The Swami's Ring

  “Did she see us?” Ned asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  But the girl knew their shadows could be seen on the pavement. She shrunk back, leaning against the bark. From where they stood, they were able to see a back window as well, and as one light in the front turned off, others switched on in the kitchen.

  “Somebody’s eating,” Ned commented. He had craned his neck to peer between the lower branches and caught sight of black hair. “Come on. Let’s get closer,” the boy said.

  They ducked out from their secret place and edged forward, stopping only when they heard the kitchen window being cranked open. Instantly, the two young people dodged discovery, pulling next to the house and accidentally stepping into a garden of petunias.

  “Yuck,” Ned said as he shook dirt off his sneakers.

  Nancy, however, was more concerned about the footprints that might be noticed, and sprang to the ground to cover them up quickly. As she did so, voices drifted outside. One was low, yet recognizable.

  “That is the man we saw at Swain Lake Lodge!” she told Ned.

  After all the mysteries she had solved, she had learned to use all her senses with amazing accuracy.

  “How can you be so positive?” Ned whispered.

  “Trust me,” the girl said, raising a finger to her lips.

  Then, even Ned heard Nancy’s name! But what precisely was being said about her?

  Nancy closed her eyes to concentrate, but the whistle of a boiling teakettle interfered. She was also oblivious to the figure crouched behind the front hedge. It was the driver of the hatchback. He had crept up the sidewalk when the couple moved up the Flannery’s driveway and darted behind bushes before coming to a standstill.

  Ned, in the meantime, had let Nancy slip forward under the kitchen window.

  “If she comes snooping around here again,” the man was saying, “you know what to do.”

  “Sure, and I’ll dump her at the lake.”

  Nancy winced, imagining another horrifying night in the forest shelter. Or worse, she thought.

  “Well, she won’t be back,” Mrs. Flannery continued. “Good thing you waited until now to come home.”

  “When she trailed us out to the house on River Lane,” her husband said, “I figured she’d turn up here sooner or later.”

  There was a clatter of cups and saucers and the sound of running water which interrupted the conversation temporarily. Then the lights went out, plunging the driveway into total darkness.

  Instantly, the figure behind the hedge bolted toward Ned and seized him from behind, chopping a well-placed blow to the neck. The boy sank to the ground without a cry.

  Nancy let out a shriek, quelling it as the boy dived for her too!

  Now the lights went on in the kitchen again, and the back door opened and closed.

  “Who’s out there?” came Flannery’s deep voice.

  Nancy turned as the boy’s fist shoved her down on the pavement, causing her to roll within inches of the man’s feet. He grabbed her quickly, and dragged her into the backyard, and up the porch steps, letting her attacker escape.

  “Let go of—” she cried, but he covered her mouth with his hand.

  “What about her friend in the driveway?” Flannery’s wife said.

  “Just leave him. We’ll be gone from here long before he comes to.”

  Nancy struggled as the pair secured her to a chair, binding her arms and legs so tightly she felt almost nauseated.

  “You can’t get away with this,” the girl said, causing Mrs. Flannery to stick a soft roll in her mouth.

  Nancy bit into it angrily, gulping down part of it. The rest broke off, dribbling crumbs on the floor.

  “Was that good?” the woman sneered. “Here, have another piece.”

  She took a larger chunk of bread this time and stuffed it in Nancy’s mouth.

  “Where’s Singh’s car?” the woman now asked her husband.

  “Up at the retreat.”

  As the young detective listened, questions whirled through her brain. What was the men’s connection with the retreat? Was Ramaswami involved with them and the retreat merely a cover-up? Or was the swami being used in some evil way?

  If only the Flannerys would reveal more information! Nancy thought.

  But they disappeared upstairs, leaving her alone for almost twenty minutes. The sound of hurried footsteps creaking across the floor above convinced her they were packing.

  Maybe Ned would come to sooner than they expected, Nancy hoped, but that did not prove to be the case.

  It was almost two hours later before the young man regained consciousness. A dull ache drove across his spine as he realized he was lying along the edge of the Flannery’s driveway. A stray petunia wrapped around the toe of his sneaker reminded him of the sequence of events.

  “Nancy?” he muttered weakly, but there was no answer.

  He lifted his head slowly, the pain doubling rapidly and forcing him to drop it again.

  “Nancy, where are you?” he cried out louder than before.

  But the only response was the pad of a cat across the driveway into the yard of an empty house, causing the young man to roll on his side. He looked toward the kitchen window that was closed now. Nancy, who had stood under it, was gone! Surely she would not have left Ned as she had unless someone had overtaken her, too! Who was it—the same stranger who had attacked Ned?

  18

  Scorpion Scare

  Soon after the incident had occurred, the driver of the hatchback had leaped out of sight. He had raced the car down to the corner and swerved onto a main road that led to the River Heights Theater.

  The Jansen troupe’s performance was under way, and the boy determined there was only an hour left before it finished. He turned into the parking area, which was less full than the night before, and stopped his car near the exit. He jumped out, holding a metal canister with punctures in the lid.

  Smirking, he darted into the empty lobby, where he waited a moment as the buoyant melody emanating from the orchestra began to end. He then opened the door a crack, removed the lid of the canister, and freed from its prison a large, black scorpion. Urged forward, the insect crawled out, revealing its monstrous claws and poisonous sting!

  The boy pulled back, shutting the door without being seen and listening for the first shriek of discovery.

  The venomous animal, however, followed an even trail down the middle of the aisle until it was past the halfway mark. Then the glow of stage lights captured it and several couples in end seats screamed frantically.

  “Help!” a woman cried as the jointed legs of the scorpion scurried off the carpet.

  The man seated next to her shouted over the growing din in the audience. “It’s a scorpion!” he exclaimed.

  “Take the side exits!” another voice yelled.

  Now the pandemonium struck the performers. The conductor ordered the musicians to leave the pit and the actors on stage fell into disarray as the house lights came up, sending the scorpion under a row of now-vacant seats.

  “This is the last straw,” one woman snapped in disgust as she charged out of the theater. “I wouldn’t come here again if you paid me!”

  Her complaints were echoed by practically everyone who fled through the lobby in fear of the venomous creature.

  “Please—please,” the festival manager muttered helplessly. “We’ll take care of everything.”

  But his weak promises went unheard, as he watched the departing crowd head for the parking lot. There the boy who had deposited the scorpion in the theater laughed. He waited, however, until the last car left, then went back inside where the festival manager had called the police to report the incident.

  The manager was asking for emergency assistance as the boy stepped forward.

  “Gee, what happened, Mr. Hillyer?” he asked.

  “Oh, Brady,” the manager replied. “Somebody let a scorpion loose in the theater.”

  “That’s terrible,” th
e boy said, trying not to appear overly concerned as he went on. “Do you suppose you’ll have to shut down the festival after all?”

  “I guess your real concern is whether we’ll be able to give you the job we talked about.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brady said.

  Mr. Hillyer heaved a long, steady sigh. “Frankly, my boy, I doubt that the festival can last much longer. The Jansen troupe has already informed me they are canceling their contract with us.”

  His listener was almost gleeful to hear the news, but he remained solemn.

  “So maybe if the Castleton Theater still wants them,” Brady said, “the Jansen company will go back there.”

  “We’ve had problems ever since Jansen made the last-minute switch,” the manager said.

  “As you know, Pa works the sound booth for the Castleton Theater,” the boy replied, “and he told me all about it.”

  Hillyer was too distraught to pursue the conversation further. He let the young man leave when the police arrived. Brady hopped into his car, turned the radio up, and drove away.

  Ned, in the meantime, had managed to pull himself off the Flannerys’ driveway. He dragged his feet toward the backyard, noting darkness throughout the house. He told himself that he would risk an unpleasant encounter with the couple when he inquired about Nancy.

  But as he climbed the porch steps, he noticed a trail of bread crumbs.

  That’s odd, he thought. Why would anyone throw out food for birds at night?

  He didn’t think about it further as he knocked on the door. No one came, however. Maybe they couldn’t hear him, he surmised, and he darted to the front, still trying to ignore the throb under his skull.

  He rang the bell a long time. There was still no answer. Had the Flannerys left the house?

  As Ned returned to his car, he did not observe the flat tire against the curb. He started the ignition and began to steer, rolling the vehicle forward. Suddenly, he was aware that one wheel was spinning on its rim. He cut off the engine and jumped out to examine it. The small valve cap on the tire had been removed and air had been allowed to escape!

  Had his attacker done this? Ned wondered. Yet, somehow, that idea was hard to comprehend. How, for instance, could the stranger have abducted Nancy and pulled off the nozzle without her slipping away? Perhaps there were two people involved in the abduction.

  Before he could mull over the question, Ned dived into his trunk and took out an air pump which he quickly hooked up. He gazed along the curb for the missing cap and discovered it had been thrown up on someone’s lawn.

  Several minutes later he was on his way to the Drew house, where a downstairs light had been left on for Nancy. It was approaching midnight as the boy pressed the bell.

  It was a surprise that Hannah, rather than Mr. Drew, came to the door.

  “Is Mr. Drew asleep?” Ned asked as the housekeeper’s eyes traveled beyond the boy.

  “Where’s Nancy?” she said, disregarding his question.

  “She’s gone.”

  From the somber tone of the boy’s voice, Hannah knew that trouble lurked in his explanation.

  “Mr. Drew received an urgent call from the police,” she said. “He’s been down at the River Heights Theater for almost forty-five minutes.”

  Ned quickly revealed what had happened to him, adding, “Nancy just vanished into thin air.”

  “Oh, dear,” the woman frowned. “Well, don’t waste your time here. You’d better find Mr. Drew right away.”

  The young man pulled out of the driveway, still feeling sluggish, but he propelled himself as fast as he could to the theater. When he arrived, he was astonished to find the lawyer defending himself against Hillyer’s rash accusations.

  “That is all your fault!” the manager grumbled. He was pointing to an empty metal canister and another container alongside it that now held the dead scorpion.

  “You are being ridiculous,” Mr. Drew said in an even voice. “How could I have any connection with what happened here tonight?”

  “Ever since you forced the Jansen troupe out of their arrangement in Castleton—”

  “I didn’t force them, Mr. Hillyer. The town of River Heights made an offer which received the approval of every board member. I, for one, did not even know that Jansen had a pre-existing deal with Castleton. The mayor of River Heights informed me he had seen them perform elsewhere and suggested we line them up here. When I called their business manager, he made only a glib reference to a pending contract. But the impression he gave me was that it wasn’t very satisfactory. It isn’t my fault they accepted our proposal instead. Obviously, it was a better one than Castleton‘s!”

  Mr. Drew had spoken with a clarity that rivaled the temper of his listener.

  “All I know,” Hillyer went on, “is that we will lose a tremendous amount of money if we have to close down the festival.”

  “Mr. Hillyer, rather than sputtering about that, wouldn’t it behoove us all to try and figure out who is causing all the trouble?”

  Although Mr. Drew had seen Ned, the intensity of his conversation and the police officers who flanked the two men prevented him from addressing the boy. Ned, also, did not wish to interrupt. But as the discussion wore on, he listened with greater interest.

  “Tell me, Mr. Hillyer, did you not see anyone strange enter the premises?” one officer questioned.

  The manager had steered his vision away from Mr. Drew. “No, I told you that before.”

  “But who was that kid with the long hair?”

  “He must’ve been passing by when he saw the mass exodus. He knew the show couldn’t have finished yet, so he decided to find out what had happened.”

  “What’s the boy’s name?” Mr. Drew inquired, but Hillyer continued to direct his statements to the policeman.

  “We’d like that information, if you don’t mind,” the officer countered.

  “Brady Tilson.”

  “And what’s your connection with him?”

  “I don’t have a connection, officer. I merely offered him a job this morning.”

  Now Ned stepped closer, wondering: Was this the boy whom he and Nancy had followed from Oberon College? If so, he was the one whom Nancy suspected of having attacked Vince, the sound and lighting technician! Had he returned again to plant the poisonous scorpion?

  As the men’s conversation diverted to the exact moment when the disruption had occurred, Mr. Drew spoke. “From what I overheard Mr. Hillyer say earlier, Brady arrived only minutes after the trouble started—around ten o‘clock or so.”

  “Ten-thirty would be more exact,” an officer put in.

  Ten-thirty, Ned repeated to himself. That was only a short time after his attack. Might there be a connection between the two events?

  19

  Prisoners’ Retreat

  Ned let the men finish speaking before he took Mr. Drew aside. The festival manager glanced gruffly at the boy as the officers made a few final statements.

  “What’s up, Ned?” Mr. Drew said, adding, “I assume that you dropped Nancy off at the house.”

  “No, sir. I-I don’t know where she is.”

  The lawyer could see a visible tremble in the boy’s body. “Tell me everything that happened, and don’t leave anything out,” he said.

  But before the young collegian could complete his story, the festival manager and the police began to leave the building.

  “Everybody out, Mr. Drew,” Mr. Hillyer said sharply, leading the way to an exit.

  “We’ll talk again tomorrow,” the attorney informed the man.

  “Not if I can help it,” he said.

  “Well, I’m afraid you may not have a choice in the matter,” one of the officers said from behind.

  When they were all outside, Mr. Drew requested the policeman join him and Ned.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing the discussion about Brady Tilson,” Ned told the young officer.

  “Do you know him?”

  “No.”

  “Bu
t my daughter Nancy apparently had an encounter with him last night,” Mr. Drew put in.

  “That’s right,” Ned continued. He explained the sequence of events in the sound booth just as Nancy had related them to him. “But when we came to see Mr. Hillyer this morning, he ignored us.”

  “As you can see, officer,” the attorney went on, “Mr. Hillyer refuses to listen to anything from the lips of anyone named Drew.”

  The policeman nodded. He would have called Hillyer back from the parking lot, but following Mr. Drew’s remark, realized he would just be inviting another unproductive scene.

  “When can we talk to your daughter?” the officer inquired.

  “That’s another problem,” Ned answered for Mr. Drew. He displayed the welt across his neck and told how he had been struck from behind.

  “Nancy’s been hard at work on the kidnapping of that young amnesia patient,” Mr. Drew said, assuming the disappearance was well-known in the River Heights police department. “Tonight she and Ned went on a small excursion to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Flannery.”

  The officer seemed puzzled. “What’s their connection?” he asked.

  “Well, I think Nancy suspected Mr. Flannery of being the person who attacked Cliff in the hospital,” Mr. Drew said. “She wasn’t absolutely positive, however. Did you run into the man?” he asked Ned.

  “Yes and no. We overheard him mention Nancy’s name, but we didn’t see the face, so I’m not a hundred percent sure he’s the one we saw at the lodge.”

  “Any idea who gave you the welt?” the po liceman questioned

  “That’s what I’ve been leading up to. I have a hunch it could be Brady Tilson,” Ned answered.

  “And not Flannery,” Mr. Drew interposed.

  “No, definitely not. He and his wife were still inside when I was hit.”

  The young man blinked his eyes wearily, and he swayed off one foot as the adventures of the evening swirled through his head.

  “We’ll search the Flannery place now,” the officer assured Mr. Drew. “Maybe your daughter’s still there.”

  Although Ned was positive Nancy had been taken away by someone, he knew he had no evidence to prove it. No one had come to the door when he knocked and rang, but that didn’t mean the young detective wasn’t trapped inside.