“Well, George certainly has great legs,” Ned replied, a hint of teasing laughter in his voice.
Nancy grinned and gave him a playful shove. “Hey, what about my legs?” she asked, pouting.
Ned turned, pointing his camera at Nancy’s legs. He whistled. “Wow!” he said admiringly. “Some legs.”
“What I really want to know about is that other runner,” Nancy said, directing his attention back to the track.
Ned swiveled his camera. “I can’t tell about her legs. Or maybe his,” he reported with a grin. The other runner was almost opposite them then, on the far side of the track. George was catching up fast. “That’s strange,” Ned remarked.
“What? What’s strange?” Nancy asked, watching George, who was now almost on the heels of the other runner.
Ned shrugged. “That runner’s wearing white gloves and carrying a can of hair spray or something.”
“Gloves? Hair spray?” Nancy exclaimed, alarmed. “Let me see!” She jerked the camera away from Ned and looked through the view-finder.
Just as Nancy got the camera focused, George flashed into view on the right side of the frame, right behind the runner.
“Ned!” Nancy exclaimed. “That’s no can of hairspray! It’s—”
Nancy and Ned watched helplessly as the gloved runner whirled around, grabbed George’s arm with one hand, and pushed the can toward George’s face.
Stumbling, George raised her hands and rubbed her eyes. Then she took two steps and collapsed.
Chapter Twelve
“It looks like tear gas or something!” Nancy yelled. On the track, George was gasping frantically and tearing at her eyes.
Ned jumped up, knocking his chair over, and bolted for the door. In an instant he was clattering down the long, steep stairway toward the field far below. Nancy followed as fast as she could. Ned was a super-fast runner, though, and he was rapidly outdistancing her. Already he had reached the lowest tier of seats.
Down on the track, George was struggling to sit up. The attacker bent over her for a moment, and then George fell back, not moving.
The runner bent over and hoisted the now-limp George into a fireman’s carry, straightening up with difficulty. Once the attacker was standing upright, George’s weight seemed to be an easier burden. Carrying George, the white-jacketed figure shuffled to a nearby tunnel and disappeared.
Ned finally reached the end of the aisle and vaulted over the rail and onto the track. At a dead run he raced across the field toward the exit where George and her attacker had vanished. But just as Ned reached the mouth of the tunnel, Nancy heard the echoing screech of car tires, and her heart sank. Running was no use anymore—George was gone.
George was gone! Suddenly the reality of it hit Nancy. George had been kidnapped! Where was she being taken? Who had taken her?
Her heart pounding painfully, Nancy jogged down the track to the spot where George had fallen. There was something on the track: the empty can and a syringe. Nancy shook her head. There was no use looking for fingerprints on the can or the syringe—the white gloves would have taken care of that. Like everything else in this case, the kidnapping had been carefully planned and beautifully executed. There was no doubt about it. They were dealing with a first-rate criminal mind, and so far it had defeated them at every turn. It was almost as if they were playing some sort of game.
But it was a deadly game now. There was a life at stake. George’s life.
Ned ran back to Nancy, panting. From the look on his face, Nancy knew he hadn’t seen a thing.
“It’s no use,” he gasped, out of breath. “Whoever it was—had everything planned perfectly. All I could see was a pair of taillights disappearing around the corner. I didn’t even see the car. The garage was too dark.”
“Well, we know one thing,” Nancy said. “The kidnapper had to be a man. George is no featherweight.”
“Not so fast,” Ned cautioned. “A woman could have managed to carry her with that fireman’s carry. All the weight is over your back and legs. You could carry me if you had to.” He shook his head. “No, it still could be a woman, Nancy.”