Greek temple on a headland!”
The little cove formed by the island’s crescent shape made a small natural harbor. Eugene Horvath himself was standing at the dock, waiting to greet them. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you have accepted my invitation!” he said, beaming at the three girls.
Golf carts had been provided to carry the guests up to the mansion. Here they met the stout, middle-aged maid, Elena, whom Harvath had hired for the girls’ benefit that evening.
Over a delicious supper of cold chicken and salad, topped off by strawberries and ice cream, their host told Bess how much he had liked her performance in the play.
“We didn’t even know you were there!” she said.
“Indeed I was, my dear, and enjoying every minute of it! But I watched from a private box and left before the final curtain came down.”
When the meal was over, Mr. Horvath showed the girls around the mansion. It was filled with pictures and othe mementos of his
wife – including a marble bust of Madame Arachne.
He also took the girls into a small projection room, which looked like a tiny movie theater, and ran films of her outstanding operatic performances. The sheer dramatic power and color of the great diva’s voice made Nancy shiver with excitement.
Later, while Bess and George were poring over some of Madame Arachne’s colorful keepsakes, Eugene Horvath drew Nancy aside. “I must confess that I had another reason for inviting you and your friends out to the island,” he told the young sleuth confidentially. “My life has been threatened! In fact that is why I tried to avoid being seen too publicly at the theater tonight.”
He related that he had received several menacing phone calls from a man named Sweeney Flint. The caller warned him not to discuss his late wife’s business with anyone.
“Have you any idea who this Sweeney Flint might be?” Nancy asked.
Horvath shook his head gloomily. “The name means nothing to me. I wondered if you might have heard it during your detective work.”
“Not until now,” she replied. “But I’ll certainly check him out with the police. He may have a criminal record. Was there any particular subject he warned you not to talk about?”
“No, ‘business affairs’ was the only term he used – and of course that could include almost any aspect of my wife’s career.”
“By the way,” Nancy went on, “the lst time we met, I told you your wife’s former dresser, Magie Farr, was trying to communicate something about a spider that concerned your wife. I think I know now what she was referring to.”
“Indeed?” And what is that?”
“A precious jeweled brooch in the shape of a spider. It was stolen from your wife’s dressing room during an opera at the Oceanview Festival three years ago.”
“Aaaah, yes!” A look of drawing comprehension came over Eugene Horvath’s face. “Now that you tell me, I do recall Arachne mentioning a robbery of some sort. That was when we first met, before I became her business manager. But I never knew exactly what was stolen . . . A jeweled spider, you say? . . . Hmm, sounds most unusual.”
It was well after midnight when the evening finally ended. The maid Elena showed the girls upstairs to their rooms. Bess and George, were to share a double room, while Nancy was given a smaller bedroom adjoining theirs.
It had been a long day. The girl detective’s eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
Some time later, Nancy awoke with a sense of shock. An alarm bell was ringing, and someone was shouting. Flinging on a robe, she dashed out of the room.
At the other end of the corridor, she could hear Horvath’s voice crying out, “Help! . . . Help me!”
14. The Mysterious Intruder
The door next to Nancy’s room opened, and George and Bes peered out anxiously, both pulling on robes. “What’s going on?” George exclaimed.
Even as she spoke, another cry for help sounded from Eugene Horvath’s room down the hall!
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out!” Nancy declared.
Snatching up a slender metal figurine from its display stand to use as a makeshift weapon, Nancy dashed through the corridor toward their host’s room. She rapped loudly on the door.
“Mr. Horvath! Are you all right?” she called. “Y – Y – Yes! . . . One moment, please!” In a few seconds, the mustached businessman looked out at Nancy, followed by her two friends. He was hastily belting a robe over his striped silk pajamas, and his usually suave face looked pale and haggard.
“What happened?” Nancy inquired.
“Someone attempted to climb into my room,” Horvath replied, gesturing toward a pair of French windows which opened on to a balcony. “Because of those menacing phone calls I told you about, I recently has a security system installed. When the intruder climbed over the balcony rail, he tripped the burglar alarm!”
“Did he try to attack you, Mr. Horvath?” put in Bess Marvin, her plump face wide-eyed with fright.
“No, thank heavens – though I’m sure he intended to! He lingered on the balcony for a while, trying to make up his mind what to do, but the alarm bell and my calls for help finally frightened him off.” Their host heaved a gusty sigh of relief. He now seemed to be recovering his poise, and his color was returning.
“Did you get a good look at him?” asked Nancy.
“I’m afraid not,” Horvath confessed a bit sheepishly. “Besides the fact that I was upset, the fellow had his back to the moonlight, so all I could see, really, was this dark form.” He dabbed perspiration from his brow with a silk handkerchief.
“Should we searched for him or call the police?” Nancy went on.
Horvath gave a nervous shudder. “There is no need for us to search. Sandor will have heard the alarm, just as you girls did. He is a trained body-guard, by the way. He is probably out searching the grounds at this very moment!”
Half an hour later, while the group waited in the downstairs sitting room, sipping hot chocolate served by Elena, the chauffeur returned to report.
Sandor told Mr. Horvath that the intruder had been lurking in a clump of trees and had struck him from behind. “I managed to grab his leg as I went down, but he kicked me away and ran toward the dock.”
“Did he have a boat?” asked George.
“A sports minisub,” the chauffeur replied. “He got aboard and submerged before I could reach the motor cruiser.”
“What about his appearance?” said Nancy. “Could you see his face?”
Sandor nodded grimly. “Well enough to remember it if I ever see him again! He had a big crooked nose, and there was something wrong with the left side of his face. I mean it was clenched up, as if he couldn’t see properly on that side.”
The squint-eyed thief again! Could he also be the threatening caller, Sweeney Flint? If so, Nancy realized the name might provide an important lead in tracking him down.
All three girls slept late the next morning, due to their interrupted night’s rest. After a swim in the tiny cove and a hearty breakfast, they returned to the mainland aboard Horvath’s motor cruiser, with Sandor at the wheel. Their host came along for the brief trip and delivered the girls in his limousine to the amphitheater parking lot, where Nancy had left her blue sports car overnight.
Sandor transferred their luggage to Nancy’s car, and the girls made their farewells to the suave, charming Eugene Horvath.
“You must all come and visit me again!” he said with a wave as his limousine moved off.
After dropping George and Bess at their homes, Nancy drove to her house. Her thoughts were filled with the puzzling pieces of the mystery.
“Oh, Hannah, it’s good to be home again!” she cried as the housekeeper opened the screen door.
“I hope that doesn’t mean you had a bad time?” Hannah said, greeting Nancy with a hug.
“Oh, no. The play was a big hit. And afterward, George and Bess and I wer.e invited out to a beautiful island with a luxurious house on it. It belonged to Madame Arachne Onides, but now her husband lives there with just a servant.”
“Oh, my!” Hannah exclaimed. “You’ll have to tell me all about it over lunch.”
“Golly, I’m sorry. We stopped to eat on our way home. But I’ll sit and have a cup of tea while you eat lunch,” Nancy said.
While Hannah ate and Nancy sipped her tea, she described the exciting events that had taken place on the island last night.
“Oh, my goodness, Nancy, that sounds dangerous,” Hannah fretted.
“It just means I have another mystery to solve. Who’s threatening Mr. Horvath and why” Nancy paused and smiled. “But now you can understand how good it is to be home. It’s so peaceful here!”
Later, as she helped Hannah clear the table, Nancy said, “I’m going t pay Brett Hulme a visit this afternoon.”
After unpacking her overnight bag, nancy brushed her hair and freshened up, then set out to question the young jewelry designer. She felt sure he
was the designer of the beautiful spider ornament stolen from Madame Onides.
As Nancy turned up the gravel drive to Brett Hulme’s workshop, she saw him come out the door carrying an attaché case. He was dressed in a dark business suit, white shirt, and tie. Depositing the case in his own car, he turned to greet his visitor pleasantly.
“I’m sorry, Nancy, but as you see, I must leave. I have a number of appointments this afternoon. And also I’m delivering several orders.”
“This won’t take long,” Nancy smiled.
“In that case, would you like to come inside?”
“Oh no, why don’t we talk here?” Nancy pointed to some white painted garden chairs set out near a flower bed.
When Nancy told him about the ruby-and-diamond spider brooch that had been stolen from Madame Onides and asked if he had designed it, Brett’s lips tightened.
“I’m sorry. I don’t like to seem stubborn, but that’s something I’d rather not discuss with you.”
“I’m also wondering if there’s any connection between the jeweled spider and that beautiful silver cobweb necklace I saw you working on,” she persisted.
“That necklace was commissioned by someone who has since cancelled the order. I just don’t feel free, Nancy, to tell you any more than that. And, no, I cannot reveal who my customer was,” Brett ended on a note of finality.
Realizing that any further questions would be useless, Nancy stood up. “I’m sorry too, Brett. I think you’d really be helping Kim if you told me, but . . . if that’s how you feel, I shan’t keep you any longer.”
With a smile and a wave, Nancy got into her car and turned back down the drive. In her rearview mirror, she could see Brett Hulme standing and watching her drive away. His expression looked anything but happy.
That night after dinner, Nancy set out to keep her rendezvous with Jack Vernon. The evening had turned cool and she was glad to have the warmth of a sweater as she drove through River Heights toward Riverside Park.
Spot, but after parking her car outside the Park drive entrance, she saw that the cool, overcast weather had left the area deserted.
The Silver Cobweb Page 8
