Read Online 078 The Phantom Of Venice by Carolyn Keene - Free Book Online
Authors: Carolyn Keene
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the shell. She seemed to be having difficulty finding her voice.
Nancy explained, “When we went through Customs, I thought this might somehow have gotten transferred from your suitcase to mine. I mean, that, maybe one of the inspection officers replaced it in the wrong bag, by mistake. . . . You say that’s not the answer, though?”
“No. It couldn’t have come from my suitcase.”
“But you’ve seen this before?”
“Maybe not that particular shell, but one just like it.” Tara reached out for the Angel’s Wing and her hand closed around it almost fondly.
The teenage sleuth was intrigued. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Tara’s lips trembled and her eyes suddenly glistened with moisture. “Oh, Nancy, this is really unusual! Do you remember me telling you how my father once came to New York unexpectedly and took me to the Jersey beach, and how we sunned ourselves in the sand all afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“I found a shell like this and gave it to Daddy. He told me he’d always carry it with him as a keepsake—to remind him of the fun we had that day!” Tara’s voice broke emotionally.
Nancy was touched, but her instincts as a detective were also aroused. “You’re sure this isn’t the same shell?”
“How could it be? . . . Even if it were, there’s no way I could tell for sure.”
Nancy tactfully changed the subject, and the two girls were soon engaged in a lively conversation about their shopping and sightseeing plans. As they talked, Nancy saw Katrina van Holst passing by in the corridor.
“Come and join us,” she invited, “if you can spare a few minutes.”
The smiling Dutchwoman, who carried two cameras as well as a shoulder bag around her neck, came into the drawing room and was introduced to Tara Egan.She accepted a cup of tea and sat down briefly to chat with the girls.
“Are you in Italy alone or with a group?” she asked Tara. On learning what had brought her from America, Miss van Holst sympathized warmly and expressed a hope that Tara might still take home pleasant memories of Venice, despite her father’s tragic accident.
“Just visiting the Marchese’s palace is something I’ll never forget,” said Tara. “And the masquerade ball sounds thrilling!”
Presently, after a brief tour of the palazzo’s upper floors, the Marchese returned to the drawing room with his English caller. He showed the art dealer two oil paintings of Venetian scenes, then led him to a tall glass cabinet.
Nancy couldn’t help noticing the keen, sidelong glances that Oliver Joyce kept casting in all directions while the Marchese was speaking. They seemed oddly out of key with his urbane, foppish manner and his show of peering intently through a monocle at whatever was being described. Nancy had a feeling that the Englishman’s sharp eyes were recording every detail of the palace scene.
She also noticed something even odder about his right trouser leg, just above the ankle.
From inside the glass cabinet, the Marchese del Falcone took out a lovely Fabergé egg—one ofthe world-famous creations of Carl Peter Fabergé, court jeweler to the tsars of Russia. Jeweled and enameled in intricate designs, the eggs were intended as Easter gifts. Each contained a precious “surprise.”
The one that the Marchese now opened contained a spectacular firebird with emerald eyes and ruby and diamond feathers. “My grand-uncle brought this back to Venice,” said the Marchese. “He was at one time the Italian ambassador to Russia.”
“Exquisite!” murmured Oliver Joyce. His awed tone was scarcely above a whisper.
Nancy, Tara and Katrina van Holst rose from their chairs to admire and exclaim over the gorgeous work of art.
Soon after Oliver Joyce departed with profuse thanks to the Marchese, Katrina also left the palazzo to photograph the sights of Venice for the magazine she was working for. Nancy showed Tara the palace courtyard with its blooming garden, and then took her up to her
Nancy explained, “When we went through Customs, I thought this might somehow have gotten transferred from your suitcase to mine. I mean, that, maybe one of the inspection officers replaced it in the wrong bag, by mistake. . . . You say that’s not the answer, though?”
“No. It couldn’t have come from my suitcase.”
“But you’ve seen this before?”
“Maybe not that particular shell, but one just like it.” Tara reached out for the Angel’s Wing and her hand closed around it almost fondly.
The teenage sleuth was intrigued. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Tara’s lips trembled and her eyes suddenly glistened with moisture. “Oh, Nancy, this is really unusual! Do you remember me telling you how my father once came to New York unexpectedly and took me to the Jersey beach, and how we sunned ourselves in the sand all afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“I found a shell like this and gave it to Daddy. He told me he’d always carry it with him as a keepsake—to remind him of the fun we had that day!” Tara’s voice broke emotionally.
Nancy was touched, but her instincts as a detective were also aroused. “You’re sure this isn’t the same shell?”
“How could it be? . . . Even if it were, there’s no way I could tell for sure.”
Nancy tactfully changed the subject, and the two girls were soon engaged in a lively conversation about their shopping and sightseeing plans. As they talked, Nancy saw Katrina van Holst passing by in the corridor.
“Come and join us,” she invited, “if you can spare a few minutes.”
The smiling Dutchwoman, who carried two cameras as well as a shoulder bag around her neck, came into the drawing room and was introduced to Tara Egan.She accepted a cup of tea and sat down briefly to chat with the girls.
“Are you in Italy alone or with a group?” she asked Tara. On learning what had brought her from America, Miss van Holst sympathized warmly and expressed a hope that Tara might still take home pleasant memories of Venice, despite her father’s tragic accident.
“Just visiting the Marchese’s palace is something I’ll never forget,” said Tara. “And the masquerade ball sounds thrilling!”
Presently, after a brief tour of the palazzo’s upper floors, the Marchese returned to the drawing room with his English caller. He showed the art dealer two oil paintings of Venetian scenes, then led him to a tall glass cabinet.
Nancy couldn’t help noticing the keen, sidelong glances that Oliver Joyce kept casting in all directions while the Marchese was speaking. They seemed oddly out of key with his urbane, foppish manner and his show of peering intently through a monocle at whatever was being described. Nancy had a feeling that the Englishman’s sharp eyes were recording every detail of the palace scene.
She also noticed something even odder about his right trouser leg, just above the ankle.
From inside the glass cabinet, the Marchese del Falcone took out a lovely Fabergé egg—one ofthe world-famous creations of Carl Peter Fabergé, court jeweler to the tsars of Russia. Jeweled and enameled in intricate designs, the eggs were intended as Easter gifts. Each contained a precious “surprise.”
The one that the Marchese now opened contained a spectacular firebird with emerald eyes and ruby and diamond feathers. “My grand-uncle brought this back to Venice,” said the Marchese. “He was at one time the Italian ambassador to Russia.”
“Exquisite!” murmured Oliver Joyce. His awed tone was scarcely above a whisper.
Nancy, Tara and Katrina van Holst rose from their chairs to admire and exclaim over the gorgeous work of art.
Soon after Oliver Joyce departed with profuse thanks to the Marchese, Katrina also left the palazzo to photograph the sights of Venice for the magazine she was working for. Nancy showed Tara the palace courtyard with its blooming garden, and then took her up to her
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