“All our other leads have dried up,” Nancy pointed out. “The car is the only thing we have to go on right now.”
“Still,” Ms. Amberton persisted, “it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Don’t worry—we’ll find it,” Nancy promised. “There are three of us to work on it.”
Ms. Amberton sighed. “Well, if you think you must,” she said. “But be careful. Remember that last warning. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your friends, would you?”
Finding the yellow Mercedes wasn’t as easy as Nancy had thought it would be. Reasoning that the most obvious way to get a specific type of car would be to rent one, they started calling rental agencies the next day. It was one dead end after another. Not a single agency had a yellow Mercedes to rent. Even worse, nobody had any idea where one could be found.
It was already the middle of the afternoon, and they had called all the agencies in the phone book. George plopped down on the sofa and sighed dejectedly. “This is nothing but a wild-goose chase,” she said.
Nancy thumbed through the Yellow Pages, thinking. “Wait,” she said. “There’s something we haven’t thought of.”
“What’s that?” Ned asked, coming from the kitchen with three glasses of lemonade.
“What else? A Mercedes dealer!” Nancy exclaimed. “Maybe he’d know.”
George shrugged. “Of course. And there seems to be only one dealer for this whole area,” she said, handing the phone to Nancy.
“A yellow Mercedes?” the manager of the Mercedes dealership said when Nancy reached him. “Actually, it just so happens that I do have one on the lot. It’s probably the only one for sale in Montreal.” He laughed. “Yellow must be a very popular color this year.”
“Really?” Nancy asked, suddenly even more interested. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, yesterday a man wanted to test-drive a Mercedes—but it had to be yellow. He brought it right back after the drive, and he said he didn’t want it. It’s still here and still as beautiful as ever.”
“Hmmm,” Nancy said. “Who was this man? I wonder if I know him.”
“You might,” the dealer replied. “He’s a very influential man in Montreal.”
“Oh?” Nancy sat tensed on the edge of the sofa. “What’s his name?”
“I really shouldn’t say,” said the dealer. “But, oh, well, he was Pierre Cherbourg.”
Chapter Ten
“Pierre Cherbourg!” Nancy exclaimed.
“Well, not Mr. Cherbourg himself, of course,” the dealer added hurriedly. “I didn’t deal with him directly. Just his chauffeur—Jacques Olivier—late yesterday afternoon. Now, when can I arrange a test-drive for you?” the dealer asked smoothly. “Would today be convenient?”
“No, not today,” Nancy replied. “I have some other pressing business to attend to. I’ll call later to make the appointment.” She hung up.
“Mr. Cherbourg?” Ned and George asked in unison.
Nancy shook her head and reached for the lemonade Ned had brought. “It was the chauffeur,” she said. “The dealer lent the car to Jacques Olivier.”
“But wait, the driver had long auburn hair,” Ned reminded them.
“It could have been a wig,” Nancy replied with a shrug.
“Of course!” Ned exclaimed. “The chauffeur tried to steal Lake’s car—and when he got scared off by the alarm, he borrowed one. And then he dressed up like Lake to fool us into thinking it was her behind the wheel!”
George shook her head. “This whole thing is too confusing,” she said, frowning. “It’s giving me a headache.”
“Want to know the best cure for a headache?” Nancy asked, getting up. “Action!”
George’s frown turned suspicious. “What kind of action?”
“Come on, gang. We’re going to question a certain chauffeur!”
Jacques Olivier, Nancy learned from the personnel department at Cherbourg Industries, lived in a small white cottage behind the Cherbourg mansion. It was late afternoon by the time they got there. Nancy, with Ned and George right behind her, walked up the brick path that led to the doorstep of the cottage. To her left, Nancy could see the large garage. Inside was the Cherbourg limousine.
“I don’t hear anything,” George whispered after Nancy had knocked twice.
She knocked harder. “The car’s here,” she said. “I think he’s hiding out.”