The Mysterious Visitor

by Campbell, Julie

  Mart groaned. "The plot thickens. What birds?" "The china ones in the study," Di explained. "It’s a very valuable collection, but each bird alone is worth about a thousand dollars. The last time I looked at them I thought two or three were missing, but since I’ve never counted them I couldn’t be sure. Now I am sure," she finished, "and I’m going to tell Dad the minute he comes home."

  "That won’t do any good," Trixie said. "You can’t prove that Monty stole them. Even the police would have a hard time proving that. The birds could have been broken or stolen during the Halloween party."

  "Let’s get back to Olyfant," Honey interrupted. "How did he happen to have the information Monty wanted?"

  "There are records at the county courthouse, and he could have got a lot of dope from back numbers of The Sleepy side Sun." Jim patted Honey’s hand. "You’re too young and innocent to understand the nature of shady characters like Olyfant. They make it their business to know all there is to know about rich or famous people like the Lynches."

  "I still don’t understand," Honey said. "Newspapers and county clerks don’t give information to just anyone, especially not to shady characters." "But crooked politicians do," Jim said, grinning. "That’s right," Mart said. "I’ve been looking into Olyfant. He has been arrested dozens of times but never convicted of anything. That spells a crooked political connection in capital letters." Trixie leaned across Honey to tap Mart’s knee. "You have been looking into Olyfant? I thought you were of the opinion that Tom was talking through his hat the other night when he said he saw Uncle Monty at the station."

  "Not me," Mart said. "Tom taught Brian and me how to fish and shoot. We used to tag along after him when we were Bobby’s age. I can’t remember when I didn’t know that he had a photographic memory. Once he’s traveled over a route, Tom can tell you every single landmark on it, and he never forgets a face."

  "That’s absolutely true," Brian agreed. "And it’s why Tom makes such a good chauffeur. One reason. Another is that he’s as honest as the day is long."

  "I know," Honey and Jim said in die same voice. Jim added, "I don’t know why I was dumb enough to think that Tom had made a mistake about Uncle Monty." He clutched his red hair with both hands. "Wishful thinking, I suppose. I couldn’t bear the thought of Trixie dragging us right back into another mystery so soon after the last one was solved."

  "Same here," Brian said with a rueful chuckle. "But now I am in the mood for a mystery. And I think that under the circumstances, since time is of the essence, it’s up to us to prove Uncle Monty is an impostor before he makes off with all that money."

  "He won’t be able to cash that check in a hurry," Jim said thoughtfully. "How’s he going to live in the meantime?"

  "Easy," Mart said. "He’ll sell the Robin right off. It would only handicap him in more ways than one. A, it would make him stick out like a sore thumb if Mr. Lynch should put dicks on his trail. B, it would slow down his speed."

  "I don’t agree with you," Trixie put in. "That trailer is a perfect little home on wheels. It has a darling little kitchenette and a bathroom with a separate shower compartment. Besides, it’s a very attractive combination living room and bedroom. And now it even has a TV set. I don’t think Uncle Monty would sell it in a hurry. Why should he? What’s he got to fear from Mr. Lynch? Nobody suspects him except us."

  "If he does sell it," Honey said, more to herself than to the others, "I wish he’d sell it to Tom. It would make a perfect home for him and Celia. Daddy would give them a nice plot of land." "More wishful thinking," Jim said. "Where would Tom get the money for a trailer?"

  "I don’t know," Honey admitted. "But it’s going to cost them an awful lot of money to put a bathroom and a kitchen in the gatehouse. Not to mention laying floors. I can’t imagine why Celia has her heart set on our clubhouse. It’s perfect for us, but I think she’s going to end up hating it. And so does Miss Trask."

  "The main reason why Celia likes it," Jim explained, "is because it’s on our property. If they set up housekeeping in the village, they’ll lose their jobs, because Dad and Mother have to have a maid and a chauffeur who live on the premises. The gatehouse is the obvious place, and there’s nothing we can do about it. So let’s get back to Uncle Monty. Trixie’s right. He’s not going to sell the Robin. It would make a perfect hideout if he ever should need one. All he has to do is park it in the woods beside a stream, first having stocked it with canned goods."

  "Without electricity," Mart objected, "it’s nothing more than a little house on wheels, and an awfully conspicuous one. Monty knows Trix suspects him. He can’t be sure that she won’t tell Mr. Lynch what she knows. Maybe not right away, but eventually. If I were in his shoes, I’d get rid of that trailer as soon as I cashed the check."

  "Well, you’re not in his shoes," Trixie argued. "And I don’t think he’s the least bit afraid of me. And even if he is, I agree with Jim. The trailer would make a perfect hideout."

  "Oh, let’s not argue," Honey wailed. "I feel so discouraged about everything. All my life I dreamed about belonging to a secret club and having a secret clubhouse, and then just when we get things all set, ping! The bubble bursts. There’s no sense in our sitting around here talking about Uncle Monty. There isn’t a single solitary thing we can do about him."

  "I feel discouraged, too," Di said. "Why don’t we just let him go? Dad won’t miss the money." "We can’t do that," Trixie said. "It would amount to practically the same thing as aiding and abetting a criminal, wouldn’t it?"

  "But we really don’t know whether or not he is a criminal," Di said.

  "I’m going to know pretty soon," Trixie said.

  "How?" everyone asked her at once.

  "Never mind," she replied mysteriously. "If I don’t have proof by tomorrow morning that Uncle Monty is a criminal, you can chop off my head." "Nobody wants your head," Mart said. "It looks almost natural where it is. But without the rest of you—no thanks." He shuddered elaborately.

  "Shut up, Mart," Brian said sternly. "This is no time to joke about corpses. If Trixie isn’t careful, she’ll end up as one."

  "That’s right," Jim added. "People have committed murder for less than fifty grand. You stay out of this, Trix. All of you girls stay out of it. Brian and Mart and I will get the proof we need." "I intend to stay out of it," Di said emphatically. "I’m scared of Uncle Monty."

  "Me, too," Honey admitted. "If he’d caught me out on this terrace in the dead of night, I know I’d have dropped dead on the spot."

  "Let’s drop death from the conversation," Trixie said with a chuckle. "Impostors don’t murder people. They’re borderline crooks and are careful not to do anything which might land them in jail."

  "Don’t be too sure of that, Sis," Mart said, drawing his fingers across Trixie’s throat. "Most crooks will cross the border for fifty grand. Now, I have a plan which will get us all the proof we need without endangering our lives in any way whatsoever."

  "What is it?" Trixie demanded sourly. "Something simple, I’ll bet. Such as, kidnapping him and torturing him until he confesses. Our clubhouse is just the place. No one will hear his screams." She got up and bowed. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, Mastermind. I knew you’d think of something."

  Mart returned the bow. "Thank you, Genius. How did you read my mind? That’s exactly what I plan to do: force a confession from him."

  "I give up," Brian said with disgust. "If you two are going to clown around, we won’t accomplish anything. I move that this meeting be closed." "I second the motion," said Jim. "Come on, kids, let’s go. Brian and I will think of something that makes sense."

  "All right, Brains," Mart said, leading the way out of the terrace, "but let me get my bike out of the station wagon before you depart. Don’t expect me again until you see me."

  "You’d better be home for dinner," Brian said. "Not so," Mart returned. "I have parental permission to partake of nourishment in the village this evening and to spend the night with a classmate who really is a
brain and who is coaching me in that most difficult of all subjects, math."

  Trixie and Di followed them out to the garage, where Brian had parked the station wagon beside the red trailer. Mart took his bicycle from the back, and then the others drove off. He stared at the Robin with a curious expression on his freckled face.

  "What’s the matter with you?" Trixie demanded. "One would think you’d never seen a trailer before."

  "I’ve never been inside that one," Mart said. "And I’d like to, since if it had not been for it, you and Honey might never have found Jim." He turned to Di. "I suppose it’s locked?"

  "Oh, no," Di said, opening the nearest door. She reached inside and turned on the overhead lights. "Go on in, Mart. Look around as long as you like."

  He went in and came out again in a few minutes. "A veritable palace on wheels," he said. "Does the TV set work?"

  "It had better," Di told him. "Two of Monty’s favorite programs are on this evening. One at nine and one at eleven. Two of Dad’s favorites are on at the same time, but they’re not the same ones."

  "Such luxury," Mart said, sighing. "Such luxury. So cozy. I imagine Monty stays out here in between programs."

  "No," Di said. "He and Mother sandwich canasta in between. They’re both fiends."

  Mart grinned. "Monty is a fiend, but your mother is an angel." He got on his bike and pedaled off down the driveway.

  Trixie stared after him thoughtfully. "Mart is up to something," she said to Di as they started back toward the terrace. "I wish I knew what it was. If only I hadn’t kidded him about his plan! If I hadn’t, he might have told me what it wasl"

  Just One Chance! • 16

  JUST THEN a brand-new sedan appeared on the driveway. "Here comes Monty now," Di said to Trixie. "Oh, Dad’s with him. I guess they must have met somewhere in New York and decided to come out together."

  They watched as Monty parked the car near the steps to the terrace. Both men got out, waved to the girls, and went inside the house.

  "That’s queer," Trixie said. "I thought your father hated the sight of Monty."

  "He does," Di said. "Why else do you suppose he had a TV set installed in the Robin?"

  "Then why didn’t he come home by train as he usually does?" Trixie asked. "I shouldn’t think he would have enjoyed driving from New York with someone he despises that much."

  Di frowned. "Dad looked awfully cheerful, too, didn’t he? He usually looks as though he had a tummyache when he’s in the same room with Monty—let alone in the same car."

  "There can be only one answer," Trixie moaned. "Your father’s happy about the whole thing because he knows Monty is leaving soon. And that means Monty must have the check in his wallet right now."

  "That suits me fine," Di said as they strolled toward the terrace steps. "I hope he leaves right after we’re finished eating dinner."

  "I don’t think he’ll leave tonight," Trixie said thoughtfully. "But if he has got the check, he’ll leave first thing in the morning. It’s not much fun driving at night in a brand-new tow car with a trailer."

  Trixie’s theory proved to be correct. Hardly were they all seated at the dining-room table when Mr. Lynch said to Di with undisguised joy, "Your uncle is driving back to the far, far West tomorrow morning, dear. Early tomorrow morning. So be sure to say good-bye to him this evening. He wants to avoid the traffic on the highway, so he’ll be gone before we are awake." Staring into her soup, Di said dutifully, "Goodbye, Uncle Monty."

  Mr. Lynch roared with laughter, but Mrs. Lynch gasped. "Diana!" she cried in a horrified tone of voice. "Couldn’t you wait until just before you go to bed? Really, darling. And you must remember to give your precious uncle a farewell kiss."

  The thought of kissing Uncle Monty made Diana shudder, and Trixie shuddered sympathetically along with her.

  "Fond embraces are not necessary," Mr. Lynch said to his wife. "The child hardly knows your brother. And since the chances are good that she will never see him again, I see no reason for a sentimental scene."

  Mrs. Lynch’s lower lip trembled. "My own brother, my long-lost big brother—"

  Monty patted her plump hand and said soothingly, "It’s all right, Sister. I know I am not popular with your husband and your daughter, although I have striven to please them in every way. They have never returned my affection, but I forgive them from the depth of my heart. Your husband has been most generous in giving me such a large endowment fund for my boys’ school. I am very grateful to him."

  "Well, I’m glad there are no hard feelings, Monty," Mr. Lynch said with a jovial smile.

  Trixie didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation; she was too busy thinking. Monty was leaving early the next morning. After that, it would be too late to prove that he was an impostor. Once he got away, even if she could prove it, Monty could be as far away as South America, for all she knew. Trixie looked toward Uncle Monty. He was smiling at something Mrs. Lynch had said and seemed strangely satisfied with himself. Suddenly Trixie made up her mind. She would search Monty’s room for clues that very night. Somehow she had to get a flashlight.

  After dinner the girls went straight up to Di’s room. Trixie unpacked the suitcase which Brian had carried upstairs earlier. Pretending to be very sleepy, she quickly donned a pair of flannel pajamas and slipped into bed. "Good night, Di," she said, feeling a little guilty because she hadn’t shared her plan with her hostess. But how could she? Di, herself, had admitted twice that she was afraid of Monty.

  "Good night, Trixie," Di said and turned out the bedside light.

  Trixie promptly sat up. "Why, it’s as light as day outdoors," she cried. "And it’s too overcast for the moon to be shining so brightly."

  "It’s the floodlights," Di said sleepily. "We usually leave them on until the last car has been put away for the night. It makes it easier to get in and out of the garage, you know." She yawned. "If the light bothers you, I’ll pull down the shades."

  "Oh, no," Trixie said hastily. "I love it." To herself she added, If you only knew how much I love it. She lay there tensely for what seemed like hours, thinking. At nine Monty went out to the Robin to watch television. At nine thirty he came back in to play canasta with Mrs. Lynch. It’s nine forty-five. Di is asleep. Now is the time.

  She slipped out of bed and into the hall. At the top of the stairs she listened to the murmur of voices. Sure enough, Monty and Mrs. Lynch were in the study. Then Trixie hurried on to Monty’s room. Somewhere in that room must be the evidence she needed to prove that he was an impostor. There had to be something—a letter, a notebook, a newspaper clipping....

  Trixie quietly closed the door behind her and stood there for a minute until her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. Beside the bed were two suitcases, strapped and locked. Trixie dashed across the room and flung open the closet door. It was empty. The bureau drawers were empty, too, and so were the bed-table drawers. Monty was not going to leave the next morning. He was obviously planning to leave that very night!

  Too late, Trixie remembered that he was in the study below. He could hardly have helped hearing her as she searched his room, slamming the closet door and the drawers in her haste. Quickly she darted into the hall. Someone had started up the stairs. Whoever it was would see her if she tried to get back into Di’s room. If it was Monty, she couldn’t hide in his room. If it was Mr. or Mrs. Lynch, she couldn’t hide in their room across the hall. And she couldn’t stay where she was in the hall. Every avenue of escape seemed to be cut off.

  "It has to be Monty," Trixie decided desperately. She streaked across the hall into Di’s parents’ room, softly closing the door in the nick of time. She leaned against it, holding her breath as she listened to the footsteps. Someone went into Monty’s room, came right out again, and went back downstairs.

  Trixie let out a long sigh of relief and tiptoed to the banister. The murmur of voices told her that Monty and Mr. and Mrs. Lynch were all in the study. Trixie couldn’t even guess how long Monty would st
ay there, but she knew that if she was ever going to get the evidence she needed to prove that he was an impostor, she would have

  to search the Robin for clues.

  It was now or never. Trixie flew down the stairs and left the house by the front door. She raced across the terrace and down the steps to the lawn. When her bare feet hit the graveled driveway, she winced with pain but didn’t dare stop. Harrison’s rooms were in the back of the house and overlooked the garage. If he glanced out of a window, he couldn’t help seeing her.

  Trixie shivered as much from cold as from nervousness. The temperature had dropped about fifteen degrees since the sun had gone down, and she wished now that she had put on the warm housecoat which Di had loaned her. By the time she reached the trailer step, her teeth were chattering and her hands were so numb she thought at first the door was locked. As she struggled with the handle, her heart suddenly jumped into her throat, for she heard a click inside.

  "No one’s in there," she told herself sternly. "Monty couldn’t possibly have got here ahead of you, and he’s the only one who ever uses the trailer. It must have been the electric clock." Then the handle gave, and she forced herself to step inside. It was gray darkness in the trailer, and the light from outside cast strange black shadows on the walls. Trixie felt her heart beating faster.

  Suddenly Trixie laughed at herself. "If I’m ever going to find any clues, I’ll have to turn on the light." She felt along the wall for the switch and turned it on. Then she opened the trailer door again. "Just in case I have to leave in a hurry," Trixie told herself.

  Ready to begin her search now, Trixie glanced around the room. She decided to go into the kitchenette to make sure no one was lurking in there. Then she opened the closet. In it was Monty’s topcoat, and she immediately forgot everything else as she searched the pockets. In an inside pocket she found a little black notebook which was held together with rubber bands.

  Trixie yanked the rubber bands off, and a piece of pink paper fell to the floor. Even before she picked it up, she realized that it was a pistol license. In one comer of it was a photograph of Monty, but the name of the person to whom the license had been issued was not Montague Wilson. In that space on the permit the name Tilney Britten had been neatly typed.