“They hung up again,” she said. “It’s been happening all evening. I keep thinking it’ll be news of Ned, but all I hear is a click and the dial tone.”
“Oh, no!” Nancy whispered. With everything that had happened, she completely forgot the case she was working on. Was the caller somehow connected with her investigation?
“What’s the matter, Nancy?” her father asked. “I mean, what else is the matter?”
“I’m just wondering if—”
The telephone rang again. Nancy took a deep breath. Then she strode into the hall and picked up the receiver.
“Nancy Drew here,” she said crisply.
Silence—and then a husky voice. Nancy couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
“Just think of this afternoon as a little warning,” the voice said. “And stay out of my way from now on!”
Chapter
Seven
NANCY, WHAT’S THE matter?” asked Carson Drew, who had followed her into the hall. “Is it something about Ned?”
Nancy shook her head. “No. It’s my case,” she said. “Somehow the guy who’s been threatening Bess is on to me. He’s the one who crashed into Ned, and now he’s after me. The thing I don’t understand is how he knows who I am or that I’m trying to track him down.”
“He wants you to drop the case?” her father asked.
“Yes. But now that Ned’s been hurt, there’s no way I’m going to give up until I see this would-be murderer brought to justice.”
Her father bit his lip. “Nan, I know we have this talk about once a month,” he said. “And I know you won’t quit a case just because it’s dangerous. But it seems to me that you may be too emotionally involved. Couldn’t you turn this one over to the pros?”
“Dad, I can’t quit—you know that,” she said quietly but firmly.
Carson Drew sighed. “All right. I can’t talk you out of this, but let me warn you about one thing—”
“I know the case is dangerous,” Nancy said.
“No. What I was going to say is that you’re going to have to be especially careful on this case. You’re doing it for personal reasons, not professional ones. So you’ll have to make sure your emotions don’t get in the way of your judgment.” He smiled at her. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she answered.
“So go to bed!” her father said. “Things really will look better in the morning, honey.”
“I hope so.” Nancy kissed him good night and dragged herself up the stairs.
It was hours before she could sleep. Every time she’d doze off, a vision of the car zooming toward Ned would jar her awake, and she’d find herself sitting bolt upright in her bed, her heart hammering in her chest.
The birds had started singing when Nancy finally fell asleep, and the harsh buzz of her alarm clock woke her with a start. Groaning, she sat up and squinted at the clock through eyelids that felt as if they were lined with sandpaper. Seven-thirty. Her head was throbbing.
Nancy flopped back down onto the pillow, hiding her face in the crook of her arm. After a second, though, she forced herself to sit up. She wasn’t going to be good for much that day if she couldn’t even get up on time.
“Feeling any better?” Hannah asked her after she went downstairs.
Nancy grimaced. “Well, the shower helped some. No, I don’t want any breakfast, Hannah—just some coffee. I have to get over to the hospital.”
“Better call first,” Hannah advised. “There’s no sense in making a trip if they’re not going to let you see him.”
“Good point.” Nancy’s hand was shaking a little as she dialed the number, but when she hung up she looked like a new person.
“He’s awake! He’s doing fine!” she caroled, catching Hannah by the waist and whirling her around the kitchen. “His parents are with him now, but the nurse said it’ll be all right if I stop by in about an hour. Oh, I can’t believe it! May I change my mind about breakfast, Hannah? Suddenly I’m famished.”
• • •
“Ned?” Nancy peeked timidly around the door of his hospital room. “Are you awake?”
“Nancy! I’ve been waiting for you!” Ned’s voice was a feeble imitation of itself. “Come on in. Sorry I can’t get up.”
Nancy’s face fell when she saw him. He was very pale, and his eyes glowed with a feverish brightness. She couldn’t help feeling that the boy lying in the bed wasn’t Ned at all. Her Ned had been replaced by a total stranger.
But Ned was looking worried now. It must be all too obvious what she was thinking. Nancy cleared her throat. “Nice outfit,” she said lightly, pointing at his green hospital gown. “Is that the best the hospital has to offer?” She crossed the room to kiss him.
“Afraid so. Hey, don’t look so scared,” he whispered, clutching her hand. “I’m okay. Really. I have a concussion. It could be a lot worse.”
“Oh, Ned . . .” For a second Nancy couldn’t speak. “I—when that car hit you, I thought . . .”
“I’m fine.” Ned’s voice was stronger now. “I only wish I could prove it to you. But I guess that’ll have to wait a couple of days.”
“I love you so much,” Nancy said. “Do you promise you’re not mad at me for getting you into this?”
“Mad at you? Nancy, if that car had hit you, I’d never have forgiven myself.”
Nancy smiled wryly. “Well, now you know how I feel.”
“Nancy, no one’s mad at you. My parents are just glad I’m okay. Now calm down and give me a kiss.”
When Nancy lifted her head, she looked a lot happier. “Okay, I’ll take your word for everything,” she said.
“That’s good.” But suddenly Ned gasped. “Don’t worry, it’s—it’s— It just hurts a little,” he muttered. “They can’t give me any painkillers.” His teeth were clenched. “I’m sorry, it makes it a little hard to—”
“Ms. Drew?” It was Dr. Meinhold, the same physician who’d spoken to Nancy the night before. “I think it’s time for Ned to get some rest.”
“Of course.” Nancy bent down and kissed Ned again. “Stay away from the nurses, now,” she said as cheerfully as she could.
Ned’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut. He opened them to give her a quick smile, gripped her hand for a second, and turned his head away. With a lump in her throat Nancy followed Dr. Meinhold out the door.
“Don’t worry if Ned seems to—well, to come unplugged over the next few days,” the doctor said when they were out in the hall. “He’s in a lot of pain.”
“Can’t you give him something to make him feel better? It’s horrible to watch him suffer like that.”
“We can’t, Ms. Drew. We’re still concerned about his head injury. No drugs until we’re sure his brain’s really recovering—medication might suppress new symptoms. I know it’s hard to watch, but it’s really best for him.
“I gathered from what Ned’s parents said that you’re some kind of detective?” Dr. Meinhold asked.
“Yes, I am. I was working on a case yesterday when Ned was—when that car hit him.”
“I see. I do think it would be best if you avoided talking about your work with him until he’s feeling a little stronger. He’ll recover faster if we can keep him from getting worried. Will that be too much of a problem?”
“Oh, no,” Nancy said. “I’ll just—I’ll just talk about other things.”
Then she gathered all her courage and asked the question that had been bothering her the most. “Dr. Meinhold, will Ned still be able to go out for sports when he’s recovered?”
She held her breath during the silence that followed. “All we can do is—wait and see,” Dr. Meinhold said at last.
• • •
“How is he?” Lena Verle asked eagerly.
Getting back into her car and driving to the Record had been one of the hardest things Nancy had ever done. Her every thought, every emotion was centered on Ned, and she just wanted to sit in the hospital beside him. Now that she was at the paper, though, sh
e didn’t want to talk about him—even to Lena.
“He’s doing pretty well, considering,” she said. “But—I hope you’ll understand—I just can’t talk about it now. If you can give me some kind of work to do, I’ll feel much better.”
Lena looked a little disappointed, but she produced a stack of letters cheerfully enough.
“I thought you might want to look through these,” she said. “They’re the letters we’ll be running this week. I don’t know if there’s anything suspicious about any of them, but you’ll get a good laugh from some of them, anyway.”
“This is perfect,” Nancy said, brightening. “It’s just what I need. I’ve never been involved with a case where it was okay to read other people’s mail!”
There was every kind of letter imaginable in the stack, from utterly prim to the complete opposite. Some had been neatly typed on business stationery. A couple were handwritten so crudely that Nancy was sure the writers had been trying to disguise their script—which was kind of silly, she thought, since no one was forcing them to use their real names. One—from someone who was really worried about staying anonymous—was made out of cutout magazine letters. The funny thing about that one was that all the writer was looking for was “a loving soul to share cooking classes and cello duets.”
“Where do you find these people?” Nancy asked after a couple of minutes.
Lena laughed. “Oh, they find us, and more come in each week. Any clues so far?”
“No, I don’t see anything that sounds like it could be the guy I’m looking for.”
Nancy put the stack of ads down on Lena’s desk. As she did so, that morning’s edition of the Record caught her eye. “Could I take a look at this?” she asked. “I didn’t have a chance when I left the house this morning.”
“Be my guest.”
Nancy skimmed the news, then picked up the section with the Personals in it. “These are the same as yesterday’s, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” said Lena. “We only update them once a week.”
Nancy had already read that column the day before. She was about to turn past that page when something suddenly caught her eye. It was the last ad on the page.
“N.D.,” it began, “I warned you last night. You’d better listen to me. Keep out of my way, or you’ll be sorry.”
Chapter
Eight
LENA, LOOK AT this!” Nancy’s eyes were bright as she pushed the paper toward the other woman. “How do you think it could have gotten in?”
“I—I have no idea,” Lena said slowly. She looked amazed. “The ads run for an entire week, and we only update them once a week. We’re not due to add new ones for another couple of days. And I see all the new ads before they go in! However this was done, it wasn’t through the normal channels.”
Obviously not, Nancy thought, at least not if Lena was the “normal channels.” She read the ad again.
“ ‘I warned you last night,’ ” she said out loud. “That can only be the guy who called me when I got home. Sure works fast, whoever he is.”
“It sounds like you’re in real danger,” Lena said. She sounded more nervous than Nancy.
“Yes, but that’s just the way it goes,” Nancy said. “I’m not planning to stay out of his way, if that’s what you mean.”
“Working hard, or hardly working?” came a bright voice in back of her. Nancy turned to see Lucy Price, the girl she’d met the day before, standing next to the cubicle. “Come on, girls!” she continued. “Stop gabbing.”
Nancy and Lena glanced quickly at each other, and Nancy gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. There was no point in telling Lucy anything, no matter how nice she seemed. Until Nancy had a better idea of who she was dealing with, she’d have to keep as quiet as possible.
“What’s the matter? Can’t we take a break once in a while?” she asked easily.
“Yeah. What are you—a slave driver?” Lena chimed in. It was a pretty lame comeback, Nancy thought, but at least Lena sounded as if she were trying to be more friendly. Nancy gave her an approving smile and noticed with satisfaction that Lucy Price looked surprised that Lena was responding with something other than a sulky look.
“Well, don’t let me disturb your party,” Lucy said cheerfully. “I just came over to see if you have any paper clips. I’m not leaving the office today until my desk is completely organized.”
“I don’t,” Lena answered. “And as a matter of fact, I’m out of a lot of supplies. I was just about to go to the mailroom and get some.”
“I’ll do it,” Nancy offered. It would give her a chance to do some investigating on her own. “What do you need?”
Both women gave her a short list of the supplies they wanted. “I’m glad you’re doing this, not me,” Lucy said. “I go down there so many times that they think I’m hoarding the stuff. Don’t tell them any of it’s for me, okay?”
“Sure,” said Nancy with a smile. “Just don’t ever make me get extra desserts for you in a buffet line. My friend Bess does that already.”
She headed down to the mailroom. Its vestibule was piled high with unopened packages, review copies of books, and office supplies. As she threaded her way gingerly through this obstacle course, Nancy suddenly heard a thud—and a yelp of pain—coming from inside the mailroom.
“I’m dying!” yelled a man’s voice.
Nancy rushed inside the room. It was even more cluttered than the vestibule, if that was possible. In one corner, a thin young man was doubled up on the floor clutching his foot and moaning. Two of his coworkers were looking down at him calmly and making no move at all to help him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, walking right up to the three men. “Can I do something? Are you hurt?” she asked the man on the floor.
“Oh, Bill’s okay,” said one of the men watching him. He grinned at her, his freckled face so good-natured that Nancy couldn’t help smiling back. “Mr. Walking Wounded just dropped a stapler on his foot, that’s all. We go through this kind of thing all the time.”
“Come on, guys! It’s killing me!” groaned Bill. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk on it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The second man sighed. “You’d better just forget about him. He always takes a long time to recover from these major injuries.
“Now, can I do something for you?” he asked. “I’m Todd Hill, by the way, and the carrot head is Steve Rudman—and the invalid writhing at your feet is Bill Stark.”
“My name’s Nancy Drew. I just need some supplies for the woman I’m working with—but are you sure you’re okay, Bill?” she broke off to say.
He smiled weakly up at her and climbed a little shamefacedly to his feet. “I’m really not faking it,” he said, shaking her hand. He had the lightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. “It’s just that I’m sensitive to pain. I guess I’ll live, though.”
“Probably so, worse luck,” said Todd.
Bill ignored him. “Anyway, thanks,” he said to Nancy. “Now, you said you needed some supplies?”
“I’ll get them, I’ll get them,” said Todd. “You’d better just sit down and take it easy, Bill. It’s not every day such a pretty girl walks in here—might give you some kind of relapse. What do you need, Nancy?”
Nancy handed him the list, and he headed over to the supply closet. “You say you’re bringing this to someone you’re working for?” he called back to her.
“Yes,” Nancy said. “Lena Verle. I’m helping her for a few days.”
“Helping that crab?” Steve Rudman asked. “What could you possibly do to help her?”
Nancy was glad she had rehearsed an answer just in case someone asked her that very question. “I’m kind of a temp,” she said. “There’s been such an increase in the mail the paper’s getting that Mr. Whittaker thought she could use a part-time assistant. I’ll probably just be here a few days, until things are a little more in control.”
“Well, you can replace her anytime, a
s far as I’m concerned,” said Steve. “I couldn’t think of a worse person to handle the Personals.”
“Actually, Lena’s pretty nice,” Nancy said casually. “But why do you say that?”
Steve snorted. “Writing one of those ads is an art. Why should someone have to hand it over to a woman who has no idea what a personal life even is? I bet she never goes home. She probably lives here.”
“So you read the Personals?” Nancy asked quickly.
“Of course he does,” Todd said, staggering out of the supply closet with his arms full of boxes. “One of these days, he’s going to meet the ideal woman. So’s Bill. So am I, for that matter. We’re taking bets on who’ll be first—unless you’re the ideal woman. Are you?”
“Obviously,” Nancy said brightly.
Todd clapped her on the back, dropping a whole box of pens onto the floor. “Way to go!” he crowed. “Well, which one of us lucky bachelors wins the dream date?”
This was getting a little out of hand. “Sorry, guys, I’m already taken,” Nancy said. She had to force herself to put Ned out of her mind as she spoke. It was impossible to keep bantering with them when just the thought of him made her want to rush to the hospital to be with him.
“Could you tell me a little bit about what you all do here?” she asked. She didn’t think it would have any bearing on the case, but she’d learned to collect information—no matter what kind—whenever she had the chance. She could never tell when it would be useful.
Bill Stark laughed. “We just about run the paper, that’s all. Giving out supplies is the least of it. We’re really kind of like a little private post office down here. We deliver all the incoming mail to the staff and send out all the outgoing. We send telexes and telegrams and okay all the overnight deliveries—and you wouldn’t believe how often these people say something has to get there overnight. Also, we have the best coffee machine.” He gestured toward a scarred old percolator on the counter.
“You say you deliver the incoming mail?” Nancy said. “Do you open it first?”