Carolyn Keene - This Side of Evil

“Gloves? Hair spray?” Nancy exclaimed, alarmed. “Let me see!” She jerked the camera away from Ned and looked through the view-finder.

Just as Nancy got the camera focused, George flashed into view on the right side of the frame, right behind the runner.

“Ned!” Nancy exclaimed. “That’s no can of hairspray! It’s—”

Nancy and Ned watched helplessly as the gloved runner whirled around, grabbed George’s arm with one hand, and pushed the can toward George’s face.

Stumbling, George raised her hands and rubbed her eyes. Then she took two steps and collapsed.

Chapter Twelve

“It looks like tear gas or something!” Nancy yelled. On the track, George was gasping frantically and tearing at her eyes.

Ned jumped up, knocking his chair over, and bolted for the door. In an instant he was clattering down the long, steep stairway toward the field far below. Nancy followed as fast as she could. Ned was a super-fast runner, though, and he was rapidly outdistancing her. Already he had reached the lowest tier of seats.

Down on the track, George was struggling to sit up. The attacker bent over her for a moment, and then George fell back, not moving.

The runner bent over and hoisted the now-limp George into a fireman’s carry, straightening up with difficulty. Once the attacker was standing upright, George’s weight seemed to be an easier burden. Carrying George, the white-jacketed figure shuffled to a nearby tunnel and disappeared.

Ned finally reached the end of the aisle and vaulted over the rail and onto the track. At a dead run he raced across the field toward the exit where George and her attacker had vanished. But just as Ned reached the mouth of the tunnel, Nancy heard the echoing screech of car tires, and her heart sank. Running was no use anymore—George was gone.

George was gone! Suddenly the reality of it hit Nancy. George had been kidnapped! Where was she being taken? Who had taken her?

Her heart pounding painfully, Nancy jogged down the track to the spot where George had fallen. There was something on the track: the empty can and a syringe. Nancy shook her head. There was no use looking for fingerprints on the can or the syringe—the white gloves would have taken care of that. Like everything else in this case, the kidnapping had been carefully planned and beautifully executed. There was no doubt about it. They were dealing with a first-rate criminal mind, and so far it had defeated them at every turn. It was almost as if they were playing some sort of game.

But it was a deadly game now. There was a life at stake. George’s life.

Ned ran back to Nancy, panting. From the look on his face, Nancy knew he hadn’t seen a thing.

“It’s no use,” he gasped, out of breath. “Whoever it was—had everything planned perfectly. All I could see was a pair of taillights disappearing around the corner. I didn’t even see the car. The garage was too dark.”

“Well, we know one thing,” Nancy said. “The kidnapper had to be a man. George is no featherweight.”

“Not so fast,” Ned cautioned. “A woman could have managed to carry her with that fireman’s carry. All the weight is over your back and legs. You could carry me if you had to.” He shook his head. “No, it still could be a woman, Nancy.”

“Whoever it is, he—or she—is a pro,” Nancy said, picking up the syringe carefully. “This was probably loaded with some kind of quick-acting sedative. Once George was blinded by the tear gas, she was knocked out with this.”

“Now what?” Ned asked as they made their way back up to the press box to pick up Ned’s camera. “Do we call the police and report a kidnapping?”

“Only if we have to,” Nancy replied grimly. “We know more about this case than the police could find out in a week. But there is one person we have to check out, and on the double.”

“Oh?” Ned asked. “Who’s that?”

Soberly Nancy looked at Ned. “Who knew we were going to be here this afternoon?”

Ned shook his head. “Nobody. Except Lake Sinclair, that is. She had to because she arranged the passes for us.”

“Right. And remember the first time we met her? She was wearing a white jogging suit, just like the top the attacker had on. There was a weight room in her condo, too. If it was a woman who kidnapped George, it could have been Lake.”

“Passes?” Lake gasped in surprise. She was standing in the middle of her kitchen, surrounded by trays and platters of food. “I didn’t arrange any passes for you. I meant to, but I didn’t have time. I’ve been too busy getting ready for my party tonight.”

“If you didn’t, then who did?” Ned asked.

“The blackmailer, of course,” Nancy said wearily. “Remember the letter I got? Obviously, he’s made good on his threat to hurt you or George.”

“If you need proof that I wasn’t involved,” Lake added, picking up a tray of tiny sandwiches, “ask anyone here.” She turned to a white-aproned caterer who was working behind her at the stove. “Tell these people where I’ve been all morning, Philippe.”

“She’s been right here in the kitchen, mademoiselle,” Philippe answered in surprise. “Of course.”

“Well, that’s that,” Nancy said. It was nearly two, and she and Ned had just gotten back to the apartment. “It’s obvious that Lake really didn’t have anything to do with George’s disappearance.” She looked around the apartment. It seemed so empty without George.

Nancy picked up the phone. “I’d better let Ms. Amberton know what’s happened.” She was still out, so Nancy left another message to tell her that George had disappeared.

Nancy put the phone down with a sigh. “I guess there’s nothing to do now but wait.” She stretched wearily out on the sofa, her hands behind her head. “The kidnapper’s bound to get in touch with us, sooner or later.”

“Well, while we’re waiting,” Ned said, “I vote for a sandwich. We never even ate lunch. How about it?”

“I think there are some cold cuts in the refrigerator,” Nancy said. “And some soda.”

They had just settled down to the salami sandwiches Ned had made when there was a knock on the door.

“Delivery service,” someone called.

“We’re not expecting anything,” Nancy said to Ned in a low voice.

Cautiously Ned went to the door and opened it as far as the chain would allow. “It is a delivery,” he reported. “A plastic box.”

“Where’d you get this?” Nancy asked, coming up behind Ned.

The boy shrugged. “Don’t know,” he replied. “It came to the office just a little while ago, with instructions to deliver immediately.” He thrust a clipboard at Ned. “Sign here, please.”

Nancy looked at the box Ned held in his hand. “That looks like a videocassette!” she exclaimed.

Ned opened the box. “It is a tape.” He looked at the VCR sitting on top of the television set. “I’ll put it in.”

Nancy adjusted the television set as Ned put the tape on. They both sat down on the sofa with the remote control and Ned flicked it on.

For a moment the screen was filled with silvery snow. Then the image cleared and Nancy could see George. She was seated, tied to a chair. She was pale and obviously groggy, but her eyes were open and filled with terror. There was a smear of blood on her cheek.

“Oh, no,” Nancy moaned. “Poor George!” She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. It was hypnotizing.

Ned stared at the screen, his fists clenched, trying to speak. No words would come out. On the tape, a thickly muffled voice said, “Well, Nancy Drew, did you enjoy the view from the press box?” Nancy couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman, but there was no disguising the triumph in it.