Read Online 078 The Phantom Of Venice by Carolyn Keene - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carolyn Keene
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room.
On the way, Nancy excused herself momentarily for a private word with her father. She asked him to use his legal connections to find out if Interpol, the international police organization, had any information on Oliver Joyce.
“What do you suspect him of?” Carson Drew inquired with a quizzical frown.
Nancy hesitated. “Just possibly of casing the PalazzoFalcone for a future robbery. Unless I’m mistaken, he was wearing a gun in a leg holster!”
Mr. Drew’s face hardened and his frown deepened. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he promised.
Tara was entranced upon seeing Nancy’s room. Its tall windows, curtained with brocaded draperies, opened onto a graceful little balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. Its wall paneling was intricately carved, and its ceiling decorated with small gilt plaster cupids. What caught her eye most of all were the two huge, canopied four-poster beds.
“Oh, Nancy!” she cried. “Why couldn’t the two of us share this room? Would you mind?”
“Far from it. I was going to suggest the same thing myself.”
“Then let’s!”
There was a knock on the door. It was the eye-patched butler, Domenic. He announced that the two signorine had a visitor downstairs. “A young man who calls himself Gianni,” he added disapprovingly.
Nancy sighed. “All right, thank you. Tell him we’ll be down in a moment. . . . Oh, and Domenic, when Miss Egan’s luggage arrives, will you have it brought to this room, please?”
“Va bene.”
Tara was obviously thrilled by Gianni Spinelli’s visit. He looked more handsome than ever in an open-necked shirt and summer suit, with the cuffed sleeves of his jacket turned up halfway to the elbow.
He explained that he had gone to the Pensione Dandolo to invite Tara out on a short sightseeing tour of the city; but on learning from Signora Dandolo that she had gone to tea with a friend, he had followed her to the Palazzo Falcone.
“Perhaps you would care to come with us, Signorina Drew?” he added with an air of sleek assurance.
Nancy was about to decline coldly, when she was struck by a sudden pang of concern for Tara. The happy expression on her girl friend’s face showed all too clearly how gratified she was at the prospect of a date with Gianni, and how eager she was to accept. Nancy also remembered Gianni’s contemptuous remarks about Tara behind her back.
What kind of a friend would she be to leave her at the mercy of such a hypocritical wolf?
“Thank you, Gianni,” Nancy replied with a cool, formal smile. “I’ll be glad to come along . . . if you’re sure three won’t be a crowd?”
“Not at all! We shall be delighted to have your company, will we not, Tara?”
Tara’s response was noticeably lukewarm.
Gianni had planned a gondola outing—with the girls no doubt paying the tab, Nancy reflected cynically. Considering the high fares, it would have been an expensive afternoon.
Instead, Nancy suggested that they leave by the courtyard and campo behind the palace and go on a walking tour of the island city.
Despite the heat of the afternoon, this turned out to be a happy inspiration. Following their noses, they strolled along narrow canals closed in on either side by high medieval buildings, over small bridges, through arching passageways and along flagstoned streets, glimpsing a side of Venice rarely seen by tourists.
In fact, the only typical tourist attraction spectacle the girls saw was a high pillared statue of a fierce-looking warrior on horseback—Bartolomeo Colleoni, once the mercenary commander of Venice’s land forces. Nancy remembered reading somewhere that the splendid bronze figure, by Verocchio, was the greatest horseback statue ever sculpted. It was a thrilling sight.
The only flaw in the afternoon was the constant attention Gianni paid to Nancy. Once in a while he would bestow a grudging smile on Tara, or drop a flirtatious remark that brought an eager glow to her cheeks. But most of the time he
On the way, Nancy excused herself momentarily for a private word with her father. She asked him to use his legal connections to find out if Interpol, the international police organization, had any information on Oliver Joyce.
“What do you suspect him of?” Carson Drew inquired with a quizzical frown.
Nancy hesitated. “Just possibly of casing the PalazzoFalcone for a future robbery. Unless I’m mistaken, he was wearing a gun in a leg holster!”
Mr. Drew’s face hardened and his frown deepened. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he promised.
Tara was entranced upon seeing Nancy’s room. Its tall windows, curtained with brocaded draperies, opened onto a graceful little balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. Its wall paneling was intricately carved, and its ceiling decorated with small gilt plaster cupids. What caught her eye most of all were the two huge, canopied four-poster beds.
“Oh, Nancy!” she cried. “Why couldn’t the two of us share this room? Would you mind?”
“Far from it. I was going to suggest the same thing myself.”
“Then let’s!”
There was a knock on the door. It was the eye-patched butler, Domenic. He announced that the two signorine had a visitor downstairs. “A young man who calls himself Gianni,” he added disapprovingly.
Nancy sighed. “All right, thank you. Tell him we’ll be down in a moment. . . . Oh, and Domenic, when Miss Egan’s luggage arrives, will you have it brought to this room, please?”
“Va bene.”
Tara was obviously thrilled by Gianni Spinelli’s visit. He looked more handsome than ever in an open-necked shirt and summer suit, with the cuffed sleeves of his jacket turned up halfway to the elbow.
He explained that he had gone to the Pensione Dandolo to invite Tara out on a short sightseeing tour of the city; but on learning from Signora Dandolo that she had gone to tea with a friend, he had followed her to the Palazzo Falcone.
“Perhaps you would care to come with us, Signorina Drew?” he added with an air of sleek assurance.
Nancy was about to decline coldly, when she was struck by a sudden pang of concern for Tara. The happy expression on her girl friend’s face showed all too clearly how gratified she was at the prospect of a date with Gianni, and how eager she was to accept. Nancy also remembered Gianni’s contemptuous remarks about Tara behind her back.
What kind of a friend would she be to leave her at the mercy of such a hypocritical wolf?
“Thank you, Gianni,” Nancy replied with a cool, formal smile. “I’ll be glad to come along . . . if you’re sure three won’t be a crowd?”
“Not at all! We shall be delighted to have your company, will we not, Tara?”
Tara’s response was noticeably lukewarm.
Gianni had planned a gondola outing—with the girls no doubt paying the tab, Nancy reflected cynically. Considering the high fares, it would have been an expensive afternoon.
Instead, Nancy suggested that they leave by the courtyard and campo behind the palace and go on a walking tour of the island city.
Despite the heat of the afternoon, this turned out to be a happy inspiration. Following their noses, they strolled along narrow canals closed in on either side by high medieval buildings, over small bridges, through arching passageways and along flagstoned streets, glimpsing a side of Venice rarely seen by tourists.
In fact, the only typical tourist attraction spectacle the girls saw was a high pillared statue of a fierce-looking warrior on horseback—Bartolomeo Colleoni, once the mercenary commander of Venice’s land forces. Nancy remembered reading somewhere that the splendid bronze figure, by Verocchio, was the greatest horseback statue ever sculpted. It was a thrilling sight.
The only flaw in the afternoon was the constant attention Gianni paid to Nancy. Once in a while he would bestow a grudging smile on Tara, or drop a flirtatious remark that brought an eager glow to her cheeks. But most of the time he
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