Читать книгу The Mystery at the Ski Jump - Alma Sasse - Страница 4

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Mrs. Martin invited Nancy and her father into the house and offered them chairs before the crackling fire.

“I suppose I’ll never find that Mrs. R. I. Channing!” she sputtered. “But that Forest Fur Company will pay for repairing my porch! Don’t you think they should, Mr. Drew?”

“That depends on whether or not Mrs. Channing was using a car of theirs, or at least was doing business for them at the time of the accident. Suppose you tell us everything you know about this woman.”

Before Mrs. Martin could start, they heard the sound of heavy feet on the porch stomping off snow, followed by the sound of the door buzzer. The caller was Dr. Britt, tired and cold after his long drive through the storm. When he learned that his intended patient had left in such a rude way, the physician was indignant.

“I don’t blame you for being angry, Mrs. Martin,” he agreed, stepping into the living room. “Anyone as ungrateful as Mrs. Channing doesn’t deserve sympathy. Good evening, Mr. Drew. Hello, Nancy.”

Mrs. Martin indicated a third chair facing the fire. “You sit here and rest, Doctor,” she urged. “I was just going to tell what I know about Mrs. Channing.

“She came here two days ago and sold me a mink scarf and some stock in a fur company. She promised that the stock would make me a great deal of money. But now I don’t trust her. You know what I think? That she ran away from here because of you, Nancy.”

“What!”

“Before I went to get the tea,” Mrs. Martin explained, “I told her how many cases you solved yourself—not just for your father. Like The Clue of the Black Keys and The Secret of the Wooden Lady. Now that I think of it, I believe Mrs. Channing got scared and left. We’ll never find her.”

“Mrs. Channing also sold a mink scarf and some stock to our housekeeper, Mrs. Gruen,” volunteered Nancy. “That’s why I came back here.”

Dr. Britt looked thoughtful. “Channing ... Channing!” he murmured. “I thought that name sounded familiar. Now I remember. My nurse, Ida Compton, showed me a fur piece and some stock certificates she purchased from a woman named Channing.”

“This is very interesting,” Mr. Drew spoke up. “Nancy, why don’t you see Miss Compton and find out if she can give you some additional information about Mrs. Channing?”

“I certainly will,” his daughter replied. “But by the time we get back from Montreal—”

“I’d suggest that you stay here a couple of days and see what you can find out,” her father said. “You can follow me later.”

He arose, adding that Hannah Gruen probably was becoming uneasy over their absence. She would want to know what they had learned about Mrs. Channing.

“And the delicious dinner I smelled will be spoiled.” Nancy smiled.

“Let me drive you,” offered the doctor. “Fortunately the storm is dying down. It should be fair by morning.”

When the Drews arrived home, Mrs. Gruen met them with questioning eyes. They told her the truth but begged her not to worry about the fur company stock.

“It may be a good investment,” said the lawyer cheerfully, although he doubted it. “And now, how about some food? This is the best eating place in the country, Hannah.”

The housekeeper beamed. “Tonight it’s pot roast and big browned potatoes exactly as you like them.”

“Dessert?”

“Pie—your favorite. Apples with lots of cinnamon.” Mrs. Gruen turned to Nancy. “Bess Marvin telephoned. She’s coming over after dinner. And George—I never can get used to a girl with a boy’s name—she’s coming too.”

“Grand!” said Nancy. “The three of us will hold a farewell party for you, Dad.”

Bess and her cousin George Fayne arrived at eight o’clock. Clad in boots and woolen ski suits, they were in the highest spirits in spite of the cold. George, a trim boyish-looking girl with short, black hair and an independent swing to her shoulders, was the first through the door.

“Hypers! Isn’t this storm something?” she exclaimed. “Old Man Winter is certainly doing his best to blow our town off the map,” she panted. “One more big puff and I’d probably have landed on top a church steeple.”

Bess giggled. “That would be something—you flapping about like a weathervane!”

“Bet I could point in all directions at once,” George retorted.

“Well, I’d rather stay inside,” said Bess, blond and pretty. “Maybe we can make some fudge,” she added hopefully. Bess loved sweets and worried little about her weight.

“I’m afraid there won’t be time for cooking,” said Nancy. “The fact is, I have some work for both of you.”

“Nancy! You don’t mean you’re on the trail of another mystery?” George asked eagerly.

“Could be,” Nancy answered, her eyes twinkling. For the next few minutes she explained to her friends about Mrs. R. I. Channing and her questionable method of selling stock and furs.

“I’ve just been examining the stock certificate she gave Mrs. Gruen,” the young detective went on. “It gives the headquarters of the Forest Fur Company as Dunstan Lake, Vermont. But, girls, I’ve looked in the atlas and there’s no such place as Dunstan Lake, Vermont.”

“Too small, maybe?” George suggested.

“Dad has a directory like those used in the post office,” Nancy went on. “It’s not in there, either.”

“Then it must be a phony outfit!” gasped Bess.

“Perhaps,” agreed Nancy. “Anyway, I must find that Mrs. Channing as soon as possible. The roads are blocked by snow and she can’t get far.”

“We’ll help you search,” said George eagerly. “Just give the orders!”

“Okay.” Nancy grinned. “Suppose you two call all the garages in town and see if anyone brought in a long, black car with damaged front fenders. Meanwhile, I’ll use the private phone in Dad’s study and call the local inns, hotels, tourist homes, and motor camps to see if a Mrs. Channing is registered.”

When the girls met again twenty minutes later, all of them admitted complete failure. Because of the weather, Bess and George were sure Mrs. Channing could not have driven far. She probably had stayed with a friend.

“Unless she registered at a hotel under another name,” Nancy mused.

Mr. Drew joined them in a “going-away” snack, then kissed Nancy good night. He told her he would be gone before she was awake, then asked:

“What’s your next move?”

“To call on Ida Compton.”

The next morning was crisp and sunny. Giant snowplows, working all night, had effectively cleared the highways. At ten o’clock the three girls were seated in Nancy’s smart little convertible, on their way to consult the nurse. Nancy pulled up at Dr. Britt’s home.

After hearing the story, Miss Compton was eager to co-operate. 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 expressed her admiration for the mink stole Mrs. Channing wore. To her surprise, the woman removed the scarf and offered to sell it cheap. She also offered Miss Compton a block of Forest Fur Company stock.

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

“Mrs. Channing seemed pleasant and honest,” sighed the nurse. “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 into the file. They wanted 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 scarf 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 brunette 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-tongued 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 someone who can give us a real clue.”

“Where do we go from here?” George asked, as the three friends piled back 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 street 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’ ears caught 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 there was another car—a car we had to catch up to.”

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 its secret flap and suddenly her face was the picture of dismay.

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