Читать книгу The Mystery at the Ski Jump - Alma Sasse - Страница 7

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The man in the gray overcoat motioned for the three girls to get out of the car. For several seconds they sat still, too astonished to say a word. Nancy faced the men and said calmly:

“Suppose you tell me who you are, and why you’re making this ridiculous charge.”

The stout man opened his coat. A police badge gleamed on his vest pocket. His companion showed one also.

“We’re plain-clothes men,” he explained. “We were told to pick up a car with this license number and a Nancy Drew who owns it. Now don’t try to get away. Just come along to headquarters peacefully.”

“Y-you can’t arrest Nancy,” Bess said tremulously. “Why, she’s the most honest girl in the world.”

“Besides,” George spoke up indignantly, “she’s a detective. You’d better be careful what you say.”

“Ho, so she claims to be a detective, does she?” the stout man snorted. “I suppose she was a detective when she entered a fur store here and stole two expensive mink scarfs?”

“What!” George cried. “That’s absurd.”

“I did no such thing,” Nancy protested.

“Oh, yes, you did,” insisted the slim fellow. “After you showed your license and charged a cheap fur piece, you took two expensive furs that you didn’t charge! What did you do with them?”

Nancy’s mind was working fast. The woman who had her driver’s license was pretending to be Nancy Drew! If it were Mrs. Channing, she probably had altered the age and other statistics on the card. Nancy decided to go to the police station at once and exonerate herself.

“Come on, girls,” she said, climbing into the car.

The men squeezed in, and the stout detective pointed out the way to the Masonville police headquarters. There a Sergeant Wilks took down Nancy’s name and address.

“You live in River Heights and your name is Drew?” he inquired. “Any relation to Mr. Drew, the lawyer?”

“My father,” said Nancy.

“Good grief!” gulped the sergeant. “You never can tell where these juvenile delinquents will come from nowadays.”

Nancy turned scarlet and protested. George sputtered. Bess seemingly had disappeared.

“Silence!” the officer ordered.

As he repeated the charge against Nancy, the outer door was suddenly flung open. A distinguished-looking man burst in, followed by Bess.

“Judge Hartgrave!” Nancy cried, rushing forward to greet her father’s old friend. “You’re just the person I need!”

“So your friend Bess told me.” Nancy threw Bess a grateful look.

“You—you know the judge?” the sergeant stammered.

“Very well. He helped me solve a mystery once.”

Judge Hartgrave turned to the officer. “This is outrageous, Sergeant! Why are you holding my friend Nancy Drew?”

The officer reddened at the rebuke. He explained about the thief who had stolen the mink scarfs from the Masonville Fur Company, and how the woman had identified herself as Nancy Drew and shown a driver’s license to prove it.

“I can’t understand it,” said the judge, shaking his head.

“It’s because my driver’s license was stolen two days ago, Judge,” said Nancy. “I’ve been telling these officers someone evidently is using it, but they won’t believe me.”

“I see.” Judge Hartgrave frowned. “Let’s call in that fur shop owner and settle this matter properly.”

The man was summoned to headquarters. He looked at Nancy and shook his head. “She’s not the same person,” he said positively. “The thief was older.”

“Was the woman wearing a mink coat and were her eyes blue and her hair blue-black?” Nancy inquired.

“Why—uh—yes,” agreed the man. “She was a striking brunette.”

The three girls exchanged knowing glances. Mrs. Channing, no doubt of that!

“Well, Nancy, that settles it,” said Judge Hartgrave. “I’m sure you’re free to go now. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

“Sure, she can leave,” grumbled the discomfited Wilks. “Only I’d like to ask Miss Drew a question first.”

Nancy and her two friends had already started for the door but she turned and paused. “Yes, Sergeant?”

“This dark-haired woman you were asking about. Can you tell us where to find her?”

“I wish I could,” said Nancy. “I only know that sometimes she calls herself Mrs. Channing. Besides being a shoplifter, she sells fake stock.”

“Um, sounds like an all-around bad egg,” nodded Wilks. “But the Masonville police force is on its toes. We’ll get her!”

The girls walked with Judge Hartgrave to his office next door, and Nancy thanked him for his help. He asked for more details concerning the mystery. After he had heard them, the judge remarked:

“I’ve spent many summers in Vermont, but I’ve never heard of Dunstan Lake.” He turned to his telephone. “It won’t take long to find out where it is.”

A moment later he was talking to a friend at the Vermont State House in Montpelier. When the judge finished his conversation, he reported to Nancy that there was no such place as Dunstan Lake anywhere in the state of Vermont.

“You have a real mystery on your hands, young lady,” he said. “Let me know if I can help you.”

“I surely will,” Nancy promised.

As the girls walked back to the car, Bess said something was puzzling her. If Mrs. Channing had Nancy’s license, when and how had she taken it?

“It must have been when Mrs. Martin and I left her alone on the living-room sofa after the accident,” Nancy replied. “When Mrs. Channing regained consciousness, she must have slipped the papers out of my wallet. It was in my coat on a chair.”

“Shoplifters are quick with their hands,” Bess nodded.

“Yes, they’re much like pickpockets,” Nancy agreed. “Well, here’s my car, girls. It’s time we headed farther north.”

“North?” chorused the cousins. “Aren’t we going to look for Mrs. Channing in Masonville?”

“After that theft, I’m sure she left town as quickly as possible,” Nancy answered. “Since she wouldn’t dare turn back, I believe she continued north.”

For the next hour Nancy’s little convertible traveled down the highway as fast as Bess could drive it and still keep within the speed limit. Here and there the girls stopped at small towns and inquired if anyone had seen a woman of Mrs. Channing’s description in a long, black car.

At last, tired and discouraged, they reached the town of Winchester and stopped in front of the Crestview Hotel. George went inside to make the usual inquiry and soon came rushing back.

“Oh, girls, we’ve found her!” she cried excitedly. “The desk clerk said a dark-haired woman in a mink coat had registered at the hotel the night before. She isn’t in now.”

“Where did she go?” Bess demanded. “I’ll bet to rob somebody.”

“Probably,” George replied. “But listen to this: I saw the hotel register. And, Nancy, she’s still pretending to be you. The name Nancy Drew is written down as bold as you please.”

Nancy’s eyes flashed angrily. “I’ve always been proud of my name and I certainly resent having it connected with a thief! Come on, girls! Mrs. Channing can’t get away with this! We’ll stand guard until she comes back.”

The lobby of the Crestview was warm and spacious. Nancy suggested that they wait in the shadow of the newsstand so Mrs. Channing would not see the girls and make a hasty exit before she could be caught.

The trap seemed perfect. But when, after an hour of tedious waiting, their quarry failed to arrive, Nancy became impatient. She walked up to the desk.

“We’re here to see a guest registered as Nancy Drew,” she told the clerk. “Possibly she came in by another entrance?”

“That’s impossible,” the man said. “There’s no other entrance except a back door used by our employees. However, I’ll call Room 202 on the house phone if you like.”

There was no answer from the room. Nancy decided to take the clerk, Mr. Evans, into her confidence. When he heard the story, the man became worried and offered to unlock the suspect’s room to see if there were any evidence to prove Nancy’s theory.

When they reached the room, Bess and George stayed in the hall to watch for Mrs. Channing. Nancy followed Mr. Evans inside. He glanced about, opened the closet door, and gave a cry of dismay.

“Her bags are gone! She’s left without paying her bill!”

The fake fur saleswoman had been there, all right. Nancy could detect the scent of her exotic perfume in the air, and traces of powder lay on the dressing table.

Nancy walked quickly to a window, lifted it, and stared down at the ground ten feet below. There she could see scrambled footprints and several deep indentations in the snow.

Mr. Evans also popped his head out to take a look. “See anything?” he asked.

“I think I can figure out how Mrs. Channing got away,” said the young detective. “She slipped up here by the servants’ stairway and dropped her bags out the window. Then she went down the stairs again, picked up her luggage, and hurried off.”

“The cheat! I’ll make her pay! She can’t get away with this!” Mr. Evans sputtered.

“You’ll have to catch her first,” Nancy thought. Aloud she said, “Perhaps Mrs. Channing left something behind that will give us a clue to where she’s going.”

As she spoke, Nancy was moving slowly about the room, her eyes searching the floor and furniture. Methodically she opened and shut bureau drawers. Empty, all of them! The wastebasket contained several lipstick-stained tissues. Apparently Mrs. Channing had taken time to make herself look attractive!

Suddenly Nancy gave a cry of triumph and stooped to pick up something from beneath the bed. In her hands she held a small black label used by stores to identify their merchandise.

Printed on it in gold letters was the telltale inscription: Masonville Fur Company.