Ned lifted the hood and confirmed this fact. There were also rust stains on the engine and the front of the van as though the radiator had boiled over. This further bore out Nancys theory, which had led to the discovery of the abandoned vehicle. Apparently, the driver had turned off onto the shoulder of the road and then plowed through the underbrush to a spot well in among the trees, where the van would not be too noticeable to passing motorists.
"If we hadn't come along this way looking for it, Nancy, I'll bet the van could have sat here for months!" Ned declared.
Nancy glanced into the drivers compartment. "Look," she said, opening the door to show Ned. "The crooks didn't even bother taking the keys. They're still in the dash."
"If the van was stolen, they probably didn't care." As he spoke, Ned started around to the rear of the vehicle, intending to look in back. But the door handle would not turn.
"That's strange," Nancy murmured.
"What is?"
"They would have had to open up this loading door, wouldn't they, to let the horse out after they got stuck here?"
"Sure." Ned looked puzzled. "But so what?"
"They didn't lock the front doors. They even left the keys behind. So why bother locking this door?"
"Hmmm, that is odd now that you mention it." Suddenly, a startled look came over Ned's face. "Good night! You don't suppose Shooting Star is still in there?"
"I hope not, for his sake!"
Ned hastily got the keys from the ignition and unlocked the back of the van. As the doors swung open, he and Nancy stared in combined relief and surprise. The inside of the van was filled with tools and old, discarded auto parts. Used tires and mufflers, old batteries, rusted bumpers, and hubcaps were strewn carelessly about or stacked in piles. It looked like a junk shop on wheels. Certainly, no horse could have been in this van on the night of the Fourth of July!
"What do you make of it, Nancy?" Ned asked with a puzzled frown.
"I'm not quite sure but I'm beginning to have a deep-down suspicion," she replied, dimpling mischievously.
Going back to her own car, Nancy took a notepad and pen from her purse, then wrote down the van's make and license number. "Lets lock it up and call the police, Ned."
Her friend hesitated. "Shouldn't we take the keys to the police station so they can send someone out here and get the van moving again as soon as possible? Those tools in there are valuable, especially to their owner."
"You're right, of course," Nancy agreed. "Come on. Its a little out of our way, but it wont make us late for Hannah's dinner."
When they stopped at police headquarters, both Chief McGinnis and Detective Hart were out. The young people left the keys and information about the van with one of the officers on duty and drove on to Nancy's house.
The Drews, Hannah Gruen, and Ned were just finishing their dinner when the phone rang in the hall.
"I'll get it," Nancy said, jumping up. "It's probably Bess." But she was wrong.
As she walked thoughtfully back into the dining room a few minutes later, three pairs of eyes were fastened on Nancy's face.
"That was Chief McGinnis," she reported, "with news of that black van Ned and I were telling you about. He said that its license number matched that of the van stolen from Keanesville just hours before
Shooting Star disappeared. Undoubtedly, it's the van that was seen parked on the edge of the woods the night of the theft."
"Nancy, I still don't get it." Ned frowned. "We know that it was never used to carry a horse, so why should we assume that it had anything at all to do with the theft?"
"Because in my opinion it was used to mislead the police," Nancy replied with a twinkle. "In other words, that black van was just a red herring all along."
"You mean they never intended to use it for transporting Shooting Star?"
"That's right. I believe they just wanted the police to think that's how the thoroughbred was taken away."
"By George, that would certainly fit the facts," Carson Drew remarked thoughtfully.
Ned slapped the table and exclaimed, "If you're right, Nancy, that means Shooting Star may still be somewhere in this area!"
"Exactly," Nancy said and nodded.
The next morning, she arose earlier than usual. She was due to meet Tony Traynor and his crew for the next TV commercial to be shot at Rainbow Ranch. While dressing, Nancy decided that she would have enough time to drive to the stable where she kept Black Prince and ride him to Mr. Harlow's estate. Prince needs the exercise, she reflected, and it will give me a chance to show him to Tina. The little girl had been quite curious when Nancy told her all about him.
When the young detective arrived at Rainbow Ranch, Tony and his assistants had just gotten there. Stormy, the black stallion, had not yet been saddled and brought out of the stable.
Seeing Black Prince, Tony immediately recalled the episode that had first given him the idea of using the sleek thoroughbred's attractive rider in the commercial. "That horse of yours is a beauty, Nancy! Would you mind if we used him instead of Stormy?"
"Of course not," Nancy said. "If we do, everything will go very smoothly, just wait and see!"
And indeed, after Monsieur Philippe had finished making her up, everything went off with perfect precision. Nancy and Black Prince worked so beautifully together that Tony was amazed.
"That's a wrap," he declared, using the expression for a satisfactory take. "We've got all that we need!"
He and his crew started to pack up, still marveling at how quickly they had finished shooting. Just before climbing into his car, Tony called out, "I'd like to do that last commercial Monday morning, Nancy. Can you make it?"
"I sure can," she replied with a smile.
"And this time it'll be a horse of another color!" Tony drove off laughing.
Before she left, Nancy coaxed Tina into patting Black Prince and even feeding him a lump of sugar. Then she and the little girl strolled along the brook to a point where it widened into a pool. As they chatted, Nancy noticed a tortoise-shell cat on the other side of the pool. She was gazing down into the water intently, perhaps watching minnows.
Tina saw the cat, too. When Nancy asked if she belonged to her, Tina said, "Oh, that's Patches. She's not a house cat. She lives in the stables. But she's fun to play with!"
The pretty little creature seemed familiar, somehow, and suddenly Nancy realized where she had seen her before. Patches was the cat that had startled Bess's horse when the three girls were riding through the woods on the previous Saturday.
When Nancy arrived home and changed out of her riding clothes, she and Hannah sat down to a quiet lunch of quiche and a green salad. Later, as they were finishing dessert, Nancy put down her napkin with a sudden gasp of dismay.
"Oh, Hannah, I shouldn't have taken so long over
lunch. Come on. Ill help you with the dishes and then I must go to the Grimsby Mansion. I almost forgot. Ned and the film club are shooting this afternoon!"
She was about to start clearing the table when Hannah stopped her. "Nonsense, dear. These few dishes wont take long. You go ahead so you wont be late." The motherly housekeeper was very insistent, so Nancy reluctantly left.
When she arrived at the old mansion, she found the club members starting to unload their equipment and set it up inside. The last group pulled up in a car just as the girl was stepping out of hers.
"Hi, Nancy! All ready to emote?" Jack Billings grinned.
"Emoting's the word, all right," Sara White chimed in with a smile at Nancy. "Were going to shoot that scary scene where you—"
She was interrupted by a sudden yell from Mike Jordan. "Hey, look up there!"
All eyes turned upward. Anxious gasps and exclamations followed immediately. Smoke was pouring from an upper-floor window on one side of the house!
"Oh, no!" Ned groaned. "Not another fire!"
Within seconds, it seemed, black clouds of smoke
were billowing high above the treetops. Yet there was no sign of flames
.
"No telephone!" Ernie Gibson exclaimed. "One of us had better go call in an alarm!"
Ned dashed toward his car, but before he had time to start the engine, fire sirens could be heard screaming in the distance.
"It sounds like the smoke's already been seen," said Mike.
Springing into action, Nancy exclaimed, "But there are still no flames, and the smoke's only coming from one window! I'm going up and have a look!"
Over protests and warning cries from the others, she ran into the house and started upstairs. Ned and several others followed.
Reaching the third floor, Nancy could still see no sign of a fire, nor, as she cautiously touched the door to the room, could she feel any heat. Through the haze, she saw that the fumes seemed to be issuing from an object on the floor.
"I believe it's a smoke bomb!" Nancy cried.
Just then, they heard a fire truck rumble up outside the house, and soon the fire fighters came dashing up the stairs. Ordering the film group aside, they opened the door and saw the bomb.
"All right, what's the idea of playing such a prank? Haven't you kids got anything better to do than fool around causing trouble?"
Nancy realized that if any such suspicions got back to Ullman Realty, the mansion might be closed to the film club permanently. Thinking quickly, she turned to Ned. "When was that window opened?"
"Just before lunch," he replied. "This place smelled so musty, I wanted to air it out a bit before we started shooting this afternoon."
"Well then, it must have happened during lunch-time." Turning back to the fire chief, she pointed out the window and said, "Someone must have climbed up that tree and tossed the bomb in while no one was here. We certainly wouldn't have planted it just to make trouble for ourselves. Surely you can see that."
One of the firemen spoke up to his chief, "She could be right, Bert. This bomb has a delayed-action timer on it."
The tree in question was growing so close to the house that its thick branches could easily be reached from the window. Ned climbed out on one of them to examine the trunk. Presently, he called, "Hey, people, look at this!"
As the firemen and club members crowded around the open window, Ned pointed to fresh scratches on the tree bark. Then he bent his head and peered closely at something among the leaves. "And here's a piece of evidence that the bomber left behind!" he exclaimed. "It snagged on one of the twigs!"
With a triumphant grin, he plucked it loose and held up a bit of greenish fabric!
14. Ghostly Hecklers
Ned's discovery seemed to convince the firemen that no one in the film club had planted the smoke bomb as a prank. The piece of greenish fabric was the final proof.
"You can see for yourself, Chief," Ned said as he climbed back in through the window and held out the material. "None of us is wearing any clothing of this color."
"You've made your point," the fire chief conceded.
"It looks like the young lady was right. Some outsider must have climbed the tree and tossed in the bomb."
"Maybe its the same troublemaker who burned down the stable," another fire fighter remarked.
The fire truck finally rumbled off with its crew, and the college group went ahead with their filming. Nancy and the other actors played their parts dramatically, and the spooky scene, after only a single flub and retake, was soon completed to everyone's satisfaction.
The next scene did not go quite as well. Ernie Gibson had trouble with his lines, causing Ned to break off filming long enough to make some hasty changes in the script. His rewrite of the scene played so effectively that the onlookers broke into spontaneous applause as soon as the action ended and Ned shouted "Cut!"
"That was great, everyone!" he added as the applause tapered off.
A third scene was also shot successfully that afternoon. It, too, drew cheers and applause. Nancy went off, flushed and happy, to remove her makeup and change back to street clothes, while the club members packed up their equipment.
Ned was waiting for her in the front room of the mansion as she came down the curving staircase. "Do you think you could come back tonight?" he asked. "I'd like to shoot one of the outdoor scenes."
She agreed enthusiastically. "Conditions should be perfect. A clear sky and a full moon!"
"Just one thing," Ned warned, suddenly looking grave and worried. "Watch out for werewolves and vampires!"
He broke into an eerie, wolf howl that left Nancy giggling helplessly.
"Come to think of it, I'd better pick you up," Ned said. "Is seven too early?"
"No, fine! I'll try to be ready."
On her way home, Nancy decided to stop off at the River Heights Public Library. Why don't I read up on racing, she mused. It might give me some ideas that would help to unravel the Shooting Star case. Although she already knew a good deal about thoroughbreds from her show riding, Nancy realized that she had much to learn about the sport of horseracing and the business of bloodstock breeding.
She parked her car and walked into the library. The reading room was moderately full of people for this late hour of the afternoon. Nancy went first to the card catalog and looked in one of the file drawers under HORSES to find the location of her subject.
Moments later, as she closed the drawer and started toward the reference shelves, her gaze fell on a familiar figure. That's Hugh Morston, Nancy thought. He was standing at the magazine desk on one side of the room, evidently asking for a back issue of some periodical.
As the librarian came out of the stack room and handed him a magazine, Morston thanked her and turned away. Nancy would have said hello as their paths converged. But he sat down at a table without speaking and leafed open the magazine. I guess he didn't see me, Nancy told herself.
She found a whole shelf full of books on horses, dealing with every aspect of the subject, from riding and caring for horses to racing and breeding. There were also colorful volumes showing the many breeds found throughout the world.
Nancy picked out two books that looked particularly interesting and started toward the checkout counter located near the door. As she emerged from between the shelves, she saw that Hugh Morston was no longer seated at the table reading. But the magazine still lay open where he had left it.
Nancy glanced at the periodical in passing and saw that it was a copy of a well-known news magazine called World. A strangely familiar face on the left page caught her eye, yet she could not quite place it.
Suddenly, Nancy caught her breath. That's Roger Harlow! she realized. What had kept her from recognizing him at once was the fact that he looked considerably younger in the picture than the man she knew now.
Pausing for a closer look, Nancy read the caption. It confirmed that the person in the photograph was Roger Harlow. From the date on the cover, she saw that the magazine was ten years old.
Obviously, Hugh Morston had been looking up an old story about his neighbor. But why? And what exactly did it say? Intrigued, Nancy sat down to scan the article.
The story, which was in the business section of the magazine, told of a bitter fight between Harlow and an industrialist named Howard Ainslee for control of a large corporation. Apparently, the struggle had gone on for months at a cost of millions of dollars.
Nancy closed the magazine with a troubled sigh, then picked up her books and carried them to the checkout counter.
When she arrived home, her father put down the evening paper to greet her with a kiss. "How goes the vampire movie, dear?"
"Great so far, Dad! It may not win the contest, but I think Ned and the film club will at least end up with a good entry."
"Tell us all about it at dinner, dear," Hannah Gruen called from the dining room. "The chops are almost ready."
Nancy quickly freshened up and joined the others as they were about to sit down at the table. "Mmm, these biscuits looks yummy enough to melt in my mouth, Hannah!" she exclaimed.
Carson Drew and the housekeeper listened with interest as she described the afternoon's filming
and told of the smoke-bomb scare.
Later, over dessert, Nancy changed the subject. "Dad, do you remember a business hassle ten years ago involving Roger Harlow? He and a man named Howard Ainslee were fighting for control of a company called the Ludex Corporation."
"Yes, vaguely. Why do you ask?" When Nancy explained, Mr. Drew said, "As I recall, the company was having financial problems. Harlow and Ainslee were both trying to take it over. They got into what's called a proxy fight, each one trying to buy up enough stock to gain control. It was a long, drawn-out struggle. Harlow finally won, but I'm afraid in doing so he made a bitter enemy of Ainslee."
The lawyer paused to stir and sip his coffee. "Speaking of business, Nancy, you were asking me before about the syndicate that owns that racehorse Minaret."
"Oh, yes, Dad! Were you able to find out anything?"
"A little. It's a three-man syndicate. Judd Bruce acts as front man for the other two partners. One of them owns only ten percent. But the other is the biggest investor of the three and owns more than fifty percent."
"Who is he?" Nancy inquired keenly.
Carson Drew shrugged and shook his head. "That I can't tell, my dear. In fact, I'm not even sure it's a man. The names of the syndicate investors are not on public record. What Tve just told you I found out from some of my legal contacts in the racing profession."
Their conversation was interrupted by the mellow toll of the door chimes.
"Oh, dear, it's later than I thought!" Nancy exclaimed and jumped up from the table. "That must be Ned now."
Her guess was right, and the two were soon on their way to Brookvale Forest in Ned's car. The velvety, dark-blue sky was studded with stars, and a round orange moon glimmered down through the trees as they turned up the wooded lane that led to Grimsby Mansion.
"What a perfect night for a vampire scene!" Nancy said enthusiastically.
"You're right," Ned agreed, turning to glance at her and reaching out for her hand. "Almost too perfect to waste shooting a movie!"
Nancy smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.