“Hm-m, that’s right,” Nancy mused. “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. 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 but only one woman had bought furs and stock. Three others, more cautious, had turned down the proposition. One of those, a saleswoman herself, had considered notifying the Better Business Bureau, but had not done so.
Before retiring, Nancy wrote a letter to the Motor Vehicle Department advising them of her lost license. She hoped it would not be too long before a replacement was sent.
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.
Halfway 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 on the convertible and asked him to fill the tank. Then she said:
“Has a 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 ohed and ahed, the way womenfolks 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 exclaimed enthusiastically, “We’re on the right track!”
Masonville was only five miles from the gas station. The three young detectives 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 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 the 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 scared cousin seriously.
“I mean it,” Bess insisted. “You see for 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 hair. 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’re wanted for shoplifting, Nancy Drew,” said the stout man. “I place you under arrest!”
CHAPTER V
The Second Nancy
THE MAN in the gray overcoat motioned the girls to get out of the car. For several seconds they sat still, too astonished to speak. Then 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 inside pocket. His companion showed one also.
“We’re plainclothesmen,” he explained. “We were told to pick up a car with this license number and a Nancy Drew who owns it.”
“You can’t arrest Nancy!” Bess asserted.
George spoke up indignantly. “Nancy’s a detective herself. You’d better be careful what you say.”
The stout man looked grim. “Well, somebody detected her when she entered a fur store here and stole two expensive mink stoles.”
“I did no such thing,” Nancy declared quickly.
“Oh, yes, you did,” the slim man insisted. “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 realized that 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 personal data on the card.
“Let’s go to headquarters, girls,” Nancy said. “We’ll clear this up in no time.”
At headquarters a sergeant took down Nancy’s name and address. “Any relation to the lawyer in River Heights?” he asked.
“He’s my father,” said Nancy.
“Good grief!” Sergeant Wilks said, shaking his head. “You never know where these juvenile delinquents will come from!”
Nancy turned scarlet and George sputtered with anger. Neither noticed that Bess no longer was with them.
Suddenly the door was flung open. A distinguished-looking m
an hurried in, followed by Bess.
“Judge Hart!” Nancy cried, rushing forward to greet her father’s old friend. “You’re just the person I need!”
“That’s what Bess tells me.”
“You—you know the judge?” Sergeant Wilks stammered.
“Very well,” said Nancy.
Judge Hart turned to the sergeant. “Why are you holding this young woman?”
The officer repeated the charges.
“There’s a mistake somewhere,” the judge insisted.
“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 Hart 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. “No, this is a different person. The thief was older.”
“Was the woman wearing a mink coat, and did she have blue eyes and blue-black hair?” Nancy asked.
“Why, yes,” the man said. “That describes her.”
“Well, Sergeant,” said Judge Hart, “is Miss Drew free to go now?”
“Certainly. Miss Drew, can you tell us where we might find the woman you spoke of?”
“I wish I could,” said Nancy. “I only know that sometimes she calls herself Mrs. Channing. Besides being a shoplifter, she sells fake stock.”
“We’ll be on the lookout for her,” Wilks promised.
The girls walked with Judge Hart to his nearby office. Nancy thanked him for his help and told of the stock swindle.
“I’ve spent many summers in Vermont,” the judge remarked, “but I’ve never heard of Dunstan Lake. Let me make a phone call and find out where it is.”
The judge placed a call to the Vermont capital. When he finished his conversation, he declared, “There is no such place as Dunstan Lake anywhere in the State of Vermont. You have a real mystery on your hands, young lady. Let me know if I can help you.”
“I surely will,” Nancy promised.
As the girls walked back to the car, Bess asked, “Nancy, how do you suppose Mrs. Channing got her hands on your license?”
“Well, Mrs. Martin and I left her alone on the sofa after the accident. When Mrs. Channing regained consciousness and saw that we were out of the room, 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 pointed out. “Just like pickpockets.”
Nancy nodded and said, “Well, girls, let’s head farther north!”
“North!” chorused the cousins in surprise.
“I’m sure Mrs. Channing left Masonville right after that theft,” Nancy answered. “She wouldn’t dare turn back, so I believe she continued north.”
The girls rode rapidly, stopping frequently at small towns to inquire if anyone had seen a woman of Mrs. Channing’s description.
At the town of Winchester, George went into the Crestview Hotel and soon came rushing back. “We’ve found her!” she cried. “The desk clerk says a dark-haired woman in a mink coat registered here last night. But she isn’t in now.”
“She’s probably out robbing somebody,” Bess remarked.
“And listen to this!” George said, growing more excited every moment. “Nancy, she’s still using your name!”
Nancy’s eyes flashed angrily. “I’ve always been proud of my name and I resent having it connected with a thiefl Come on, girls. We’ll wait for her in the lobby.”
The three waited for an hour. Finally Nancy walked up to the desk. “We’re here to see a guest registered as Nancy Drew,” she told the clerk. “Do you suppose she came in another entrance?”
“That’s impossible,” the man said. “There’s only the back door used by our employees. I’ll ring her room if you like.”
There was no answer to the call. Nancy decided to take the clerk into her confidence. When the man heard the story, he offered to unlock the suspect’s room and see if there were any evidence that she was the thief.
“Please do that,” Nancy asked the clerk, who said his name was Mark Evans.
When they reached the room, Bess and George remained in the hall to watch for Mrs. Channing. Nancy followed Mr. Evans inside. The man glanced about, threw open the closet door, and cried out, “Her luggage is gone! She left without paying her bill!”
Nancy could detect the scent of the woman’s exotic perfume in the air. The young detective walked to a window, lifted it, and stared at the ground below. The snow was marked with scrambled footprints and several deep indentations.
“I can see how Mrs. Channing got away,” Nancy said. “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.”
“She can’t be allowed to get away with this!” Mr. Evans sputtered.
“Perhaps she left a clue that will help us find her,” Nancy suggested. She moved slowly about the room, searching the floor and furniture. Methodically she opened and shut bureau drawers. All were empty.
Suddenly Nancy stooped to pick up something from beneath the bed. It was a small black label used by stores to identify their merchandise. The name on the label was: Masonville Fur Company.
“Here is a clue!” Nancy thought elatedly
“Here is a clue!” Nancy thought elatedly.
At the moment Nancy made her discovery a voice said, “What’s wrong, Mr. Evans?” The speaker was a plump woman who peered curiously into the room.
“Good morning, Mrs. Plimpton,” the clerk answered. “We’re looking for a guest who occupied this room.”
“Miss Drew, you mean,” said Mrs. Plimpton. “We ate breakfast together and had a nice chat.”
Nancy suspected another stock sale. “I came a long way to see this woman,” she said. “I wonder if I might talk with you privately.”
“Why, certainly,” Mrs. Plimpton agreed. “My room’s just across the hall. Come over there.”
While George and Bess went to wait in the hotel lobby, Nancy listened to the woman’s story. Mrs. Plimpton had admired the fur coat which Mrs. Channing wore. The younger woman offered to sell her a mink stole at half price.
Later that morning Mrs. Channing had come to Mrs. Plimpton’s room and persuaded her to buy the fur stole. “But I didn’t have the five hundred dollars she urged me to invest in her stock,” the woman told her.
“Lucky for you,” Nancy said, and explained that the value of the stock was questionable. “Mrs. Plimpton, in your conversations with her, did this woman say where she might be going from here?”
The older woman shook her head. “I understood that she was to stay at Crestview for some time.”
“Mrs. Channing must have caught a glimpse of me as we entered the hotel,” Nancy thought. Aloud she said, “May I see the stole?”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Plimpton replied, and brought out a fur piece. There was no label in it.
“Mrs. Channing must have removed it,” Nancy said to herself. “But perhaps there’s some other way to identify it as stolen goods.” She explained her suspicions to Mrs. Plimpton and asked to use the telephone.
Nancy called the Masonville Fur Company and learned that every fur piece sold there had MFC stamped on one of the skins. At the time of purchase, the date was added.
Nancy borrowed scissors and quickly opened the lining of the stole. Near the neckline was the MFC mark. There was no date.
“I’ll let the fur company know,” Mrs. Plimpton said tearfully.
“I hope to recover your money,” Nancy said. “By the way, that thief is not Nancy Drew. Her name is Mrs. Channing. If you should ever see her again, be sure to call the police.”
When Nancy joined her friends in the lobby, Bess suggested that they go to lunch at a tearoom she had noticed a few blocks away. As the three walked toward it, Nancy told what she had learn
ed from Mrs. Plimpton.
“Has Mrs. Channing been doing this all along? Stealing furs and then selling them as a come-on for her fake stock?” George asked.
“I’m not sure where she got her first supply,” said Nancy. “But evidently business has been so good that she ran out of merchandise and had to resort to shoplifting.”
“Well, what next?” Bess asked.
“Before we leave town,” Nancy said, “I’d like to canvass all the exclusive shops and find out if they’ve missed any furs or—” Her voice trailed away. She had seen an elegantly dressed woman with shiny blue-black hair walking briskly along the opposite side of the street.
“I’ll be back!” she said quickly, hurrying across the street to follow the woman. Mrs. Channing was moving so rapidly that the girl had no chance to trail her subtly.
Nancy had nearly caught up to Mrs. Channing when the woman paused to look in a gift-shop window. An instant later she turned, ran down the street, and slipped into a small fur shop.
“She saw my reflection in that store window!” Nancy thought, and walked rapidly to the fur shop. She gazed cautiously through the window. Mrs. Channing was not in sight.
Nancy stepped inside. A small, stout man moved briskly to meet her, followed by a smaller and equally stout woman. “Something my wife and I can do for you, miss?” the man asked.
“I came in to inquire about a woman I saw enter this place a minute ago,” Nancy replied. “A tall woman in a mink coat. She has bluish-black hair.”
The storekeeper raised his eyebrows and shook his head, at the same time glancing quickly at his wife. “Perhaps you are mistaken?”
“I saw her come in here,” Nancy insisted. “I must find her.”
“Who are you, please?” the man demanded.
“My name is Nancy Drew, and—”
With a yelp of rage the little man leaped toward the girl, pinning her hands behind her back. The woman threw a dark cloth over Nancy’s head. Despite her resistance, the couple overpowered the young sleuth and dragged her to a rear room.
“Unlock the closet!” the man directed.
Nancy heard the click of a door latch. She was shoved among some fur coats. The door slammed shut and a key turned in the lock.