“Why didn’t you show it to someone before?” Jim asked, exasperated. “I wish you wouldn’t try to do so many things on your own. If the police had had it, they might have been able to trace the car long before this.”
“Don’t be mad at me, Jim. I didn’t know it had anything to do with the car the thieves used.”
“You could have tried to find out what it was before this. Come on, let’s go and use the public telephone.”
“You aren’t going to call the police and give them my clue, are you, Jim?” Trixie asked.
“It isn’t your clue, Trixie, and the police are sure enough going to have to know about this key ring tag. I’m going to call the Motor Registration Bureau over at the county seat, and see if they can tell me who owns the car with this number.”
Meekly Trixie followed Jim out into the hall and listened while he called.
She heard him ask for information, listen for an answer. “I have a good legitimate reason for wanting to know it,” she heard Jim say.
When he turned away from the telephone, however, she could tell from the look on his face that he hadn’t been given the information.
“They say they never give it over the telephone,” Jim said, “only to insurance companies and the police.”
“Then we’ll just have to go and see Sergeant Molinson after school,” Trixie said.
“You don’t have to go,” Jim said. “I can go.”
“Like fun you will,” Trixie said. “It’s my clue, and if you think for one minute, Jim Frayne, that you’re going there without me—”
“Calm down, calm down, smooth your hair back, Trixie,” Jim said. “I just thought you’d have to help your mother, or do some work at the club.”
“There isn’t anything I have to do to help Moms, and most of the work is done at the club,” Trixie said.
“Come along, then,” Jim said.
But it wasn’t that easy. When Jim and Trixie told the rest of the B.W.G.’s they were going to do an errand in town after school, Mart was suspicious.
“It’s another one of Trixie’s ‘cases,’ as she calls them,” Mart said. “I have another name for them.”
“It’ll be a big word no one can understand,” Trixie said.
“Just try to remember, Trixie Belden,” Honey said, “that we are all members of the Bob-Whites of the Glen. If you know something about that robbery that the rest of us don’t know, you’d better tell us.”
“Yes,” Diana said, “it seems to me you’re getting so you think you know everything, and want to do everything yourself. You’re not even any fun any more.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trixie said, perplexed.
“We’re talking about just what it is you have to do after school tonight that you can’t tell the rest of us,” Mart said. “Spill it, Trixie.”
“If you are all going to be mad at me I might just as well tell you,” Trixie said. “It’s just that I found this tag the night of the fire. I thought it was a dog tag and that maybe it belonged to Patch. Jim says it’s a key ring tag and probably this number on it will tell us who owned the car the thieves made off in. We were going down to the police station to have them call the Motor Registration Bureau for information.”
“Then we’ll just go right along with you,” Mart said. “We wouldn’t want to deprive you of our company, would we?” he asked the other B.W.G.’s.
“We wouldn’t think of it,” they chorused.
“We won’t be taking the bus,” Diana said over her shoulder to the bus driver who held the door open.
“You call Moms,” Trixie said to Brian, “please. She’ll think everything is all right if you call her and tell her we’ll be a little late.”
“Don’t bother to call,” Honey said. “Tom is going to bring Mother in to the station to take the train to meet Daddy in New York. I’ll tell him to pick us up at the schoolhouse. We’ll get home about the same time we would if we took the bus.”
So it was arranged.
On the way to the police station the Bob-Whites passed the small retail store where the Hakaito brothers sold the produce they raised in their outlying farms and greenhouses.
Kasyo was in the window arranging a display. When he saw the Bob-Whites pass, he waved to them frantically, and called back to his brother Oto. Together they threw open the door, grinning and bowing.
Inside, Oto pulled out a bench and some chairs.
“Please to sit down,” he invited.
“We’re sorry, Oto,” Jim said, “but we have to hurry over to the police station.”
“Won’t take long,” Oto said. “Maybe have something more to tell police. You miss something from clubhouse the night of Valentine party?” he asked.
Trixie’s face fell. “The swords,” she said. “Now you’ll never be able to buy them for your father and the museum in Tokyo. They were stolen.”
“Hakaito brothers have swords,” Oto replied. “We find them in pawnshop in White Plains. Thief pawn them there.”
“He did?” Trixie exclaimed. “Did you ask the pawnbroker for a description of him?”
“Yes,” Oto said sadly. “He said he didn’t remember who pawned swords. I do not think he tell the truth.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Mart said. “Those people are always afraid they’ll get in bad with the law.”
“Maybe the police can help jog his memory,” Trixie said. “We’re going there now, you know,” she said to the Hakaito brothers. “Did you say you have the swords now?”
“Yes, Miss Trixie,” Oto said. “Hakaito brothers buy samurai swords. We were going to take them to clubhouse tonight, give them back to Bob-Whites of the Glen. Here are your swords!”
Kasyo unrolled the paper from a package he pulled from under the counter and displayed the Satsuma samurai swords, polished and beautiful.
While Mart and Brian and Honey and Diana exclaimed over the return of the swords and chatted with the Japanese brothers, Jim and Trixie, huddled in the background, whispered busily.
“We can’t possibly accept the swords, can we?” Jim asked the others, interrupting their conversation.
The Hakaito brothers’ faces fell.
“You not accept present?” Oto asked.
“No,” Trixie said. “You want those swords to send to your father. They are yours. They belong in Tokyo. You paid money for them at the pawnshop, money you worked hard to earn.”
“Makes no difference,” Oto and Kasyo said, then Oto continued, “Money is for little UNICEF children. We give swords. Maybe be lucky enough to buy them back at antique show.” They both grinned happily.
“Why not just consider lending them to us for the exhibit?” Jim inquired. “We’d never feel right if you weren’t able to send them to your father.”
The Hakaito brothers held a conference in quick, sibilant whispers.
“How much you think swords sell for at show?” Oto asked.
“Maybe a hundred dollars for the pair,” Trixie said. “I think that is what we planned to ask for them. Why?”
“We pay only fifty dollars,” Oto said happily, “at pawnshop! We pay you fifty dollars more, then we own swords, and you exhibit them at show. That right?”
“It’s wonderful!” Trixie said. “I’m so glad we will have them to display at the antique show.”
“You like maybe to show other swords?” Oto asked hesitantly.
“We sure would!” Mart exclaimed. “Do you have others?”
“Yes,” Kasyo said, “six other swords. After antique show we send all to Tokyo to our father. We have Japanese prints and carved ivory, too. You like to show them?”
Trixie clapped her hands, delighted. “We’d love it,” she said. “Shall the boys pick them up tomorrow?”
“If you like we fix exhibit at showroom,” Oto said. Kasyo nodded vigorously. “We fix Japanese style,” he said.
“That will be swell!” Jim said.
“Keen!” Mart added.
“T
hanks a million,” Trixie said. “We have to go now. We’ll see you at the showroom tomorrow. Good-by!”
“Good-by! Good-by!” the Hakaito brothers said, smiling happily.
At the station Sergeant Molinson groaned when he saw Trixie and her group. “Oh, no,” he said, “not again! What is it this time?”
Trixie told him about the Hakaito brothers and the swords; how they had bought them at the pawnshop, and how the man who sold them said he could not remember who brought them in.
“We’ll send a man over to inquire,” the sergeant said. “I doubt if it leads to anything. It’s hard to get information out of those guys. They seldom ask questions when anything is pawned. We’ll look into it right away,” he added quickly when he saw Trixie’s disappointed face. “Is that all?”
Trixie produced the tag and told of their attempt to get information about it from the Bureau.
“They have to obey the rules,” the sergeant said. “We’ll see now just what they have over at the Bureau on this license number.”
He dialed, waited for the sound of ringing, then repeated the number on the key tag and held the receiver, waiting.
“Yes?” he said. “That’s right. No, that’s the number on the tag. What did you say? Stolen? When? Yes, that’s the night all right. Was it recovered? I see. Thanks.”
“That clue led up a blind alley,” he told the anxious waiting B.W.G.’s. “The car was stolen the night your clubhouse was entered. The White Plains police found it two days later. No harm done. Just out of gas.”
“Were there any clues to who stole it?” Jim asked hopefully.
“None at all,” Sergeant Molinson said. “It probably was the crooks who were trying to break into your clubhouse. The stolen escape car won’t help us a bit. I’ll hold on to this tag, Trixie. Might as well forget about the car, kids.”
“Did he tell you what the car looked like—the man at the Bureau?” Trixie asked.
“Yeah, Trixie, he did,” the sergeant said. “It was a blue and white sedan. If you can make anything out of that let us know, will you? There are probably a thousand blue and white sedans that pass here every day. Maybe we should have taken Mrs. Vanderpoel’s suggestion after all and added you to our squad.”
“Maybe you do need help,” Trixie said. “Our antique show is the day after tomorrow, you know.”
“Don’t I know it!” the sergeant exclaimed.
“We will have lots of valuable things in the showroom by tomorrow night,” Trixie added.
“Shall I detail the whole squad to watch them?” the sergeant asked sarcastically. “The showroom is on Main Street in plain sight. Your father’s bank, Trixie, is right across the street. Is he going to call off the bank guard to watch your showroom? You kids are beginning to get on my nerves. We’ll watch the place for you. Scram!”
The sergeant turned on his swivel chair to dismiss them.
Chapter 15
The Most Fun Ever
Tom had the two little Lynch boys, Larry and Terry, in the car with him when he picked up the Bob-Whites.
“This is a surprise,” Diana said and hugged her little brothers. “Where did you find them?” she asked Tom.
“Your mother went to New York, too, with Mrs. Wheeler, Diana,” Tom explained. “Miss Trask has the little girls with her, and the boys are going to stay at your house for dinner and the evening, Trixie.”
“Oh, goody,” Trixie said, “Bobby will be happy. He’s been so lonesome for someone to play with. Can’t you and Honey stay, too,” she asked Diana, “and Jim?”
“Your mother is away ahead of you,” Tom said. “She told me to dump the whole carload at Crabapple Farm. She’ll really have her hands full.”
“Not with us to help her,” Trixie said. “You don’t know my mother. This will be fun. Isn’t it wonderful that we have a holiday tomorrow because of Washington’s birthday? We can have all day tomorrow to get ready for our antique show and we don’t have to think about it tonight. There’s Reddy to welcome us. And your dog, too, Jim!”
Reddy and Patch ran out wagging their tails. The two dogs were good friends.
“Down, Patch!” Jim commanded. “Heel!” Patch obeyed immediately.
“It won’t do to tell Reddy to get down, or to heel,” Mart laughed. “We’ve never trained him. We just play with him. He minds Bobby now and then when he feels like it.”
“Reddy doesn’t have to mind anyone all the rest of his life,” Trixie said, “not after the way he came home for help for us when we were lost in the blizzard. There’s Bobby waving from the window,” she said to Terry and Larry. “Run on in, while we collect our books. Won’t you come in for a cup of coffee?” she asked Tom.
“Celia would crown me if I did,” Tom answered. “We have a chance to have dinner all by ourselves in the trailer tonight, with all the families gone. I’ll be back about nine o’clock to pick everyone up.”
“That early?” Trixie asked.
“That’s an hour past the time Larry and Terry are supposed to go to bed,” Diana reminded her. “It’ll take almost another hour to get them to bed.”
“What difference does it make?” Mart wanted to know. “Tomorrow’s a school holiday for us. Let the kids live it up. How about nine thirty, Diana?”
“All right,” Diana said, “nine thirty. Will it be all right for Tom to come then, Honey?”
“If Tom says so,” Honey answered.
The whole crowd followed the little boys into the house. Mr. and Mrs. Belden, in the kitchen, greeted them warmly. “Put your wraps in the study,” Mr. Belden said. “Your mother has dinner almost ready,” he added to Trixie.
Honey and Diana followed Trixie into the kitchen, tied aprons over their sweaters and skirts, and asked to be given something to do.
“You can finish making the Waldorf salad,” Mrs. Belden said. “Take this big bowl. The apples are already washed and so is the celery. Chop them, quarter the marshmallows, add them to it, and mix the whole thing together with mayonnaise. Make plenty of it.”
“What shall I do, Moms?” Trixie asked. “I know, I’ll fix the hamburgers and pat them into cakes.”
“Nobody ever made better hamburgers than you, Mrs. Belden,” Honey said. “How do you do it? They don’t taste nearly so good, even at Wimpy’s.”
“I add a slice of bread, crumbled and soaked in milk, to each pound of meat,” Mrs. Belden said. “Then I season the mixture with salt and pepper and just a little curry powder.”
“Bread and milk?” Diana asked, amazed.
“Yes. It keeps the juice in the hamburger patties,” Mrs. Belden explained.
“It does something delicious to it,” Honey said, dicing the apples and putting them into the bowl. “I love to cook.”
“You don’t have much chance to practice it, do you, with such a good cook as you have? There are times when I’d like to have a cook,” Mrs. Belden said.
“This isn’t one of them, is it, Moms?” Trixie asked.
“No indeed, not with such good helpers as I have. When you finish that, Trixie, you may spread the cream on the pumpkin pies. It’s whipped and in the refrigerator. Make plenty of hamburgers, though!”
“You’ll never ask Larry and Terry again when you see the way they consume hamburgers,” Diana said. “Listen to that yelling! I hope they don’t break anything.”
“Our living-room is child-proof,” Mrs. Belden said. “I think they are helping my husband lay the fire in the fireplace. After dinner we’ll pop some corn, and maybe roast some marshmallows.”
“Something smells super!” Jim said as he and Brian went through the kitchen to get more wood for the living-room fireplace. “What is it?” he asked and sniffed the mixture Trixie was preparing.
“The old Belden stand-by, Moms’ hamburgers,” Trixie said. “She says you never can make a mistake feeding kids hamburgers.”
“Mmmmm, I didn’t know anyone could be as hungry as I am,” Jim said, as the air filled with the fragrance of baked beans, wh
en Mrs. Belden drew a deep pan from the oven. “Baked beans were my daily fare when I lived in the woods by myself after Ten Acres burned. Mine came cold out of a can, though. There’s a subtle difference.”
When the food was ready, the Bob-Whites and Mr. and Mrs. Belden sat around the big table in the dining-room, made extra large with two added leaves. At a lower table nearby, the three little boys sat.
At first the twins were shy, but Bobby, loving every minute, soon won them over. “What is hot and cold at the same time?” he asked Terry and Larry. “Don’t you tell!” he warned Trixie.
“I don’t know,” Larry said. “Water?”
“No!” Bobby said. “It’s pepper! Jim told me that one.”
At the big table the family and guests all joined hands while Mr. Belden asked the blessing. Then the fun began.
Dishes were passed from hand to hand, bowls emptied, replenished from the kitchen, emptied again. Mrs. Belden’s homemade catsup, old-fashioned beet pickles, corn relish, all disappeared as though by magic, topping the hamburgers. Casseroles of scalloped potatoes, the huge pan of baked beans, all were emptied, salad eaten, and dessert still to come.
Honey, Diana, and Trixie persuaded Mrs. Belden to sit quietly while they carried the plates and other dishes from the table. When the coffee was percolating merrily at Mrs. Belden’s right hand, and the cups waiting, hot cocoa or milk in all the children’s glasses, the girls brought in generous servings of pumpkin pie.
In the big living-room the fire roared up the chimney, sending a rosy glow over the old shabby room. Chairs and sofas were drawn to face the fireplace, and huge cushions were placed on the floor for the little boys.
The Bob-Whites banished Mr. and Mrs. Belden from the kitchen and attacked the mounds of dishes. They weren’t even aware of what they were doing, it was so much fun to do things together.
Trixie, remembering the time that afternoon when Diana and Honey had seemed so impatient with her and had told her she was no fun any more, looked around at their happy faces and was encouraged.
The Mysterious Code Page 12