Free Captive Witness by Carolyn G. Keene

accept in exchange a revised copy that the messenger handed us.”
    “I’m surprised there was no more formal procedure involved,” Nancy said.
    “Well, we winged it, as you Americans say, because it was the first time anything like that had ever happened to us. We’re a fairly new festival and, I suppose, a bit naive.”
    “So you simply gave the man the original film?” Nancy continued.
    “No, I left the room to ask my associate, Mr. Etienne, what he thought, and when I came back, I discovered that the messenger had taken our copy and left the so-called revision. It turned out to be a completely blank reel. As I told your father, Miss Drew, we accept full responsibility and we will pay all damages, but I’m sure that money is not the real issue. For Mr. Kessler, it is the heartbreak of losing a vast piece of his lifework.”
    “Would you describe the man who took the film,” Nancy requested. “On the other hand, let me. He was short, wiry, with pitted, rather sallow skin. He’s almost bald, but not at all well mannered so he probably never removed his hat. He has a kind of ratlike face and beady eyes.”
    Mr. Ernst gasped. “That’s amazing. Miss Drew, I must say I suddenly have enormous respect for your detective abilities.”
    “I must confess,” Nancy replied, “that we’ve been tangled up with a couple of bad characters for the past few days. The one I described played the role of a bus driver, so why not a messenger, too?”
    Nancy paused for a moment, letting her eyes gaze off into space, her brow slightly furrowed. “May I see the can that the film was in when the messenger brought it?”
    “The can?” Mr. Ernst asked. “Why, yes, I suppose so.”
    He rummaged through files and produced a metal can, considerably battered, with some labels still attached. Nancy checked each label. The can had travelled all over Europe: Warsaw, Paris, Berlin, Rome. But there was only one label from Vienna, which she examined closely with her pocket-size magnifying glass.
    “This is it! Thank you very much, Mr.—er, Herr Ernst. Come on, Ned.”
    “Nancy, where are we going? What do you mean, ‘this is it’? Will you slow down? Nancy!”
    But the girl detective was running now, down the steps, out into the street, signaling for a taxi. Ned caught up in time to open the door for her. When they were both inside, Nancy gave the driver an address she had scribbled down.
    The driver glanced back at the two of them. “Are you sure you young people want to go there?” he said in a deep, resonant voice.
    “Yes, yes,” Nancy said, “and hurry, please.”
    “Nancy,” Ned persisted, “what did you see on that film can?”
    “An address of a film company here in Vienna. Chances are that that was the place the blank reel came from and probably the same place where Kessler’s copy of Captive Witness was taken. Understand?”
    “Interesting idea,” Ned said, “but it seems a little thin.”
    “I’ve had thinner clues,” Nancy remarked, settling back to watch the scenery. That proved to be a grim experience, however, as the buildings and the people began to look more disreputable. The road became bumpier, too, more pitted with holes, and littered with debris.
    To make matters worse, the afternoon skies had darkened and droplets of rain splashed against the windows. As they passed one corner, a group of street urchins threw stones at the cab.
    “Charming section,” Nancy told the driver. “I’m hoping it ends before we reach the company office we want. It’s called Ciné-Ouest.”
    When they found Ciné-Ouest, however, it was in a wreck of a building set back from the road and almost concealed by weeds and high bushes. No one seemed to be around. Ned asked the driver to wait.
    “Wait? Not a chance. You two young people would be smart to return immediately to your hotel. They’ll steal the fillings from your teeth out here.”
    “We’ll be all right, Ned insisted halfheartedly, as they paid the man and