Swiss Secrets by Carolyn Keene
“Maybe not,” Nancy said, “but your father isn’t the ambassador any longer, so what’s the problem with telling people now?”
Mick grimaced again. “I kept meaning to tell you, but it was fun having you think of me as just another traveler, so I kept putting it off. I know it sounds dopey.”
“That older man we saw you with in front of the cathedral—” Nancy began.
“He’s the current Australian ambassador,” Mick explained. “We’re old friends of his family. I saw him the other night at the outdoor concert and went over to talk. That’s why I left so suddenly—I didn’t want you to know what I was doing. We had breakfast the next day before he dropped me off at the cathedral. You can call him up and ask him to verify my story if you want.”
Mick stared beseechingly at Nancy. “Am I forgiven? I know I should have been more up front with you. I’m sorry.”
Nancy wanted to forgive him. Her instincts told her Mick was telling the truth. “I guess you get a second chance,” she finally said.
Not that it will help this case at all, she thought ruefully. She had no new leads. It was already Wednesday, and the gold shipment would be made on Friday, just two days away!
After the girls said good night to Mick, they headed up to their room. Nancy was quiet as she decided what was the next thing she should do. Talk to Yves Petiau again, she finally decided. She would try to talk to him first thing in the morning. All she needed was to think of a way to get in to see him.
• • •
Yves Petiau leaned back in the chair behind his massive desk at his office. He lit a cigar and stared at Nancy. “A reporter, you say? Which paper do you work for?”
“The International Tribune,” Nancy replied. “I just started last year.” She hurried on before Petiau could ask any more questions. “We’re doing a feature on prominent Swiss businessmen.”
Posing as a reporter had been the best way Nancy could think of to get in to see Yves Petiau. Leaving Bess and George to sleep in, she had called Petiau at his office just before nine. Somewhat to her surprise, he had agreed to see her right away.
“I have the feeling we’ve met before,” the tall, bearded businessman said now, scrutinizing Nancy closely. “Have you been following me?”
Uh-oh. Now Nancy wished she hadn’t spoken to him in that alley. “As a matter of fact I have,” she said, trying to look suitably ashamed. “The other day, outside the Haussman showroom—”
“Ah, oui! That was where it was. But why did you not identify yourself then?”
“I was trying to get some background for my story,” Nancy confessed. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to discuss your rivalry with the Haussmans, and—”
“There is no rivalry!” snapped Petiau.
Nancy stared at him. This was certainly a surprise. “My—uh—editor’s understanding was that you and Franz Haussman were very competitive.”
“Then your editor was wrong.” Petiau puffed ferociously on his cigar. “Let me set the record straight—is that how they say it in your country? We’re going to be announcing it on Monday at a press conference, anyway. I don’t expect you to print a word of what I say until then.”
Nancy agreed and Petiau leaned forward over his desk and said, “Franz and I have mended our differences. We are the best of friends now. In fact, we are trying to work out the details of a collaboration between our two companies.”
He scrabbled through the pile of papers on his desk, finally plucking one from the bottom of the pile. “There,” he said, thrusting the paper at Nancy. “Can you read French? Then take a look at this, and you’ll see that I’m telling the truth.”
Nancy scanned the piece of paper, trying to translate mentally as she went along. She couldn’t understand all of it, but she got the general drift. It was a letter Franz had written stating his intent to work with Petiau to develop a line of moderately priced, high-fashion watches for the younger market. From what Nancy could understand, Franz would be responsible for the design, and Petiau’s company would manufacture the watches.
When she finished reading, Nancy’s head was spinning. She was more confused than ever. If this was true—and she could think of no reason why it wouldn’t be—why hadn’t Franz mentioned the collaboration to her? Why had he allowed her to think that he and Petiau were still bitter rivals?
She would certainly ask Franz for an explanation, but there was something else still nagging at her. “Monsieur Petiau, what were you doing outside the Haussman showroom when I saw you?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sneaking around, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Petiau snapped, tugging at his beard. “I had had an appointment with Franz that morning, and he hadn’t shown up.” Because he had been in Zermatt, Nancy knew now. “I was unable to reach him at his office, so I was trying to see if he was in the showroom, without attracting notice,” Petiau continued. He gave Nancy a thin, reluctant smile. “I see I was not successful.”
Remembering her cover, Nancy continued to ask Yves Petiau questions a reporter might ask. She nodded professionally as she jotted down his answers, but she was paying hardly any attention to the conversation. What was really occupying her mind was the fact that she was further from solving the case than ever.
It was Thursday. The shipment of gold was due to be delivered the next day, and Nancy still didn’t have the slightest idea whether it would get there safely!
Chapter
Fourteen
WELL, NAN? What happened?” George asked expectantly as Nancy walked into the girls’ hotel room.
“Did you find out anything else about the blackmailing?” Bess wanted to know.
Nancy sank down onto her bed with a sigh. “Not exactly,” she said. “This case seems to be turning up nothing but dead ends.” Quickly she described her meeting with Petiau.
“I don’t get it,” George said. “That picture in the paper—I thought Franz hated Yves Petiau. What’s he doing going into business with him?”
“Beats me,” said Nancy. “But I doubt Petiau would blackmail Franz if they’re working together. Still, I’d like to ask Franz about it. Maybe we could go see him at his office. I’ll run down to the lobby and call.”
In a few minutes she was back. “Franz’s secretary said he’s working at home today, so I called him there. He said it would be fine for us to come over now.”
Franz was waiting in the drawing room of the Haussmans’ summer estate when the three girls got there. “You sounded upset on the telephone, Nancy,” he said after they’d sat down. “Is something the matter? I mean, is something new the matter?”
“I spoke with Yves Petiau in his office this morning,” Nancy told him. “Are you really going into business with him, Franz?”
Franz grimaced. “So it’s out,” he said. “I wanted to keep it a secret until we announced it officially on Monday. I wanted to surprise my family, but if Yves is already telling people—”
“I don’t think he’s told anyone besides me.”
“Well, why did he tell you?” Franz was clearly puzzled.
“He thought I was a reporter,” Nancy said. “I guess he wanted to get the ball rolling, though he did say I couldn’t print the story until after you’d made the announcement.”
“Then I’m glad you’re not a real reporter,” Franz said swiftly, “because you would print it. I can see that Yves and I will have to formalize a few more aspects of our partnership—like who is in charge of publicity.”
Nancy watched Franz closely. “So there’s no way this deal could have anything to do with the threats you’ve been receiving,” she asked.
“Definitely not,” he confirmed. “It means only good things for me and for Frères Haussman. We have been looking for a way to break into the younger market, and I think this is it. Besides,” he added, “Petiau was not fun to have as an enemy. It will be better for him to be on our side.”
“How did you get him on your side?” George inquired. “I would have thought that you two we
Franz gave a sudden laugh. “It was simple. I realized that I should not have insulted him to such a degree when we had that fight you read of. So early Monday morning I sent him a letter of apology. He called me then just before you came to go waterskiing. Well, one thing led to another and I sent him a letter of intent to do business with him late that afternoon, before the concert. He called back again and the whole transaction was almost completed on Monday.”
“Then why did you say Petiau might want to steal your gold that night?” Nancy asked.
“I still didn’t know the man very well and couldn’t really trust him.”
His hazel eyes grew more serious as he added, “I hope that at last my family will realize that I have our company’s best interests at heart. And maybe Monique’s parents will take me seriously.”
“Speaking of Monique’s parents,” Nancy said, “we learned something at their house last night.”
“Monique’s house? What were you doing there?”
While Nancy, Bess, and George summarized their adventure for Franz, Nancy noticed that his expression grew more and more shaken. She felt badly about bringing him such upsetting news, but she needed everything out in the open if there was any chance of solving this case.
“And you say my own family approved of their hiring Bart?” Franz asked when they were done. “I—I can’t believe my parents would stoop so low! I will have to talk to them when they get home.”
“In the meantime, can’t you go to your uncle about all this?” Bess spoke up. “Someone in your family should know what kind of person Bart is—and how dangerous he is. We’ve got to stop him before the gold is delivered tomorrow!”
“Absolutely,” Franz said gravely. “Uncle Pascal is out of the country on business, unfortunately. He won’t return until tomorrow, when the gold is due. By then it would be too late to do anything!”
Nancy jumped to her feet and began pacing the length of the drawing room, thinking aloud as she walked. “Okay. So we can’t get to your uncle,” she said rapidly. “Then it’s up to us. We’re going to have to stop that heist ourselves.”
“How?” Bess asked blankly. “We don’t know the route the delivery truck is going to take.”
“Or when it’s making the delivery,” George added. “Come to think of it, neither does Bart or the person he’s working with. That’s what all this fuss is about, remember?”
Nancy paused to gaze at her friends. “I certainly do,” she said. “Well, I guess if Pascal Haussman is out of the country, we need to find out about the shipment ourselves.”
“I doubt we’ll be able to, though,” Franz said gloomily. “My uncle keeps that information very secret. He would never trust me with it.”
“Well, he’s not here now,” Nancy pointed out, “and this is an emergency. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we tried to find out the truck route.”
Franz studied Nancy thoughtfully. “Uncle Pascal does have an office here. It’s upstairs,” he said, rising to his feet.
Pascal Haussman’s office looked just like Pascal Haussman himself—stern, correct, and unwelcoming. Rows of books were perfectly aligned in the bookshelves, and the papers on the marble-topped desk were lined up precisely.
“Let’s try the desk first,” Nancy suggested. “But, everyone, put things back exactly the way they were. Pascal strikes me as the kind of man who’d notice if a single paper was out of place.”
Gingerly Bess, George, and Franz began leafing through the papers on top of the desk while Nancy opened the desk drawers one at a time. Except for the rustling of papers, there was silence in the room.
As Nancy pulled open the middle desk drawer, a manila folder on top caught her eye. “Delivery” was written boldly across the top of the folder.
It can’t be this easy, she thought as she opened the folder. But it was.
“Route de Camion,” said the single sheet of paper inside the folder. Under the title was a map and a list of times and street locations.
“Franz, doesn’t this mean ‘truck route’?” Nancy asked, handing the folder across the desk to him.
Franz’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Yes,” he said in a dazed voice, staring down at the sheet. “This is what we’ve been looking for! It is the route for tomorrow’s gold shipment.”
Bess and George put down their papers and quickly came to Franz’s side.
“Translate everything for me,” Bess begged. “I can’t stand not knowing what it says!”
“It says the truck will leave at three in the afternoon tomorrow,” Franz told her. “And that it’s leaving from the Schlossinger Gold Company.”
“Well, what does that mean?” Bess was practically dancing up and down with impatience.
“Schlossinger’s is in the Old City,” Franz explained. “That’s not far from the Haussman offices. And this map describes the route the truck will take. We shouldn’t have much trouble intercepting it.”
“So our problem’s solved,” Bess said brightly. “All Franz has to do is tell Bart the route, and then we can follow the truck, and we’ll catch Bart when he tries to steal the gold!”
Then Bess paused, eyeing Nancy uneasily. “Why don’t you look happy, Nan? This is good news, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure,” Nancy said slowly. “Something seems wrong to me. It’s all too easy. Why would your uncle put this route where anyone could find it, Franz? You just told us that he keeps this kind of information very secret.”
“That’s right.” Now Franz sounded thoughtful. “Come to think of it, he has even been dropping hints about this folder to me. Just before he left, he told me to be sure to keep out of his desk while he was gone. Why did he call attention to the desk that way?”
George nodded. “Especially your attention,” she said. “After all, he doesn’t approve of you, right? You’d hardly expect him to go out of his way to tempt you.”
“Do you think he wanted me to know the route?” Franz asked, bewildered. “It seems he did—but why?”
The four of them stared at one another in silence. “Well, I’m stumped,” George finally said.
“I wish your uncle hadn’t left town, Franz,” Nancy burst out, frustrated. “It would be so much easier if we could just talk to him.”
“I suppose I am an orphan for the time being,” said Franz, shaking his head. “My parents have been away for so long. How am I going to explain all this to them when they get back?”
“How long have they been gone?” George asked.
“Three months. They have another month left.”
“Wait a minute,” Nancy said suddenly. “That reminds me of something else. That letter in Monsieur Montreux’s file—the one to Bart—said your family had recommended him highly. But it was written in late April, and your parents were out of the country then, right?”
Franz nodded. “Right. So that means—”
“That your father couldn’t have made the recommendation,” Nancy finished.
“This is too confusing!” Bess wailed. “What does Franz’s parents’ being out of the country have to do with anything?”
Nancy tried to put her thoughts in order. “It means that Pascal made the decision on his own, which makes me wonder even more about what he’s up to. What if—I know this sounds unbelievable, but could your uncle want you to get into trouble by finding this truck route, Franz?”
Nancy continued. “If he wants to hurt you, he might purposely have recommended that the Montreux hire Bart. Then no suspicion would fall on him when Bart started threatening Franz.”
“I don’t know, Nan,” Bess spoke up. “That seems pretty far out. Besides, we still can’t be sure that Franz’s parents didn’t help make the decision to hire Bart before they left.”
“But I’m sure they did not,” Franz said firmly. “I know my parents. They don’t like everything I do, but they’d never hurt me.”
Franz hesitated for a moment. “But Uncle Pascal? He just
Nancy had been sitting behind the desk, but now she jumped up. “As long as we’re here, let’s check the rest of the office. There just might be something your uncle doesn’t want anyone to find—something that could help us understand him a little better.”
This time it wasn’t as easy. A search of the desk didn’t turn up anything more, and the tall oak file cabinet next to the desk was locked.
“I’ll just have to pick it,” Nancy said matter-of-factly.
Franz watched in awe as Nancy pulled a slender metal instrument from her purse and deftly began to work on the lock. “Is this what they call Yankee ingenuity?” he asked.
“Oh, Americans learn this kind of thing in kindergarten,” George joked.
“That’s right,” Nancy said as she fiddled with the lock. “Reading, writing, lock-picking . . .” With a grin, she pulled out her lock pick and slid the top drawer open.
Inside was a pile of letters. “I think this is it, Franz,” Nancy said quietly. “This is to Bart Jackson from Pascal Haussman.” Her heart began beating faster as she lifted the pile of letters carefully out of the drawer.
“They’re in English!” Bess remarked, looking over Nancy’s shoulder. “But I guess that makes sense, since Bart’s American.”
Still, the letters were so cryptic that they weren’t easy to understand. “ ‘The target will no doubt offer some resistance initially,’ ” Nancy read aloud in a puzzled voice. “The target? How can a target offer anything? He must mean a person. Here he mentions the target again,” Nancy went on. “ ‘Once you have secured the target, the event will unfold without difficulty.’ ”
“What event?” Bess asked. “You’re losing me.”
Nancy shook her head. “ ‘Your part in the event will not be taxing,’ ” she continued, trying to make sense of the ambiguous language. “ ‘Make sure to leave the scene once the target is clearly involved with unloading the delivery. I will alert the authorities meanwhile, and it will be a simple matter to convince them of the target’s guilt.’ ”