Regan turned a surprised face toward her and waited for her breathless arrival. “Now what? I thought you went to get Bobby’s bike,” he said good-naturedly.
She gave a careless wave of her hand. “It can wait. Please, Regan, may I exercise Lady this afternoon? I haven’t had a ride today, and I’d just love it.”
“Well, now,” Regan beamed, “it would be a help, right enough. Don’t go too far or too fast, and don’t slack on the grooming if I’m not here when you get back.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll be careful,” Trixie promised.
Two minutes later, she was on her way at a slow trot. But once she was beyond reach of Regan’s eagle eye, she put Lady to a faster pace and was soon cantering along.
Luckily, there was little traffic on Glen Road on a Saturday afternoon, and she covered ground rapidly. Almost before she realized it, she had reached the turnoff beyond the lightning-struck oak tree. And soon she was in sight of the small neat cottage near the marsh.
There was no sign of the old woman at the window, and the barn door was still partly closed.
Trixie dismounted hurriedly and dragged the bicycle free of the mud that had half covered it. There was no mistaking it. The metal nameplate that Brian had attached to the frame was still in place.
She knew that she had guessed right. Gaye had found the bike and ridden off on it, probably carrying the little poodle on her arm or in the wire basket. She had ridden safely this far, only to lose control and end up in the muddy ditch. Where Gaye had gone after that was something Trixie made up her mind to find out as soon as possible. ,
“Let’s see, now,” she asked herself, “where do you think you would have gone first? Why, that’s simple. Right over to the cottage, to get warm and dry!”
She left the bicycle leaning against a tree to dry off, and she tied Lady to a low branch of the same tree. “Take care of the bike, old girl,” she told Lady, scratching the mare’s soft nose. “And rest, because something tells me you’re going to have quite a load going home!”
The gate squeaked loudly, just as it had earlier when she and Honey had started into the neat little yard. But this time there was no spectral hand at the window, waving her away.
Trixie knocked on the door, timidly at first, and then with more force. There was no answer.
Her heart sank. Her hopeful thought that she’d find Gaye here didn’t seem to be true. Maybe the child had wandered toward the swamp instead. She could have fallen hard back there in the ditch and hurt her head.' Or Mr. Poo, the poodle, could have run away when the bike fell, and she could have run after him into the swamp.
Trixie tried again, knocking more loudly. But when there was still no answer, she turned away, wondering what to do, which way to look. Then she heard the sharp, shrill bark.
She felt sure it was Mr. Poo barking. He had sounded just like that yesterday in the orchard.
The sound was not coming from inside the cottage. It seemed muffled now, but there was no mistaking that it was from somewhere not far away.
Trixie hurried away from the door and rounded the corner of the cottage. Surprisingly, the barn door was closed tightly now. And as she stared at it, frowning, she heard a faint bark from that direction.
Trixie stalked over and pushed open the barn door. Inside, it was too dark for her to see anything at first. She stood on the threshold and stared in, feeling a small shiver down her spine. Finally she gathered courage and stepped inside.
But she still could see nothing but darkness and smell only ancient leather and musty hay.
“Gaye?” she called, her voice making echoes. “Are you in here? It’s me, Trixie Belden, Gaye! I’ve come to take you home.”
There was no answer from the shadowy depths of the barn. A faint light from a dust-and-cobweb-covered window high in the loft failed to show any details of what lay ahead. Trixie stood her ground in spite of an impulse to run.
“Gaye!” she exclaimed impatiently, her voice breaking in spite of her. “I know you’re here! Answer me right now!”
But there was only silence. If Gaye was there, she had no intention of answering.
But if Gaye wouldn’t answer, perhaps the poodle puppy would. Trixie stuck two fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. While it still echoed, she called, “Here, Mr. Poo! Come get a nice big bone!” The mention of a bone always brought Reddy. But apparently bones were not on the elegant dog’s diet. There was no answering bark.
Trixie stepped farther into the barn, well out of the patch of sunlight that had followed her inside. Now she could see the outline of an old-fashioned buggy against the far wall. Above it, a shallow loft stretched the width of the barn. A rickety ladder, minus a lower rung, leaned against the loft. Up there, Trixie could make out the ends of a couple of leather trunks and some barrels piled against the side wall. Musty hay swayed in the breeze from the open door behind Trixie.
She could be hiding up there, Trixie thought, but she dismissed the idea as she moved closer and saw the cobwebs that were everywhere. Not our delicate little Miss Gaye of the concert stage, she told herself. A spider would panic her! Trixie heard a sudden small rustle in one of the stalls. She tiptoed over and popped around the corner of the partition, expecting to find Gaye and the little dog hiding there.
Instead, something white rose up out of the musty hay and flew at her, wings flapping wildly.
Trixie gave a shriek and ducked out of the way as an old setting hen flew past her, clucking loudly, and took a perch high in the rafters.
Trixie expected to hear a giggle, but there wasn’t a sound. Suddenly it seemed very spooky in the old barn. Trixie turned around and fled out into the pale spring sunshine, closing the door hastily behind her.
She went slowly around toward the front of the cottage. Two things she knew: It was Bobby’s bike in the ditch, and the missing child was the only one who could have left it there. The mystery was where Gaye had gone.
And it had been Mr. Poo’s hysterical bark she had heard. She had heard enough of it yesterday afternoon not to forget it so soon. But it hadn’t seemed to come from inside the house. Maybe she had decided that mistakenly. Perhaps he was in a back room and the windows were closed. That would make his bark sound far away.
For the first time, she felt a little shiver of fear. The thought came back to her that maybe Gaye had been hurt badly when she fell off the bike. That could have been why there had been no answer to her knock a few minutes ago. Maybe the old lady had gone for a doctor.
Trixie made up her mind to get inside and find out.
She hurried to the front door again. This time she fairly pounded on the door. I'll wait two minutes, and if I don't get an answer then, I'm going to try the door. I don’t care if it is illegal to walk into people’s houses without being invited. I’ve got a very good reason, and I’m sure I couldn’t be arrested.
But this time, no sooner had she pounded on the heavy oak door than she heard light steps coming from beyond the door.
Gaye, she thought. She must have decided to show herself.
But it was not Gaye who flung the door open and stood facing her with an angry frown. It was a wiry little old lady with white hair parted in the middle. And the face was the one that had stared out at her and Honey from between parted curtains this morning.
Trixie was so startled that for a moment she couldn’t speak.
The little old lady snapped angrily, “Who are you, and what do you want? Can’t you take a hint when a person doesn’t answer the door when you knock? And what were you doing prowling around in my barn, young lady?”
“I—I’m sorry.” Trixie found her tongue. “I was looking for a friend of mine.”
“Well, don’t look for him around here. This is private property.”
“It isn’t a him. It’s a her,” Trixie said hurriedly. “A little girl with long yellow curls. She plays the violin.”
“I don’t care if she plays the harp and carries it around with her!” the old lady sa
id firmly. “She hasn’t been here, and I’m not expecting her. So run along!” And with that, she stepped back and slammed the door in Trixie’s face.
Trixie’s face was red. “Thanks for being so polite!”
Then she turned and stalked down the brick pathway toward the small white gate.
As she leaned down to unlatch the gate, she noticed something shining up from between two bricks in the walk.
It was glassy and seemed to flash when the sunlight struck it.
“Piece of bottle,” Trixie decided. But she leaned over and picked up the shiny object, anyway.
To her surprise, it was cut like a gem. It was about the size of the diamond that Honey and she had found in the gatehouse floor months ago. Had she found another?
She let it lie on her palm and reflect the sunlight. If it’s anything valuable, I ought to take it to the door and give it to the old meanie, she thought. But just as she decided to do it, she turned the stone over and saw that it was a piece of glass with colored backing painted on, like the rhinestones that her mother had sewed on her costume when she was eleven and played the fairy queen in the school play. Just a rhinestone, but quite a big one.
She started to flip it into the grass, then stopped suddenly. She had seen a lot of rhinestones like this lately.
They were decorating something. What was it?
All at once she remembered. That silly collar of Mr. Poo’s was set with rows of glittering fake diamonds like this. It was the first thing she noticed when the little dog leaped at Reddy yesterday afternoon.
Finding the piece of glass here meant that he and Gaye had been inside the gate. And if they had been inside, they could both be in the cottage with the strange old lady, in spite of what she said.
But why hadn’t she admitted Gaye was there? It was very strange.
Trixie had to know if Gaye was inside the cottage. But how could she find out? She was sure the old lady wouldn’t answer her knock again, no matter how long she might hammer on the door.
For once, Trixie had to admit to herself that it was too much to figure out alone. She knew that she needed help.
“Bob-Whites to the Rescue” • 9
TRIXIE DROPPED the shining rhinestone into her jacket pocket and went out through the squeaky gate. She tried her best not to seem in a hurry. She felt sure that the old lady was watching her through the window again. And, unless she was wrong in her guess, Gaye was probably right beside the old lady, giggling because she knew that she was worrying everyone by hiding. By riding away slowly, Trixie hoped she could give them the impression that she had given up looking for Gaye there.
If Gaye were to suspect that Trixie intended to come back again with somebody to help her search, the little girl would probably hide in the swamp with Mr. Poo till she was certain that everyone was worried sick about what had happened to her.
So Trixie strolled over to Lady and climbed into the saddle without looking back toward the house. She rode at a walk at first, but as soon as she had gone around the first turn, she slapped Lady smartly on the flank and urged her into a brisk canter.
“I guess I’d better go right on up to the house and tell Miss Crandall what I’ve found out. I mean, what I think I’ve found out.” She didn’t know what Miss Crandall would want to do. Maybe she’d want to go right out there and find out if Gaye really was in the cottage, or she might prefer to call the police and let them go. But it seemed to Trixie, just then, that Miss Crandall was the person she should talk to first.
She was over halfway home when she remembered that she had solemnly promised Regan that she wouldn’t run Lady. She hated to slow down now, but she had to. If Regan suspected that she had disobeyed orders, she’d be grounded for a week. So she slowed the mare to a trot the rest of the way.
It seemed ages before she reached the foot of the Manor House driveway. She saw that there were still a couple of cars in front of the big house. One of them looked like the small car that Paul Trent was using. He was probably hanging around with his tongue out for the news in case anyone found Gaye. Trixie wished that she had been able to bring Gaye home with her from the marsh cottage. That would have shown Mr. Trent that the Bob-Whites did know a few answers.
She was passing the little clubhouse when she noticed that the door was standing ajar. She wondered who could be in there. If that Trent character was snooping around inside, she made up her mind, she’d tell him off, but good, especially after his mean crack about the club members.
But when she pushed the door open all the way, the person she saw was Jim Frayne. He was surrounded by books and papers and was concentrating so hard on studying that he didn’t know she was there.
Trixie felt guilty at interrupting him, and she started moving backward quietly, pulling the door closed after her. Unfortunately for her good intentions, she caught one heel against a bit of uneven planking and tripped, falling flat on her back with a dull thud.
Red-faced, she scrambled to her feet at once and saw Jim standing in the doorway, looking surprised.
“Now what are you up to?” he demanded with a grin. “That’s no way for a lady to come calling on a gent.”
“I wasn’t coming; I was g-going,” Trixie told him indignantly, her face getting redder. “I was b-backing away so I wouldn’t interrupt your studying.”
“Where have you been?” Jim took a keen look at the waiting mare. “Lady looks beat. You haven’t been running her, I hope. Regan will skin you alive.”
“Does she look that bad? I slowed her down a long way back.” Trixie’s blue eyes were troubled.
Jim studied her a moment. “What were you running from, Trix?” he asked soberly. “Did somebody bother you? ”
“Oh, no! Nothing like that,” she assured Jim hastily. And then she suddenly made up her mind to tell him about the house by the marsh. “It was just that I was in a hurry to get here. I’ve been to Martin’s Marsh, and I think I’ve found out where Gaye is!”
“Gaye? Oh, great!” Jim’s whole face lit up. “Where?”
“Out there, in a cottage near the marsh. Or I’m pretty
sure she is!” Trixie told him eagerly. “I was on my way to tell Miss Crandall.”
“Wait a minute,” Jim said gravely. “You say you’re pretty sure. You’re not just guessing?”
“Well, partly guessing. But I found Bobby’s bike there, in a ditch, and I’m almost certain Gaye rode it there. And I found this on the brick walk.” She handed him the rhinestone with the painted back. “I think it fell out of her dog’s collar.”
Jim studied the rhinestone, without speaking.
“Don’t you see? Gaye must be there! There’s a scary old woman living in the cottage who says she never saw Gaye, but I don’t believe her. And I’m sure I heard Mr. Poo barking in the house.”
“You say you’re pretty sure, almost certain, and think this thing could have fallen out of the poodle’s collar— but you’re not really sure of anything except that somebody took Bobby’s bike and left it in a ditch. Isn’t that so?”
“I suppose it is,” Trixie admitted honestly. “It could have been the old lady’s dog I heard. But it seems to me Gaye could be there.”
“If you tell Miss Crandall, she’ll hit the ceiling and want to go charging out to the marsh place with a bunch of cops.” Jim looked troubled. “And Gaye may not be anywhere near there.”
“I know.” Trixie nodded. “But we can’t just let nothing happen, in case she is there!”
A car was turning into the driveway. It was Brian’s jalopy. He saw them and brought the car to a stop. “So there you are!” He sounded cross. “Where’s that bike of Bobby’s you were supposed to bring home?” He shook his head reproachfully at his sister. “The little imp woke up from his nap half an hour ago and has been yowling ever since that he wants to take a ride on his bike.”
“I’m sorry—” Trixie began, but Brian interrupted.
“I had to give him my stopwatch to play with to keep him quiet, and I supp
ose there’ll be nothing left of it by the time I get back! If he wrecks it, I’ll sue you! Now, where’s the bike?”
“Against a tree out near Martin’s Marsh,” Trixie said, “and I think it was Gaye who left it nearby.”
“Gaye? Now, wait a minute. What is this? Gaye out at Martin’s Marsh? You’re kidding!”
“No, she isn’t,” Jim told him seriously. “There’s a good chance Trixie found the answer to Gaye’s disappearance. The question before the house now is what we’d better do about it.”
“Fill me in,” Brian turned to Trixie.
It took only a couple of minutes for her to tell Brian about the mysterious cottage at the marsh. He looked grave as she finished.
“What do you think she should do? Tell Miss Crandall or phone the police?” Jim asked.
“I’d say don’t do either until you have a lot more evidence than Trixie has found so far,” Brian said promptly. “I happen to know that the old lady who lives in the cottage out there is very respectable. In fact, she’s the last of the Martins, Miss Rachel. She’s lived in that cottage ever since the big Martin place burned forty years ago. Dad knows her. He’s had to go out there several times on business for the bank.”
“But she acted so weird!” Trixie protested.
“People who live alone get pretty set in their ways,” Jim told her with a smile. “Maybe you interrupted her daily beauty nap.”
“But what about the rhinestone from Mr. Poo’s collar? How do you think that got there?” Trixie persisted.
“You don’t know for sure that it is from his collar,” Jim reminded her. “I guess we do have a pretty shaky case.”
“Then aren’t we going to do anything about it?” she asked indignantly.
The two boys exchanged uneasy glances. “How about dashing out there in the car and getting the bike?” Brian suggested. “We can be back before dark if we just take a quick look around. We might be able to pick up a trail if the kid wandered into the swamp instead of going to the cottage.”
The Marshland Mystery Page 7