The Mysterious Code

by Kathryn Kenny

“Yes, we did, Trixie,” Bobby said. “We put the bills in people’s letter boxes, didn’t we, Daddy?”

  “They did,” Mr. Belden said. “They worked like little beavers.”

  “We worked so hard we’re tired,” Larry and Terry said. “We want to eat.”

  Trixie sighed. “I guess we all want to eat,” she said. “What time is it, Daddy?”

  “Almost twelve o’clock,” her father answered. “If we hurry over to Wimpy’s, we can get in before the crowd comes.”

  “We’ll be the crowd,” Mart said. “I’m starved. We’ll fill all the seats at Wimpy’s.”

  “Wait till we wash our hands,” Trixie called. “Come on, Celia, Tom, Regan, Mrs. Bruger, Bob-Whites. How about you?” she called around the screen to the Hakaito brothers.

  “We stay here,” they announced. “We finish work first.”

  “I’ll stay, too,” Celia said. “I wouldn’t go anyplace in this old work uniform!”

  “I’ll stay, too, with Celia,” Tom said. “Bring something back for us, Trixie.”

  Mrs. Bruger, the cleaning woman, refused to go, too, so the rest of them trooped out.

  Trixie was glad the showroom wouldn’t be deserted. There were so many valuable antiques there.

  “I haven’t seen a sign of one of Sergeant Molinson’s men all day,” she said.

  “What would a policeman be doing around today?” Mart asked. “With all of us there? The sergeant,” he added airily to his father, “seems unaccountably unable to appreciate the quality of my beloved sibling’s flat-footing.”

  “Whoops! There goes my appetite!” Trixie shouted. “Ask him to define the words, Daddy. I know he doesn’t know what they mean. What are you going to order, Bobby?”

  “Hamburger!” Bobby shouted. “Me and Larry and Terry want hamburgers.”

  “The same thing all around,” Mr. Belden said. “Right, kids?”

  Terry and Larry created a scene when their orders came. “Take mine back!” Terry shouted. “It’s no good. I want one like I had last night.”

  “Me, too,” Larry echoed.

  “Who made ’em?” Mike, the counter man, asked, bewildered.

  “My moms!” Bobby cried, laughing and beating on the counter. “An’ hers are the goodest,” he said, filling his mouth.

  “Maybe we could get her to work here,” Mike said sarcastically. “Take ’em or leave ’em, kids. People are lined up back of you waitin’ for ’em.”

  “It takes the kids to tell them, doesn’t it?” Jim asked on the way back to the showroom. “We aren’t going to be very popular with Mike for a while.”

  “It’s all in a day’s work to him,” Brian said.

  “Our day’s work is far from done,” Trixie said. “I’ll walk over to the car with Daddy and the boys if you’ll take the food back to Tom and Celia and Mrs. Bruger. They must be starved.”

  “I ordered some extra for the Hakaito brothers,” her father said. “Come on, boys!” He and Trixie herded the little boys ahead of them into the car.

  “Oh, by the way,” her father said. “I forgot and left this copy of The Sleepyside Sun in the car. I was going to give it to you. There’s a half-page spread about the show.”

  “An’ pictures of the jewel box,” Bobby added, “an’ Mrs. Vanderpoel’s silver, an’—”

  “All right, Bobby, let’s go,” his father said. “Trixie will see it for herself.”

  Chapter 17

  Brom’s Surprise

  When Trixie went back to the showroom she found that the Hakaito brothers had finished their part of the exhibit. A thin bamboo curtain hung in front of the corner, closing it off from the rest of the room.

  “Please to see exhibit of swords, Miss Trixie,” Oto said and drew aside the curtain.

  Back of the curtain there was a land of enchantment. The two walls were hung with scrolls of vivid, painted Japanese warriors, in various phases of their swordplay.

  “These are swords that warriors use in Japanese drama,” Oto explained, indicating the swords and daggers surrounding the scrolls.

  On shelves on one wall the Japanese brothers had displayed little silk-clad dolls depicting the famous cherry blossom dance in Tokyo, little painted ladies in gaily flowered kimonos and carrying tiny, delicate fans.

  Trixie was fascinated. She put her hand up, to set in motion a series of tinkling glass wind bells which hung from the shelves. The other Bob-Whites gathered around back of her, eyes big with wonder.

  On the opposite wall, on shelves, exquisite ivories were arranged, little rickshas pulled by miniature Japanese men, boxes which when opened revealed other boxes, and inside them still other boxes, all carved in lacy patterns. There were small birds and lotus flowers, little ivory sampans and lovely ladies, bearded old men and Japanese gods. From the shelves, to match the wind bells on the opposite wall, hung delicate black enameled cricket cages skillfully woven of reeds.

  “You like it, Miss Trixie?” Oto asked.

  The Bob-Whites burst into spontaneous clapping.

  “It’s marvelous!” Trixie said. “We should charge extra just to let people see it. It’s the loveliest, most beautiful, most—”

  “Artistic, charming, exquisite, superb, magnificent …” Mart supplied, and Trixie nodded vigorously.

  “For once in your life, Mart,” she said, “you’ve run out of words. How can we ever repay you for doing this?” she asked the Hakaito brothers.

  “We repaid already,” Oto said, and Kasyo added, his grin widening to his ears, “Miss Honey tell her cook Hakaito brothers have best vegetables.”

  “And very good fruits,” Oto added. “We go now.”

  “Just think,” Trixie said. “If we hadn’t been going to have our show we’d never have known Oto and Kasyo.”

  “Yes,” Jim agreed, “and here we are thinking we’re doing so much for people all over the world, and these two Japanese men take time out from their work—and they work terribly hard—to do this for us.”

  “Not so much for us,” Diana reminded him, “as for the United Nations Children’s Fund. I do hope we make a lot of money.”

  “We’d better get busy and finish this room, if we’re ever going to be through in time to open tomorrow,” Brian said. “Look at that, there’s Spider! I thought you said he was on duty and couldn’t watch our exhibit for us.”

  “He’s off duty this afternoon,” Trixie said, “and on duty till eleven o’clock tonight. After that, he said he’d watch things.”

  “Will you look who’s with him?” Mart said. “Mrs. Vanderpoel!”

  “And—it can’t be—it is Brom!” Trixie said.

  The little Dutch woman came bustling in, her hat askew over her blue eyes and pink cheeks. “I’d have had to stay home if it hadn’t been for Spider,” she said, “and I did want to come in today. I don’t want to be here tomorrow with everyone gallivantin’ around. I want to see what you have, without a lot of people around who don’t know a trivet from a warming pan.”

  “It’s grand to have you here,” Trixie said, “and you, too, Mr. Brom,” she said to the old man who hovered close to Spider’s side. “Bobby just left about half an hour ago. His heart will be broken because he didn’t see you.”

  “We’re going to stop at Crabapple Farm on the way home so Brom can see Bobby,” Spider said. “That was part of the bait I used to get Brom to come with us.”

  Mart took the old gentleman in charge and walked around the showroom with him, explaining just who owned the various articles exhibited. Brom knew the old families and their history back to colonial days. He grew more talkative as Trixie joined them, and he told bits of history of early New York.

  When they came to the carved lap desk he paused, seemed a little confused.

  “That’s the desk those crooks stole from Bobby and me that day we were at Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house,” Trixie said.

  The little old Dutch woman, hearing her name, crossed the room.

  “I was showing Mr. Brom the desk,” T
rixie said. “We’d surely like to know who it was that brought it to the old schoolhouse the night of the blizzard.”

  Brom’s face turned dull red. He fidgeted and tried to turn away.

  “It’s no secret,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said. “Brom did it.”

  “Jumpin’ Jeepers Jehoshaphat,” Mart said, drawing in his breath. “He did? How?”

  “I tracked that boy down,” Brom said, “that no-good boy who was shovelin’ the walks that day and ran away without his pay.”

  “Brom was sure he had something to do with stealing that desk,” Mrs. Vanderpoel explained. “So he shadowed the poolrooms in town till he saw the boy.”

  “Then I followed him to where he lived,” Brom said and added triumphantly, “and there was that desk. I saw it through the window of his house, settin’ right there on a table as big as life!”

  Jim and Honey and Brian joined the group, hearing bits of the conversation.

  “How on earth did you ever get it out of his house?” Jim asked.

  “Stole it back!” the old man said, laughing and slapping his sides. “He didn’t know what hit him! I just opened the door, went up back of him, buckled his knees, knocked him down, took the desk, and high-tailed out of there!”

  “He just told me about it a short time ago,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said. “He’s smart as a fox, Brom is, isn’t he?” she asked Trixie.

  “Yes … yes, he is,” Trixie agreed enthusiastically, then looked at Jim, her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

  “That doesn’t tell the whole story,” she said. “How did it ever get outside that schoolhouse the night of the blizzard? That’s still a problem for the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency to try and solve.”

  “Wasn’t no problem at all,” Brom said. “I did it.”

  “You went out in that blizzard to leave that desk at the schoolhouse?” Trixie asked. “That’s pretty hard to believe.”

  “Believe it or not,” the old man said with spirit, “I’ve been trampin’ those woods for seventy years, winter and summer, and I know ’em better than a fox or a rabbit.”

  “That may even be so,” Jim said, scratching his head, “but why on earth didn’t you just give it back to us at the clubhouse, or at Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house, or Crabapple Farm?”

  “Because I live not five hundred feet from the old schoolhouse,” Brom said.

  “You just stop askin’ any more questions, all of you; you got your desk back, didn’t you?” Mrs. Vanderpoel said. “Getting an old man all stirred up just because he set that trap that Reddy got caught in, and wanted to make it up to Bobby! Bunch of busybodies!” the old woman said scornfully.

  “Now, now,” Brom said, “let’s be friends. I shouldn’t have set that trap, and you know it. Just tryin’ to earn a little money gatherin’ fox pelts. I should have thought of a dog gettin’ caught. Desk looks mighty pretty settin’ there,” Brom said, “and all the rest of Mrs. Vanderpoel’s things. Ain’t none of them, even the foreign things, any prettier. Would you like to put this on top of the desk, Trixie?”

  Brom fumbled in the big pocket of his overcoat and brought out a child’s antique bank. An iron man sat in an iron chair with his iron hand held out in front of him, palm up. Brom dropped a penny in the outstretched hand. The iron man nodded his thanks, reached around with his iron hand, and dropped the penny in a money slot.

  “It’s marvelous!” Trixie cried. “It’s darling, and so are you!” she said and gave the old gentleman a hug.

  His face grew red but he smiled from ear to ear and patted Trixie’s arm.

  “Sell the bank,” he said. “It’s for all those little kids who’re hungry.”

  When Spider had taken Mrs. Vanderpoel and Brom away, a sober-faced group of young people went back to their work.

  “If we never hear another word of thanks for what we’ve done,” Trixie said, “I’d do all the work over again a dozen times just to get to know people like Brom and Mrs. Vanderpoel, and Oto and Kasyo.”

  “You said it!” Mart agreed. “And Spider and Tad, too.”

  “And that goes for Tom and Regan and Celia and Mrs. Bruger, and Mr. Maypenny and everyone else who has helped us … all the people who let us take their antiques … and our parents …” Trixie said.

  “Sleepyside is a wonderful place. I’m glad I live here,” Honey said.

  “Yeah,” Mart said. “Who’d want to live any other place on earth?”

  Chapter 18

  Night Watch

  “Oh, Moms, it’s the most beautiful place!” Trixie, starry-eyed, sat at the table and unfolded her napkin. “Why didn’t you come to see the showroom? Even Mrs. Vanderpoel and Brom came in. It looks like fairyland.”

  “Daddy hasn’t talked of anything else, and neither has Bobby, ever since they came home. I’m so proud of all of you. I thought I’d go tomorrow, and tonight I’d have a good warm dinner waiting,” Mrs. Belden said. “Eat something, dear.”

  “I just don’t seem to have any appetite,” Trixie said dreamily. “You should see the way that musical jewel box looks, Moms. And the Japanese exhibit, and Mrs. Vanderpoel’s silver …”

  “I know it’s wonderful, dear, but do eat your dinner now and forget about the show until tomorrow.”

  “I have to talk about it, Moms,” Trixie said. “Daddy, why do you suppose the policeman on that beat didn’t stop in to see us? We waited a long time thinking he would pass the showroom.”

  “Gosh, Trixie, are you going to start that all over again?” Mart asked. “Dad, she hasn’t talked about anything else. If she had her way, she’d sit up all night and watch.”

  “I would not, Mart Belden,” Trixie declared. “Did you happen to notice how that musical jewel box shows up through the window? It’s an invitation to thieves.”

  “Of course I noticed it. You can’t seem to get it through your head that right across the street, in the bank, there are thousands and thousands of dollars. You don’t see Dad going into a nose dive over it every night, do you?” Mart was tired and cross.

  “He doesn’t have moneybags in the window for all the thieves to see,” Trixie said, “and he has vaults and things with big time locks. And besides, he hasn’t had anyone named Snipe Thompson waiting to grab the moneybags. Two of those thieves are still at large, and we know right well one of them is that horrible Snipe.”

  “That’s enough, Trixie,” Mr. Belden said. “I wish you would please stop talking about it. Everything will be safe. Just stop worrying, will you please?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Trixie said obediently and she tried to eat her dinner.

  She didn’t stop worrying, though. After she went to bed she couldn’t go to sleep. After all, she thought to herself, Daddy didn’t see those thieves who hijacked the desk. He didn’t see Bull Thompson when he broke into Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house. He didn’t see the way that clubhouse looked when those robbers tried to set it on fire. He didn’t see Snipe Thompson … well, neither did I but he’s a bad man.

  Trixie turned and tossed, one name going through her mind time and time again … Snipe Thompson. “Why didn’t I insist that Sergeant Molinson bring Snipe in and question him?” she asked herself. “Why didn’t I? Because the sergeant wouldn’t have done it. He didn’t pay any attention to me when I tried to get him to investigate that blue and white sedan. How do I know he even inquired at the pawnbroker’s? How do I know he’ll pay any attention to the showroom now? But Daddy said …”

  The clock ticked on. Trixie just couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet. Trixie’s mind was not quiet.

  Finally she could stand it no longer. She turned on the light. Her desk clock said eleven o’clock. It was time Spider was showing up at the showroom if he had any intention of watching it.

  Quietly Trixie put on her clothes, opened her door, listened, heard nothing, then tiptoed down the stairs. She reached for her coat in the hall closet, and a scarf, then went outside and down the walk to the road that led to Sleepyside.

  She hadn’t gone far when, bac
k of her, she heard the unmistakable chug of Brian’s car. He pulled up opposite her and stopped. “Have you lost your mind?” he asked. “It’s after eleven.”

  “I know it. You can go right back home,” Trixie said. “You aren’t going to stop me.”

  “Who said I was? I’m wide-awake now and might as well go in and give the place the once-over. Say, Trixie, isn’t that Jim up ahead?”

  It was. Laughing, he climbed into Brian’s jalopy. “We all had the same idea, didn’t we?”

  “Yes,” Trixie said, “and I thought I was the only one who worried. Gleeps, I’m glad you’re both going. Moms and Dad won’t be quite so mad at me. How did you happen to get your jalopy out without anyone hearing it, Brian?”

  “I left it down the road, opposite the driveway. Didn’t you notice it?”

  “I did not. And that means you intended to go into town all the time. Did you, too, Jim?” Trixie asked.

  Jim didn’t answer.

  “I like that!” Trixie said. “You weren’t going to say a thing to me about it, and you pretended I woke you, Brian.”

  “We thought you’d been in enough danger,” Jim tried to explain.

  “Thank you very much for your concern, Jim Frayne,” Trixie said. “Oh, all right. I’m here. We don’t have time to argue. I just hope Moms and Daddy don’t wake up and find we’re gone.”

  “That’s a chance I had to take with my family,” Jim said. “Brian, turn down the street next to Main Street, then come back and park east of the showroom. Maybe we’ll run into Spider.”

  A lone light shone faintly in the showroom, back in the corner opposite the Japanese exhibit.

  Spider came to meet them from the drugstore nearby. “I thought some of the Bob-Whites would be showing up,” he said. “I have the key to the building right next to the showroom. A man I know who has an office upstairs said I could use his office. We can go up there and keep watch through the window.”

  “Did you see the regular patrolman anyplace around?” Trixie asked.

  “He only passes here about every hour,” Spider answered. “He spends most of his time patrolling the alleys that lead off of Main Street to Hawthorne Street. That’s one reason I wanted to come down and keep an eye on things myself tonight. I don’t think anything will happen, but I know you kids are worried about those borrowed antiques.”