The Silver Cobweb

“What!” Attorney Emmett was clearly shocked by Nancy’s question. “Are you sure of that?”

  The young detective nodded. “The person who told me so had it from Mr. Shand himself.”

  Howard Emmett frowned again and drummed his fingers on the desk. “All I can say is that I’m quite sure the brooch my client sold to Mr. Shand was the same one he bought from Madame Onides.”

  “Is there any chance that might have been a fake?”

  “Highly unlikely! Whenever Mr. Larue was about to purchase any jewelry, he was always careful to have it examined first by an expert appraiser. He was too shrewd to be tricked or cheated.”

  “In other words, if a switch was made, it must have been after Mr. Shand bought the brooch?”

  “Correct!”

  Nancy was silent a moment. Then, on a sudden impulse, she said, “Was there anything among Mr. Larue’s papers indicating he might have known someone named Sweeney Flint?”

  “Hmm.” Emmett reflected. “That name is not known to me. One way to find out, of course, might be to check the names and phone numbers in my client’s desk book.”

  “Could I look through it?” Nancy asked eagerly.

  Emmett said the desk book and all of Larue’s private papers were now being stored in a New York bank vault while his estate was being probated. But he promised to arrange with the bank for her to see the book on Monday.

  Nancy thanked the lawyer and left his office. That afternoon she called her two girlfriends and invited them to go with her to Oceanview on Saturday. Bess had to beg off since an uncle was arriving to visit her family over the weekend. But George jumped at the idea.

  Luckily the two girls were able to make overnight reservations at the same motel where they had stayed before. A call to Renzo Scaglia also helped them obtain tickets to the opera.

  They set out from River Heights late on Saturday morning and arrived in Oceanview in time to enjoy lunch in a restaurant overlooking the harbor. Then Nancy prepared to look up Simon Shand.

  “Do you know where to find him?” George asked.

  “His servant said he was staying at the Beachfront Plaza Hotel.” Much to Nancy’s annoyance, however, there was no answer when she called his room on the house phone, and the desk clerk reported seeing him go out just before lunch.

  Nancy kept calling throughout the afternoon, but with no luck. “Maybe we can spot him at the opera tonight,” her chum suggested.

  The girls were enthralled by the opening scenes of Carmen. In the crowded lobby during the intermission, Nancy suddenly touched George’s arm and whispered, “there he is!”

  Simon Shand was at the counter, buying refreshments for himself and his showgirl fiancée.

  “Well. Well, well! If it isn’t little Miss Sherlock!” he said on seeing Nancy.

  “Could we talk for a moment?” she asked.

  Nancy felt being subtle with the trucking tycoon would be a waste of time. Instead, she hoped to startle the truth out of him. So she bluntly asked if he was responsible for the rock thrown at Brett Hulme, or the heckling that had broken up Jack Vernon’s campaign rally.

  Shand chuckled cynically. “I knew you were smart, girlie! I’d deny it in court, mind you, but just between the two of us, sure, I hired strong-arm men to pull both jobs.”

  Since Nancy knew about his purchase of the jeweled spider, Shand no longer seemed to feel any need to be secretive about the brooch. He admitted trying to frighten the young jewelry designer and politician in order to find out if either had had anything to do with stealing the real brooch from him and substituting the fake. But he denied having anything to do with Jack Vernon’s beating or the bomb planted in Brett’s car.

  “At first I figured Kim Vernon might have hired Sweeney Flint to get back the brooch, so she could clear her brother. I thought he might have been going to slip it in her golf bag when you spotted him at the country club,” Shand told Nancy. “But now I doubt if she knows any more than her brother or Brett Hulme does.”

  “Are you saying you recognized Sweeney Flint that day at the country club?” Nancy asked keenly.

  “I’ve never met him in person, but I’ve heard what he looks like,” Shand replied. “He’s one of the slickest crooks in this part of the country. If you can nail him and get back my jeweled spider, I’ll pay you a ten grand reward!”

  In her motel room that night, nancy mulled over the mystery. Shand still seemed to think Sweeney Flint had succeeded in getting his hands on the real ruby brooch. Yet if her own theory was right that Flint was behind the second attacks on Jack Vernon and Brett Hulme, this meant he too was hunting for the real jeweled spider.

  Nancy soon fell asleep. She awakened with a start, feeling something on her arm. She was about to brush it away when a frightening thought struck her. Nancy switched on the bedside lamp – then gasped with fear.

  An eight-legged creature was crawling up her arm. It wass a poisonous black widow spider!

  19. The Face at the Window

  Nancy struggled to control her ffright and disgust. She realized she must keep calm. “George!” she gasped, and then when her friend didn’t wake, she called, “George!” again more loudly.

  “Wha . . . What?” George sat upright in bed, rubbing her eyes.

  “Help me!” Nancy said, keeping her eyes on the terrifying creature. By now, it had almost reached her shoulder!

  George started to ask what was wrong – then gasped in dismay as she saw the spider.

  “It’s a black widow!” Nancy said. “Get the bathroom glass and turn on all the lights!”

  Swiftly, George did as her friend asked. Then Nancy flicked the spider from her arm onto the white sheet, and George quickly imprisoned it under the inverted glass!

  “Whew!” Nancy breathed a sigh of relief, then jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom to get the waxed paper bag that had been used to seal the clean glass.

  With this as a cover, held tightly in place by a rubber band, the spider was soon safely bottled up and consigned to the medicine cabinet overnight.

  “Bess told me about the spider in your car,” George said, still wide-eyed. “This must be the other one that was stolen, right?”

  Nancy nodded. “Whoever did it obviously slipped the black widow into out room while we were at the opera.”

  The next morning as they drove back to River Heights, George insisted on holding the glass. “I’ll feel safer being able to see where this little black devil is!” she said ruefully.

  Paul Taggart was both grateful and apologetic when they returned the poisonous creature to his collection. “From now on, I’ll redouble security – especially on this specimen!” he promised.

  On Monday morning, nancy prepared for her trip to the New York bank to examine Oscar Larue’s desk book. In case this might lead to a further investigation in Manhattan or its surrounding area, she packed a small overnight bag and promised Hannah she would call her from the city. After breakfast she set out with her father, who was to drop her off at the train station on the way to his law office.

  “Nancy dear, be careful. And call me if you need anything,” Carson Drew said as he kissed his daughter good-bye.

  At the bank and trust company in New York, Nancy was referred to Mr. Corder, a dignified, taciturn bank officer, who took her to a room downstairs and seated her at a table. Then he disappeared, presumably to enter the vault and get the book which Attorney Howard Emmett had arranged for her t see. He soon came back, handed her the item in question, and sat down in an armchair in one corner of the room, where he busied himself in studying a sheaf of financial statements.

  Nancy, meanwhile began leafing through Oscar Larue’s desk book. Her pulse skittered as she came to the F’s, and a moment later, her tense expression burst into a grin of satisfaction. Among the names listed was that of Sweeney Flint!

  No address was given, but there was a phone number opposite his name. After writing down the number, Nancy gave the book back to Mr. Corder and smilingly thanked him. He unb
ent enough to return her smile.

  Before leaving the bank, Nancy went to a phone booth in the lobby and dialed Flint’s number. A woman’s nasal voice answered.

  “Sweeney Flint? Nah. Never heard of him,” she responded to Nancy’s query. Must be an old listing – I’ve had this number for the last six months.” And the woman hung up curtly.

  Nancy realized then that tracing the mysterious Sweeney Flint was not going to be quick and easy. She decided to find a hotel room.

  Once located and settled in her room, Nancy called Hannah to let the housekeeper know where she was staying. Then she set about getting information from the telephone company. A few calls, however, soon convinced her that the company was extremely reticent when it came to giving out data on its subscribers.

  Nancy sat with her chin in her hand and thought. “looks like I’m going to need contacts on this case,” she said to herself. “Maybe I should start with Police Chief McGinnis.”

  Her spirits rose as the chief answered her ring cheerfully. “Matter of fact, I was going to call you this afternoon, Nancy. I have a good friend in the New York Police Department. Through him, I just found out that Sweeney Flint’s a known con man. But he’s never been caught, so they have no record on him – no arrests, no photo, no fingerprints!”

  “Gee,” Nancy said, “I have his old phone number, but the telephone company won’t give me any address to go with it.”

  “Well, I’m sure my friend can help. Detective Al Barnwell, his name is. Give me the number and let me call him. Then either he or I’ll get back to you.”

  While she waited, Nancy had lunch sent up to her room. She had just finished eating and was pacing the floor restlessly when the phone rang.

  “Al Barnwell here, Miss Drew. Sorry to have taken so long, but I have the information. That phone was installed in the Mantell Building on East Twentieth.” He gave her the exact address and added, “Not a very good neighborhood. The building’s owned by Eisman & Luft. If I can help you any further, let me know.”

  After thanking him and promising to pass on any information she gleaned on Sweeney Flint, Nancy hung up.

  At last she had something to work on! Snatching up her purse, she went down in the elevator, turned in her key at the desk, and hurried out to catch a taxi. By the time she paid off the cabby in front of the Mantell Building, it was 4:00 P.M. Nancy pushed open the door and went in.

  The dim little lobby offered an elevator and a stairway. Rather than trust the creaky lift, she walked up to the next floor and opened the first door she came to with a business name on it.

  A droopy-jowled man with lank hair looked up from some papers he was shuffling. Nancy asked if he remembered a tenant named Sweeney Flint.

  “Nope, just been here a month myself. Better check with the landlord.”

  “How about the janitor or superintendent?”

  “You kidding? You can never find those bums! They wouldn’t know, anyhow, so why waste your time? Check with the landlord, like I said.” He gave her the address and resumed sorting papers.

  By now, the rush hour traffic was in full swing. Nancy battled through it but found it impossible to catch a cab, so she ended up walking the twenty-odd blocks to the building in which the firm Eisman & Luft was located.

  “Sorry, girlie – we’re closing,” a fat, cigar-chewing man told her as she walked in their offices. When Nancy asked about tracing a tenant, he laughed. “I doubt we have any record, but you can check back tomorrow. Leave your name, if you like.”

  Nancy made her way back to the hotel glumly.

  “Nancy!” a familiar voice greeted her as she entered the lobby.

  “Ned! Oh, Ned! How good to see you! Is anything wrong?”

  Ned laughed. “Not a thing, now that you’re here!” He gave her a big hug, then added, “Eugene Horvath’s been trying to reach you. He’s gotten some fresh threats and he’s frightened. But he thinks that with your help, he may be able to trap the crook. So he asked me to find you.”

  “Will you come with me to the island, Ned?”

  “You bet! His cruiser will pick us up at the Battery pier.”

  After a brief discussion, Nancy hastily got her things from her room and cheked out of the hotel, while Ned rustled up some food for them to eat on the boat. Half an hour later, they were boarding Horvath’s motor cruiser.

  With his chauffeur-valet Sandor, at the helm, the boat was soon plowing its way out of New York harbor. Nancy and Ned enjoyed the gorgeous sunset as they ate.

  Dusk had closd in and night was falling by the time they reached Moonlight Island. They found Eugene Horvath waiting tensely in the den of his beautiful Greek-columned mansion.

  He bounded to his feet as they entered, his face twitching with fear. “Thank heavens you’re here!” he exclaimed. “The radio-telephone’s gone dead, and a few minutes ago I saw Sweeney Flint’s face at the window!”

  20. Island Peril

  “That’s impossible, sir – it must have been your imagination!” Sandor tried to calm his master. “There’s nowhere else on the island a boat could land, except in the cove. And I assure you there was none in sight. Your guests will confirm that.” Nancy and Ned both nodded.

  “At all other points around the island, anyone who tried to land would find only sheer rock cliffs,” Sandor added logically.

  “Don’t try to tell me what I saw or didn’t see!” Horvath’s voice cracked from nervous tension as his temper rose. “Last time he came by submarine.”

  “But I planted sonobuoys in the cove this morning, sir,” Sandor stated patiently. “Any boat that enters is immediately detected by sonar and sets off an alarm in the house. Did you not hear the alarm buzzer when our cruiser arrived?”

  “Yes, yes. No doubt your alarm system is very ingenious!” As Horvath paced back and forth, he snatched a cigar from a humidor on his desk. “Nevertheless, no system is foolproof. What if an intruder swam out to the island using scuba gear?”

  The stony-faced chauffeur shrugged. “Whatever you say, Mr. Horvath. If you think an enemy’s lurking outside, I’ll go and look for him. Perhaps Mr. Nickerson will help me search?”

  “Glad to,” said Ned.

  When they were gone, Eugene Horvath briefly resumed his frantic attempts to call for help.

  “Ned told me you’ve received more threats, Mr. Horvath,” put in Nancy .

  “Yes – more phone calls from that maniac, Sweeney Flint!” Horvath has lit his cigar while Sandor went to get flashlights; it was clamped between his teeth now as he looked up at Nancy. “I received one call last evening, one around midnight, and another this morning. The scoundrel’s obviously trying to frightened me.”

  “And yo want my help in trapping him. What sort of plan do you have in mind?”

  Horvath removed his cigar from his mouth and regarded its glowing tip for a moment. A cunning look came into his eyes. “First, tell me – has your sleuthing turned up any further clues?”

  Nancy nodded. “Sweeney Flint was behind the theft of your wife’s jeweled spider. Oddly enough,” Nancy went on, “your wife had sold her ruby brooch to a millionaire collector named Oscar Larue before the robbery occurred.”

  There was a moment of startled silence. Then Horvath said, “In that case, what was stolen?”

  “A cheap glass imitation. Her dresser, Maggie Farr, says she had a fake ruby spider made to keep people from finding out she’d been forced to sell the real brooch.”

  “I’m told Madame Arachne was very extravagant and spendthrift,” Nancy explained. “She sold the brooch to raise cash at a time when she was broke and badly needed money.”

  Horvath’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”

  Nancy nodded again. “Among Mr. Larue’s papers was a bill of sale from your wife. The strange thing is, he also had Sweeney Flint’s name and phone number in his desk book.

  “I happen to know Sweeney Flint masterminded the theft of the imitation brooch,” nancy added. “And the fact that Larue knew him suggest
s he was also involved in the sale of the real brooch. My guess is, Sweeney Flint acted as go-between when Madame Arachne sold her jeweled spider to Oscar Larue . . . and then talked her into staging a fake robbery so she could collect from the insurance company.”

  Horvath stared at the young detective through a wreath of cigar smoke. “My dear Miss Drew,” he said, “ you make it sound as though Sweeney Flint was a close friend and advisor of my wife!”

  “More than a close friend and advior.” Nancy gazed at her host calmly. “ I think she married him. In fact I’m now convinced ‘Sweeney Flint’ is just an alias of Eugene Horvath!”

  There was a long moment of silence, broken at last by Horvath’s low chuckle. “Well, well! Quite a sensational accusation. Can you prove it?"

  “I’m sure I can,” Nancy said coolly. “You see Mr. Horvath, you made a slight mistake.”

  “When I first mentioned her jeweled spider, you pretended to know nothing about it. Yet that color photo, which you look at every day, shows her ruby brooch in the shape of a spider very clearly!”

  “Dear me, so it does!” Eugene Horvath chuckled unpleasantly. “Well Miss Drew, I’ve realized for some time that you were becoming a nuisance. That’s why I’m going to get rid of you!”

  “Just one thing I don’t understand,” said Nancy. “Why have you gone on tormenting Kim Vernon?”

  “Tormenting? What a nasty word, my dear! Miss Vernon’s golfing prowess is highly valuable to me.”

  Horvath explained that when he had first tricked Jack Vernon into committing the phony theft, he suddenly realized he could use the evidence aginst Jack to blackmail his sister.

  “It was already clear that Kim was heading for golf stardom,” he went on. “But I waited patiently until she became the top U.S. woman golfer. Now, by controlling whether she wins or loses, I can fix the outcome of major tournaments – just as I did in the Charleston match – and clean up on bets!”

  To keep Kim frightened enough to obey orders, Horvath would send her mocking reminders of the crime for which her brother could be sent to prison. “Sctually, Sandor and I have been partners in crime for many years. Both of us, at different times, have used a putty nose and taped-down eyelid to pose as Sweeney Flint.”