Mystery at the Ski Jump (8 page)

Chuck swung around alongside her and they glided arm in arm in skating style around the dance floor. He gave her a twirl, then the music ended. Chuck clapped loudly.

“Nancy, you’re wonderful,” he said.

Back at the table, she remarked that he must have been dancing all his life. Chuck looked at her searchingly a moment, then said:

“My parents were dancers. Would you like to hear about them?”

“Oh yes.”

“They were quite famous, but they were killed in a train crash when I was twelve years old. It stunned me and for a long time I wished I had died too. I had to go live with an ill-tempered uncle. He hated dancing, and would never let me even listen to music.”

“How dreadful!” Nancy murmured.

“That wasn’t the worst of it,” Chuck went on. He explained that only recently he had found out that his grandfather had left him an inheritance, but apparently it had been stolen from him by his uncle.

“Uncle Chad had a small ranch in the north country,” Chuck went on. “He gave me a miserable time in my boyhood. My only friend was a kindly old trapper. He took me on long trips into the woods and taught me forest lore. It was from him that I learned to ski and snowshoe and to hunt and fish, too. I guess Uncle Chad became suspicious that the old man knew about the money my grandfather had left me and might cause trouble. So he scared him away.

“Later on, as soon as I was old enough, I ran off to Montreal,” Chuck continued. “And now I’ve asked your father to be my lawyer. I want him to bring suit to recover my inheritance.”

“Dad can help you if anybody can,” Nancy said confidently.

“Yes, I know that. But it’s such a hopeless case. I have no legal proof of my uncle’s dishonesty, Nancy. My one witness has disappeared.”

“You mean the old trapper?” Nancy asked. “Yes.” Chuck nodded. “And there never was a finer man than John Horn.”

John Horn! The name of the missing witness! Could there be another such man besides the one in River Heights?

Nancy decided to say nothing to Chuck of the possibility that she knew the one person who could help him. After all, there was no need of arousing false hopes until she had made a definite check.

Four hours later, after an exciting evening of conversation and dancing, Chuck left Nancy at her hotel, with a promise to meet her at the ski lift the following morning. She hurried to her father’s room to tell him her discoveries. The lawyer was not in, so Nancy decided to make a long-distance call to her home in River Heights. Hannah Gruen answered the telephone but there was little chance for conversation.

“I can’t hear a thing you say, Nancy,” the housekeeper protested. “There are two jaybirds chattering at my elbow. I’m so distracted I can hardly think.”

“Oh, you mean Bess and George?” Nancy laughed. “Put them on the wire, please.”

“Nancy, I’m so happy it’s you!” cried Bess an instant later. “George and I came over here to spend the night because we thought Hannah might be lonely.”

“Besides, we had a feeling you might call,” George put in on the extension phone.

“Tell us what you’ve been doing. Tell us everything!” Bess urged eagerly.

“Well, I had a skiing lesson this afternoon. My instructor was a client of Dad’s named Chuck Wilson.”

“And what did you do this evening?” Bess persisted.

“Chuck and I had dinner together, and danced, and talked.”

“Hypers!” George whistled. “So you’re calling him Chuck already.”

“And I suppose this Chuck Wilson is young and very good-looking?” Bess asked. Nancy could detect disapproval in her tone.

“He is.” Nancy chuckled. “But I don’t see—”

“I’m thinking of Ned Nickerson,” Bess reproached her. “Don’t you break Ned’s heart, Nancy Drew!”

“Nonsense,” Nancy countered. “Now listen carefully, Bess. I have a job for you and George. I want you to see that old trapper, John Horn. Ask him if he ever knew a boy named Chuck Wilson.”

“We’ll do it first thing tomorrow,” Bess promised.

Nancy was up early the next morning. At breakfast she told her father Chuck’s complete story, ending with the item about the old trapper.

“That’s a stroke of luck for us.” The lawyer nodded. “If your man proves to be our missing witness, Chuck Wilson may really have a case. You’ve done a fine job, my dear. Are you seeing Chuck today?”

“I’m meeting him at the ski tow at ten.”

“Well, have a good time. I’ll join you at lunch. By the way, we have reservations on the five-o’clock train.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Chuck Wilson was waiting for Nancy at the ski lift. “You’re going to enjoy jumping,” he predicted. “It’s a great thrill and it might come in handy someday if you’re schussing a mountain and you suddenly come upon a sizable hummock.

“Now there’s a slope with a big mogul in the middle. Moguls,” he explained, “are big lumps of snow formed from many skiers turning in a certain path on a steep slope. The more the steep area is used for turning, the bigger the lumps or moguls become. Suppose we climb up there and have a go at it.”

“Just tell me what to do,” Nancy urged.

“The first thing to remember is that when you hit a bump it will lift you into the air,” Chuck cautioned. “Your job is to crouch down before you hit your obstacle. You spring upward and sort of synchronize your spring with the natural lift the bump gives you. Is that clear, Nancy?”

“I think so.”

“Good! Then here are a few other rules,” Chuck continued as they reached the crest of the little hill. “Try to pull your knees up under your chest as you jump, Nancy. And push down hard on your heels so that the points of your skis won’t dig into the ground and trip you. Hold the upper part of your body erect and balance with your arms outstretched.”

“That’s a lot to remember,” Nancy replied. “I’d feel better if there weren’t so many people milling about the hill. When I come down, I want a clear track.”

“Oh, you’ll be okay,” Chuck assured her. “All you need is practice. Well, Nancy, this is it. Don’t use your poles. I’ll hold them. Get set—GO!”

In an instant Nancy was off. Flying gracefully as a bird down the long, smooth slope, she watched the snow-covered bump ahead of her loom larger —LARGER. And then, suddenly, her heart skipped a beat, and she gave a gasp of dismay.

“A snow bunny!” Nancy exclaimed.

The inexperienced skier ahead floundered directly into her path, stumbled, and fell just over the edge of the mogul. Nancy had to choose between jumping over his prostrate body or crashing into him.

Nancy crouched and sprang upward, jumping as far as she possibly could. She came down in a heap.

Chuck Wilson cried out as she spilled, and sped down the slope to his pupil’s rescue.

“Nancy! Nancy!”

The girl lay motionless I

“NANCY! Are you hurt?”

She opened her eyes slowly and looked up into Chuck Wilson’s worried face. He was kneeling beside her and chafing her wrists.

“W-what happened?” she asked in a faint voice.

“You spilled,” Chuck explained. “You made a clean jump over that skier and then you pitched on your face. But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Not my fault? You mean that man—”

“He got in your way, all right,” Chuck answered. “But it was a loose strap on one of your skis that caused your fall.” The instructor showed it to her.

Nancy sat up. “I want to try again,” she said.

“Do you think you should?” Chuck asked.

“Of course I should!” Chuck helped Nancy rise to her feet. “See?” She smiled. “No bones broken. Nothing injured except my dignity!”

For the next hour, Chuck helped Nancy with her jumps. “You’re learning fast!” he declared. “I wish you didn’t have to return to the States so soon. Can’t you persuade your father to stay, at least until after the ice show tonight?”

“Maybe I can,” Nancy said. “I have an idea!” “Please try!” Chuck beamed. “Here are some tickets to the ice show. I’ll expect to see you and your father there tonight.”

“I can’t promise,” Nancy reminded him. “But thanks! So long for now, Chuck. I’d better go back to the hotel and meet Dad.”

Nancy and her father had a late lunch in the hotel dining room. The lawyer looked amused when his daughter told him she wanted to stay longer in Montreal. “For the winter sports or for young Wilson?” he teased.

Nancy made a face, then grew earnest. “I’m thinking mainly of the Channings,” she said. “They may be selling more of that fake stock right in this area!” She told about the expert ski jumper and her suspicion that he was R. I. Channing.

“Mrs. Channing may be here too,” the lawyer mused. “Yes, I think we ought to stay until you can investigate. Will you still have time for that skating exhibition tonight?”

“Of course!” Nancy said. “That’s part of my plan. Have you forgotten that Mrs. Channing is a professional skater—or used to be one?”

Mr. Drew smiled. “You think this woman may attend the show, or even take part in it?”

“Exactly. And if she does show up, I think I have enough evidence to have her arrested. Even if she’s not there, I may be able to get some information about her from the skaters.”

The headwaiter suddenly appeared. “Pardon me, but are you Miss Nancy Drew?” he inquired. When she nodded, the waiter said, “There’s a long-distance call for you in the lobby.”

Nancy excused herself and hurried to the telephone. The caller was George Fayne, who told her excitedly, “Bess and I just spoke with John Horn. He remembers Chuck Wilson!”

“George, that’s marvelous!”

“And he says that if he can do anything to help Chuck, he’s willing to go to Canada!”

“That’s just what I’d hoped for!” said Nancy. “I’ll be home soon and tell you all the news.”

“Another mystery?” George asked.

Nancy laughed. “This one is Dad’s. I’m just helping!”

She returned to the table and told her father of John Horn’s offer.

“Now, that’s progress!” the lawyer declared. “I’ll tell Chuck as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Nancy, why don’t you do some sightseeing in Montreal this afternoon?”

“A fine idea!” Nancy agreed. “I can combine sightseeing with a visit to fur shops and hotels.”

Nancy walked around the picturesque city all afternoon, but did not find a clue to the Channings at the fur shops she visited. By the time she returned to the hotel it was early evening, and heavy snow had begun to fall.

“It’s a good thing the ice show wasn’t planned for outdoors,” Mr. Drew remarked as he and Nancy waited for a taxi.

When they were seated in the big arena, Nancy studied her program and saw that Chuck would skate first. Neither Mitzi Adele nor Mitzi Channing was listed. “Perhaps she’s among the spectators,” Nancy thought. She borrowed binoculars from the man seated next to her and carefully scrutinized the audience.

Nancy concluded that Mrs. Channing was not present. “I’m afraid my guess was wrong, Dad,” she sighed.

“Mrs. Channing might be using another name, or be wearing a disguise,” Mr. Drew suggested.

“If she does appear,” Nancy mused, “I’d like to know how to reach the police in a hurry.”

“Just go to one of those little black boxes along the wall,” her father said. “They connect with a police booth in the balcony.”

“Dad, how did you figure that out?” Nancy asked admiringly.

“I didn’t,” the lawyer said with a chuckle. “I called the police station this afternoon and asked what kind of protection they’d have here.”

Suddenly the loudspeaker blared,
“Attention!
We have a late entry in the Pair Skating. Miss Nancy Drew and her partner from the United States.”

Nancy’s father turned to her in astonishment. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to skate?”

“Because I’m not,” Nancy declared. “Mrs. Channing must be using my name again!”

Nancy left her seat, her face flushed with anger. She followed signs that pointed the way to the skaters’ dressing rooms. But as she neared the area, a uniformed attendant blocked her path. “Sorry, ma’am, nobody’s permitted back there except skaters.”

“But I’m Nancy Drew!” she protested, showing the man her driver’s license.

The attendant glanced at it, then stepped aside as he declared, “I thought Miss Drew came in before. Well, your dressing room is straight ahead. You name is on the door.”

Nancy found the corridor crowded with skaters in colorful costumes. Mrs. Channing was not among them. Suddenly an eager voice exclaimed, “Nancy! Are you looking for me?”

Nancy turned to see Chuck, who wore a black and red pirate’s suit. “No, Chuck. It would take some time to explain why I’m here.”

“So you entered the exhibition!” Chuck said. “I wish you’d told me!”

“It’s a mistake,” Nancy said, moving on hurriedly. “I’ll explain later, Chuck.”

She edged past the dressing rooms until she came to one with her name on it. She knocked on the door. There was no response. Nancy took a deep breath and opened the door.

Nancy was crestfallen. She had missed Mrs. Channing again! A quick survey of the room convinced her that the woman had been there recently. The scent of her heavy perfume was thick in the air.

Had Mrs. Channing been frightened away? Who had warned her? Had she seen Nancy come into the arena?

Nancy left the dressing room and made her way back through the crowded corridor. She questioned the skaters she met, but none recalled having seen the woman she described.

Chuck Wilson greeted her again. “I have a solo part in the first number,” he told her. “I’d like to have you see it. You’ll still have time to get into your costume.”

“Chuck, I’m not going to skate—really!” Nancy said. “I’m not the girl who signed up for the Pair Skating!”