The Clue in the Camera

by Carolyn Keene

  Nancy took her cue and ran out the back door just as Croft hung up the phone. She pounded through the alley, turning often to look over her shoulder—and bumped into a figure standing near the street.

  The figure gasped. “You scared me half to death!” George exclaimed.

  “You scared me! What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I lost the men,” George answered ruefully. “I was on my way back.”

  “Well, let’s get out of here. Croft’s in the store, and he’s on his way out.”

  The two girls dashed onto the main street. When they felt safe again and could see neither Croft nor the other men, Nancy told George what she’d seen in the shop.

  “I don’t think they do much business,” she added. “At least not souvenir business. Most of the merchandise hasn’t been dusted in years. That place is a front, George. Probably for the smuggling operation Faith Arnold mentioned. Anyway, look what I found.”

  Nancy pulled out the page from the ledger and the scrap of paper with the numbers on it and showed them to George. “What do you think?”

  “The writing’s the same!”

  “That’s what I thought, too. But what the connection is, I don’t know. So tell me what happened when you tried to follow the crane operator and that other guy.”

  “They went up the alley and then just got into a limo and drove away. I think it might have been the same car Emily was kidnapped in.”

  “Could you see the license plate numbers?” asked Nancy.

  “Nope. They were covered with mud. I couldn’t read them.”

  “I don’t know how much that means . . . Which direction was it headed?”

  “Downtown.”

  “You know, I have a funny feeling we’d better get back to the art gallery, George. And fast. Those guys just might be interested in getting rid of anyone who knows anything about Kesack or Blane. Faith Arnold could be in real danger.”

  The two girls rushed back to the art gallery, Nancy’s brain working overtime. If Kesack was still alive and the two men worked for him, why had they been following Blane? And why had they searched Croft’s office? It didn’t make any sense—yet.

  When Nancy and George arrived at the gallery, panting and out of breath, they found the front door unlocked and the place in darkness. “Ms. Arnold?” Nancy called.

  The girls ran to the office. “Ms. Arnold!” Nancy called again.

  George was first through the door. She stopped, shocked by the grisly sight in front of her. “Nancy,” she said shakily. “Faith Arnold’s been hurt. Badly.”

  12

  The Golden Gate Trap

  While George phoned the police, Nancy tried unsuccessfully to rouse Faith Arnold by calling her name and rubbing her hands. When she took her pulse she found it weak but steady. “A good sign,” Nancy said to herself. Then she found a coat in the office and covered the woman to help keep her warm until medical help arrived. Only when she thought she’d done everything possible did she happen to look around the office. The room was in chaos.

  Just minutes after George made the phone call, the police arrived, and an ambulance pulled up in front of the gallery. Then Lieutenant Chin showed up. He followed the paramedics as they rolled the stretcher bearing the still-unconscious Faith Arnold through the gallery and out the door. He listened intently as one of the paramedics told him that Ms. Arnold had received severe head injuries.

  Chin shook his head. “Whoever broke into the gallery meant business,” he told Nancy.

  The lieutenant turned to talk with his officers, and the ambulance rushed Faith Arnold off to the emergency room. After a moment, Chin signaled to Nancy and George. “What made you girls come by the gallery tonight?” he asked them quietly.

  Nancy realized she hadn’t told the lieutenant about the encounter she and George had had with Louie, or about the men who had followed Arnie Blane from Croft’s shop. She thought about volunteering this information and decided against it. She was reluctant, too, to tell him just yet about having been in Croft’s vandalized shop.

  “We were out for a walk near the wharves, and we spotted a limousine that looked like the one Emily was kidnapped in. Two men were inside, and they looked familiar, too,” Nancy said.

  “So,” George added, catching on, “we tried to follow the car and realized it was headed this way.”

  “We just jumped to the conclusion that Faith Arnold might be in trouble if she were in the gallery alone,” Nancy finished, truthfully.

  The lieutenant thought for a moment, tapping his pencil against his pocket notebook. “Good thinking,” he said at last. “For Ms. Arnold’s sake, I’m glad you got here as soon as you did.” Then he directed his men to check the gallery for evidence that might help establish why the owner had been attacked.

  Nancy led them to the office and pointed out the chaos. The office had been thoroughly ransacked. Drawers were upside down on the floor, their contents scattered. A couple of artists’ portfolios had been ripped open. A cascade of original artwork, prints, and photos had been rifled through and lay in a heap on the floor.

  “Whew! What a mess! I hope Ms. Arnold has insurance,” Chin said.

  The police team finished checking out the gallery, office, and storeroom, and Nancy was puzzled that no clues were found. Several of Emily’s photos had been taken from the wall but lay discarded on the floor.

  Nancy looked more closely at the photographs. They were pictures Emily had shot on the docks or in Chinatown. From the clothing styles, Nancy judged they had been taken within the last few years. She couldn’t spot any people or themes in them that seemed unusual.

  “I guess that’s it.” The lieutenant’s voice startled Nancy from her thoughts. “The back door was open. They must have broken in and caught Ms. Arnold by surprise.” He added that he and his men were wrapping up their investigation for the evening. “We’ll seal the gallery until Ms. Arnold’s condition is determined,” he said.

  Lieutenant Chin turned to speak to one of the officers, then turned back to Nancy and George. “I’ll bet you’ve done enough running for one day. Why don’t I drop you off at your hotel?” he offered kindly.

  “That would be great. Thank you,” the girls answered at once, glad they wouldn’t have to stand on the dark street, waiting for a taxi.

  On the way back to the hotel, Nancy was quiet, puzzling over the new developments. Her visit to San Francisco was definitely not turning out to be the lazy, leisurely vacation she and George and Hannah had planned. And they had seen a side of San Francisco they hadn’t expected to find: a dark, dangerous side.

  Nancy thought again about the slip of paper in her pocket, the one she had found in Emily’s apartment. What was the connection between the cryptic numbers and the matching handwriting in the ledger in Croft’s Curio Shop? Was there any connection? Maybe the handwriting belonged to one of the kidnappers. Had one of the break-ins at Emily’s apartment actually been a kidnapping attempt? Nancy closed her eyes and shook her head impatiently. She was glad to see the hotel up ahead and thought longingly of her bed.

  Lieutenant Chin brought his sedan to a stop at the canopy leading to the front entrance of the hotel. “I’ll be in touch if there are any new developments,” he promised. He climbed out and opened the passenger door for the girls.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Chin,” Nancy replied. She and George headed wearily up the hotel steps. The uniformed doorman, younger than the one who had been on duty earlier, smiled at the tired girls as he held the door open for them.

  “Big day of sightseeing?” he asked with a smile.

  George laughed. “Um, revisiting familiar sights, I guess you could call it.”

  • • •

  Hannah was glad to see Nancy and George. She’d become anxious as the afternoon had stretched into evening and still there had been no word of Emily, and the girls hadn’t called back. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d been kidnapped, too!” Hannah exclaimed.

  “Close, but happily,
no.” George smiled.

  “Hannah, I’m sorry you worried about us.” Nancy apologized as she and George dropped gratefully onto an overstuffed couch. Nancy pulled off her shoes and started to tell Hannah about the experiences she and George had had since their late-afternoon phone call.

  “Wait a minute,” Hannah interrupted. “You two must be sick—have you taken your temperatures lately?”

  “What?” George looked at Nancy in confusion.

  “Dinner! Have you forgotten about food? No matter how serious things are, you’ve got to eat.”

  Nancy suddenly realized that she was starving.

  “Shall we order room service?” George asked.

  “No,” Hannah said quickly. “I’d like to go out. And there’s—well, I doubt if it’s one of the famous places Emily would have chosen,” Hannah said softly, “but I did notice a little restaurant about two blocks away. It looked nice enough. Shall we try it?” She picked up her pocketbook and moved toward the door. Nancy put on her shoes, and the girls readily followed. Within moments, the three of them were walking through the cool evening.

  Soon, refreshed by their meal, Nancy and George finished updating Hannah on the events of the day. Hannah listened intently at first but then became restless.

  “I want to go back to the hotel. I want to be there in case there’s news about Emily. Do you realize she’s been gone twenty-four hours now, with no word?”

  Nancy nodded in sympathy. “You’re right, Hannah. We should get back. Lieutenant Chin promised to call us if there was any news.”

  The three were walking through the hotel lobby when the bell captain called Nancy over to the registration desk. He handed her a slip of paper. “You just got a phone call,” he told her. “The man wouldn’t leave his name, but he left a number for you to call.”

  “Thank you,” said Nancy, and she ran to catch up with the others at the elevator. When they reached their rooms, Nancy made a dash for the telephone. She dialed quickly and was relieved when her call was answered almost immediately.

  “Yes?” said a cautious male voice. “Who is it?”

  “This is Nancy Drew,” Nancy said calmly, shifting her gaze from the faces of her friends to the old-fashioned dial on the telephone.

  There was a brief pause. Then the voice said, “I have information about Emily Foxworth’s disappearance.”

  “Will you tell me where to find her?”

  “The info might,” was the brief answer. “If you want information about Emily, you’ll have to meet me. Alone.”

  Nancy thought the voice sounded familiar. “Is this Louie?” she asked.

  “Never mind who it is. If you want to learn about Foxworth, you’ll have to do as I say and meet me.”

  “All right. When and where?”

  “The Golden Gate Bridge, alone. Meet me on the pedestrian walkway, halfway across. And be there by ten P.M.” The man hung up the telephone. Nancy listened to the steady buzz on the line.

  She turned to smile at her friends as she replaced the receiver. “Well, I guess I’ll get an unexpected view of the Golden Gate tonight!”

  George and Hannah, having heard only Nancy’s half of the conversation, hovered nearby, eager to hear what she’d learned. Nancy started to repeat the conversation, then glanced at her watch.

  “Uh-oh. It’s nearly nine-thirty, and I have to be there by ten.”

  “What?” Hannah was startled to see Nancy reach for her jacket and stuff her wallet into one of the pockets.

  “I have to meet him on the Golden Gate Bridge by ten.”

  “Alone?” George was alarmed. She was used to Nancy and her adventures—but not to risky trips alone at night.

  “I think it was Louie,” Nancy said, trying to reassure them that she would be all right.

  “I really don’t think you ought to go alone, Nancy,” Hannah said sternly.

  “Me neither.” George thought for a moment. “Maybe I could go with you and stay hidden.”

  “No. He said for me to come alone.”

  “But we don’t know for sure that it was Louie. And even if it was, we don’t know if we can trust him. Nancy, what if he’s not alone?” George looked unusually worried.

  “I’ve got to go. This might be our only chance to find Emily. Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.” Nancy shrugged on her jacket and ran to the door, turning back as she opened it. “I’ll be just fine,” she told George and Hannah.

  Downstairs, Nancy spoke to the young bell captain while she waited for a taxi. She noticed that the fog was thickening and shivered as a chill ran down her spine. But when a taxi pulled up, Nancy told the woman at the wheel to take her to the famous old bridge.

  “You going there alone, honey? I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” The driver didn’t hesitate to give Nancy another piece of her mind when Nancy requested that she stop the cab near Fort Point, where the pedestrian walkway began. As Nancy paid her fare, the driver protested again. “Maybe I should wait until you’ve come back. Or, if you want, I could meet you on the other side.”

  “I’m not sure whether I’ll be going all the way across. But don’t worry.” Nancy smiled at the concerned woman.

  “Well, even a tourist spot isn’t safe at this hour of the night,” the cabbie said. “You be careful.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Nancy turned and headed for the walkway. It was dark, except for the lights of the bridge and the stream of headlights from the traffic flowing along below.

  Nancy glanced at her wristwatch—nearly ten. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to get to the center of the bridge in time. One of the tourist brochures she’d seen had mentioned the length of the bridge. Nancy had forgotten the figure, but as she strode along the fog-dampened concrete, she was willing to believe that the bridge was at least a mile long.

  The water far below was black, and Nancy thought it looked very cold. She admired the strength of the huge girders and made a mental note to bring George and Hannah—and Emily—back to the bridge for some photos before the end of their vacation.

  The fog was growing even thicker. Nancy glanced back over her shoulder. She couldn’t see the end of the bridge. Soon it would be difficult to see more than a few yards in any direction.

  These aren’t the best circumstances for a late-night rendezvous, she thought unhappily, pulling the collar of her warm jacket more closely around her neck. She wondered again whether she could trust Louie, or whether it was even Louie who had called. A few more paces brought her to what must surely have been the center of the bridge. Nancy checked her watch, very aware of being the only person within sight on the walkway. It was exactly ten o’clock.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard footsteps.

  But then she tensed. The footsteps were heavy. She couldn’t imagine thin, wiry Louie making such a sound. And the footsteps were coming from both sides. Suddenly, out of the fog, two men appeared. It didn’t take her long to see that, under the dark hats and heavy overcoats, they were the same two thugs who’d been trailing Arnie Blane! Louie was nowhere in sight. Neither was anyone else.

  Nancy greeted the men calmly. “Do you have the information about Emily Foxworth?” she asked.

  One of the men growled something unintelligible in the harsh voice Nancy had last heard the day she and George had hidden in the alley and listened in on the mysterious phone call.

  Nancy turned then to the thin-faced man and shuddered as she remembered how coldly he had sat in the cab of his crane on the docks.

  “I was promised information on Emily Foxworth,” Nancy went on, sounding far more calm than she felt.

  “Were you?” The crane operator had not become any more pleasant since their last encounter.

  “Which one of you did I speak with on the phone?” Nancy asked, trying to figure out what to do.

  “Never mind that.” The other man brushed aside her question. “Do you know how many people have jumped from this bridge, sweetheart?”

  “I came for informat
ion about Emily Foxworth,” Nancy repeated. “If you don’t have anything to tell me, I’ll go back to the hotel.”

  The crane operator moved slowly toward her.

  “You know all those poor people who jumped from this bridge, kid?” the other man went on. “Well, you’re about to become one of them.” He lunged for her.

  These men are killers, Nancy thought, but I’m not about to become their next victim! She jerked away from the man—and ran into the other one.

  “Why don’t you save us a whole lot of trouble?” asked the crane operator.

  Nancy looked around frantically. She was trapped, with a killer on each side and the freezing waters of San Francisco Bay hundreds of feet below.

  13

  The Broken Code

  Nancy made a split-second decision to vault over the railing into the oncoming traffic. It’s my only choice, she thought. But before she could move, the men closed in on her, cutting off her escape route. Nancy glanced behind her. The water in the bay below was not something she wanted to think about.

  The men drew closer. And in a flash, Nancy made her move. She jumped up and pulled herself onto the girder above her head. The crane operator grabbed for her foot, and Nancy’s tennis shoe came off in his hand but she couldn’t worry about that. She scrambled along the girder.

  “Where is she?” she heard one of the men ask.

  “I don’t know. It’s too foggy. I can’t see a thing.”

  “She’s got to be around here somewhere. We can’t let her get away.”

  Silently, Nancy crept along the girder until she found a place where she could drop back onto the walkway. Once there, she vaulted over the side to the next level. Her landing was loud enough to alert the men.

  “Down there, Joe. I heard something.”

  But Nancy’s lean, younger body gave her a distinct advantage over her pursuers.