“Dinner?” Nancy asked. “How about breakfast?”
“We’ve eaten, sleepyhead,” George replied. Nancy prepared bacon, eggs, and toast for herself. She had just finished eating when Bess came running in, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Listen, everybody!” she cried out. “Someone’s been snooping around this house! I saw a lot of strange tracks.”
The others rushed outside. In the new-fallen snow there were indeed a series of footprints encircling the house. A man had been both peering and eavesdropping!
The young people trailed the tracks away from the cottage and on down to the edge of a small grove. Here they disappeared as mysteriously as they had begun.
Where had the eavesdropper gone and who was he?
Back at the cottage, an ugly possibility came to Aunt Eloise’s mind. The gang of fur thieves and stock swindlers had learned of Boyd’s arrest and wanted to get revenge on Nancy! Also, they would stop at nothing to keep her from tracking them down.
Miss Drew felt the responsibility for her niece’s safety weighing heavily on her. Nancy must be protected. It might be only a matter of time before the mysterious eavesdropper would return, not to observe, but to strike!
CHAPTER XVII
The Hidden Cabin
DISAPPOINTED not to have found any trace of the eavesdropper, the boys and girls returned to Eloise Drew’s lodge and made plans to go to Longview Inn.
“I’m driving to the village with Aunt Eloise,” announced Bess. “We’ll meet you at the hotel for lunch.”
The teacher recommended that the others start out at once. “It will take you until noon to reach the inn,” she reminded them.
Just as the hikers were about to set off, John Horn strode up with a telegram.
“Did you get one of these this morning, Nancy?” he asked. “Woman at the telegraph office in the village sent a boy out with one, but he didn’t come back there and they wondered if he delivered it.”
“Yes, he did,” said Nancy. The telegram proved to be a duplicate of the one she had received.
Nancy told John Horn about the mysterious eavesdropper. “Would you look at the spot where the tracks end and see what you think? His tracks simply end.”
The trapper followed Nancy to the place. He chuckled. “The fellow used the old Injun method of covering his tracks,” he declared. “Walked backward and brushed the prints away with a broom he’d made of an evergreen bough. He wouldn’t keep that up for long, though. Maybe we’ll pick up the tracks some distance on. I’ll go with you.”
Nancy went back for her skis, then the group set off for the inn, watching carefully for footprints.
“Hey, gang!” Dave called suddenly. “Look at the circle of ski tracks just ahead.”
“How odd!” said Ned. “It looks as if two or three people met here and—”
“And had a conference,” Nancy finished. “I’ll bet that eavesdropper has skis! The tracks seem to lead away in three directions—so why don’t we separate and see where they go?”
Burt grinned. “Give us our orders, ma’am!”
“Okay. Dave, will you follow the tracks that lead toward the hotel? Tell Aunt Eloise and Bess that the rest of us may be delayed. George and Burt, will you swing right toward the Wells Ranch?” She pointed.
“Okay!” said Burt.
“Ned and I will take that left trail into the woods,” Nancy went on. “Mr. Horn, will you come with us?” As he nodded, she said, “If any of you find our eavesdropper, try to nab him!”
When Nancy’s group started off, John Horn said, “I know one thing you’ll find. There’s a cabin ahead of us that don’t seem natural.”
“How do you mean?” Ned asked.
“Nobody there, and it’s locked tight and boarded at the windows. The right kind o’ woods people always keep their cabins open for other hunters to use.”
The three searchers followed the ski tracks until they disappeared about a hundred feet beyond the cabin the trapper had described. Their quarry evidently had removed his skis and continued on foot.
“His footprints aren’t like the ones the eavesdropper left at Aunt Eloise’s cabin,” Nancy remarked, “so we’d better turn back.”
The trio stopped first to inspect the small cabin, which was locked. At the door were lots of footprints.
“I wonder if they were made by hikers who stopped here to rest,” Nancy said.
“Or by men who stay here,” Ned replied. “By the way, that padlock hasn’t been on the door long. It’s brand new!”
John Horn nodded. “Reckon I won’t go to the hotel yet. I’ll just stay here and scout around a bit. You folks run along.”
Nancy and Ned reached the Longview Inn about twenty minutes later. It was crowded with sports enthusiasts. George and Burt hurried across the lobby to meet them, and reported that neither they nor Dave had found anything of consequence.
Aunt Eloise beckoned her niece aside. “Your father and I are worried, Nancy,” she said. “I talked with him on the telephone. He didn’t send that telegram!”
“I wonder who did,” Nancy mused.
“Someone who wanted to make sure you would be at the inn today,” her aunt declared. “You will be extra careful, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Nancy promised. “But there’s not much danger with so many friends around.”
Although she pretended to take her aunt’s news lightly, Nancy was aware that the telegram might indicate trouble. “The Channings must know by now that I’m responsible for Boyd’s arrest,” she thought. “They may try to trap me!”
Aunt Eloise continued to worry during lunch, and ate very little. Chuck Wilson appeared while they were finishing dessert, and Nancy introduced him to her aunt and the others.
A short time later a bugle announced the opening of the afternoon program. Everyone hurried outside to watch or participate in the contests.
“To start the afternoon’s events,” the master of ceremonies said, “the management is proud to present a special feature. Chuck Wilson, our new ski instructor, will make an exhibition jump from Big Hill.”
There was a murmur of anticipation from the spectators as all eyes turned to the top of the slope where the blond young man stood poised for the start. At a blast from the bugle, he was off.
Chuck raced down the incline, then soared into space, his arms spread out like a great bird’s wings. For an instant he seemed to hang in the sunlit sky. A moment later he came swooping gracefully to earth.
The crowd burst into applause and Burt declared with a grin, “I’d give up college if I thought I could learn to do that!”
As he and the others skied over to congratulate Chuck, Nancy scanned the crowd of spectators. The Channings did not seem to be present.
Aunt Eloise came to her niece’s side and spoke in a low voice. “I hope you’re not planning to enter any of the events, dear,” she said. “Your enemies may be waiting for your name to be announced.”
Nancy agreed. She took off her skis and went to explain her decision to Ned. The young man was disappointed but said, “The important thing is to keep you safe, Nancy. Okay if I find another partner to enter the next event?”
“Of course,” said Nancy. A few minutes later she watched as Ned and a pretty girl joined in the two-legged race.
Nancy left her aunt’s side and pushed her way among the milling groups. She still saw no sign of the couple who had taken part in the stock swindles. “I’m wrong about their being here,” she decided finally. “I should have entered the games after all. Hunches aren’t—”
“Psst! Nancy!”
The urgent voice came from behind her. She whirled to face John Horn. The old man’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
He beckoned with a calloused finger. “Follow me!”
CHAPTER XVIII
A Weird Light
NANCY looked anxiously about in hopes of seeing either Ned or one of her other friends. But none of them was in sight. John Horn tugged impatient
ly at her coat sleeve.
“I tell you we got to hurry, Nancy,” he pleaded. “She’s over on that pond in the woods right now. And skatin’ around bold as you please!”
“Who’s skating?” Nancy demanded.
“Why, that woman who sold me the fake fur stock,” the old trapper snorted. “That thievin’ Mrs. Channing, of course!”
At the name Channing, Nancy hesitated no longer. “Lead the way!” she urged.
An instant later the two were running across the hotel grounds. They headed into the woods at the rear of the inn and trudged through the snow for nearly a quarter of a mile.
“There she is!” Horn pointed out. They slowed down and cautiously approached a small, cleared pond.
Nancy felt a tingle of excitement run down her spine. She stood on tiptoe for a better view and craned her neck. As Mitzi Adele ended a series of figures, she was facing Nancy directly.
The tall, slender brunette suddenly realized she had been discovered. Like a fiash she shot back toward the far bank. Without removing her skates, she raced off among the trees.
“Fool!” said John Horn. “She’ll break an ankle!”
He was already taking snowshoes from his back, and quickly fastened them onto his boots.
“Looks like it’s goin’ to be a race!” he observed. “You follow as fast as you can, Nancy.”
He soon outdistanced Nancy, who had tried sliding across the ice to save time. But she had fallen twice and wasted precious minutes.
Some distance ahead, the trapper saw Mitzi. She was seated on a log and had just finished changing into hiking boots. She leaped to her feet and fled farther into the woods, but the old trapper was gaining with every step.
Nancy found their trail and sped after them as fast as she could through the deep snow. Sud. denly she heard a scream, followed by:
“Let me go!”
A moment later she came in view of Mitzi and the trapper. The woman was kicking and scratching John Horn as he held her firmly by one arm. Mitzi’s eyes blazed with anger.
“Fool!” said John Horn. “She’ll break an ankle!”
“I’ll have you arrested for this!” she panted.
“Oh, no, you won’t, Mrs. Channing,” called Nancy, running up. “We’re going to turn you over to the police.”
Mitzi glared. “Why, if it isn’t little Miss Detective herself!” she sneered. “And what have I done?”
“A great deal, Mitzi Channing. You’ve been selling fake stock certificates and you’ve stolen furs and jewelry. That should be enough.”
“That stock is perfectly good,” Mitzi snapped. “And I’ve never stolen anything. If this big gorilla will just—let—go—!” she added, trying to twist away from the trapper’s grasp.
“Where’s your husband?” Nancy demanded. “And where’s Dunstan Lake?”
“Wh-at?”
The startled woman flung back her head. As she did so, her cap, loosened by her struggles, fell to the ground, disclosing a pair of sparkling earrings. They were shaped like small arrows with diamonds at each tip.
“Those are Mrs. Packer’s stolen earrings,” Nancy charged.
“They are not. They’re mine,” Mitzi retorted. Then suddenly she clamped her lips tightly together and refused to say another word.
“Nancy, there’s a couple of state troopers at the hotel,” said John Horn. “If you’ll hurry back and get ’em, I’ll march our prisoner along and meet you halfway.”
“I’ll bring them as fast as I can,” Nancy promised, and started off on a run.
She planned to tell her aunt and the others about the capture, but met the troopers first and decided to wait until the prisoner was in custody. She told her story quickly and led the officers toward the spot where she had left the captive and John Horn.
But when they arrived, there was no sign of Mitzi Channing. They saw only the limp body of John Horn, lying unconscious on the snow with a large welt behind one ear.
“Oh!” Nancy cried in horror, and knelt beside him.
One of the troopers reached into his pocket for a tiny vial, nipped off the end, and held the spirits of ammonia under John Horn’s nose. Meanwhile, the other officer was inspecting the ground. He said that what had happened was plain. Footprints indicated that the trapper had been overpowered by two large men. Mitzi had vanished into the woods with her rescuers.
Fortunately, John Horn was not badly hurt and revived within a few minutes. He explained that he had been jumped from behind and had not seen his attackers.
“But I think I can identify one of those men,” Nancy told the troopers. “He is named Channing, alias Jacques Fremont.”
One trooper immediately set out to trail the men, while his partner hastened off to dispatch a radio alarm. Nancy and John Horn walked slowly back to the inn.
The old man protested that he was all right and that he needed no coddling. But Nancy insisted that he take a room at the hotel and have the house physician examine his injured head.
Nancy’s aunt and her young friends were greatly upset by the incident. They concluded that the Forest Fur Company gang must be desperate. Nancy called State Police headquarters, but there was no word about Mitzi or the men.
Chuck Wilson was deeply concerned over his old friend and spent nearly an hour in John Horn’s room. Because of this, he almost missed the special hunter’s dinner which the guests enjoyed immensely. The management had provided a hillbilly orchestra, which played old-time ballads and lively polkas. Afterward, the tables and chairs were cleared away for a series of square dances.
Nancy swung gaily through the “grand right and left,” then promenaded with Ned as her partner. When it was over, Chuck Wilson came to join them.
“I’m going upstairs again to see how old John is feeling,” he said. “Do you folks want to come?”
“Oh yes,” Nancy answered.
They found the trapper pacing the floor of his room like a caged bear. “The Doc won’t let me git outta here till mornin’, ” he grumbled. “He must think I’m a softy.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Nancy replied, and added affectionately, “You probably saved my life, Mr. Horn. If I’d been standing guard over Mitzi, those men might have carried me off and dropped me down some snowy ravine.”
“Don’t talk like that!” Ned said severely.
While she had been talking, Nancy had walked to a window to gaze at the beautiful moonlit landscape. Suddenly her attention was caught by a glimmer of light along the ridge at the top of Big Hill. A moment later she could see the steady beam of a flashlight moving rapidly toward the ski run. It seemed very strange at this hour.
“Boys,” she called, “why would anyone be up near the top of the jump at night?”
“I can’t imagine,” said Chuck as he and Ned joined her at the window. “Come on! Let’s find out!”
The three young people waved a quick good-by to the trapper and hurried downstairs to the checkrooms. Hastily changing to ski clothes, they dashed outdoors.
For a moment there was no sign of the light. Then suddenly it showed up again at the top of the ski run and came hurtling downward, as the unknown jumper soared expertly at the take-off and landed below with a soft swish and a thud.
“Good night!” Chuck cried. “What a chance he took! Let’s speak to him!”
He and Ned raced off into the darkness, for already the light had disappeared and a cloud had cut off the moonlight.
Nancy waited until the cloud passed over, then tried to spot the jumper. She could not see him.
“Where could he have gone?” she asked herself. “That man wasn’t just a phantom. He was flesh and blood!”
She turned toward the lake and the two giant snow statues which marked the end of the ski jump. Nancy’s heart pounded at the sight she saw.
By a mere flicker of light that glowed, then vanished like a firefly, she could detect the shadowy outline of a crouching figure in a white sweater huddled behind the nearer statue. The person was cramm
ing a bulky pouch into a hollow of the snowman!
As Nancy opened her mouth to call Chuck and Ned, a rough hand was clapped over her face.
“Quiet!” a harsh voice commanded. “And don’t try to run away or you’ll get hurt!”
CHAPTER XIX
Zero Hour
THERE was no escaping from the man’s iron grasp. With her captor’s fingers firmly gripping both arms, Nancy stood helpless, while the other man ran over from the statue. Roughly he stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth, tied her hands behind her, and bound her ankles together. Then the two men carried her swiftly toward the woods.
“If only Ned or Chuck had seen me!” Nancy thought. “Here I am with friends so close by and I can’t even call for aid.”
Although Nancy could not see the men’s faces, in a few minutes she knew who her abductors were, for they began to talk freely.
“Say, Jacques, how much farther is it to that cabin?” the shorter of the pair asked.
Jacques Fremont! The man whose other name was Channing! The man at the skating exhibition in Montreal! If only the police had not been obligated to release him!
“Just a little ways, Lake,” he replied.
Nancy caught her breath. So Dunstan Lake was a man, not a place I
Channing gave a sardonic laugh. “All we need to do is dump the Drew girl inside and lock the door. The place probably won’t be opened again until summer.”
“What a relief to have her out of the way!” growled his companion. “We had an airtight racket until Miss Detective began snooping around, asking for the Channings and Dunstan Lake. Although how she found out where we were, I’ll never know.”
“She’s clever,” Channing admitted. “But too clever for her own good. Now Miss Nancy Drew is going to pay for her smartness.
“Well, Lake, here we are. Suppose we see if this girl detective can solve the mystery of the locked cabin with both her hands and feet tied,” Channing continued with a harsh laugh.
The cabin was bitterly cold, even worse than outdoors, Nancy thought, as her abductors flung her down on a bare cot. Then, in the glare of a flashlight, Dunstan Lake, a squarish man with a bulldog face and beady eyes, made a mocking bow.