Read 078 The Phantom Of Venice for Free Online Page A

I’ll ask Tara about it when I see her tomorrow, Nancy decided, and continued getting ready for the trip to Murano.
    Minutes later, in a knit top and denim skirt, she hurried downstairs to join her father in the drawing room. To her surprise, Nancy found him chatting with a tall, graceful blond woman.
    She had long-lashed eyes of delft blue and hair like spun gold. She was stunningly beautiful and reminded Nancy of a Renaissance angel in a painting by Botticelli she had once seen in a museum.
    “My daughter, Nancy,” Carson Drew announced proudly. “And this is Katrina van Holst, a Dutch photo-journalist. She has come all the way fromAmsterdam to photograph a masked ball that the Marchese will soon be giving here at the palazzo. You and I are invited, by the way.”
    “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Nancy,” said Miss van Holst. “Carson has just been telling me all about you—boasting, in fact.”
    “Well, Daddy’s a wee bit prejudiced,” Nancy chuckled, “so you’d better take whatever he says with a grain of salt.”
    The three of them chatted for a while longer. Nancy found the Dutch woman witty and charming.
    “She’s a house guest of the Marchese, like us,” Mr. Drew explained later as he and Nancy headed down the Grand Canal in a water-taxi. “And there may be one or two others, I believe, who’ll be coming for the masked ball.”
    “Miss van Holst is certainly beautiful,” said Nancy with a sidelong glance at her father.
    He nodded. “Yes indeed, she’s very attractive,” then he changed the subject. “Nancy dear, would you mind very much if I don’t come with you to the glassworks?”
    “Of course not, Daddy, if you’ve other things to attend to. But you’ll have to give me directions to Murano.”
    “I’ll do better than that, honey. I’ll put you on the boat to Murano, and I’ve already called ahead to have someone meet you.”
    Mr. Drew explained that he had received a telegram from his client while Nancy was resting. As a result, he had to wait at the palazzo for a phone conference later that afternoon.
    “Who’s the person I should look for when I get to Murano?” Nancy inquired.
    “No problem. I gave him your description, so he’ll be looking for you. He’s that young American the Marchese spoke of, the one he said could translate for you if you wanted to question any of the employees.”
    “Oh, yes. What’s his name?”
    “Don Madison. Actually, he works for Crystalia Glass. Crystalia sent him over here about a year ago to learn the art of glassblowing from one of the Murano masters. In fact, that’s what led to Crystalia’s offer to buy the Falcone works.”
    Their motorboat turned up a rio, which led to a long, straight quay on the north side of Venice, called the Fondamenta Nuove. Nancy learned that vaporetti departed from here at regular intervals to Venice’s smaller sister islands—Murano, Burano, and Torcello.
    “Don’t get off at the first stop on Murano,” Mr. Drew warned her. “It’s swarming with shills from every glass factory on the island. They shout themselves hoarse coaxing tourists to come to their particular exhibit, and then try to sell them everything in sight.”
    Nancy chuckled. “Okay, I’m warned.”
    The trip across the lagoon took only about twenty minutes. Nancy quickly spotted the young man who was to meet her. He was tall, rangy and sandy-haired. Something about his appearance instantly marked him as American. She felt she could have picked him out of a crowd, even if he hadn’t come striding toward her as she stepped off the boat.
    Thank goodness! thought Nancy. What a relief it will be to talk to an ordinary American guy again after fending off an exotic animal like Gianni!
    This particular Yank might never make it as a magazine model, but there was a solid, homey, reliable air about him that, at the moment, seemed far more appealing.
    His face had a lean, craggy, strong-jawed look that was far from handsome, yet attractive