En Garde (Nancy Drew (All New) Girl Detective Book 17) Read Online Free PDF Page A

stepped in to pull the coaches off each other. Other officials began to shoo spectators off the fencing floor. The TV cameraman was asked to turn off his camera and harsh lights. Kovacs and Mourbiers were led away to a side area where they could sort out their dispute verbally.
    Since I couldn’t follow them without being completely conspicuous, I rejoined my friends. “Wow,Nancy, did you see them punching each other?” Bess asked.
    I nodded. “Yup. At least, Kovacs was punching Mourbiers. It didn’t look to me like Mourbiers was hitting back much.”
    “It all got out of hand so quickly,” Ned said.
    I stole another glance at Paul Mourbiers, who was dusting off his suit and smoothing back his short auburn hair. He didn’t look too upset. Bela Kovacs was another matter. His hair stuck out in all directions, his eyes were flashing, and his tie was askew. His once-crisp dress shirt gaped open where buttons had popped off during the fight. “Evaline, what was it you said earlier—about Paul Mourbiers provoking Bela Kovacs on purpose?” I asked.
    My friend the librarian gave me a shrewd look. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Paul Mourbiers plays that guy like a violin!”
    I was surprised—usually Evaline isn’t so cynical about people.
    “Bess,” I said slowly, “remember before the match, we were wondering why the TV crew came to this event.”
    “Yes,” Bess said. “And George suggested that Bela Kovacs told them about it, to drum up publicity for Salle Budapest.”
    Ned shook his head. “Boy, if he did, it backfired onhim. This news coverage will be terrible for his salle’s reputation.”
    “I agree,” I said. “But we have no evidence Bela Kovacs called the TV station. Only, I was just thinking—who else might have made such a call?”
    Evaline raised her eyebrows. “Paul Mourbiers. He also has a vested interest in attracting publicity for fencing, doesn’t he?”
    “Exactly,” I said. “In fact, the way things developed, it couldn’t have worked out better for Salle Olympique.”
    “Or worse for Salle Budapest,” Ned finished my thought. “But do you really think Mourbiers would go that far, just to smear a rival?”
    I looked over at Evaline. “Ms. Waters, you’ve followed their feud for some time. What do you think?”
    The librarian looked troubled. “My goodness, Nancy, I’d hate to think anyone would stoop that low.”
    I looked at the fencing floor. Things seemed to have settled down. Fresh bouts were taking place on all the fencing strips. I spotted Kovacs, huddled now at the far end of the field house with George and Damon, but there was no sign of DeLyn. Not that I blamed her. Kovacs’s rotten temper had cost her a victory.
    Una sat on her equipment bag, cradling her bandaged arm in her lap, just a few yards away.
    Her coach was on the other side of the fencingfloor, talking into the TV reporter’s microphone—smiling and nodding, being very French and very charming.
    I got that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one I get when I sense someone’s not playing fair. Had Paul Mourbiers convinced the television station to cover this tournament, knowing all along that he would goad Bela Kovacs into an ugly public fight?
    And if so, how far had he gone to make Bela Kovacs look bad?
    Had he given his own fencer a damaged gauntlet, knowing that she might get hurt—just for the sake of a little publicity?
    Back at home that night, I huddled in an armchair reading, while Hannah did needlepoint and my dad read the paper. The television hummed quietly in the background.
    “Why, look, Nancy,” said Hannah. “They’re talking about that fencing tournament you went to today.”
    I looked up from my book, suddenly alert. “Oh, no. Turn up the sound, Dad.”
    My dad lowered his newspaper and tapped the volume button on the remote control. “That’s right, George is a fencer now. How did she do in her first meet?”
    “George? Oh, she lost,” I said,