Read Mystery at the Ski Jump Online
Authors: Carolyn Keene
Tags: #Women Detectives, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #Girls & Women, #Mystery & Detective, #Juvenile Fiction, #Adventure and Adventurers, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Fiction, #Fur Garments, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Adventure Stories, #Hides and Skins, #Swindlers and Swindling, #Drew; Nancy (Fictitious Character), #General, #Identity Theft, #Mystery and Detective Stories
Mystery at the Ski Jump (9 page)
“What?”
“Tell me, did you speak about me to anyone here after that announcement on the loudspeaker?”
Chuck grinned. “Maybe I did mention to some of the performers that I know you,” he admitted. “I said you were with your father in the arena.”
“When you said that, were you standing anywhere near the dressing room with my name on it?”
“Well, I guess I was,” Chuck replied. “Now, won’t you tell me what all the mystery is about?”
“Not yet—not in this crowd,” she said. “Too much has been overheard already!”
“Is Miss Drew here?—Miss Nancy Drew?”
A short, plump man with a waxed mustache came down the corridor, looking hastily about as he asked the question.
“That’s Mr. Dubois, the manager of the show,” Chuck told Nancy.
“I can give you information about Nancy Drew,” the young detective told the man.
Mr. Dubois motioned to Nancy and Chuck to follow him to an unoccupied dressing room. “Tell me where this young woman is,” he urged. “She must perform in thirty minutes.”
“I’m sure she has left,” Nancy said. “The woman who entered the exhibition isn’t Nancy Drew at all. That’s my name. This other woman is Mitzi Channing, and she’s wanted by the police.”
The manager threw up his hands. “The police! Are you implying that I’ve been sponsoring a criminal?”
“I know you’ve done nothing wrong,” Nancy said quickly. “But surely you want to help catch a thief. Please tell me what you know about this skater. What does she look like?”
The description Mr. Dubois gave identified the woman as Mitzi Channing. She and a man named Smith had come that afternoon to try out for the show. Mr. Dubois described the man, but Nancy did not recognize him.
“They were excellent skaters,” the manager said, “and I gave them permission to enter the Pair Skating. The woman wouldn’t allow her partner’s name to be announced.”
Nancy thanked Mr. Dubois. Just then a bell sounded. The manager and Chuck hurried off, and Nancy went to a telephone to tell the police of her suspicions.
In the auditorium, Mr. Drew was becoming increasingly anxious about Nancy. Once he considered going to search for her. “No,” he told himself, “she works fast when she has a lead, and I trust her to act intelligently.”
The lawyer assumed that the late entry in the Pair Skating would be scratched. He was surprised when the announcer declared that the next skater would be Miss Nancy Drew and that her partner would be Charles Wilson.
Mr. Drew watched his client, wearing close-fitting black slacks and an open-necked white satin shirt, glide gracefully onto the ice. Then the young man was joined by a titian-haired girl in a white satin ballet costume.
The lawyer gasped.
“Nancy!”
“Nancy!”
The two skaters danced in unison, then spun off to skate individually. While Nancy executed some simple steps, her partner jumped and whirled in intricate patterns.
Nancy had conceived the plan while Chuck was skating his first number. When he had returned to the dressing room, Nancy had asked him, “Do you think I danced that waltz well enpugh with you last night to try it on skates?”
“Why, sure! You’re cool.” “I can’t tell you the whole story now,” Nancy had said, “but I’d like to take the place of that woman who called herself Nancy Drew.”
The young sleuth thought, “Some of Mrs. Channing’s friends might be in the arena, unaware that the woman had left. When I come on instead, one of them may be so startled that he’ll reveal himself. I’ll ask the police here to hold anyone who tries to leave the building during or immediately after the number.”
Turning to Chuck, she had said, “Will you skate with me if Mr. Dubois will let me and if I can borrow a costume and skates?”
“You bet I will!”
“I’m no expert,” Nancy warned. “So don’t try anything tricky. I’ll leave the fancy steps to you, and while you’re in the spotlight, I’ll have a chance to do some detective work.”
“To do what? Well, all right!”
Mr. Dubois had agreed to the plan and a girl Nancy’s size had offered to lend the young sleuth skates and a costume.
Nancy’s heart had pounded with fright when the loudspeaker had announced their number. But with Chuck’s confident voice encouraging her, she soon lost her nervousness.
At the end of the number, the young man grasped Nancy’s wrists, swept her from her feet and spun round and round with her until the music blared the last note. Nancy was dizzy as applause rang in her ears.
As her vision cleared, she noticed that a tall, heavy-set man had risen from his seat and was moving quickly toward an exit. Was he R. I. Channing?
Nancy turned to her partner. “Come on, Chuck,” she urged. “Let’s get off the ice quickly. I think the mystery is about to be solved!”
CHAPTER XI
The Password
“WELL, here he is, Miss Drew!”
A big policeman thrust his prisoner through the open door of Nancy’s dressing room.
“We’ve been watching for this fellow ever since you warned us that he might try to make a get-away,” the officer went on. “He denies everything.”
“Of course I deny it,” the prisoner snarled, twisting away from his captor’s grasp and glaring at Nancy. “My name is Jacques Fremont. I’m a respectable citizen of Canada, and I never heard of R. I. Channing!”
The man was bluffing, Nancy felt sure. The tall, muscular body, the touch of gray at his temples—both tallied with the description of Mitzi’s husband that Dr. Britt’s nurse had given.
“I suppose you never heard of Mitzi Adele, either?” Nancy asked.
For an instant the man looked startled. Then his eyes met Nancy’s in a glare of hate. “No, I never heard of her, either,” he sneered. “See here, Officer, this is outrageous. I have an identification. Here’s my driver’s license. It’ll show that I’m Jacques Fremont.”
The policeman looked at the license in the man’s wallet, then nodded. “Everything seems to be in order,” he admitted. “I’m afraid that if you have no more proof than this, Miss Drew, we’ll have to let the man go.”
Nancy was taken aback. She was sure of her accusation. But there was nothing she could do but thank the officer for his trouble and watch as the man who called himself Jacques Fremont slammed angrily out the door.
“If only I weren’t in costume and could follow him!” Nancy sighed, then looked up in relief to see her father standing on the threshold.
“Congratulations, daughter!” Mr. Drew called. “I was never so surprised as when—”
Nancy did not let him finish. “Dad! Quick! That tall man you just passed—the one in the brown overcoat. Follow him!” she implored.
“But, Nancy—”
“I’m sure he’s R. I. Channing. I asked the police to stop him,” Nancy went on rapidly, “but Channing insisted his name is Jacques Fremont and they let him go. Oh, Dad, trail him, please!”
“All right, Nancy,” the lawyer agreed, dashing off.
Nancy had just put on her street clothes when Chuck Wilson knocked on her door. “I thought perhaps you’d like to go out somewhere for a late supper, Nancy,” he suggested. “After all that exercise, I’m hungry as a bear.”
“I’d like to,” Nancy replied. “But I must go to the hotel and see Dad as soon as he gets back. I’ll tell you what. Suppose you drive me there and we’ll have a bite in the coffee shop.”
Once they were in the car, Chuck Wilson glanced curiously at Nancy. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask why you were expecting the police?” he began. “You’ve shown me there are a number of things you don’t care to divulge.”
“I can tell you now,” Nancy replied. “I’m trying to catch a woman who stole my driver’s license and goes around using my name. This evening I tried to have the police arrest her husband. But the man was too clever and they had to release him. Dad went to trail him, though.”
“And you can’t wait to get the report.” Chuck grinned. “I don’t blame you. To be honest, I was afraid your secrecy might have had something to do with my case. When the policeman went to your dressing room—”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Chuck. Didn’t Dad get in touch with you this afternoon?”
“No. I wasn’t at home. Can you tell me what he wanted?”
“I suppose I can. It’s good news. Your old friend John Horn has been found,” Nancy announced.
“What! Oh boy! That’s great!” Chuck shouted, and yanked the steering wheel hard. In his excitement he had let the car head for a snow pile, and barely got out of the way.
When they reached the hotel, Nancy left word at the desk for Mr. Drew to meet her and Chuck in the coffee shop. Half an hour later he came in and dropped wearily into a chair beside them.
“Mr. Drew,” Chuck spoke up, “Nancy says you’ve located John Horn.”
The lawyer smiled. “Nancy did,” he answered. “Actually, my daughter has done more on your case than I have,” he confessed. “But as soon as we get back to River Heights, I’ll see this man Horn and have a talk with him about your uncle.”
“And what did you learn on my case, Dad?” Nancy asked. “Did you find Mr. Channing?”
“I did and I didn’t, if that makes any sense,” her father replied. “Chuck, will you order me a hamburger and coffee while I start the story? That rascal Channing moves fast, Nancy. I spotted him soon after I left you, and almost caught up with him.”
Nancy’s face fell. “But you missed him?”
“Yes,” her father admitted. “The man hopped into a taxi. But I did manage to get the car’s license number and later located the driver. He told me that Channing—or Fremont as he calls himself—went to the New Lasser Hotel.”
“Oh, Dad, that’s wonderful!” Nancy cried triumphantly. “All we need do is watch the hotel and wait for all the thieves to show up there.”
“It isn’t that simple,” her father replied. “I talked to the manager of the New Lasser. He’s a fraternity brother of mine and very friendly. He said that a Jacques Fremont, a Miss Nancy Drew, and Miss Drew’s brother occupied a suite of several rooms on the second floor. Unfortunately for us, Miss Drew’s brother checked out for the trio an hour before I arrived.”
“Oh dear!” Nancy groaned. “Now we must start hunting for them all over again. Did you get any clues about where they went, Dad?”
Mr. Drew took a bite of his hamburger sandwich, chewed it slowly, and swallowed before answering. Nancy knew from the twinkle in his eyes, though, that he had something important to reveal. Finally he spoke.
“It seems that Mitzi was expecting an important long-distance call at ten tomorrow morning. When she found she must leave town in such a hurry, Mitzi wrote out a message and entrusted it to the clerk. The message read:
“‘Foxes after stock. Transferring to camp.’ ”
“What does that mean?” Chuck asked, puzzled.
The lawyer and his daughter shrugged, but Mr. Drew prophesied that Nancy would soon learn the answer. Then he changed the subject.
“The performance you two put on this evening was most commendable,” he said. “Nancy, I knew you were good on skates, but I didn’t know you were that good.”
Nancy smiled at Chuck. “I didn’t know it, either!” she said.
The gay little party broke up soon afterward. Mr. Drew confessed to being very sleepy, but Nancy remained wide awake for hours. She kept thinking of the message Mitzi Channing had left with the hotel clerk, wondering about its true meaning.
At breakfast she joined her father in the coffee shop with a brisk air that indicated she had come to a decision. With laughter in her eyes, she said:
“Good morning, Dad, you old fox!”
“Fox?” Mr. Drew raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I was thinking of Mitzi,” his daughter explained. “I believe when she wrote that message
‘Foxes after stock,’
she meant us, Dad. You and I are the wily foxes.”
‘Foxes after stock,’
she meant us, Dad. You and I are the wily foxes.”
“That might be,” the lawyer admitted.
Nancy confided a daring plan she had conceived before going to sleep.
“Well, good luck,” he said when she finished. “But be careful!”
Shortly before ten o’clock Nancy entered the lobby of the New Lasser Hotel, and strolled over to the telephone switchboard operator.
“My name is Drew. Miss Nancy Drew,” she explained, displaying her duplicate driver’s license. “I’m expecting a long-distance call at ten o’clock—”
“But I was told Miss Drew had checked out,” protested the operator. “In fact, the clerk gave me a message to deliver when the call comes in.”
“I know,” said Nancy. “I intended to leave town but decided to stay. I’ll just sit here and you can signal me when the call comes through. That is, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” said the operator. “Wait, Miss Drew. I think your party’s on the line now. Take the end booth, please.”
Nancy’s heart was pounding as she hurried toward the telephone. So much depended on whether the person on the other end of the line was convinced that she was Mitzi Channing. Cautiously she lifted the receiver and said:
“Hello!”
“Hello,” snapped back a man’s brisk voice. And then it added a second word—“Lake.”
For an instant there was silence. Nancy thought frantically. “Lake?” That must be a password between the swindlers, she told herself. Suddenly a possible answer snapped into her mind. She set her jaw and tried to make her voice sound coarse.
“Dunstan,” she replied.
CHAPTER XII
Slippery Sidney
THE word “Dunstan” seemed to satisfy the man at the other end of the wire. He identified himself as Sidney.
“Listen, Mitzi!” he said. “I’ve got a deal cooking here for a thousand dollars’ worth of stock. Old Mrs. Bellhouse will buy it, but I’ve got to work fast.”
“Swell,” Nancy murmured in a low voice.
“Sure, it’s swell,” Sidney agreed. “But the trouble is, I’m nearly out of certificates. You’ll have to get more printed and rush ’em to me!”
“You mean to River Heights?”
“Speak a little louder!” Sidney ordered.
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