The Mysterious Visitor

by Campbell, Julie

  Your TRIXIE BELDEN Library

  1

  The Secret of the Mansion

  2

  The Red Trailer Mystery

  3

  TheGatehouse Mystery

  4

  TheMysterious Visitor

  5

  The Mystery Off Glen Road

  6

  Mystery in Arizona

  7

  TheMysterious Code

  8

  The Black Jacket Mystery

  9

  The Happy Valley Mystery

  10

  TheMarshland Mystery

  11

  The Mystery at Bob-White Cave

  12

  The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

  13

  The Mystery on Cobbett s Island

  14

  The Mystery of the Emeralds

  15

  Mystery on the Mississippi

  16

  The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

  17

  The Mystery of the Uninvited Guest

  18

  The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper

  19

  The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

  20

  The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road (new)

  21

  The Mystery of the Castaway Children (new)

  22

  Mystery at Mead’s Mountain (new)

  Copyright © MCMLIV, MCMLXXVII by

  Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Produced in U.S.A.

  golden, golden press®, and trixie belden® are trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  0-307-21532-6

  All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.

  An UnhappyFriend • 1

  TRIXIE AND HONEY linked arms As they left their homeroom. "Oh, woe," Trixie moaned. "Homework on a Friday. It’s not fair. It’ll ruin the whole weekend." She was a sturdy girl of thirteen with short sandy curls and round blue eyes. "Every October since I learned to write," she complained, "the English teacher has given us the same old assignment." Trixie frowned, looked down her nose, and said in a high-pitched voice, " ‘Now, children, I want you to tell me, in not less than two hundred words, what you did this summer.’ Phooey! If I hand in a hundred words, I’ll be doing well. And they’re all sure to be spelled wrong and not punctuated properly."

  Honey Wheeler, who was Trixie’s best friend, laughed. She had earned her nickname because of her golden-brown hair, and she had wide hazel eyes. Although they were the same age, Honey was taller and slimmer than Trixie. "You couldn’t possibly," she said, "tell about everything we did this summer, Trixie, in a million words. I thought we’d divide up our exciting experiences. Since he’s my adopted brother now, I’ll tell how we found Jim up at the old Mansion and lost him and then found him again when we solved the red trailer mystery. You could tell about the diamond we found in the gatehouse, and the thieves who stole it from us, and how you helped the police capture them."

  Trixie sniffed. "Telling about something is one thing; writing about it is another. I never could write about things and make them sound interesting—not even when I was very interested in them myself. My fingers ache at the very thought of holding a pencil long enough to explain all about the gatehouse and the diamond and the thieves and everything. And how the gatehouse is our secret clubhouse now. Of course, I’d never tell that part of the story, anyway."

  "I should hope not." Although it was the last

  week of October, it was a very warm day. Honey pushed her bangs back from her forehead with her free hand. "You shouldn’t even talk about our club in the corridor when so many kids are milling around." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Suppose someone guessed that the initials B.W.G. stand for Bob-Whites of the Glen. Oh, Trixie, wasn’t it fun the first day of school when we wore our special red jackets and just baffled everyone?"

  Trixie nodded. "I don’t know how you ever made those jackets so quickly, Honey. And as for cross-stitching B.W.G. on the backs in white, well, that baffled me. As far as I’m concerned, all sewing is cross-stitching, because every time I look a needle in the eye I feel cross."

  Honey hugged Trixie’s arm. "As long as we’re neighbors, you don’t even have to think about sewing. I’ll always do your mending for you, Trix. I just love to sew, and mending is no trouble at all."

  The girls lived on Glen Road, which was about two miles from the junior-senior high school in the village of Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. They, Jim Frayne, and Trixie’s older brothers, Brian and Mart, traveled to and from school by bus. The Manor House, which was the name of the Wheelers’ huge estate, included acres of rolling lawn and woodlands, a big lake, and a stable of handsome horses. It formed the western boundary of the Beldens’ Crabapple Farm, which nestled down in a hollow. Honey’s home was luxurious and very beautiful, but Trixie preferred the pretty little white frame house where she lived with her three brothers and their parents.

  "I hope we’ll always be neighbors," she said to Honey. "I would have died of loneliness last summer if your father hadn’t bought the Manor House. There was just no one around to talk to. Brian and Mart were away at camp, and there was nobody left but Bobby. And you can’t do things with him. Just keep him out of trouble—if possible—and wash his face and comb his hair and bandage his scraped knees. That’s not a very exciting way to spend a whole summer, let me tell you."

  "I know someone who’s dying of loneliness right now," Honey said thoughtfully. "And I feel awfully sorry for her."

  "Who?" Trixie asked curiously. With the exception of Honey, she had gone to grade school with all of the boys and girls who had entered junior high that September. She couldn’t think of one of them who had any reason for being lonely. Most of them lived in the pretty residential section of the town, which sprawled along the east bank of the Hudson River. Because they lived so near one another, they had grand times after school and during the holidays, whereas almost all of the bus children were separated from their friends by miles or at least acres. "Who?" Trixie asked again. "Diana Lynch," Honey said, whispering.

  "Di—lonely?" Trixie was so surprised that she almost shouted.

  "Sh-h," Honey cautioned. "She might be right behind us."

  "Why, she’s got everything," Trixie continued in a slightly lower voice. "Next to you, Honey, she’s the prettiest girl in our class. She doesn’t get very good marks, but neither do I. She’s got two sets of twins for brothers and sisters, and her father made a million dollars a couple of years ago. They have a huge place that’s as gorgeous as yours, high on a hill that’s even higher than your hill, with a marvelous view of the river. I’ve only been out there once, but—"

  "That’s the point," Honey interrupted. "Why haven’t you been out there more than once? Why doesn’t she ever sit near you on the bus? I thought you and Di had known each other ever since kindergarten."

  "We have," Trixie said. "And come to think of it, when the Lynches were poor and lived in a nice but rather crowded apartment on Main

  Street, she used to invite me home for lunch an awful lot. Her mother is a wonderful cook. I can still remember how yummy her pancakes and fried chicken tasted. Such a treat instead of sandwiches and milk!"

  "Her mother doesn’t cook at all anymore," Honey said. "She hardly ever goes into the kitchen."

  "Why should she?" Trixie demanded. "When Di asked me to lunch last spring—that’s when I saw their red trailer—the whole place was simply swarming with servants. Two nurses for the twins, if you can believe it. I wish Bobby had two nurses. He could ce
rtainly use them."

  Bobby was Trixie’s mischievous six-year-old brother, and more often than she liked, Trixie had to take her turn keeping an eye on him.

  Honey smiled. "You think you’d like a lot of servants, Trixie, but you wouldn’t. I was brought up by nurses, and I can tell you it’s no fun."

  "But the nurses don’t bother Di," Trixie objected. "And the lucky duck never has to wash dishes or dust or make beds the way I do on weekends."

  "Poor overworked you!" Honey’s eyes twinkled with laughter. "I happen to know that Brian and Mart do most of the dishwashing at your house, and everyone but Bobby makes his own bed, and as for all that dusting—well, I’ve seen you do it, Trixie. A lick and a promise is the only way to describe that chore of yours. If you find a spot you can’t blow off a tabletop, you put something on top of it."

  Trixie chuckled. "You’re right, Honey. I’d hate to have a lot of servants cluttering up our place. And nobody could possibly cook as well as Moms does. The funny part of it is that she never makes a big fuss about it, either. When she dons an apron she looks younger and prettier than ever, and she sort of wanders into the kitchen and wanders out again with an enormous meal." "How do you know Di doesn’t feel the same way about her mother?" Honey asked. "I mean, my mother can’t boil water without burning it, and so she never wanders into our kitchen. The other day Miss Trask told her we needed a new spider, and Mother screamed because she thinks all spiders are black widows, the way I used to." Honey giggled. "It took hours for Miss Trask to explain that the spider was a cast-iron frying pan." Trixie giggled, too. Honey’s parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents had been born rich, so it didn’t surprise Trixie to learn that Mrs. Wheeler was probably almost as much afraid of a frying pan as she was of a spider. Honey was most likely the first girl in the family for a long time who had cared to learn how to cook.

  "What did Di say to you?" Trixie asked curiously after a moment. "I didn’t realize that you two were good friends. How can you be so positive that she is unhappy?"

  "She never told me she was lonely," Honey said as they started down the wide front steps of the school. "But I was a new girl when we started school and would have been miserably lonely if it hadn’t been for you, Trixie. That’s how I happened to notice that Di was miserable—and yet, she isn’t a new girl. Haven’t you noticed? She hardly ever joins in any fun or activities and seldom speaks to the other boys and girls in our class."

  Trixie said nothing. Kindhearted Honey always seemed to know when people were unhappy. Conscience-stricken, Trixie realized now that Di had changed a lot, although gradually, during the last year. She had shiny blue-black hair that flowed around her slim shoulders, and violet eyes fringed with thick, curly lashes. She was so pretty that she was always the heroine in the grade-school plays, although she usually got her lines and words mixed up. But nobody minded, not even the teachers, because Di always laughed when she made a mistake and somehow managed to turn even the most serious play into a comedy.

  "It’s true," Trixie said suddenly. "She never laughs now, and she sort of hunches herself in a comer of the bus as though—as though she were ashamed of something. But why?"

  "I don’t know exactly," Honey said. "I’ve tried to make friends with her over and over again, but every time I speak to her, she looks more embarrassed than ever. See? There she is now, standing all alone at the bus stop over there. Can’t we do something about her, Trixie?"

  Trixie didn’t have a chance to reply because they were joined then by her brothers and Jim. Brian was sixteen, a year older than Jim, but they were both juniors because Jim had skipped a grade. Brian had inherited his father’s dark eyes and hair. Except that he was two inches taller, Mart looked enough like Trixie to be her twin, and they both had their mother’s blue eyes and blond hair. Jim, although not related to the Wheelers, had the same red hair and green eyes that Honey’s father had.

  Mart was eleven months older than Trixie and often treated her as though she were Bobby’s age. He was very fond of big words, too, and, because he knew it annoyed Trixie, used them frequently. He greeted his sister now with:

  "Do my old eyes deceive me? Is that a notebook which you have crammed so unattractively into your skirt pocket? Am I to deduce from this evidence that you plan to spend a small portion of the forthcoming weekend in the pursuit of knowledge?"

  Trixie gave him a sour look. "The answer to your simple question is yes. We have to write a theme for our English class!"

  Mart made a tent of his hands and rocked back and forth on his heels, as though he were a lecturer on a platform. "And what, pray tell, is to be the theme of your- theme?"

  "None of your business," Trixie said.

  "So?" Mart elevated his sandy eyebrows. "I was about to offer my services, for a small fee, a dollar to be exact. With my superior knowledge of all the subjects, my extensive vocabulary, and—" "We know; we know," Trixie interrupted. "We also know why you wear your hair in that funny-looking crew cut. Your little brain would collapse under the weight of a normal amount of hair." "Children, children," Brian said, grinning. "Must you quarrel from morning to night? It does get a bit dull after a while."

  Suddenly Honey reached out her hand and, tucking it in the crook of Di’s arm, drew her into the group. "I was just thinking, Di," she said impulsively, "that it would be wonderful if you could spend the weekend with me and Jim. Here comes the bus now, but there’s plenty of time for you to go back into the school and telephone your mother. You won’t need any clothes. We’re just about the same size, and I have loads of jeans and all kinds of T-shirts and sweaters."

  Di stared at her for a moment without speaking. Then she blurted, "I don’t believe it, Honey Wheeler. I don’t believe you ever wear sloppy clothes. I’ll bet you don’t even own a pair of jeans."

  "But I do," Honey said, smiling. "We all live in sloppy clothes after school and on weekends. I didn’t used to own any of them, but when I met Trixie, Miss Trask got me some so we could dress alike and have fun all the time. Miss Trask is my governess, you know."

  "Your governess?" Di shook her head. "That’s one thing I’ve been lucky enough to escape so far. How do you stand it?"

  "Miss Trask isn’t really a governess," Trixie put in hastily. "She runs the Wheeler place the way your butler does your place, Di. And she’s a grand person. We all love her."

  Di sniffed. "I can imagine! The way I love our butler. The stupid old thing! I can’t even ask a few friends home for cookies and milk after school without Harrison hovering around with silver trays and fancy lace doilies. I hate him."

  "Well, never mind," Honey said soothingly. "I know how you feel. We used to have butlers, too, and they were an awful bore. But now they’re all gone and we have Miss Trask and Began—"

  "Who’s Regan?" Di asked, and then she flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, I know I’m being nosy, and I haven’t meant to eavesdrop, but I can’t help hearing you kids talk on the bus. You’re always shouting back and forth to each other across the aisle, and I’ve heard you mention Regan so many times."

  "He’s our groom," Honey said. "We have five horses, you see, but Regan does a lot more than just take care of them. He and Miss Trask run the whole place together. I mean, the other servants take orders from them. We couldn’t get along without Regan. Could we, Jim?"

  Jim shook his head. The boys had been listening quietly, but now Jim said, "Make it snappy, Di. The bus will be leaving in a few minutes. Honey and I sure would like to have you spend the weekend with us. You’ve got just about time to telephone your mother."

  Di hesitated, then she raced off.

  "Oh," Trixie said in relief. "I’m awfully glad she’s going to come. I thought for a minute, there, that she was going to say no."

  Jim nodded. "She seemed pretty doubtful about the whole thing. It looked like you could use a little extra help to convince her."

  "Thanks, Jim," Honey said. "It was very thoughtful of you to invite her, too. You’ve all got to help me see
to it that she has a good time this weekend. Di’s awfully unhappy."

  "She sounded pretty grim," Mart agreed. He and Brian climbed into the bus.

  Jim said to Honey, "Di is grim. She looked desperate to me—as though she were at the end of her tether. But, of course, I hardly know her. Do you know what’s wrong with her, Trix?"

  "I don’t know," Trixie said. "She didn’t used to be tense and grim."

  "Well," Jim said, "I think we ought to try to find out what’s making her so miserable—if for no other reason than that the motto of our club is to have a brotherly and sisterly attitude toward other kids who may need help." He climbed into the bus.

  "Jim’s wonderful," Trixie cried. "Most boys wouldn’t have noticed that Di is unhappy. I guess Jim hasn’t forgotten how miserable he was when he had to five with that mean old Jonesy."

  "Jim is a very understanding person," Honey agreed. "That’s why the boys’ outdoor school he plans to start when he gets through college is going to be such a success. His pupils, even though they’re orphans, won’t be unhappy for one minute."

  "I wish all schools were like the one Jim plans," Trixie said. "I mean, sandwiching lessons in between sports and woodcraft. Lessons are always so boring."

  "I wonder what’s keeping Di," Honey said worriedly. "The bus will leave in another minute. I’m afraid she’s going to miss it."

  "Here she comes now," Trixie said. "And she’s smiling for a change. So I guess all is well."

  "I can come," Di said breathlessly as she climbed into the bus to sit between Honey and Trixie.

  "Oh, I’m so glad," Honey cried. "You don’t even have to worry about a toothbrush. Miss Trask buys them by the dozen, so we always have plenty of new ones on hand for guests."