The Clue of the Gold Doubloons

by Carolyn Keene

over the broken railing and jumped feet first, landing

  with her arms outstretched to keep from plunging too

  deep. Still, the cold water closed over her like a black

  curtain. Immediately, she brought her arms down to

  her sides and kicked hard, breaking the surface.

  When she looked around, she couldn't tell where

  Harold had fallen in.

  “Nancy! There are bubbles to your left!” Janie called

  from the deck above.

  Nancy swam to the spot where Janie was pointing.

  She swept her arms through the water and connected

  with something solid. It was Harold's arm. Grasping it,

  she pulled. Slowly, he came to the surface. His skin was

  blue, but when his head popped above water, he began

  to gasp for air.

  Just then someone came swimming around the stern

  of the boat. When the person drew closer, Nancy

  recognized Karl, the Blackbeard actor.

  “I'll tow him in!” Karl called. Grabbing Harold in a

  lifesaving hold, he swam toward the pier. Nancy

  followed. A curious throng stared at them from the

  pier.

  When Nancy reached the side of the pier, several

  people reached down to pull her up.

  Janie rushed over, a towel in her hand. “Are you all

  right?” When Nancy nodded, Janie draped the towel

  over her shoulders.

  As she dried her face, Nancy glanced around.

  “Where are Karl and Harold?”

  “Over here.” Saying “Excuse me, excuse me,” Janie

  led Nancy through the crowd. Karl had laid Harold

  down and was kneeling next to him. He was bending

  over to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation when

  Harold pushed him away. “Get out of here, you big

  gorilla, I'm fine!”

  Coughing and sputtering, Harold sat up. His hair

  was plastered to his head, and his skin was tinged with

  grime.

  “Should we call the rescue squad?” Janie asked.

  “You don't look so hot.”

  Harold shivered. “I'm fine. When I went under I

  swallowed a mouthful of water. Then I panicked and

  got disoriented. The water was so muddy I couldn't see

  anything. Then I felt someone grab my arm. Karl, was

  that you?”

  “Nope. It was our new assistant director, Nancy

  Drew.” Grinning, he waved at Nancy. “For once

  Andrew has done something right. He hired someone

  with guts.”

  “And someone who could swim,” Harold added

  grimly. “Thank you, Nancy.”

  “Let me through. Let me through!” a voice called,

  and a second later, Andrew pushed past Nancy and

  squatted next to Harold. “Hey, buddy, is my best sound

  and light man all right?”

  Harold gave him a weak grin. “Yeah, I'm okay.

  Thanks to your assistant. A hot shower and dry clothes

  and I'll be as good as new.”

  “Great.” With a worried expression, Andrew glanced

  around. “Where's the microphone?”

  “Microphone?” Harold stared at him.

  “Yeah. The shotgun microphone you were holding

  when you went overboard.” When Harold didn't

  respond, Andrew looked up at Nancy.

  “I didn't see the microphone,” she said. “It must

  have gone under.”

  “Karl? Did you see it?” Andrew asked anxiously.

  “Nope. I was too busy pulling Harold in.”

  “Oh, great.” With a groan of dismay, Andrew

  clapped a hand to his head. “It was brand-new!

  Somebody needs to jump in and find it.”

  For a second Nancy wasn't sure she'd heard him

  correctly. She glanced over at Janie, Harold, and Karl,

  and saw that they looked just as surprised.

  Finally Harold said, “I guess it'll have to be you,

  Andrew. Nobody else is crazy enough to dive in on

  purpose. Plus, the water's so muddy, you'd never find

  the microphone.”

  “Well, that's just terrific.” Andrew jumped up. “One

  more problem to add to my list of headaches,” he said

  before stomping off.

  “What was that all about?” Karl asked.

  Janie sighed. “He's under a lot of pressure.”

  Harold snorted. “He was more worried about the

  microphone than he was about me.”

  Nancy turned to Karl. Water dripped off his brows

  and mustache. “Thanks for towing Harold in.”

  “My pleasure. I'm Karl Kidd, by the way.” Grabbing

  her hand with a huge paw, he shook it so hard Nancy

  winced. “Otherwise known as Blackbeard.”

  “And I'm Harold, soaking wet,” Harold announced

  as he stood up.

  “Well, forget the hot shower and dry clothes,” Janie

  said. “Andrew plans to block scene three in ten

  minutes. He wants everybody there. And you know

  how he is about keeping to the schedule.”

  “But I'm wet and cold!” Harold protested.

  Pulling the towel from her shoulder, Nancy handed

  it to Harold. “Use this. The sun's so warm, we'll be dry

  in a minute.”

  When the four started back to the ship, Karl asked,

  “So what happened, Harold? Were you practicing for

  your big man overboard' scene?”

  “Very funny, Kidd. Actually, I'm not sure what

  happened.”

  “A coil of rope fell from one of the masts,” Nancy

  explained. “Fortunately, someone yelled heads up'

  before you were hit.”

  “That was Lian,” Janie said. “Lucky she saw the rope

  fall.”

  “A rope, huh?” Stopping at the bottom of the

  gangplank, Karl wiggled his thick brows. “Someone out

  to get you, Oates? A jealous girlfriend?”

  Harold rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I'm such a lady-

  killer.”

  As Nancy followed them up, she suddenly realized

  that everything had happened so quickly, she hadn't

  even thought about the falling rope. Was it possible

  that someone had deliberately dropped it? she

  wondered.

  When she reached the ship's deck, Nancy stopped to

  let the others go ahead. Shielding her eyes with her

  hand, she stared up at the mizzen-mast. It was a web of

  sails, yards, and rigging. Nancy knew from her research

  that sailors used the rope ratlines as ladders to climb

  from the lower masts to the top masts.

  In the confusion, someone could have clambered up

  or down the ratlines without anyone noticing. But why

  would someone want to hurt Harold? Nancy thought.

  “Where's my assistant director?” A loud voice

  boomed over the ship. Nancy recognized Andrew's

  bellow. When she went up the steps to the

  quarterdeck, she saw the cast and crew gathering on

  the starboard side of the stern.

  Selena, George, and Daniel, who were the actors in

  scene three, stood by the railing in their regular

  clothes. Karl and Janie and Harold were standing on

  the sidelines. Harold had gone over to get another

  microphone. A camera and several lights had been set

  up.

  Tucking her damp hair behind her ears, Nancy

  hurried over. She stuck her hand in her short
s pocket.

  Her list of things to do was soaked, but from the

  impatient expression on Andrew's face, she realized

  she wouldn't have time to work on it anyway.

  When she reached Andrew, he thrust a roll of

  masking tape into her hands. “We're blocking scene

  three. You're in charge of taping the actors' marks.”

  Nancy nodded. “Blocking a scene” meant the

  director and cameraperson figured out the best camera

  shots.

  “For the beginning of this scene, Daniel and George

  will face each other,” Andrew instructed. “Selena, you

  lean on the railing, staring out to sea.”

  “But my back will be turned to the audience!”

  Selena protested.

  “Fortunately, you have a gorgeous back. Lian, how

  do you think that will look?” Andrew asked, ignoring

  Selena's frown of displeasure.

  Lian was sitting behind the camera. Because of the

  uneven surface of the deck, the camera's wheels had

  been mounted on a track on the plywood. “It looks

  great,” she said. “Let me try a close-up next.”

  Andrew pointed to Selena's sandaled feet. “Nancy,

  put tape on the board right here,” he instructed. “And

  over here—”

  Nancy hustled forward. Actors' marks let the actors

  know where to stand during a scene and were used to

  keep track of the blocking. The characters in movies

  might act naturally, but Nancy had learned from her

  filmmaking course that every move was carefully

  planned. For each scene, a few different angles were

  shot. When it was edited later, some of the shots were

  discarded while others were put together so the film

  would make sense visually.

  Bending, Nancy taped several X's on the plywood.

  As soon as she finished, she helped Lian move the

  camera for a different angle. Usually this was the job of

  the dolly grip. But since the budget was tight, everyone

  had many different roles and jobs.

  By the end of the afternoon, one scene had been

  blocked. Nancy was exhausted. Her hair had dried in a

  tangle, her clothes felt stiff, and she smelled faintly of

  dead fish.

  When Andrew finally announced, “That's it for

  today,” everybody cheered.

  “Dinner's on your own tonight,” Janie called over

  the hubbub. “Be here tomorrow morning at eight

  sharp. Breakfast will be served onboard.”

  “Whew.” George came over. “I'm pooped on the

  poop deck.” Her face was bright red under the brim of

  her baseball cap.

  “Me, too.” Nancy leaned against the railing. “I didn't

  realize how much work was involved in blocking one

  scene. And shooting takes even longer. What's the rule

  of thumb we learned?” Nancy thought a second, then

  answered her own question, “Eight hours of shooting

  produces six minutes of film.”

  George groaned. “Does that mean I have to listen to

  Selena gripe for eight straight hours?”

  Nancy laughed. “Maybe she'll lighten up. Ready to

  go back to the hotel?”

  “In a minute. I need to get my fanny pack. It's in the

  dressing room.”

  “I'll go with you,” Nancy said, following her. “I'd like

  to see the rest of the ship.”

  The two girls climbed down the wooden ladder to

  the waist of the ship. Taking a sharp left, George led

  Nancy to an open doorway. A short flight of steps

  descended to a narrow passageway.

  Nancy went down the steps, ducking to avoid a

  lantern that hung from the low ceiling. She saw several

  closed doors on each side of the dim passageway and

  one at the far end.

  “Daniel told me this is called steerage,” George

  explained. She pointed to the door at the far end.

  “That's the Great Cabin, where Daniel and Andrew are

  staying. That opening over there”—she pointed to a

  half-door in the wall—“leads to the cargo area, where

  the props are kept.”

  Bending lower, Nancy stuck her head through the

  doorway. A wooden ladder led straight into a gray pit.

  “Why are the props kept all the way down there?”

  “They were in one of the cabins in steerage until

  Selena came,” George explained. Opening one of the

  cabin doors, she gestured inside. “She refused to share

  this dressing room with anyone. So they kicked Eli and

  the props out of this cabin and gave it to her.”

  Brows raised, Nancy stepped inside. The dressing

  room was tiny. A low wooden shelf lulling from the wall

  was heaped with clothes. The other wall had two

  mirrors hanging over a higher narrow shelf piled with

  makeup, brushes, and bottles. The third wall had pegs

  to hang clothes. Since there was no porthole, the cabin

  was stuffy and lighted only by one lantern.

  “Can't say I blame her,” Nancy murmured.

  “Everybody except Selena uses this cabin,” George

  explained, coming in to stand next to Nancy. “So it's a

  mite crowded.”

  Nancy turned, bumping into her friend. “Just a

  mite,” she said with a laugh. “Is your fanny pack in all

  this mess?”

  George wrinkled her brow. “Somewhere.” She bent

  to look under the bed, banging Nancy with her elbow.

  “I think I'll wait in the hall,” Nancy said, and

  stepped into the passageway.

  A loud clunk made her jump. The sound had come

  from the cargo area. Someone was down below, which

  was strange, Nancy thought, since no one had passed

  them.

  “George, is there another way to get to the cargo

  area?” Nancy called into the dressing room.

  “Yes. Through a hatch in the bow. But we're not

  supposed to use it because of the tour groups.”

  “Hmm.” Nancy peered into the pit. She thought

  about the falling rope. Was someone sneaking around

  the ship?

  “I'm going to look at the props,” she told George.

  And see if there's an intruder, she added to herself as

  she turned and backed down the ladder.

  The cargo area was lighted by one dim lantern.

  Nancy jumped to the wooden floor, then glanced

  around. She guessed she was under the quarterdeck.

  The outside walls of the ship curved like giant ribs. The

  low ceiling was crossed with beams. Boxes, plastic trash

  bags, and loose props were stacked randomly as if Eli

  had moved them in a hurry.

  Suddenly another crash made Nancy twirl. Eyes

  wide, she stared behind her. There was an open

  doorway that led into the belly of the ship. A shoe box

  lay in front of the door, its contents of gold doubloons

  spilled across the floor.

  A flash of movement caught Nancy's eye as someone

  jumped from behind several large boxes and

  disappeared through the door. Nancy took off after the

  person, running into a narrow passageway. Instantly,

  she was enveloped in darkness. She stopped dead.

  When her eyes adjusted, she saw a dim maze of

  co
rridors and entryways winding under the waist of the

  ship toward the bow.

  Nancy knew there was no way she could follow the

  person without some kind of light. She'd be lost in

  second.

  Turning, she went back to the cargo hold. The box

  of spilled doubloons lay in the middle of the floor as If

  someone had knocked them over in his or her haste to

  get away.

  A shiver tingled up Nancy's spine. Someone was

  sneaking around the ship. But why, and what was the

  person looking for?

  3. Ransacked!

  Stooping, Nancy picked up one of the gold doubloons

  and studied it. At first glance, the coin looked real, but

  on closer inspection, Nancy could see the hints of gray

  pot metal underneath the gold overlay.

  Nancy scooped the fake coins back into the box. She

  didn't think someone would want to steal the obviously

  fake coins. Perhaps an over-zealous tourist was hunting

  for a souvenir, she thought.

  “Nancy!” George called from above. “Are you

  coming?”

  Hurriedly, Nancy put the lid on the box and stood

  up. Before she left for the hotel, she'd have to tell

  Andrew that she suspected someone was snooping.

  Tucking the box under her arm, she climbed the

  ladder back to steerage. When George met her at the

  top, Nancy told her what had happened.

  “That's weird. Why would someone be sneaking

  around the ship?”

  “Maybe it's a tourist trying to get a souvenir from

  the film,” Nancy guessed.

  “Do you think a tourist would be bold enough to

  snoop below-decks?” George asked.

  “I don't know,” Nancy said. “It's puzzling. The

  intruder had to know his or her way around the ship.

  I'm going to stash the coins in the dressing room for

  safekeeping,” she added. “Andrew might blow a fuse if

  one more thing goes wrong. If you see Eli, tell him

  that's where they are.”

  Nancy went into the dressing room. It was so

  crowded with costumes and the cast's and crew's

  belongings that she had a hard time finding a spot

  where the box wouldn't get knocked over. Finally, she

  stashed it under the platform bed.

  “Ready?” George asked. They climbed from

  steerage and onto the quarterdeck, where they found

  Andrew and Daniel sitting in plastic lawn chairs and

  looking over the script. Most of the cast and crew had

  left, and the tourists had disembarked. Other than the

  squawk of the gulls and the slap of the rigging in the