Mystery at the Ski Jump Page 2

  After hearing the story, Miss Compton was eager to cooperate. She explained that a few days previously, a tall, muscular man of about forty and his wife had called to see the doctor. They had given their names as Mr. and Mrs. R. I. Channing.

  While they waited to see the doctor, the nurse had expressed her admiration for the mink stole Mrs. Channing wore. To her surprise, the woman had removed the fur and offered to sell it cheap. She had also suggested Miss Compton buy a block of Forest Fur Company stock.

  “Mrs. Channing doesn’t miss a trick, does she?” George remarked. “Always on the lookout for clients!”

  “Mrs. Channing seemed pleasant and honest.” The nurse sighed. “Are you sure she isn’t?”

  “Well, I haven’t proved anything yet,” Nancy admitted. “But Mrs. Channing’s methods are very strange, and I couldn’t locate Dunstan Lake.”

  Miss Compton said she never left the office when strangers were in it. But at Mr. Channing’s request she had gone to make a cup of tea because his wife felt faint.

  “I’m afraid the tea business was just an excuse,” Nancy said. “Those two wanted you out of here for some special reason. But why?”

  The young detective’s glance passed swiftly about the room and came to rest on a steel cabinet. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “The Channings wanted to look in the file. They hoped to get names and addresses of persons they might sell to.”

  “I guess that’s true, Nancy,” the nurse admitted. “Because as soon as Mrs. Channing drank the tea and I handed her a check for the stole and the stock, she said they couldn’t wait to see the doctor and hurried away.”

  “Miss Compton, will you do me a favor?” Nancy asked. “Call a few of the doctor’s patients on the telephone right now. Ask if a Mrs. Channing—or at least a dark-haired woman—has called on them, offering to sell them stock or furs.”

  She had no sooner made her request than the nurse began to dial a number. Within a few minutes Nancy learned that several patients had made purchases from a smooth-talking woman named Mrs. Channing. Nancy spoke to each one but picked up no further information.

  “I think we had better be on our way,” she said finally. “I don’t want to take any more of your time, Miss Compton. But if you will continue to check the people in those files, we can stop in later for the list. Somewhere there’s bound to be a person who can give us a real clue.”

  “Where do we go from here?” George asked as the three friends got into the convertible.

  “I don’t know,” said Nancy. “It’s too near lunchtime to make any calls and—girls!”

  Nancy’s voice was excited as she bent over the steering wheel and stared down the street. “There! Just crossing the intersection in that car,” she gasped. “I believe it’s Mrs. Channing!”

  As soon as the light changed, Nancy turned left to follow the black car. She trailed it down the side street a block, then onto a highway that led to open country. All at once the girls’ heard the warning wail of a siren. A police car drew up alongside the convertible. The driver waved Nancy to the curb.

  “Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry?” the officer demanded.

  “Oh!” Nancy flushed. “I’m sorry if I was going too fast. You see, I was trying to catch another car.”

  The policeman ignored her apology. “Let’s see your driver’s license.”

  “Certainly, Officer.”

  Nancy reached for the wallet in her inner coat pocket. She snapped open a flap and suddenly her face was the picture of dismay.

  Her driver’s license and all her other identification cards were gone!

  CHAPTER III

  Missing Earrings

  “Now, young lady, I suppose you’re going to tell me you lost your driver’s license?”

  The policeman’s tone was skeptical as he looked at Nancy. The man was a stranger to her, which was unusual, since Nancy knew most of the local police and all were her friends.

  “Oh dear! This is certainly a disaster!” wailed Bess. “Now we can’t catch that awful Mrs. Channing.”

  George spoke up. “Officer, this is Nancy Drew,” she said. “We’re after a thief. Please let us go.”

  The policeman stared. “You’re what? Listen, miss, if that’s the case, there are two reasons for my taking you to headquarters. Suppose you tell the chief your story.” He directed Nancy to follow him.

  Chief of Police McGinnis was surprised to see Nancy. He listened while she explained her predicament of being without a license.

  “I just can’t figure out what happened to it,” she continued. “I know I had it in my wallet yesterday.”

  “I’m aware you have a driver’s license, Nancy,” the chief assured her. “That’s why I’m going to be lenient in your case. You’ve helped the police department on so many occasions that it’s almost as if you were a member of the force.”

  At this remark the traffic policeman’s jaw dropped.

  “Oh, thank you, Chief McGinnis,” Nancy said gratefully. “I’ll make application for a duplicate license at once.”

  “Good.” The officer nodded. “But remember, young lady, keep your car in the garage until that new license arrives.”

  “Chief, I have a driver’s license,” Bess interrupted. “See—it’s right here in my handbag. I can drive Nancy’s car for her.”

  “You girls!” Chief McGinnis laughed. “You don’t miss a trick, do you? Yes, Miss Marvin, I suppose you can act as chauffeur. And now what’s this about a thief? Are you up to something we police don’t know about?”

  Nancy’s eyes were teasing as she answered, “I’ll let you know the instant I find out.”

  As the girls left, George exclaimed, “Whew, that was close! I thought you were going to have to tell him about Mrs. Channing and I knew you didn’t want to yet.”

  “No, not until I have some proof she’s dishonest.” There was a thoughtful frown between Nancy’s brows. “I wish I could figure out what happened to my license.”

  “You don’t suppose someone stole it, do you?” Bess asked as she slid in behind the steering wheel.

  “I can’t decide,” Nancy admitted. “In the first place, that license isn’t worth a thing to anybody but me. So why would it attract a thief? And why would he want my identification cards?”

  “Maybe the thief was looking for money and took the other things by mistake,” George suggested. “Did you have much money in your wallet?”

  “No, just an emergency five dollars,” said Nancy. “I have another purse that I carry silver and bills in. That wasn’t tampered with.”

  “Well, we can put our heads together at lunch,” said Bess. “You’re both invited to my house. And, girls, I promise chicken pie and angel cake.”

  The food was delicious, but what interested Nancy even more was a message for her from Bess’s father. Hearing of the case, Mr. Marvin had telephoned his broker in New York and learned that no such organization as the Forest Fur Company was listed among legitimate stock companies.

  “Poor Hannah!” thought Nancy, deciding to redouble her efforts to find Mrs. Channing.

  That afternoon Nancy, Bess, and George stopped at Dr. Britt’s office and picked up the list Miss Compton had prepared. It contained the names of several patients who had bought furs or stock from the mysterious Mrs. Channing.

  “I think Mrs. Clifton Packer would be a good one,” decided Nancy. “She’s a wealthy widow and bought several hundred shares of stock in the Forest Fur Company.”

  “Then, Mrs. Packer, here we come,” George said with a grin. “Step on it, chauffeur,” she commanded, tapping her cousin Bess on the shoulder. “But for goodness sake—don’t speed!”

  The Packer house was a large stone one that looked more like a French chateau than an American residence. A maid, clad in a black uniform and a starched cap and apron, answered the doorbell. She ushered the three girls into the entrance hall.

  Mrs. Packer was a stout, talkative woman. She knew Nancy by reputation and was p
lainly curious as to the purpose of the young detective’s call.

  “Don’t tell me I have a mystery here at Oak Manor, Nancy?” she began as soon as the three girls were seated in her luxurious living room.

  “Perhaps you have, Mrs. Packer.” Nancy smiled. She hastily sketched her reasons for suspecting Mrs. R. I. Channing and her questionable sales activity.

  “Why, I’m astounded—simply astounded!” gasped the plump widow. “Mrs. Channing appeared so charming. Such a lady.”

  “I understand she sold you some furs,” prompted Nancy.

  “Oh, she did. She did indeed,” babbled Mrs. Packer. “And then, of course, there is that block of stock I bought. I paid her a thousand dollars for that.”

  Bess and George exchanged startled glances.

  “Did Mrs. Channing give you any information about this fur company?” Nancy asked. “Where it’s located, for instance?”

  “I don’t think so,” admitted Mrs. Packer. “I just remember her saying they have mink ranches throughout the United States and Canada. That’s why I thought the stock was all right. Good mink, you know, is very scarce. And very expensive.”

  “But suppose the stock you bought is worthless,” said Nancy, and told what Mr. Marvin had learned.

  “Oh dear! I suppose I was foolish,” Mrs. Packer admitted. “But it was the lovely mink furs Mrs. Channing showed that convinced me. You see, I’m quite an authority on pelts.

  “Come up to my bedroom, girls,” the widow invited, leading the way. “I’ll show you what I bought. All mink, you know, isn’t equally fine. There are four different grades. The best fur comes from the northern United States and Canada. It’s the cold weather that makes it lustrous and triply thick.”

  Mrs. Packer opened a closet and removed a luxurious mink cape. “The minute Mrs. Channing showed this to me I knew I had to have it,” she rattled on. “Notice the rich dark-brown color and how alive and silky the fur is!

  “That shows the cape was made from young mink. In older animals, the fur is much coarser and the pelts are larger, too. A sure indication that you have a less valuable piece of merchandise.”

  George winked at Nancy. They were surely getting Mrs. Channing’s sales talk secondhand!

  Bess giggled. “Young mink, old mink—who cares?” she said. “I’d settle for any kind of a mink coat.”

  They went back to the living room. Mrs. Packer rang a bell and her maid, Hilda, a woman of thirty, appeared. She was asked to serve tea. After the maid had left, their hostess dimpled coyly.

  “I just love tea parties, don’t you?” Evidently she was not too concerned about her missing thousand dollars. “Hilda makes the most divine little cakes. I served them when I had the party for Mrs. Channing.”

  “What!” George burst out, then added apologetically, “I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Packer explained that she had held a party for Mrs. Channing to introduce certain friends who were always “looking for bargains in clothes.” The friends had purchased both furs and stock. Nancy was about to ask their names when the woman abruptly changed the subject.

  “Now that you’re here, Nancy Drew, I want to consult you about the disappearance of my favorite earrings.”

  Nancy looked doubtful. “I don’t know, Mrs. Packer. I’m pretty busy just now. Perhaps you just misplaced the earrings.”

  “Of course I didn’t,” her hostess protested. “I always put everything back in my jewel case the minute I take it off. Besides, I was very careful of those earrings. They’re part of a valuable set.

  “See, I’m wearing the brooch that matches them. Nancy, how would it be if you take this with you, so you can trace the earrings for me?” the widow continued, removing the pin and handing it to Nancy.

  Despite the fact that the young detective had one mystery to solve and was to help her father on another, she found herself saying, just as Hilda walked in with the tea tray:

  “I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Packer. When did you first miss your jewelry?”

  As the woman pondered the question, Nancy saw Hilda stop short. The maid placed the tray on top of the piano and hastened back to the kitchen, as if she had forgotten something. Perhaps the napkins, Nancy thought, but she immediately noticed them protruding over the corner of the tray. Did Hilda’s action have anything to do with the conversation?

  “Do you remember when you missed your jewelry?” Nancy prompted Mrs. Packer, who seemingly had not noticed the strange procedure.

  “Oh, yes, now I remember,” the woman said, her hands fluttering in agitation. “It was the day after that party.”

  George shot a glance toward Nancy, but let the young detective do the talking.

  “Do you know of anybody at the party who might have wanted the earrings?” Nancy asked.

  Hilda hastened back from the kitchen, picked up the tray, and approached her mistress. The maid was pale and nervous.

  “No, unless it was—Why, Nancy, do you think it could have been Mrs. Channing, the woman you said sold me the fake fur stock?”

  At Mrs. Packer’s words an agonized wail burst from Hilda. She went chalk white.

  “O-oh!” she cried.

  Nancy looked up just in time to see the tray tilt precariously in the maid’s hands. Hilda clutched at the dishes, but too late. The tray slipped from her grasp!

  The top of the teapot fell off and a cascade of hot water poured down upon the arm of Hilda’s startled mistress. With it the cups and saucers clattered to the sofa.

  Hilda, with a terrified scream, turned and ran from the room.

  CHAPTER IV

  More Trouble

  “OH! I’m burned!” Mrs. Packer cried out. She jumped up and shook her wet sleeve. “Such stupid clumsiness!” she sputtered, seizing a napkin and swabbing her arm.

  “Girls,” she went on, “did you notice how Hilda jumped when I spoke of my stolen earrings ? It’s plain the girl knows something. Why, she may have taken them herself!”

  “She certainly acted strangely,” George agreed.

  “Yes—and while we’ve been talking, she’s escaped!” Bess added excitedly.

  “Hilda looks like an honest person,” said Nancy, coming to the girl’s defense. “I think she’s only worried or scared. Mrs. Packer, do you mind if I look for your maid?”

  “Go right ahead,” the widow replied. “But I think I should call the police.”

  “Wait a little, please,” Nancy urged. “And tell me, are there any other servants in the house?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Packer. “My butler and cook took the afternoon off. If Hilda hasn’t run away already, she’s probably in her room. That’s on the third floor. The second door to the left.”

  Nancy found Hilda’s bedroom door tightly closed. But she knew by the sound of hysterical sobbing that the maid was inside. She knocked softly.

  “Hilda, let me in,” she called. “Don’t be afraid. I just want to help you.”

  “Go ’way,” said a muffled voice. “Mrs. Packer—she’ll fire me! She thinks I’m a thief!”

  “No. I want to talk to you, Hilda,” pleaded Nancy. “I’m your friend. Won’t you listen to me, please?”

  The sympathy in Nancy’s voice must have convinced the nervous young woman, for she opened the door. “I was packing my suitcase,” she admitted, dabbing at her reddened eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, Miss Drew, I’ve been such a fool!”

  “We’re all foolish now and then,” Nancy said soothingly. She led the maid gently to the bed and sat down beside her. “Hilda, why don’t you tell me about it?” she suggested.

  Ten minutes later Nancy and a subdued and calmer Hilda rejoined the others in the living room. Nancy’s blue eyes twinkled as she addressed her hostess.

  “Mrs. Packer, Hilda hasn’t committed any crime. Her only mistake was that she did exactly as you did!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Simply this,” explained Nancy. “Hilda heard Mrs. Channing tell you about the stock in the Forest Fur Company and how it wo
uld make you a lot of money. When she saw you buy some of it, Hilda decided to do the same thing.”

  “Ja,” said Hilda, bobbing her white-blond head. “That’s just what I did. I think what’s good for a smart lady like Mrs. Packer is good for me.”

  Mrs. Packer’s grim face softened. “Why, Hilda,” she said, “in a way, that’s a compliment.”

  “Of course it is,” said Nancy. “Hilda feels doubly bad because the money she used was the twenty-five dollars she borrowed on her salary to send to her family in Europe.”

  “Never mind,” her mistress said gently. “I’ll see that you don’t lose by this, Hilda. Suppose you get busy now and clear away those broken cups and saucers.”

  Nancy and her friends left, the valuable brooch pinned on the young detective’s blouse. She promised to try finding the earrings as soon as possible.

  “I’m glad poor Hilda didn’t lose her money and her job,” said Bess as the three girls drove to Nancy’s house. “I think Mrs. Packer was to blame, anyway.”

  “We didn’t get much further in tracking down Mrs. Channing,” George remarked.

  “No,” said Nancy. “But I believe we’ve advanced a bit. We’d nearly forgotten Mr. Channing. I’m sure that he’s a part of our puzzle.”

  “And what a puzzle!” Bess sighed as she drove into the Drew garage. She and George walked home.

  Togo, Nancy’s alert little terrier, was waiting for her when Nancy stepped into the house. The little fellow scampered joyfully ahead of her as she climbed the stairs and went into her father’s deserted study. Togo cocked his head. He was hoping his mistress was going to play a game with him.

  “I love this room, Togo,” Nancy confided to him. “It makes me feel so close to Dad. Let’s pretend he’s here, shall we?” She sat down in the big leather chair and held out her arms to the eager dog.

  “You sit right here—on my lap—Togo. That’s it. Now we’ll hold our conference.

  “First of all, I know what Dad would advise. He’d say: ‘Use your head, daughter! You can’t just chase after this Mrs. Channing as if she were a butterfly. You must outsmart her!’