Читать книгу The Mystery at the Ski Jump - Alma Sasse - Страница 6

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“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.

“Nancy,” 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 even have taken them herself!”

“She certainly acted strangely,” agreed George.

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

“Hilda looks like an honest person,” said Nancy in 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 wants to send me to prison.”

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

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

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

Ten minutes later Nancy and a subdued but 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 talk about the stock in the Forest Fur Company and how it would make her a lot of money. When she saw you buy some of it, Hilda decided to do the same thing.”

“Ya,” 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,” said her mistress hastily. “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 headed for Nancy’s house. “I think Mrs. Packer was to blame, anyway.”

“But 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 crossword 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. “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!’

“Hmm-m, that’s right,” mused the girl. “Probably Mrs. Channing has exhausted her prospects in River Heights. This means she has moved into new territory. But where?

“Got any suggestions, Togo? Speak up, boy!”

At the word “speak” the little terrier gave a sharp bark. “Oh, I see.” Nancy grinned. “You advise that we try one town in each direction from here. If Mrs. Channing has been seen in any of these places, we’ll know whether she has headed north, south, east, or west. And a very good idea it is.”

Nancy heaved a sigh of relief and set Togo on the floor. “Okay. Conference is over,” she announced. “Now we’ll go and see about dinner, partner.”

Nancy spent the evening at the telephone. First, she followed up the rest of the names on Miss Compton’s list. No information of value came of this.

Next, she called several out-of-town physicians who were friends of Dr. Britt’s. To her satisfaction she found that three had been visited by Mr. and Mrs. Channing. Later the physicians called her back to say certain patients of theirs had been approached by the couple and some had bought furs and stock.

When Bess and George arrived the next morning, Nancy greeted them with, “We’re going to Masonville. Why? Because it’s north of here.”

“Hypers! Nancy, it’s too early in the day for riddles,” George complained.

Nancy smiled mysteriously, then said all of Mrs. Channing’s victims to the west, south, and east of River Heights had been called upon at least a month before.

“So our saleswoman won’t go back there,” Nancy theorized. “But apparently she hasn’t tackled Masonville yet. If we can only find her at work there—”

“Let’s go!” George said impatiently.

Part way along the road to Masonville, Bess suddenly gasped. “Our gas gauge says empty. I hope we don’t get stuck.”

Luck favored the girls. A quarter of a mile farther on they came to a gas station. The proprietor was a gaunt, gray-haired man in frayed overalls. Nancy lowered a window of the convertible and asked him to fill the tank. Then she said:

“Has a middle-aged woman in a mink coat and driving a long, black car stopped here lately?”

The old fellow looked at her shrewdly and scratched one ear. “Was the lady purty and was that a fine mink coat?” he countered.

At his words Nancy’s heart gave an exultant leap. “Oh, you’ve seen her, then! Do you mind telling us when it was?”

“No, I don’t mind,” said the man. “The lady come by here yesterday mornin’ on her way to Masonville. My wife was with me. The minute she spotted that coat she began oh-in’ and ah-in’, the way women folks do.”

“Did she sell your wife a fur piece?” Bess interrupted, unable to restrain her excitement.

The man shook his head. “Nope. She didn’t sell us nothin’, young lady. But she claimed to be from a big fur outfit. Even offered to get my wife a mink coat cheap—that is, if we’d buy some stock in her company first.”

“Did she show you this stock?” persisted Nancy. “She did, but I’m an old Vermonter myself. I never heard o’ that town, Dunstan Lake, listed on the certificate.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“Sure, miss. She said Dunstan Lake was only a village with too few people for a post office. Sounded fishy to me.”

“How right you are!” George said grimly. “I’m glad you didn’t buy anything from her.”

As the girls drove off, Bess cried enthusiastically, “We’re on the right track!”

Masonville was only five miles from the gas station. The cousins were excited as they drove into town, convinced that they were on Mrs. Channing’s trail at last.

“Let’s not celebrate too soon,” Nancy cautioned. “Mrs. Channing may have finished her work here too and driven farther north. But we’ll investigate.”

“I’ll park in front of this bank,” said Bess.

“All right,” Nancy agreed. “We can walk from here. But first let’s decide what to do.”

“Shouldn’t we try the hotels, Nancy?” George suggested. “If Mrs. Channing is registered at one of them, it might save us the trouble of going to any other place.”

“Do you know the names of any hotels here?” Bess asked.

Nancy thought a moment. “There’s the Mansion House, but I don’t think Mrs. Channing would like that. It’s a commercial hotel.”

“Isn’t the Palace in Masonville?” George recalled. “Famous for lobster or something?”

“Yes, but it’s no longer a hotel, Dad told me. It’s an office building now.”

“We’re getting nowhere fast,” George groaned. “Let’s go ask a police—”

She broke off abruptly as Bess’s eyes suddenly grew wide with fear and she whispered excitedly:

“Girls! Look at those two men across the street! They’re staring at us as if we’d just escaped from jail.”

“You’re being silly,” George remarked, not taking her scary cousin seriously.

“I mean it,” Bess insisted. “You look yourself.”

George turned to look and Nancy leaned forward to observe the men. One was a short, stout man in a gray overcoat and soft gray hat. The other was slim and younger. He wore a blue mackinaw with the collar turned up, and a cap pulled low on his forehead.

At a nod from him, the stout man walked determinedly across the street toward the convertible, with the younger man close behind.

As the girls watched, the two men slowly circled the car and examined the license plate at its rear. Then a big hand pulled open the door beside Bess.

“Which of you is Nancy Drew?” he demanded in a deep voice.

“I am,” Nancy admitted. “Why do you want to know?”

“You!” said the stout man. “You’re wanted for shoplifting, Nancy Drew. And, here and now, I place you under arrest!”