The Mysterious Visitor

by Campbell, Julie

  "Drop it!"

  Trixie whirled around to face Tilney Britten, alias Monty Wilson, who was standing in the doorway of the Robin, a pistol in his hand.

  "Drop it," he said again. "Can’t you see I’ve got a gun?"

  Prisoners • 17

  TRIXIE LET the pistol permit slip from her nerveless fingers. The boys had been right, after all. This man was a dangerous criminal. He would stop at nothing. And there was nothing to stop him. Now she remembered something she had only noticed subconsciously before. The new tow car was hitched to the trailer. He could leave right now and take her with him. No one would know she was missing until morning.

  Trixie swallowed hard. No matter what happened she was never going to let him know that she was afraid. "So, Mr. Britten," she said, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her, "you are an impostor, after all."

  He chuckled evilly. "You’re too smart for your own good, little girl. Since I’m going to tie your hands behind your back and gag you in a few minutes, I might as well let you do a little talking now. No one will interrupt us. I have said my fond farewells to that silly Mrs. Lynch and her generous husband. Now I’m ready to leave. My suitcases are outside."

  "That’s why you went upstairs to your room a while ago," Trixie said. "I should have guessed." "You’ve got a lot to learn," he said. "It’s too bad you aren’t going to live long enough to grow up and learn that you should mind your own business."

  "Don’t be silly," Trixie said. The thing to do was to stall for time. Maybe Harrison had seen her. Maybe the prim butler was reporting to Mrs. Lynch right now that her houseguest, wearing nothing but flannel pajamas, had wandered into the garage a few minutes ago. "Don’t be silly," she said again, forcing herself to smile. "You’re much too smart to harm me in any way, Mr. Britten. You know those portraits don’t prove anything and neither did my trip to Hawthorne Street. So you needn’t worry. I still haven’t got any proof that you’re not Mr. Montague Wilson.

  Not unless you plan to let me depart with that pistol permit, Mr. Britten."

  "I’m not going to let you depart at all," he said. "Now that you know my real name, you wouldn’t waste any time having me arrested. You can’t get a pistol license without being thumbprinted. No matter what name I took after I let you go, the FBI would track me down in a matter of a few hours."

  "The FBI will get you, anyway," Trixie said, "for kidnapping, if you don’t let me go. When the Lynches discover I’m missing tomorrow morning, don’t you think they’re going to put two and two together to guess what happened to me?"

  "They can guess," he said, grabbing Trixie’s hands. "By that time I’ll be miles away. The Lynches don’t know my real name."

  Trixie stood passively while he tied her hands behind her back. There was no sense in struggling. "You’ll never get a chance to cash that check," she said, in order to hide the lump of fright that was rising in her throat. "Try it tomorrow morning and see what happens—see how fast the police nab you."

  "What check?" he demanded. "I got cash from Lynch today. After our little conversation on the terrace last night, I decided to take no chances." He took a handkerchief from his pocket, wound it, and tied it tightly across Trixie’s mouth.

  Trixie sank down on a bunk and blinked to keep from crying. He pulled the draperies, partly covering the side windows, and left the trailer, locking both doors from the outside. Now there was no hope, no chance of rescue. She would have given anything to see a familiar face—even Bobby’s—then.

  Bobby! Trixie let the tears come. Would she ever see him or her mother or father or any of her brothers again? Then the lights went out, and the darkness made the situation intolerable. The motor of the tow car started up, and in another minute the Robin was bumping out of the garage and into the light again. At the same moment Trixie saw out of the comer of one eye that the door to the shower compartment was slowly, slowly opening. If she could have screamed, she would have screamed at the top of her lungs. And then, to her amazement and joy, a familiar, freckled face appeared in the crack. The boy who came out of the shower compartment was Mart Belden!

  They were in darkness suddenly, for the trailer had left the pool of the floodlights. But, thank goodness, Mart had a flashlight. He clicked it on with one hand and yanked the handkerchief from her face with the other.

  "Oh, Mart!" was all Trixie could say.

  "Take it easy, kid," he said gently as he freed her hands. "Don’t worry; we’ll get out of this scrape. And when we do get out, I’m going to be sure to blacken both of that guy’s eyes." "B-But how did you get in the shower compartment?" Trixie asked weakly.

  "Never mind that now," Mart said. "I was about to appear on the scene earlier, but when I heard Monty say he had a gun, I realized I had better stay put. Otherwise, I’d be in the same fix you were, and we would both have been helpless." As he spoke he opened the windows on both sides of the trailer.

  They had left the Lynch estate and were traveling along the deserted river road. Trixie jumped up to peer out of the back window, hoping against hope that she might glimpse the headlights of an approaching car.

  "Oh, Mart," she cried. "Why didn’t you yell as we passed the Lynches’ house? Someone there might have heard you."

  He shook his head. "With the doors and windows closed, the only someone would have been Monty. And don’t forget he’s got a gun, Trixie. And he won’t hesitate to use it, either. This escape of Monty’s is the last step in his scheme to get money from the Lynches. He’s not going to let us stop him now. Remember that, Trix."

  Now that she was no longer alone and helpless, Trixie began to recover her spirits. "I’m not likely to forget it," she said tartly. "But, Mart, suppose he sticks to back roads. What are we going to do?" Mart pulled off his sweater and handed it to her. "You’re shivering with cold," he said, "and haven’t sense enough to know it." As he helped her slip it on, he added, "About five miles from here, this road merges with Main Street at the intersection to the highway. Unless it’s his night off, Spider Webster will be on duty. If the light is red, Monty will have to stop, and we can yell out of the window. If it’s green, we’ve somehow got to attract Spider’s attention as we pass him." Trixie nodded. "But how?"

  "That I don’t know," Mart admitted. "I just keep hoping the light will be red, and at that point my mind goes blank."

  "I know what we can do," Trixie cried. "There are lots of pots and pans in the kitchenette. We can throw them at Spider. That’ll make him so mad he’ll surely jump on his motorcycle and go after the driver of the tow car. If, as you say, he’s on duty."

  "Any cop will do," Mart said. "You’ve got a brain, Sis. And boy, will it ever be fun to throw things and not get arrested for it."

  Trixie grinned. "I just hope whatever I throw lands near enough to Spider to attract Iris attention." She stopped suddenly. "Mart! Suppose nobody’s on duty at the intersection."

  "There’s just got to be," Mart said grimly. "There always is."

  "Yes," Trixie said, "but suppose he’s gone off after a car that was traveling too fast or a car that ignored the traffic light."

  "That can’t happen to us," Mart said. "And if it does, when we get on the highway, we can attract the attention of a passing car."

  "I doubt that," Trixie said. "They whiz by in both directions. And it’s night. If it were daytime we could yell and wave something out of the back window." Then, as she was struck by a horrible thought, Trixie grabbed the flashlight from Mart and turned it off.

  "What’s the matter with you—" he began. "The front window," she gasped. "Suppose Monty should look back and see a light in here." They almost knocked each other down in their haste to close that window and draw the blind. Trixie turned on the flashlight, and Mart collapsed on a bunk, mopping his brow.

  "Gleeps," he moaned, catching his breath. "Why didn’t I think of that?"

  Then, to their horror, they realized that they were hardly moving at all. Monty must have seen the light, after all, and was slowly easing the
car and trailer to a stop on one side of the road!

  "Quick!" Trixie whispered, handing Mart the rope with which Monty had tied her hands. "I’ll gag myself. You tie my hands together—and get back into the shower compartment!"

  Mart obeyed orders just in time. Monty, with both gun and flashlight, appeared a split second after the shower door closed. He directed the beam at Trixie, and she was sure he must be able to see and hear the wild beating of her heart. Suppose he decided to look in the shower compartment. What would he do if he discovered Mart? He could so easily bind and gag him, too. He could drag them both off into the woods and leave them there to die slowly from starvation and exposure.

  Trixie stared at him, hoping that her eyes looked defiant. He leered. "Thought I saw a light in here. Guess it was the reflection of my own headlights." He backed down the step, closed the door, and locked it. In a minute the trailer was speeding along the road again, and Mart came out of the shower compartment.

  As he released Trixie he said, "I died a thousand deaths in there. Do you realize the windows, except for the front one, are open now? When

  Monty was in here before, they were closed! And, Trix, you’re wearing my sweater! If he remembers you weren’t wearing one before, we’re sunk!" Trixie let out her pent-up breath in a long sigh. "He aimed the flashlight he was carrying at me and at nothing else. I never thought about the windows, and he must not have noticed the sweater. All I could think about was that this is a deserted road and lie had a gun in his hand.

  Mart peered out of a window. "It won’t be long now," he said. "We’d better get armed."

  "And man the portholes," Trixie said with a nervous giggle as she followed him into the kitchenette. "Let’s see. When we reach the intersection, the cop on duty will be on our left. So we’d better man the windows on the left side, huh?"

  Mart nodded. "Hold the flashlight while I get our ammunition in place." He stacked pots, pans, and their lids on the bunks underneath two of the windows. Then they sat down to wait.

  "A Likely Tale!" • 18

  IT SEEMED like hours to Trixie as she and Mart crouched on the bunks, waiting tensely. Mart’s voice was a croak as he whispered:

  "We’re moving faster and faster. Have you noticed it? He must plan to shoot through the intersection."

  "I hope he shoots through a red light," Trixie said. "He won’t get far if he does."

  "Not if Spider is on duty." Mart agreed. He grabbed a frying pan with one hand and a coffeepot with the other. "We’re almost there, Trix. Ready... on your mark... get set... go!"

  Kneeling on the bunk, Trixie threw her ammunition out of the window wildly. She got only a faint, dizzy glimpse of a policeman as they passed him, and hoped that at least one of the pots she had thrown would land somewhere near him.

  Then, without realizing what she was doing, she stuck her head out of the window and yelled: "Help! Help! Spider! Help!"

  Mart dragged her back. "Shut up! Don’t you realize what a fix we’re in if Monty heard you and nobody comes to our rescue?"

  And then they heard a shrill whistle and, a moment later, the roar of a motorcycle and the long, drawn-out wail of its siren.

  It was Mart who was yelling now, but he stopped after Spider shot past them.

  "Pull over, you!" they heard the policeman shout.

  The trailer slowed and finally stopped. The roar of the motorcycle sputtered into silence. Trixie took a deep breath and screamed, "Watch out, Spider! He’s got a gun."

  Without glancing in her direction, the policeman drew his revolver from its holster and said to the driver of the tow car, "What goes on here, anyway?"

  "I don’t know what you mean, officer." Monty climbed out of the sedan, and in the motorcycle headlight, Trixie could see that he was smiling.

  "So you don’t know?" Spider jerked his thumb over one shoulder. "So there’s nothing funny about the Belden kids yelling and throwing pans at me from the windows of your trailer?"

  Monty glanced coolly at Trixie and Mart, who were breathlessly hanging as far out of the windows as they could.

  "I never saw those kids before," he said with a shrug. "Stowaways, no doubt."

  Trixie found her voice then. "He locked us in, Spider. He’s got the key. Make him let us out. But get his gun first."

  Spider patted Monty’s pockets and took his pistol from one of them. "Got a permit to carry this?"

  "Why, certainly, officer." Monty handed him the folded piece of pink paper.

  Spider glanced at it. "Let the kids out."

  With a bored expression on his face, Monty obeyed. Trixie climbed out first. Spider glared at her. "I’ve seen you in some funny outfits, Trixie Belden, but this one beats ’em all. A sweater that’s four sizes too big, pajamas, and bare feet. What do you think this is... Halloween? Get back inside and get dressed properly."

  "I can’t," Trixie wailed. "I haven’t any other clothes with me, Spider."

  "The child is obviously out of her mind," Monty said. "Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go along. I’m sure you must have notified headquarters from your post before you left it, so a patrol car will be here in a minute or so. They can cope with these problem children."

  Mart spoke up then. "Spider, he’s a crook of the first water. And I—" He stopped as they heard a siren of the approaching patrol car.

  Spider frowned at Mart suspiciously. "You were saying?"

  "I can prove it," Mart finished. "Inside the trailer is a tape recorder. If you’ll let me play back the tape that’s on it now, you’ll see what I mean. It’s this guy’s confession that he’s an impostor, a kidnapper, and—"

  "Oh, Mart," Trixie interrupted. "You don’t have to tell lies."

  "I’m not lying," Mart said. He went back inside the trailer and, as the patrol car stopped behind it, came out with a portable tape-recording machine under one arm.

  Trixie was so surprised she sank down weakly on the trailer step. She could tell that Monty was even more surprised than she was. His thin face was white and pinched with both fright and anger. One of the two men in the patrol car got out and said to Spider, "What is this, a picnic?"

  Spider shook his head. "It’s all beyond me." He pointed to Mart. "I vote we all go inside the trailer and listen to what that tape may have to say." Mart shook his head. "I can’t play it back here. No electricity."

  At that, Monty pulled himself together. "Don’t you see, officers? It’s nothing but a .childish prank. I never saw either this boy or that girl before. When I locked the doors of my trailer, I didn’t know they were hiding inside." He laughed. "A joke’s a joke, but, after all, officer, I’m in a hurry, so I’ll-"

  "Wait a minute," Mart interrupted. "This is not a joke, Spider. When I got that man’s confession on this tape, the trailer’s current was connected. To an outlet in the Lynches’ garage."

  "Never mind; never mind," Spider said. "I’ve heard enough of this nonsense." He tinned to the other policeman. "Take ’em all to headquarters, Molinson. Maybe the sergeant can find out what this is all about." He got on his motorcycle and drove off.

  Trixie stared after him hopelessly. And then she realized that Molinson was staring at her curiously. Trixie opened her mouth to explain why she was dressed so peculiarly, but before she could say a word he exclaimed, "Now I know who you are! Trixie Belden! You were one of the kids who helped us catch those big-time pickpockets last August."

  Trixie nodded. "Now I remember you, too, Mr. Molinson. And please, won’t you take us all to headquarters? This man is really a dangerous criminal."

  "Let’s go," Molinson said, taking Monty’s arm. "Come along, kids."

  Half an hour later they were all seated in a private room at the police station. Both the sergeant and the lieutenant were there, too. Trixie tried to tell them the story from the very beginning, but Monty kept interrupting, so nothing she said made much sense.

  "I never saw these kids before," he said for about the fourteenth time.

  "You’re beginning to sound lik
e a broken record," the lieutenant said impatiently. He made a motion with his hand toward the door, and Molinson tapped Monty on the shoulder, motioning him to leave.

  "Come along with me, sir," Molinson said politely. "We’ll wait outside at the desk."

  After they had gone, Trixie began again. For Tom’s sake as well as her own, she left out of the story her visit to Hawthorne Street. When she started to describe how she had sneaked into the trailer when it was parked in the Lynches’ garage and had gone through Monty’s pockets, she began to stammer. "W-Well, th-then," she finished, "I— I t-turned around and th-there he was with a g-gun pointed right at me."

  "A likely tale," the lieutenant said sarcastically and turned to Mart. "Okay, son. Plug your machine in that outlet over there. Let’s hear what that famous tape you keep mumbling about has to say."

  Molinson returned then and stood by the closed door. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that elapsed while Mart obeyed the lieutenant’s orders. Trixie still had no idea how or when the tape recorder had got into the Robin, so she watched the spool turn without any hope that a sound would come from it.

  And then the stillness was broken by Monty’s voice. Trixie jumped, sure that he must be somewhere in the room, or that she was reliving that nightmare when he had caught her with the pistol permit.

  "Drop it!... Drop it. Can’t you see I’ve got a gun?"

  Another deafening silence, and then Trixie’s voice, so exactly like her own that everyone turned to look at her: "So, Mr. Britten, you are an impostor, after all."

  The tape spun out an evil chuckle, followed by Monty’s threatening voice: "You’re too smart for your own good, little girl. Since I’m going to tie your hands behind your back and gag you in a few minutes, I might as well—"