Nancy wrote the words exactly as he had dictated them. She was signing her death certificate, she knew, but what else could she do?
"Finished? Let me see. Now fold the paper and take two steps backward. Excellent. Don't move."
Dr. Riggs walked around his desk to stand next to Nancy. "Move slowly toward the door. I want you to open it just a bit very, very carefully and pass the note to your friends. Don't say a word. Then shut the door. And remember, I'll be right behind you."
Nancy did as she was told. "Now step back and turn around," Dr. Riggs commanded. "Place your hands on top of your head."
His gun still trained on her, Dr. Riggs moved back behind his desk. Next he reached for his telephone. A minute later, his call completed, he replaced the receiver.
"All right, Miss Drew. . . . Now we wait."
For what seemed like an eternity, they stayed as they were: Nancy with her hands on her head, Dr. Riggs with the gun pointing at her heart. Desperately, Nancy tried to think of a way out, but no plan came to her. The gun had her spellbound.
Finally, she couldn't stand the tension any longer. "What are you going to do with me?" she whispered. "Lock me in the sauna again?"
Dr. Riggs smiled. "Ah! So you know I was the one who did that!"
"Of course. I had to slip past your office that night. You saw me, I guess, and followed me to the locker room."
"Correct. Too bad you managed to escape that time. Now I've got to find another way of killing you."
Just then, Nancy heard the door behind her open. It closed again quickly.
"You're here!" Dr. Riggs beamed. "About time. Grab her."
A powerful pair of hands seized her from behind. Nancy struggled, but it was no use. In seconds her arms were pinned to her sides.
She had already guessed what was coming next. Dr. Riggs went to his medicine cabinet and soaked a handkerchief with chloroform. When he applied it to her mouth and nose, she was surprised at how much it stung--her throat felt like it was on fire!
"That's it . . . breathe deeply. It's quicker that way!"
Slowly, time began to distort. Nancy felt her struggling grow weaker, her eyelids grow heavy. It was like sinking backward into a pool, she decided . . . a deep, black pool. . . .
Chapter Eighteen
WHEN NANCY CAME to she was still in Dr. Riggs's office. Dr. Riggs was missing, but the guy who had seized her from behind was not. As she brought him into focus, blinking, he smiled. He was holding the revolver.
"Feeling better?" he asked. His voice was like sandpaper, and his tall, thin frame looked whipcord strong.
Nancy didn't answer. She was afraid that if she tried to speak, she would be sick. She closed her eyes again.
"Not feeling too talkative, I guess. Can't say that I blame you."
For a minute, nothing happened. Nancy simply let the fog of semiconsciousness drift through her mind. What was happening? Where was Ned? They were supposed to be going out on a date tonight, weren't they? The movies, maybe, or--
No!
The truth, when it hit, was sharp as an electric shock. This was no date. This was a very dangerous situation. She was in the hands of criminals. She was probably going to die!
Little by little, she forced herself to wake up. Opening her eyes, she took stock. Her location? She was lying on the examination table: bad. The guy with the gun? He was leaning against the desk, watching her: also bad. Bess and George? Oh, yes, they were on a wild goose chase in the student union . . .
. . . very, very bad!
It all added up to not very much in her favor. Groggily, she sat up and swiveled around so that she was perched on the edge of the examination table. Yes, that was better.
"You're Frank, aren't you?" she said.
The guy looked startled. "How did you know my name?"
"I heard Captain Hook use it on the phone," she explained.
"Oh, him. Stupid jerk. He shouldn't have used it to help him make his bet. Just got himself into trouble in the end."
Some trouble! He had been beaten until he was unconscious!
"Where's Dr. Riggs?" Nancy asked next.
Frank said nothing.
"Don't bother, I think I know," she continued. "He's at the hospital finishing the job on Mike--the job you started to do this afternoon on the roof!"
"Don't know how he survived that fall," Frank said, shaking his head in puzzlement. "I was sure it would kill him!"
That confirmed it. Now Nancy was positive about the "important business" Mike had wanted to take care of that morning--he had tried to tell Dr. Riggs that he was backing out of the point-shaving scam, and Dr. Riggs had ordered Frank to shut Mike up--permanently!
Nancy was also positive of something else: Frank had been instructed to do the same to her! As soon as she could walk, no doubt, Frank would take her to his black Camaro and drive her away. Then he would dispose of her.
But would he really do it? Nancy thought about it and decided that he would. After all, he had a big stake in the gambling operation: He was the one who picked up payments, dropped off winnings, and punished those who couldn't cover their losses. Dr. Riggs was probably giving him a major share of the loot.
She had to stall, she knew. She needed time to think of a plan!
"How is Dr. Riggs going to get rid of Mike?" she asked.
Frank eyed her suspiciously. "Now why would a nice girl like you want to know something like that?" he demanded.
"I . . . uh . . . just curious, that's all."
"Well, I suppose I can tell you, seeing as you won't be around to repeat it. Riggs said Mike would die of an embolism."
Air injected into the bloodstream! Nancy winced. How horrible. Once the bubbles got into Mike's heart, he would die within minutes. Was there any chance she could save him, too?
She continued to stall. "And how did you get involved with Dr. Riggs?" she asked.
"Nosy, aren't you? Riggs recruited me from the county hospital."
"What did you do there?"
"I was a male nurse. Funny, huh? Before, I made people feel better. Now I make them feel worse!" He chuckled at the witticism.
Nancy was revolted.
"Hey, don't look so uptight. If Riggs promised you as much money as he promised me, you'd be working for him, too."
"I doubt that." Nancy was getting impatient. She had to get free soon--but how?
Frank seemed to sense the new urgency she was feeling. "You're looking awfully perky," he said. "I think it's time to take you for a nice, long ride, Nancy Drew."
Bending over, he reached for a piece of rope that was lying by his feet. Nancy saw her chance. Bracing herself with her hands, she pushed herself off the examination table and at the same time kicked upward with her foot.
The kick wasn't strong enough to knock Frank out, but it did catch him squarely in the face. Howling, he fell backward onto the desk. Blood gushed from his shattered nose, but Nancy didn't hang around to see more. Heart pounding, she ran to the door and opened it.
Running was difficult. Nancy was still groggy from the chloroform. She felt herself weaving back and forth, pushing off walls, tripping and getting up. No matter what, though, she kept going. She would only get one chance!
How long had she delayed Frank with that kick? Not very long, she was sure. He was probably after her already. He had the revolver, too. Somehow she had to get out of the building--she'd have a better chance in the open. A car might come by. Someone might hear her scream.
On and on she ran. Why had they made the halls so long? Finally, she reached a stairway and staggered up it. Another long hall and she was in the main lobby.
It was empty, of course. The game was long over, and everyone had gone home. Even the security guard wasn't around. Anxiously, she raced to the glass front doors and pushed. They were locked! She glanced around wildly for another way out--and spotted it. Off to her right, another set of doors!
Sprinting, she burst through them--and stopped dead. She was in the gym! Th
is wasn't any good--she was a sitting duck in the middle of all this space.
What next?
Nancy was almost ready to give up when she spotted the floats. Ever since the pep rally that afternoon two of them had been parked on one side of the gym, next to some bleachers. She ran for the nearest one as fast as she could.
The float was a high platform, below which hung a pleated curtain. Ducking under this, she saw that the whole thing rested on the roof of a Jeep! What luck! If she could only get it started, then maybe, just maybe--
Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor outside. Frank was in the gym, stalking her. Quietly, Nancy slipped into the Jeep's driver's seat and reached for the key. It wasn't there. She would have to hot-wire it, she realized, but how could she do that without giving herself away? One sound and she was dead!
Reaching under the dashboard, she located the ignition wires. She tugged them down and began to twist them together. How did it go? The red and the white? The black and the green? If she got out of this alive, she promised herself, she would practice stealing cars until she could do it blindfolded!
The engine caught. Nancy stomped on the gas pedal, slammed the gearshift into first, and popped the clutch. The float jerked forward. She was in motion! Now she had just one more problem to solve: Where to go?
Nancy flicked on the headlights. As she did, she saw that a rectangle had been cut out of the curtain in front of the windshield. The view wasn't great, but it would have to do. She headed for the middle of the court.
Where was Frank? Nancy couldn't see him, but she knew he was there. It wouldn't be long before he started shooting, either. Her only hope lay in being difficult to hit. On that theory, she began to drive in circles, looking both for Frank and a possible way out.
There! She had it! On the other side of the gym was a long row of double doors--the exit to the parking lot. Spinning the wheel, she headed for them--then hit the brakes. Twenty yards ahead of her, Frank had stepped from the darkness into the glare of the headlights!
Slowly, Frank raised the revolver and squeezed off a shot. The windshield shattered. Nancy screamed and covered her face with her hands. She was trapped!
Chapter Nineteen
WHAT WAS SHE going to do? There was no hope. Unless . . .
Pushing in the clutch, she slammed the gearshift into first again. The Jeep began to roll. She was heading directly at Frank, but he didn't move. Instead, he squeezed off two more shots. Nancy hit the horn and accelerated. Why didn't he jump out of the way? Why didn't he--
At the last moment, he twisted sideways and dove. Pressing down the accelerator, Nancy headed straight for the exit doors. When she reached them she didn't stop--she plowed straight through.
The Jeep died in the parking lot. Nancy felt as if she was going to die, too. Every bone in her body ached. She felt like she had just driven through a brick wall.
"Look! Over there!"
George! Wrenching open the door, Nancy fought her way out of the now-ruined float. Across the parking lot she saw her friend running toward her--and with her were Bess, Ned, and at least a dozen policemen.
She was safe!
An hour later, Nancy was sitting in Pat Burnett's office. She had just given the coach her final report, and now Bess and George were falling over each other in their eagerness to tell their part of the story. Nancy grinned as she listened.
". . . so after waiting in the student union for an hour, we realized that something was wrong. We went to the hospital, figuring we'd find Ned there. That's when we saw Dr. Riggs. We asked him--"
"--if he'd seen you, but his answer sounded fishy. So we followed him to Mike's room. Just then Ned walked by . . . he was talking to a doctor . . . and we filled him in. The doctor was suspicious, too, so we ran into Mike's room, and sure enough! Dr. Riggs--"
"--was getting ready to inject a syringe full of air into Mike's arm! Can you believe that? What a creep!"
"Yeah. Well, to make a long story short, we had him arrested. Then we rushed over here to the sports complex."
"We arrived just in time to see you drive that float out the side entrance. Boy, did that look weird!"
"I'll bet it did," Nancy said.
Behind his desk, Pat Burnett grunted and leaned back in his chair. "I owe you an apology, young lady," he announced. "If I had known how much danger was involved, I never would have called you in to investigate this case."
Nancy shook her head. "Don't apologize. You had no idea what was going on."
"I certainly didn't. And I'm still not too clear about one thing . . . how did you know that Riggs was behind it all?"
"Remember the warning spray painted on the window of our dorm room? That happened the first night. At the time, only three people besides Bess and George knew that I was investigating the practical jokes: you, Ned . . . and Dr. Riggs! I should have seen the significance of it sooner, but I didn't."
"There's something else you haven't told us, Nancy," Bess put in. "What's a push?"
Nancy explained, "Craig and Andy were worried that the final point spread would be eight--exactly on the line for tonight. If that happened it would be a push. All bets would be off, and nobody would collect any vig."
"Is that why they knocked Ned down? To keep him from pushing the score over the line?"
"That's right."
George looked over. "I have a question, too. What made you realize that gambling was involved, Nancy?"
"Oh! It was the comment you made after Ned was taken down. You said, 'I'll bet the other team is happy.' Remember?"
"Yes, but--"
"It was the word bet that hit me. I put it together with Captain Hook's phone call, and voila! Everything fell into place."
Silence descended in the office. As Nancy relaxed, letting the tension finally dram out of her system, she suddenly realized that there was something she didn't know.
"Coach Burnett, in all the excitement I forgot to ask. Who won the game?"
"We did, by two points," he said.
There was no joy in his voice. No doubt he was thinking about the NCAA playoffs, she knew. The Wildcats weren't going to have much of a chance with their best players out of commission. She felt bad for him.
What a lot of trouble had come out of a few practical jokes!
Ned was waiting for her in the lobby. Without a word, they went out the front doors together and began to wander slowly across the campus. The moon cast blue shadows around them. Nancy felt as if she were walking the last mile.
"Ned, you can forgive me for suspecting Mike, can't you?" she asked.
Ned shook his head. "I don't know, Nancy. I just don't know . . ."
"But he was involved in the point shaving. He made that effigy, too. You accept that, don't you?"
"Yes. What I can't accept is the way you handled everything. If you hadn't confronted him the way you did . . . if you had been more understanding . . . then maybe . . ."
"What?"
"Well, he might have opened up to you. Or to me. Instead he tried to handle everything himself, and look what happened! He's flat on his back in the hospital. He'll never play basketball again!"
There was nothing Nancy could say to that. Ned was right. Because she had been angry at him, she had tried to prove him wrong. She had charged ahead without any thought about the consequences.
She could see now that Mike O'Shea wasn't a bad person. He was simply a vulnerable guy from a poor background who had been offered some easy money. He had listened to his conscience, too, and had tried to break free. But had she taken that possibility into consideration? No, she had not. She had tagged Mike as a criminal.
What had gone wrong? How had she managed to lose her usual good judgment? It had been a stressful case, of course, but that didn't excuse her. The greater the pressure, she knew, the more important it was for her to stay loose.
Maybe it was something else, she thought. Maybe being a detective was making it difficult for her to trust people. After all, look at her and Ne
d! In spite of their relationship, she had even suspected him for a while!
Remembering the bracelet he had given her, Nancy asked a question that had been on her mind since early that evening.
"Ned, where did you get the money for that silver bracelet?"
He shrugged. "Where else? It came out of the money I earned lifeguarding last summer."
"Oh. Then why did you keep it a secret? When I said something about the price that night at the party, you brushed me off."
Ned walked in silence for a minute, his eyes on the stars. When he finally answered her, his voice was remote.
"Nancy, do you realize how hard it is for me to give you anything?"
"What do you mean? Ned, you've given me lots of things! Balloons, chocolates--"
"I'm not talking about gifts. I'm talking about more important things . . . love, support, sympathy . . . that stuff."
"Ned, are you nuts?" she cried. "You're the most loving, generous guy in the world!"
"And you're the most independent girl in the world, too. Nancy, you don't need me. There's nothing I give you that you can't get from a hundred other guys."
"Ned!"
"It's true. Not only that, when you get right down to it, who comes first in our relationship? You! Your career! Your cases! Even your suspects!"
"But--"
"Every time I help you with a case, you keep me in the background. My opinion means nothing to you! Well, let me tell you something . . . I'm sick of being put down and ignored. Nancy, I can't even give you a bracelet without hearing you ask how much money I spent on it!"
Nancy was stunned. Never before had she heard him sound so angry, so bitter. Had she really been acting as horribly as he said? Had she really been treating him so badly?
Stopping, she turned and touched his arm. "Ned, what are you saying? I don't understand why you're so upset. I mean, we've shared everything . . . the danger, the fun. . . ."
"Sure, but that's not what I want anymore. It's not enough."
"What do you mean?"
He ran his ringers through his hair. "Nancy, I've been thinking about it for the last few days, and . . . well, I think it's time for us to start seeing other people."