The Phantom of Venice 6 страница

“Remember yesterday afternoon when we ran into Don Madison coming back from Murano?” Nancy said presently.

Tara nodded. “What about it?”

“When you got back here to the palazzo, did you stop and chat with anyone, or just come straight up to our room?”

“I came straight to our room.”

“You didn’t speak to anyone, or mention that I was out with Don?”

“No. Why?”

Nancy smiled and patted her friend’s hand. “Just trying to fit together a few more pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, that’s all.”

As she returned to her own bed, Nancy reflected. If Tara said nothing, how did Katrina van Holst find out I spent the evening with Don? Who else but Tara would have known—unless I was followed!

It was a disturbing notion, well worth checking into, Nancy decided. Gradually she drifted off to sleep again.

Next morning Nancy awoke brimming with energy. She had made up her mind overnight to press ahead for a solution to the mystery, actively setting events in motion, rather than waiting passively for clues to turn up. A plan was already taking shape in her mind.

A number of guests had stayed on after the ball, and the breakfast table was humming with conversation. After a quick bite to eat, Nancy quietly arranged to have coffee with her father in his room.

“Any report from Interpol yet, Dad?” she asked.

“Yes, I had a call from Paris this morning. You were right, Nancy. Oliver Joyce does have a criminal record as a jewel thief and art swindler. The Italian police have already picked him up for questioning, but he doesn’t have the bird from the Fabergé egg.”

“Someone beat him to it, I suspect. What’s the latest word on the kidnapping and the ransom?”

“My client, Crystalia Glass, is willing to put up half the ransom money if the Marchese can provide the rest. He’s agreed to that, and his bankers are willing to advance him a loan. The police chief here in Venice, Commandante Manin, is coming to the palace this afternoon to put his okay on the plan.”

“Great! Do you suppose I could sit in on the meeting, Dad?”

“Why not? You came here to help.”

Nancy quickly explained what she had in mind. Mr. Drew was enthusiastic. Then she spoke in turn to the Marchese, to Isabella Gatti and to Tara. All fell in with her plan willingly.

Presently Tara and Signora Gatti set out in the Gattis’ luxurious motor cruiser, heading first for Angela Spinelli’s flat to invite her along for the day’s outing, and then for the great domed church of Santa Maria della Salute at the southern end of the Grand Canal. Their instructions were to act like typical sightseers, but to wait at the church for a squad of plainclothes officers of the Sicurezza, the government security force, who would arrive soon afterward and stay with them as a protective escort until further notice.

Meanwhile, broad hints were dropped to the servants that a sensational break in the kidnaping case was near. By the time the police chief arrived, the whole palazzo was humming with excitement.

At the outset, Commandante Manin of the carabinieri was none too cooperative. A burly, hard-eyed cop who had coped with many terrorists, he had little faith in any plan put forward by a mere slip of a girl—even one with the mystery-solving reputation of Nancy Drew. But as she talked, his eyes warmed, and he finally broke into an appreciative chuckle. “You are a clever little fox, Signorina Drew! Something tells me these kidnapers may soon regret the day they were foolish enough to match wits with you!”

When the meeting was over, everyone walked out of the room with an air of suppressed excitement and confident good humor—a fact duly noted by everyone else at the palazzo.

Nancy sat down and dashed off a note to Tara, which she tucked in the edge of their dressing table mirror where it would be plainly seen by anyone entering the room.

Dear Tara,

Hang onto your hat and get ready for some exciting developments!

The police have just had an incredibly lucky break—they expect to close in on the kidnapers’ hideout within 24 hours!

I’ve found out the crooks are after something that’s worth a fortune, and Pietro Rinaldi knows all about it.

Once he’s free, he’ll lead us right to it! He also knows what really happened to your Dad!! See you soon!

Bye now,

Nancy

She also jotted another note, hand-lettering the words with a bolder, thicker-tipped pen.

TONIGHT IS THE DATE WE AGREED TO GET TOGETHER BEFORE I HAD TO CLEAR OUT OF VENICE AND LIE LOW, REMEMBER? I’LL MEET YOU AT MIDNIGHT WHERE WE PLANNED, AND YOU’LL HAND IT OVER TO ME. DON’T DOUBLECROSS ME, OR YOU KNOW WHAT’LL HAPPEN TO YOU!

HANS

When she finished, Nancy tucked the letter in an envelope which she addressed to:

PIETRO RINALDI

VETRERIA FALCONE

MURANO

Then she changed to jeans and a cotton top, repaired her makeup and kissed her father goodbye. Outside, on the palace loggia, she hailed a passing water-taxi which took her to the Pensione Dandolo. As she walked in, she was greeted happily by the Signora’s little boy.

“Hi, Zorzi!” Nancy replied. “You’re just the person I’m looking for!” She took a five-dollar bill from her purse and held it up for him to see. “Would you like to earn this by running an errand for me?”

“Si! Si, Signorina!” Zorzi exclaimed, his eyes as big as saucers.

“All right, I want you to deliver this letter for me to a certain glass factory on Murano—and of course I’ll pay your boat fare over and back, besides the five dollars. But you must listen carefully and do exactly as I say!”

Zorzi listened intently, then nodded. “Okay! I do just like you tell me!”

Leaving the pensione, Nancy went next to the charming old inn, the Antica Locanda Montin, where Don had taken her to dinner. She sat down at a table under the arbor and ordered tea. Twenty minutes later, Don Madison arrived.

His steps slowed as he approached, and he stood waiting for her to speak.

“Can we be friends, Don?” said Nancy. Her heart was thumping, and she felt unexpectedly nervous.

There was a moment of silence before he replied, “I guess that depends on whether or not you can forgive me for acting like such an idiot last night.”

Nancy relaxed, and they both broke into smiles. Don sat down, facing her across the table. Suddenly the atmosphere between them was as though the previous night’s painful episode had never occurred. He reached across the table and they clasped hands happily.

“So now you’re going to tell me what this is all about?” said Don. “The Marchese just called me at the plant and said I was to leave work early and meet you here. All very hush-hush and top-secret. No explanation.”

Nancy proceeded to fill him in, while Don listened with keen interest. Presently he ordered wine and antipasto, and they went on talking while they ate.

“All right, now run the whole thing by me once again,” Don said after Nancy had answered most of his questions.

“It’s still just a theory, remember, but try this for size. Number one—Rolf Egan and Pietro were old buddies. Somewhere, quite a while back, maybe in North Africa, they met a man called Hans and cooked up some kind of secret deal with him.”

Don nodded. “Check.”

“Number two—as a result of this deal, they wound up in possession of something very valuable or important, which I’ll call The Prize. Unfortunately they also wound up in big trouble with some dangerous crooks, because these crooks want The Prize for themselves—in fact, they’re even willing to commit murder to get hold of it.”

“So it seems.”

“Now for a key question,” Nancy went on. “Where is The Prize? My hunch is that Hans brought it to Venice, and the crooks trailed him here. Hans then turned The Prize over to Rolf Egan and lit out for parts unknown, maybe hoping to lead the crooks astray on a false scent. But his ploy didn’t work. The crooks stayed put in Venice and went after Rolf Egan.”

Again Don nodded. “To be precise, they took a shot at him one night, and he fell into the canal.”

“Right! Which left them still without any answers to that all-important key question,” said Nancy, “namely, where’s The Prize? So they turned their attention to the one remaining partner in the deal, Pietro Rinaldi.”

“But wait a minute,” Don frowned. “We’ve been assuming all along that Pietro was kidnaped for ransom...”

“Because that’s what the crooks want us to assume,” said Nancy. “But if my theory’s correct, the real reason they kidnaped him was to extract information about The Prize. The ransom was just an extra bet on the side. Or maybe call it an insurance policy—a guarantee that whatever happens, their project won’t wind up a total loss. In other words, if they can’t get the information they’re after, they can always sell Pietro back to the Falcone Glassworks for a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Don mused. “Neat trick if they can pull it off.”

“They will pull it off,” said Nancy, “unless we can stop them. The Marchese’s already worked out arrangements to raise the ransom money.”

“Which is where your two fake messages come in.”

“Check and double check. The messages are designed to accomplish two things: one—to convince the crooks they’ll have to work fast before the police raid their hideout, and two—to convince them that if they just let Pietro go, he’ll lead them straight to The Prize.”

“Okay, Miss Sherlock—sounds like it all adds up,” said Don. “At least, you’ve persuaded me. So what happens next?”

“You and I will stake out the Falcone Glassworks tonight and see what happens.”

15. Stakeout

Twilight was deepening over the lagoon as Nancy and Don made their way across the water to Murano. They were traveling in a small motorboat that belonged to the glassworks. At the Marchese’s suggestion, Don had used it to go to Venice, so that he and Nancy could return the same way, without being seen on a public vaporetto.

“I still don’t understand how you talked the police into letting us handle this on our own,” Don remarked.

“I didn’t. They don’t even know we’re coming over here.”

Don flashed her a startled glance. “Are you kidding?”

Nancy shook her head. “No, I explained my idea for tricking the kidnapers into turning Pietro loose, but I didn’t offer any guesses as to where he might go. Their strategy, I think, will be to alert every policeman in Venice to be on watch for Pietro throughout the night.”

“Why didn’t you want them at the glassworks?”

Nancy shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I had a feeling that once the carabinieri got into the act, things might get out of hand. They’d have so many stakeouts and sharpshooters planted all over Murano and around the glass factory, it might give the game away. And if one of them started shooting—well, let’s just say I don’t want any shooting. I think you and I can handle this better on our own.”

But was that the whole reason? Nancy wondered, or was it also an excuse to spend some time alone with Don under circumstances that almost invited romantic developments? With a nervous pulsebeat, Nancy suddenly realized that she wasn’t too sure, even now, if she could answer that question with absolute honesty!

When they reached Murano, Don turned up a canal that eventually brought them to the rear of the glass factory. In the gathering darkness, Nancy saw Zorzi waiting for them on the shallow stone quay. He waved an eager greeting, obviously happy that his vigil was at an end.

“What happened?” Nancy asked him as Don brought the boat alongside and moored it to a cleat.

“I give the letter to Signor Rubini like you say. Then I stop in that little gelateria across the street from the factory yard and wait, and pretty soon I see him come out and start off toward the boat landing.”

“Did you follow him?”

“Si, I keep him in sight all the way, but I make real sure he don’t see me!” Zorzi added proudly.

“Good for you!” said Nancy. “So what did he do?”

“He get on the next vaporetto and go to Venice.”

“Venice!” Don stared in surprise. “But Rubini lives right here on Murano.” He paused in silence for a moment, digesting the implications of this. Then he looked at Nancy. “Did you know Rubini was working for the gang?”

“No, but I thought someone at the glassworks might be. There has to be someone at the palazzo who’s in their pay, otherwise, who ransacked Tara’s and my room? And if they’re that thorough about covering all the bases and gleaning all the information they can, then it stands to reason they wouldn’t neglect the glassworks, either. After all, this is where Pietro worked.”

Don nodded. “Yeah, that figures, I guess.”

Nancy paid Zorzi an extra tip besides the five dollars and expense money, and sent him off to catch the next vaporetto. Then Don unlocked the loading dock door with his key and they went into the vetreria.

Night had fallen. They dared not risk turning on a light, which might be seen from outside. However, several electric lanterns were hanging just inside the loading dock. Don took one and led the way through the one-story building to a closet near the front office where flashlights were kept. Don and Nancy each took one.

“Where would you like to wait?” said Don. He shone the lantern around to refresh Nancy on the plant layout.

“Right here will do—for the time being, at least,” said Nancy, gesturing to a small reception area or lobby, furnished with a plastic-covered sofa and end table.

They sat down, side by side, and a thoughtful silence ensued. Enough starlight seeped in through the factory’s grimy windows to discern their immediate surroundings.

“Say your plan works,” mused Don, “and the crooks let Pietro go. What makes you so sure he’ll come here?”

“I’m not sure. But I think it’s the likeliest possibility.”

“Why?”

“Put yourself in Pietro’s place. If the gang does intend to trail him, they’ll probably try to make him think he escaped by pure luck—you know, by having a guard pretend to fall asleep, or leaving a door ’accidentally’ unlocked, something like that.”

Don nodded. “So?”

“Eventually he’ll want to go to the police or the Marchese, I suppose, and let it be known that he’s escaped from his kidnapers. But before that, first of all, if I’m thinking the way Pietro will be thinking, he’ll want to make sure The Prize is safe.”

“The Prize?!” Don was visibly startled, even in the shadowy gloom. “Are you saying it’s somewhere here in the glassworks?”

Nancy smiled. “I’m quite sure it is.”

“Care to enlarge on that?”

“Not for the moment.”

There was another silence. Then Don cleared his throat awkwardly. “Last night at the masquerade ball, you... you tried to explain something to me...”

“I’d still like to, if you’ll listen.”

“You don’t have to,” said Don.

“Maybe not, but please let me.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Gianni switched costumes with you. When I saw him coming in from the terrace, I thought it was you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have even danced with him. It was only when I noticed the difference in height and when he kissed me that I realized my mistake. And then I didn’t want to make a scene—even when he grabbed me and kissed me again. But I was furious, Don. Gianni’s really a nasty, twisted character! I told him to leave, or I’d call the servants and have him thrown out as a gate-crasher! That’s all, Don. Now do you understand?”

“Of course I understand, Nancy. I acted like a total idiot. There was nothing to get upset about in the first place, if I... if I didn’t care about you so much... That’s the whole problem!”

Nancy knit her brows, perplexed. “I don’t understand, Don. I’m glad you care about me. I care about you, too. That’s why I was so anxious for you to listen.”

Don put his head in his hands for a moment. “I’m the one who should explain, Nancy. Do you remember me saying last night that I had other things on my mind?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s true. The main thing on my mind is that I... I’m engaged to a girl back home! So what am I doing falling in love with you?!”

The words came tumbling out, as if a dam had suddenly broken. Once having started, Don went on talking, pouring out his heart. “I think I fell for you the first moment I saw you getting off the boat, Nancy, even before we exchanged a word. You bowled me over completely! If I acted gruff and uptight, well, now you know why. I couldn’t handle it, not when I already have a fiancee back in Ohio! Coral and I met in college, and we’ve been going steady ever since. It was love at first sight that time, too, for both of us. Only now I’ve started dreaming about you!”

Nancy listened in a swirl of conflicting emotions—some pleasant, some not so pleasant. Her heart sang when Don said he loved her. She wanted to respond that she loved him, too. But he was somebody else’s guy, not hers. He belonged to a girl named Coral, back in Ohio, who expected to marry him... and where did that leave a girl from River Heights, named Nancy Drew?

She wasn’t quite sure when or how it happened, but suddenly she became aware that she and Don were holding hands in the darkness, and she was telling him all about Ned Nickerson.

“I’m glad you told me, Nancy,” Don was saying. “Now I don’t feel like such a two-timing, two-faced heel. The same thing happens to lots of people, I suppose... even to you, in a way... The only thing is, what are we going to do about it, Nancy?”

He had an arm around her now, and her head was on his shoulder.

“We don’t have to make a crisis out of it,” she responded softly. “And there’s nothing to feel guilty about, either—not if we’re honest with ourselves, and... and with each other.” Nancy reached up and touched his cheek. “There’s lots of time to decide. Sooner or later our feelings will sort themselves out, and when they do, then we’ll know if what we feel is really love, and who’s the most important person in our lives!”

Don was holding her tight now, and her arms were around his neck and their lips were meeting in a kiss that was warm and loving and exciting and, oh so tender! It seemed to Nancy that she’d never, ever before felt about anyone the way she felt about Don Madison at that moment—

They broke apart suddenly as a key turned in the lock of the building’s front door—!

16. Night of the Omelet

Don sprang to his feet and pulled Nancy up with him. He looked around swiftly for a place to hide. “Back here, love—!”

He was pointing to a space behind the sofa, shielded by a row of chemical drums. They barely had time to duck down in it when the door opened.

A man came in—husky, dark-haired, thirtyish, in a stained, rumpled suit. Enough moonlight came in from the summer night outside to reveal his face—haggard and unshaven, with a week’s growth of beard.

It was Pietro Rinaldi! His captors had taken the bait! Nancy felt Don squeeze her hand excitedly.

Pietro left the door open while his eyes became accustomed to the inner darkness. He strode toward the closet for a flashlight. Seconds later, he headed swiftly toward the storeroom where the Falcone glassware was on display. He moved with the tense, single-minded air of a man gripped by a terrible urgency.

Don and Nancy rose from their hiding place and tiptoed after him. He flicked a wall switch, and the storeroom suddenly lit up. Then he began groping and searching among the glass paperweights.

Evidently the one he was looking for wasn’t there. His searching became more frantic and desperate. He began muttering aloud, and within moments the mutters became loud explosive curses. Don shot a baffled look at Nancy. She responded by putting a finger to her lips.

They backed quickly into the shadows as Pietro suddenly whirled around and rushed back to the office. They saw him snatch up the handset of a desk phone and start to dial. Moments later, someone must have answered at the other end of the line. Pietro cut loose with angry, frustrated outbursts in Italian, uttered at mile-a-minute speed.

“I don’t believe this!” Don gasped in Nancy’s ear. “He’s talking to Domenic, the butler at the palazzo! It sounds as though th—”

He broke off as Nancy’s fingers dug into his arm. Pietro had left the front door slightly ajar—and now it was being pushed open wider. Three people were coming in!

Like fleeting shadows, they moved swiftly toward the doorway of the plant office. One was a woman; one of the two men held a gun.

At the crucial moment, somebody’s foot scuffed a piece of glass and sent it tinkling across the floor. Pietro slammed the phone back in its cradle and whirled to face the doorway.

“Don’t try anything foolish!” warned the gunman. Neither his accent nor his words were Italian.

By the light from the office, Nancy could see the faces of the three intruders. The other man was Rubini, the Falcone glassworks manager.

The woman was Katrina van Holst!

“You know what we are after, Pietro, so let us not waste time!” she said crisply. “Give it to us, or you will never leave here alive!”

“It’s gone!” Pietro snarled back. “Don’t ask me where! Some thieving rat snatched it while your thugs were holding me prisoner! Maybe your stooge Rubini took it! Why don’t you ask him?!”

As the furious exchange went on, Don Madison suddenly moved forward on tiptoe. The attention of Katrina and her two companions was concentrated totally on the man in the office, and their angry voices covered any sound of footsteps.

Suddenly Don lunged toward the gunman’s back! One arm clamped around the man’s neck in a choking grip. His other hand grabbed the intruder’s wrist.

Instantly a violent struggle erupted! Pietro rushed at Rubini and staggered him with a fist to the mouth. Nancy grabbed Katrina’s long blond hair from behind and tugged with both hands till the Dutch woman screamed.

The gunman dropped his weapon as Don twisted his wrist. A moment later Don sent him flying through the air with a martial-arts body throw. He slammed against the wall and landed on the floor in a stunned heap.

Meanwhile, Don had snatched up the gun and taken charge of the situation. “Hold it—everybody! You three—Katrina, Rubini, you there on the floor—line up with your backs to the wall, and keep your hands in plain sight. Pietro, old pal—I think it’s time you did some talking.”

“May I say something?” said Nancy.

Don threw her a quizzical grin. “Why not? It was your game plan that brought all these characters out of the woodwork and into the open. Go right ahead.”

“Is this what you were looking for, Mr. Rinaldi?” she said and plucked the rainbow glass paperweight out of her shoulder bag.

The expression on Pietro’s face was the only answer needed. “Do you know what you are holding there?” he replied in a taut voice that was husky with emotion.

“Drop your gun, Madison!” a voice suddenly broke in. “And if you value your life, do not look around!”

Nancy didn’t have to. She knew it was Gianni Spinelli. He must have followed Katrina and her two companions, while they in turn were trailing Pietro.

“Is he bluffing, Pietro?” Don gritted.

The master glassblower shook his head. “No—unfortunately. Better do as he says.”

Don let the gun fall to the floor.

“Kick it this way, grullo!” Gianni ordered. Turning to Nancy, he added, “And you, cara, hand me your pretty little glass egg!”

“Okay, if you insist,” said Nancy—and threw the paperweight in his face!

Her move caught Gianni completely unprepared. He jerked his head and flung up an arm to block the glass missile.

Don was on him like a tiger, staggering him with a right cross and kicking the gun out of his hand in a single lightning one-two combination!

The rainbow paperweight lay on the floor, cracked in two. Something was protruding from one of the broken pieces.

• • •

Much later that night, Nancy, Don, and Pietro faced Carson Drew, Tara Egan and the Marchese del Falcone in the drawing room of the palace.

Pietro had just finished telling his story. Five years ago in Morocco, he and Rolf Egan had been approached by an I.D.B., or illegal diamond buyer, named Hans Aacht. Over drinks in a Moorish cafe, he described how the world’s diamond business was tightly controlled by a single cartel, whose tough security force kept watch over all diamond mining on the African continent. But Aacht was sure he could build up a steady trade in precious stones from native prospectors—if Rolf and Pietro would grubstake him with a few thousand dollars.

For a long time, the scheme yielded little profit. Then one day Aacht showed up in Venice with a huge raw diamond worth half a million dollars. His scheme had finally paid off with a tremendous jackpot!

Unfortunately he had also run afoul of a deadly gang called the Diamante Network, which had close ties with the Mafia and considered international diamond smuggling its private domain. They wanted Aacht’s life or his huge gemstone.

Aacht had slipped the diamond to Rolf, who in turn passed it to Pietro. Rolf disappeared into a Venetian canal. Pietro also disappeared, supposedly into the hands of professional kidnapers, but actually into the clutches of the Diamante Network, bossed by a beautiful but ruthless woman named Katrina van Holst.

“What about the police?” Tara asked Pietro. “Won’t they be after you and Hans Aacht for taking the diamond out of Africa?”

Pietro shook his head. “No, because we’ve committed no crime. It’s only the diamond cartel and their security force who try to stop outsiders from trading with native prospectors, as Hans did.”

He explained that Hans had feared the Diamante gang might seize Tara and use her as a hostage to force Pietro into surrendering the diamond. But Nancy’s clever scheme had forced their hand and tricked them into revealing themselves.

They had, at first, hired Gianni as a spy to help them find Rolf, but out of greed he had tried to grab the diamond for himself.

The apron clue, which Gianni had passed on to the gang, had aroused Katrina’s interest in the Faberge egg, so she had helped her gangster gunhand enter the palace disguised as a masquerade party guest. He was the one who had turned out the lights and filched the egg, which, much to her disgust, had proved to contain only counterfeit gems.

“An amazing feat of detection, my dear Nancy!” beamed Francesco del Falcone.

“Now, if only you could find some trace of my father!” Tara added wistfully.

“You’ve already done that yourself, Tara,” Nancy responded lightly.

“Done what?”

“Found a trace of your father. Don’t you recall those wet footprints you noticed on our bedroom carpet?”

Tara’s eyes became huge. “Oh, Nancy! You’re not really implying they could’ve been made by Daddy’s ghost?”

“Why not pinch him and find out?”

“Pinch him?!” Tara stared in puzzlement at the teenage sleuth.

“Sure,” said Nancy. “There’s a cellar dungeon where the Marchese’s ancestor hid out that has very wet floors, so the tracks could even have been made by a real flesh-and-blood human. In fact, here comes one right now you might try pinching!”

A tall, bearded blond man had just walked into the room. Tara sprang up with a glad cry, and the two hugged each other so tightly that it seemed as though they were trying to make sure they would never be parted again.

“I tried to let you know I was alive, dear,” Rolf Egan told his daughter, “first by slipping that shell into Nancy’s suitcase, and then by playing ghost.”

“I—I don’t understand,” said Tara in happy bewilderment. “You mean you’ve been hiding out here at the palazzo all the time?”

“Yes—ever since I disappeared. Pietro knew about the palace dungeon, so he sneaked me in there one night with Domenic’s help. Domenic’s known him all his life, you see. We figured I could hide out there till the Diamante gang got off our backs.”

Rolf Egan went on to explain that the first time he tried to see Tara at night, she had screamed before he had a chance to take off his false face, leaving him no choice but to flee. The second time he played ghost, he had tried to calm her by whispering her name, but the effect on Tara was still so terrifying that she again screamed in fear.

The ghostly legend of the Marchese’s ancestor had first given Nancy the idea that there might be a secret hiding place at the palazzo. The shell and the ghost calling Tara by name had, together, strengthened Nancy’s hunch that Rolf Egan might still be alive and hiding out in the palace.

When he and Tara finally let go of each other, Rolf Egan walked over to clasp Nancy Drew’s hand gratefully. She showed him the broken paperweight. A huge raw diamond was sticking out of one of the halves.

“It’s a shame such a beautiful work of art has to be ruined just to extract the gemstone. But as somebody once remarked, To make an omelet, you have to break an egg!”

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