The Gatehouse Mystery

by Julie Campbell

  No one said a word until he disappeared from view. Then Trixie said triumphantly, “It’s beginning to look as though my theory wasn’t so dumb. Loud voices means quarreling.”

  “But, Trixie,” Honey pointed out, “your theory was that both men drove away after the fight.” Suddenly she turned white. “Oh, I get it. The body of the other man was in the trunk of the jalopy.”

  “Let’s leave corpses out of this,” Brian said sternly. He shook his finger at Trixie. “We’ll all have nightmares.”

  “I never brought corpses into it,” Trixie told him tartly. “Take your stubby finger and shake it at Honey. My latest theory is that one of the men was knocked out during the fight. When he came to, his pal had already left in the car, so he had to hitchhike his way to wherever they were going.”

  “You know,” Mart said thoughtfully, “it does sound like someone double-crossed his buddy and realized too late that he had departed without the loot.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to me,” Brian retorted. “If you had something I wanted, I’d knock you out and take it from you before I departed.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Trixie interrupted. “Don’t be idiots. Don’t you realize that the diamond was only part of the loot? I think the two men had just robbed a safe or something. They got to quarreling when they started to divvy up what they had stolen. That’s when the diamond got ground into the mud floor of the cottage.”

  “I see what you mean,” Honey said. “The diamond was probably in a ring and fell out of the setting during the fight. It looks like the kind of stone that belongs in an engagement ring.” She frowned. “But then it wouldn’t have been in a safe, Trixie. Ladies usually wear their engagement rings all the time, no matter how valuable the stone may be.”

  Trixie sighed. “Your mother wears hers all the time, but ours doesn’t. Before she works in the garden she always takes it off. Anyway,” Trixie continued, “Mr. Rubber Heels knocked his partner out and drove away with the loot. Later he discovered that the diamond wasn’t in the setting of the ring; so he drove back to the cottage.”

  Honey nodded. “The second set of tire treadmarks and footprints on the shoulder of the road prove that part of your theory, Trixie. What you’re leading up to, I suppose, is that when Rubber Heels came back, his partner had left the cottage; and you and I had already found the diamond.”

  “That makes some sense,” Jim admitted. “Naturally, the double-crosser had no way of knowing whether or not his buddy was still in the cottage. So he sneaked up to the thicket, and when he heard your voices he hid there and soon found out exactly where Honey had put the diamond.”

  Brian nodded. “So he lurked in the woods near the house all day, and realized that he couldn’t possibly sneak in during the day with so many servants on the premises. Thursday night he did sneak in, but Trixie’s yell frightened him away.”

  “You’re off your trolley,” Trixie broke in. “In the first place, if he spent his time lurking in the woods, he couldn’t have found out which room was Honey’s. And, in the second place, a perfect stranger couldn’t possibly have sneaked into the house Thursday night without Patch barking his head off. I keep telling you,” she finished, “Dick’s our man.”

  “She’s right,” Honey cried. “He lurked in the woods on Wednesday and heard us all talking about how much we needed a chauffeur. So he simply went back to the place where he had left the car and drove up to the garage on Wednesday evening to apply for the job, hoping that he’d be given a room on the third floor.”

  “Fine,” Jim jeered. “Great. How did he get the letter of recommendation from Mr. Whitney?”

  Trixie sighed. “I wish you’d never seen that letter, Jim. It ruins everything.” She straightened suddenly. “Maybe it was forged!”

  “Listen, Trixie,” Jim said with a sigh. “It takes time and practice to make a perfect copy of another person’s signature. Especially if you don’t know who the person is and have no way of getting a sample of his signature.”

  Honey giggled. “He’s right, Trixie,” she said. “How could Dick have known that Mr. Whitney was a friend of Daddy’s? And, even if he did, how could he have got hold of something with Mr. Whitney’s signature on it to copy from? He produced that letter of recommendation the morning after we found the diamond.”

  “I can’t answer any of those questions,” Trixie admitted. “Let’s ride. If we don’t give these horses some exercise, Regan will be awfully, awfully surprised. He’s suspicious enough, as it is.”

  Chapter 13

  Bob-Whites of the Glen

  It was dark when they finished grooming their horses. Regan came back from the village, then, with Celia and the cook in the Ford.

  He put the car in the garage and called up the stairs. “Dick! You back?”

  No answer. “Well, I like that,” he grumbled. “For two cents I’d black his other eye. Tomorrow morning I’ll have to go in for Helen and Marjorie, and, most likely, drive them home again.”

  “It’s a shame,” Honey said sympathetically. “I’ll ask Miss Trask if they can take a taxi until Dick does come back.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Regan said. “Taxis, taxis! Rich as your dad is, Honey, I can’t stand it. It’s too extravagant.” He grinned at them. “As long as you kids help me with the horses, I’ll make out all right.”

  “Oh, we will,” Trixie assured him. “I’ll make sure that Susie is exercised and groomed and everything every day.” She moved closer to him. “Ah, please, Regan, tell me the secret.”

  “Scat, all of you,” he said, pretending to be very stern. “Next thing you know, Miss Trask will fire me for making you do my work!” Humming cheerfully, he climbed the stairs to his room.

  “Let’s raid the icebox,” Jim said, staring up at the third-floor windows. “Celia and the cook have retired for the night. And I trust, Nailor, too.”

  “He’s probably hiding in one of the empty guest rooms,” Trixie said. “Just waiting until we all go to bed. Then,” she added in an ominous whisper, “he’ll sneak into your room, Jim, chloroform you, and—”

  “Stop it,” Honey begged, shivering. “Do you really suspect Nailor again, Trixie?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said, laughing. They all trooped into the kitchen. Jim hooked the screen door.

  “Why don’t you suspect him?” Honey asked. “You did once.”

  “I didn’t know he was such a well-known character in the village, then,” Trixie said, accepting the bottle of cold soda Jim handed her. “Besides, he couldn’t sneak around the house without arousing Patch. The dogs don’t like him. They growl at him whenever he comes near them, and the hackles rise on Reddy’s neck when he tries to pet him.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” Mart said. “Why, Reddy is such a dope he’d lead a burglar right to the place where you keep the family silver, Honey.”

  “A burglar, yes; but Nailor, no,” Trixie said. “Like Mr. Lytell, I notice little things like that. And the dogs adore Dick. They positively fawn on him. It’s disgusting. All because he bought them some bones in the village.”

  “Speaking of which,” Jim said to Honey, “did you get the mail today? I expected a book on how to train pointers.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” Honey gasped. “It was my turn, wasn’t it?” She grabbed Trixie’s hand. “Run down to the mailbox with me, won’t you? I’m scared to go way down to the road alone now that it’s dark.”

  “Skip it,” Jim said. “Miss Trask probably got the mail. She usually does before dinner if we forget.”

  “Before dinner?” Brian asked. “That mailman is a regular diller-dollar, ten o’clock scholar. He used to arrive in the morning; then it was changed to late afternoon, and now it’s in the evening?”

  “He still brings the mail, with The Sleepyside Sun, around five,” Trixie told him. “Honey and Jim are supposed to take turns getting it, but Honey never remembers. When she forgets, Miss Trask goes down to the box for it just before dinner.”

 
“I’ll bet she didn’t today,” Honey said. “She was awfully busy. I’ll go down now, Jim, if Trixie will come with me.”

  Jim grinned. “All right, it might teach you to remember. It just might. Here’s a flashlight.” He unlatched the door for them.

  The girls hurried down the driveway to the mailbox at the foot of the hill. Honey yanked it open. “My stars,” she said. “It’s full of mail. Miss Trask was too busy, for once. And I guess this is the book Jim was waiting for.”

  They raced back up the hill and dumped the letters and packages on the kitchen table. “Ah, my book,” Jim cried. “This will keep me awake all night.”

  “Is there anything there that’ll keep us awake, Honey?” Trixie asked. “I just know Dick is going to come sneaking back at midnight.”

  Miss Trask called, then, from the top of the back stairs. “It’s time you were all in bed. Come on up now. Leave that light burning over the sink, Jim; but turn out the others.”

  “Okay,” Jim said. “Is Patch up there with you, Miss Trask?”

  “No,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since you fed him.”

  Jim whistled a few times, and then they heard the puppy scratching and whining on the other side of the screen door. When Jim opened the door, Patch bounded in, slipped on the waxed linoleum, and skidded across the floor.

  “He’s just like Reddy,” Trixie said, laughing. “Reddy does that every time. Is he going to sleep in your room tonight, Jim?”

  “No, he sleeps on the porch,” Jim said. “It almost completely encircles the house, you know; so if any stranger tried to get in through the doors or windows, Patch would hear him.”

  “Hm,” Trixie said thoughtfully as they trooped upstairs. Later, when she and Honey were in bed she said, “Jim must know that our prowler wasn’t a stranger. Whom does he suspect?”

  “I really don’t know,” Honey said sleepily. “As you keep saying, Patch would have barked his head off if any stranger had tried to get in the house last night. But I know Jim doesn’t suspect Dick. On account of that letter from Mr. Whitney, you know.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Trixie said. “It was your turn to get the mail on Wednesday, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh,” Honey murmured.

  “Did you get it?” Trixie asked.

  But Honey was sound asleep. In a few minutes, try as she did to stay awake, Trixie, herself, was sound asleep. When she awoke, it was morning, a steaming hot morning with the threat of rain hanging heavy in the air. She and Honey put on bathing suits and, as had been pre-arranged, met the boys down at the boathouse.

  “Did anything happen last night?” they asked Jim in one breath.

  “Not a thing,” he said, “except that Dick hasn’t come back yet. And is Regan furious!”

  “Regan,” Brian explained, “was already in the lake when we got down here. Trying to cool off in more ways than one. He just went up to get dressed. He’s got to go in for the maids and the laundress.”

  They swam out to the raft, and then Honey said, “Dick is going to be fired as soon as Daddy gets back. If you think Regan is angry, think what kind of a mood Daddy would be in if he knew the new chauffeur was AWOL so soon after being hired.”

  “And all on account of one little back eye,” Mart added. “What a sissy that guy must be.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Trixie said, shaking water out of her ear by hopping up and down on the raft. “Dick didn’t go off on account of his black eye. He went off for some other reason, and it has something to do with the mystery.”

  “What, exactly?” Mart demanded. “Elucidate, my dear Holmes.”

  She whirled on him, and he pretended to cringe with fright. “I take elucidate back,” he howled. “I take it all back. What I meant was, explain, make clear your statement, Miss Belden.”

  Trixie giggled. “I can’t explain, make clear, or elucidate. I just feel it in my bones.”

  Mart groaned. “Feminine intuition. Gleeps, noodlehead, spare us that.”

  “I’ll spare you that and a lot more,” Trixie said tartly. “I was just going to explain, make clear, and elucidate to you about the letter of recommendation from Mr. Whitney. But since I’m a noodlehead, I’d better keep it to myself.”

  “I modify that statement,” Mart said promptly. “You’re not a noodlehead; you’re merely equipped with scrambled brains.”

  “Scrambled eggs would be nice now,” Jim said with a grin. “And here come Miss Trask and Celia with the wherewithal.” He dove off the float and, with his fast crawl, struck cleanly through the water toward the boathouse.

  They all followed him and a few minutes later were busy preparing breakfast. With everyone helping, they soon had a feast spread out on the table on the boathouse porch.

  “Honey,” Mart said approvingly, “is hereby elected chief waffle-maker of the club.” He waved a skewer at Trixie. “And you, addlebrain, are the barbecue chef.”

  “I told you Honey and I are marvelous cooks,” Trixie said smugly.

  “Oh, let’s do have a club,” Honey interrupted. “When I was in boarding school, I was always reading books about boys and girls who were members of secret clubs and had such fun.” She added wistfully, “I never thought the day would come when I might belong to one.”

  “The Riders of the Glen, that’s what we are,” Mart yelled excitedly. “R.O.G. We’ll call ourselves the Rogues.”

  “Speak for yourself, knave,” Brian said with a chuckle. “Just because you’re a rascal doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

  “Couldn’t we be sort of Robin Hoods or something like that?” Honey asked. “The name of the red trailer was the Robin, you know. And the Darnells were the kind of people Robin Hood would have helped in olden times.”

  “We’re better at riding than we are at archery,” Mart objected.

  “And we think of ourselves as detectives,” Jim added, grinning, “although we didn’t prove much last night.”

  “ ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again,’ ” Trixie chanted. “Canadian mounties are sort of detectives on horseback. And, in a way, they’re modern Robin Hoods. Their motto isn’t simply ‘get your man.’ They are trained to give help to anyone who needs it.”

  “How educated can we get?” Mart asked. “Where did you pick up that knowledge, Trix?”

  “In a book,” she informed him airily. “Just because I can’t thread a needle doesn’t mean I can’t read.”

  “You’ve got an idea,” Honey said. “We can’t be Canadian mounties, but when we have secret meetings we could wear special red jackets which I can make easily. We might call ourselves the Glen Road Robins, and we could have the cottage for our clubhouse.”

  “Swell,” Jim put in. “Brian, Mart, and I can fix the roof and put new panes of glass in the windows. But let’s not be robins, let’s be bobwhites.” He whistled. “Bobwhite. Bobwhite. Remember, girls, that was our signal when I was hiding from Jonesy.”

  “That’s right,” Trixie cried. “And don’t they flock together in little groups called bevies? Instead of having a meeting, we could have a bevy, which would be more mysterious.”

  “Bobwhites are quails,” Mart said, chortling. “And I quail with surprise every time Trixie says something that makes sense.” He turned to Honey. “Bob is sort of a nickname for Robin. Are you happy about the whole thing?”

  “Oh, yes,” Honey said. “Bob-Whites of the Glen! B.W.G. Nobody could ever guess what those initials stood for. I can cross-stitch them in white on the back of our red shirts.”

  “A motto,” Brian said. “We should have a motto!”

  “How about thinking of ourselves as one big family?” Honey asked. “I mean, we’re all brothers and sisters, and if one of us is ever in need, we’ll never fail him or her?”

  “I like that a lot,” Jim said slowly. “If all the world had the same motto, there’d never be any wars.”

  “I’m all for it,” Brian said. “Mart and I could use another brother like you, Jim,
and another sister like you, Honey.”

  “I agree for the same reasons,” Mart said, his blue eyes twinkling. “Honey and Trix sort of cancel each other out, so it makes it almost bearable having a sister. That’s how I feel.”

  Trixie tossed her sandy curls as she stacked the paper plates. “If you’re stuck with three brothers you might as well have one more. And Honey and I have felt like sisters ever since we first met, haven’t we, Honey?”

  Honey nodded, her hazel eyes filmed with tears of happiness. “It’s all like a dream coming true. I can’t believe it! A secret club and—well, just everything I always wanted.”

  When they had cleaned up the boathouse, Jim said, “The first favor I’m going to ask of my new brother, Brian, is a driving lesson. How about it?”

  “Swell,” Brian said. “If you haven’t mastered the art of gear-shifting in an hour, I’ll chew Honey’s bathing cap and blow bubbles with it.” They hurried off up the path toward the garage.

  Mart stretched lazily. “Why do you suppose no one walked into our trap last night?” he asked. “From what I know about Jim, he would have been wide awake if anyone had dropped a pin on the hall carpet outside the room. He’s so used to taking care of himself, he’s acquired the protective instincts of woods animals.”

  Honey smiled. “Anyway, the alertness of them. No, if Jim heard nothing, no one tried to get into my old room last night.”

  “Of course, he didn’t,” Trixie said, leading the way up the hill. “I mean, Dick didn’t, because he wasn’t here, but here he comes now. That’s his car, anyway.”

  They stared at the green jalopy that was rattling along the driveway. It stopped near the garage and Dick got out.

  Trixie nudged Honey. “His black eye is better, but he’s got the prettiest attack of poison ivy I’ve ever seen!”

  Chapter 14

  “Leaflets Three”