Chapter 13 The Mystery at the Ski Jump by Carolyn Keene
A Surprise Announcement
“Nancy! Are you hurt?”
The girl opened her eyes dazedly and looked up into Chuck Wilson’s worried face. He was kneeling beside her and chafing her wrists.
“W-what happened?” she asked in a faint voice.
“You spilled,” Chuck explained. “You made a nice clean jump over that sprawling skier and then—smack-o—you pitched on your face. But it wasn’t your fault, Nancy.”
“Not my fault? You mean that man—”
“He got in your way all right,” Chuck answered. “But it was more than that. It was a loose strap on one of your skis.” The instructor showed it to her.
Nancy sat up. “I want to try again,” she said.
“That was quite a shake-up,” Chuck protested anxiously. “Do you think you should?”
“Of course I should.”
With her companion’s assistance Nancy rose to her feet. “See, Chuck.” She smiled. “No bones broken. Nothing injured—except my dignity.”
They laughed and climbed the slope together. For the next hour, Nancy practiced field jumps under Chuck’s instruction, this time without spills. She was learning so quickly! Too bad it was her last day here, she thought.
“I wish you didn’t have to return to the States so soon,” the young man grumbled. “Isn’t there some way you can persuade your father to change his mind, at least until after the ice show tonight?”
“I think there’s a ghost of a chance,” Nancy confided, a sudden idea popping into her mind. “At least I have a very good argument.”
“Swell! Then I won’t have to say good-bye.” Chuck beamed. “Here, Nancy, take these tickets to the ice show. I’ll expect you and your father there tonight.”
“I can’t promise,” she reminded him, but accepted the tickets in case they could use them. “So long for now, Chuck.”
Nancy took a cab back to the hotel and met her father for a late luncheon. “Dad, is it necessary that you go home right away?” she asked. “Couldn’t we stay here at least one more day?”
Mr. Drew eyed his daughter with amusement. “May I ask why? Is it the skiing—or young Wilson?” he teased.
Nancy made a face. “I like Chuck and I enjoy the skiing. But seriously, I’m thinking of the Channings selling more of that fake fur stock, and maybe right here in Montreal.”
“What makes you think those rascals are in Montreal?” the lawyer asked.
Nancy told him about the ski jumper she thought might have been R. I. Channing.
“If he’s here, perhaps Mrs. Channing is too,” Nancy reasoned.
“In that case,” her father replied, “I’m willing to delay our departure and give you an opportunity to investigate. Will this interfere with that skating contest tonight?”
“Oh, no!” Nancy cried. “That’s part of my plan. Have you forgotten Mitzi Adele Channing is a professional skater?”
Mr. Drew smiled. “Now I’m beginning to see what you have in mind. You think Mitzi may attend the show, that she may even enter the contest, and try for some of the prizes?”
“Exactly.” Nancy nodded. “And if Mitzi does show up, then we can call the police and have her arrested. Even if she doesn’t come, I may be able to pick up some information about her from the skaters.”
The headwaiter suddenly appeared at the Drews’ table. “Pardon me, but are you Miss Nancy Drew?” he inquired.
“Yes, I am,” the girl acknowledged.
“There’s a long-distance call for you,” the man continued. “Please take it from a booth in the lobby, ma’m’selle.”
Nancy excused herself and hurried to the telephone. The caller was George Fayne.
“Nancy, we have good news for you,” her friend reported. “Bess and I just returned from John Horn’s. He remembers Chuck Wilson. And he said that if there is anything he can do to help him, he’s more than willing to go to Canada.”
“That’s just what I wanted to hear,” said Nancy excitedly. “I’ll be home in a few days. And I’ll have a lot to tell you girls.”
“Hey, don’t hang up,” George pleaded. “Have you another mystery on your hands?”
Nancy laughed. “This one is Dad’s,” she answered. “I’m only helping.”
She returned to the table and gave her father George’s message.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” the lawyer said enthusiastically. “Or at least you are.” He smiled proudly at his daughter. “I’ll tell Chuck as soon as possible. Meanwhile, what are your plans for the afternoon, Nancy? This old city is full of interesting, historical places. Why don’t you look around?”
“I’m going on a hunt for the Channings,” Nancy announced. “I can combine sight-seeing with a visit to fur shops and hotels.”
Nancy trudged around the picturesque city all afternoon, but did not find a trace of the Channings. Finally, at five-thirty, she returned to the hotel.
Snow had begun to fall, and soon became a wild storm. An icy wind whistled from the north, setting all Montreal to shivering.
“It’s a good thing the ice show wasn’t planned for outdoors,” Mr. Drew remarked, as they waited for a cab under the hotel’s marquee.
Traffic moved at a snail’s pace so that it was almost eight o’clock before their cab reached the ice arena.
The big auditorium was already crowded with spectators when they entered. Thanks to the tickets provided by Chuck Wilson, the Drews were seated in the center section and well down in front, where it was easy to get a close view of the skaters.
While the band played and the crowd chattered, Nancy studied her program. Chuck Wilson would skate first. No Mitzi Adele was listed as a skater, however. No Mitzi Channing, either. Nancy borrowed a binocular from the man next to her and scanned the audience. The fur stock saleswoman was not a spectator, she decided, after a careful scrutiny.
“I’m afraid we’ve drawn a blank, Dad,” she sighed.
“I wouldn’t give up hope too soon,” Mr. Drew cautioned. “A thief like Mrs. Channing might be using still another name—or a disguise.”
“I wish I knew where to reach a policeman fast,” Nancy mused. “If that woman does appear, I’ll need an officer in a hurry.”
“Then go to one of those little black boxes scattered about the walls,” her father said. “They connect directly with a police booth in the balcony. It’s all part of their protection system.”
“Dad, you’re so clever!” Nancy cried admiringly. “How ever did you figure that out?”
“I didn’t,” the lawyer chuckled. “I called the manager here this afternoon and he told me. Now let’s settle back. The show’s about to begin.”
“ATTENTION! PLEASE!”
Suddenly the blare of the band ceased and a voice boomed out over the loud-speaker.
“Attention!” it repeated. “This is to announce a late entry in the Skaters’ Waltz. Miss Nancy Drew. Miss Drew will represent the U.S.A.”
Nancy’s father turned in astonishment to look at his daughter. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to skate?” he asked.
“But I’m not!” Nancy protested. Suddenly she leaped to her feet. “Dad, it’s that horrible Mitzi Channing again! She’s using my name!”
Nancy’s cheeks were flushed with anger as she raced toward the skaters’ dressing rooms on the first floor.
“This time I’ll find that Channing woman,” she told herself angrily. “She won’t get away again!”