“Wow!” Tom’s eyes sparkled. “Gee, Honey, that job sounds like the answer to my prayers. Just say the word.
When do I start?”
“Right after Labor Day, if you can.” Honey let out a long sigh of relief. “I never thought interviewing would be that easy. I think I’m going to enjoy being Mother’s secretary.”
The light had at last changed and the cab was drawing up to the curb in front of the theater. Tom opened the door and Trixie hastily clambered inside.
“Crabapple Farm,” Tom said to the driver. “The Belden place on Glen Road.” He slammed the door and touching the vizor of his cap as though he were already a chauffeur, grinned at Trixie.
She waved to him and Honey and settled tensely back on the cushion. It seemed like hours before the cab had threaded its way through the crowded section of the village. Then Trixie leaned forward.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said to the driver. “I want to go to the Manor House. It’s the next driveway after ours. You can just leave me off at the mailbox. The Wheelers’ mailbox you know.”
“I know it well,” the taxi driver said, stepping on the gas as they left the town behind. “And I’m glad you don’t want me to take you up that hill. The last time I tried to make the turn by the garage I clipped the heads off a few hollyhocks.” He chatted on and on, predicting an isolated life for the Wheelers when winter set in and the steep driveway would be a sheet of ice.
But Trixie didn’t listen. She sat tensely on the back seat, thinking.
Someone deliberately cut the telephone wires so that he wouldn’t be disturbed. Even with their ears glued to the radio, Celia and the cook would know if the phone rang and rang, for there was an extension bell in the servants’ sitting room on the third floor. No matter how noisy the wrestling matches might be, Regan would hear the phone in the suite over the garage, because it was on a table right by the television set.
Someone had carefully cut the wires in case someone should telephone to find out why Jim hadn’t appeared at the Cameo.
Therefore, something had happened to Jim!
Trixie closed her eyes. Dick and Jim on that lonely road! Jim, who had previously examined the signature on Dick’s letter of recommendation and found traces of carbon. Jim, with his redheaded hot temper. Jim was probably thinking, “This fellow tried to make fools of all of us. He took advantage of little Bobby’s trusting nature. He was mean and nasty to Trixie who rightly suspected him all along. I’ve a good mind to black his other eye for him.”
Trixie moaned inwardly. Jim was so honest it would have been hard for him to disguise the fact that he suspected Dick of forgery, if not of robbery. Try as he probably did, he must have said something, or let Dick know by the expression on his freckled face, that he had an idea who the midnight prowler was. And then—and then—
“Here we are,” the taxi driver said. “Seventy-five cents. Sure you can make your way up that hill in the dark?”
Trixie gave him the money and hopped out. “I know it better than I do my own face,” she said. “I practically live here.” She slammed the door and started off at a run. Halfway up the driveway, she stopped. Both the radio on the third floor of the house and the television set in the garage were blaring. From where she stood, it looked as though not a single light was burning on the first or second floors.
Someone with a tiny flashlight was climbing stealthily up the side steps to the screen door of the wide veranda.
Trixie left the graveled driveway and hurried along the lawn, tensely listening. Would Patch bark, or would he fawn on the person who was now entering the house?
Chapter 18
A Dim Light
Patch did not bark; and by the time Trixie groped her way up the front steps of the veranda, there was no sign of the man with the dim flashlight. It was pitch black on the porch; and Trixie jumped when Patch’s cold, moist nose touched her hand.
She hesitated. Suppose the person with the flashlight was Jim, getting ready to catch someone in their trap? If she made any noise, she would frighten away the prowler.
Honey’s explanation of why Jim hadn’t gone to the movies might be the right one. Jim might have walked back, after Dick left him in the village. He might have been hiding in the shrubbery, watching the garage ever since then. He might even now be trailing Dick to Honey’s old room, so he could catch him red-handed.
“This I must see,” Trixie said to herself as she tiptoed across the porch and into the hall. A dim light was burning at the far end of it, and as soon as her eyes grew accustomed to the semidarkness, she groped her way up the carpeted stairs.
The second-floor hall was dimly lighted by forty-watt bulbs in the ceiling at both ends of it, and Trixie saw at once that the door to Honey’s former room was closed.
She moved swiftly down toward it, and, as silently as possible, turned the knob. It made the same faint grating sound which had awakened her on Thursday night; and when she had opened it a crack, Trixie stopped, holding her breath.
Then she peered inside. Someone, who had taped his flashlight so that it gave off only a tiny pencil of light, was examining Honey’s jewelry box. Someone with blond, not red, hair, someone who, from the back, looked like Dick.
Trixie stared, not quite knowing what to do. The trap was sprung. They had caught the prowler, and probably the man who had stolen the diamond—but how could she hope to keep him a prisoner?
If she screamed at the top of her lungs, Regan could not possibly hear her above the noisy roar of the wrestling matches, and even if Celia on the floor above did hear her, what could the maid and the cook do?
With the telephone out of order, she couldn’t call for help from the police. She couldn’t do a thing but stand there, worrying about what might have happened to Jim and wondering if there wasn’t some way—
Then, although she was not touching it, the door opened wider and something brushed against Trixie’s bare leg. She stifled a scream as Patch bounded across the room to leap up with joyous little whines on the man by the dressing table. He turned, pointing the pencil of light toward the entrance and recognized her at the same moment that she recognized him.
“So,” he snarled, “the nosy little girl next door. What brought you home from the movies so soon?”
“You,” Trixie said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as scared as she felt. “You, Dick. I thought you might pick this time to sneak into the house and try to get the diamond back. Stole it, didn’t you?”
He crossed the room in swift strides and grabbed her wrist, dragging her across the threshold and closing the door.
“Bite him, Patch,” Trixie said without much hope. “Bite his hand right off.”
The black and white puppy looked up at them both adoringly, thumping his tail on the floor.
Dick laughed. “He won’t bite me. I had sense enough to make friends with him and your stupid setter from the very beginning.”
“Reddy is not stupid,” Trixie said staunchly. “Where is Jim?”
He laughed again. “During our little ride this afternoon, I was forced to knock him out and tie him up and gag him. If you must know, he’s lying in the woods far enough from that deserted lane so that no one will see him.”
Trixie gasped. “You—you, horrible little weasel,” she said hotly. “How did you ever dare to do such a thing? Just wait and see what will happen to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he said with an evil chuckle. “After you’ve given me the diamond, I’m going to tie you up, too. By the time your friends and that bossy governess get back, I’ll be miles away.” He pointed the pencil of light toward the jewelry box. “Get going, little girl, I haven’t much time. Get the rock out of the secret compartment.”
It was Trixie’s turn to laugh. “It isn’t there. It’s someplace where you’ll never find it.”
He gripped her wrist so tightly that Trixie had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out. Lightning forked the sky then, and she could see his f
ace clearly for a moment. He looked so angry that she almost wished she could give him the diamond. Thunder rumbled from across the river.
Trixie swallowed her fright. “You haven’t much time, Dick,” she said in as cold a voice as she could muster. “Miss Trask will be back to close the windows at the first drop of rain. She’s only a five-minute ride away. At Mr. Lytell’s.”
“Don’t try to be funny,” he said harshly. “She’s in town at the Cameo. And I siphoned most of the gas out of the station wagon so she’ll get stuck midway between here and Main Street.”
“Very bright of you,” Trixie said, forcing her taut lips to smile. “Very bright. And I suppose you did something to the gauge, too, so that it wouldn’t register. But Miss Trask happens to be smart about cars. She stopped on the way into town and had the tank filled when she saw the gauge wasn’t working. She’s extra careful about things like that.”
“Stop gabbing,” he said. “Where is the rock?”
Trixie thought for a minute. If she could keep him here until it started to rain, Miss Trask would be back. But what could Miss Trask do to keep this thin, ugly man from running away? If he had already knocked out Jim, he wouldn’t hesitate to strike anyone who interfered with his plans. And the first thing Miss Trask would do when she returned would be to run right upstairs to close the windows in Mrs. Wheeler’s lovely room. She would run right into Dick’s clutches.
No, she wouldn’t, Trixie decided quickly. Because I’ll scream the minute I see headlights in the driveway. I’ll scream and scream, and then she’ll get Regan before she comes into the house.
“The rock,” Dick was hissing close to her ear. “Where is it?”
Trixie pursed her lips and tossed her head. “I’ll tell you,” she said coyly, “if you’ll tell me how you got the black eye. The pal you tried to double-cross came back Thursday night and saw you sneaking into the house, didn’t he? He hid in your room over the garage, and when you came back, he beat you up.”
He shook her arm roughly. “You know too much, Miss Nosy. When I go, I’ll take you with me for a nice, long ride. But first, where is the rock?”
Trixie smiled sweetly. “You and your pal had engine trouble down on the road Tuesday night, so you spent the night in the cottage. You and he had a fight, dividing up the loot, huh? You knocked him out, fixed the motor, and drove away. When you discovered the diamond was missing, you came back. That’s when you listened in the thicket and heard Honey tell me where she had put the diamond.”
“That’s right,” he said. “That’s right, smarty. But the point is, where is the rock now?”
“Then,” Trixie went on, just as though he hadn’t interrupted, “you lurked around in the woods near the stable and heard everyone talking about how much the Wheelers needed a chauffeur. You drove up to the garage Wednesday evening and applied for the job.”
He pointed the pencil of light at her face and stared at her. “You sure do get around, don’t you? I’ve got to hand it to you. I suppose you figured out that when I found I had to have references, I stopped off at the mailbox long enough on my way out to borrow a few letters. Only one of them had a signature worth copying, but it sure worked, the signature on that check made out to Matthew Wheeler, Treas.”
Trixie laughed, although her throat was so dry it hurt. “Of course, I figured all that out. Anyone can buy tracing and carbon paper and rent a typewriter. Did you put the letter from Mr. Whitney back in the mailbox Thursday afternoon while Bobby was showing you around the place and telling you which windows on this floor were Honey’s?”
“Natch,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Think I want to get mixed up with G-men?”
“You’re already mixed up with the FBI,” Trixie told him, “if you swiped that diamond in another state. And don’t worry, they’ll catch you. They probably already have your pal. What’s his name, anyway?”
“Louie,” he growled, his fingers tightening on her wrist. “What makes you think the coppers have nabbed Louie? What do you know about him?”
“I don’t know anything,” Trixie retorted. “I just guessed that after he beat you up Thursday night he took the rest of the loot out of your suitcase. You did keep it in your suitcase, didn’t you? That’s why you almost had a fit when Regan offered to carry it up to the top of the garage for you?” He merely nodded, glaring, and she went on, hoping it would start to rain soon. “You used the black eye as an excuse, so you could go off yesterday and try to find Louie.” She forced a chuckle from her dry throat. “You never went to see a doctor. You’ve had more black eyes in your life than you’ve ever had poison ivy. I thought, at first, that the person who stole the diamond and dropped it in the cottage was a fruit picker. But you never worked in the country. If you had, your skin would be tanned, and you’d have known better than to hide in the midst of poison ivy.” Again she chuckled dryly. “You’ve been working in a big city—”
“That I have,” he interrupted with a harsh laugh. “The big city of New York, you two-bit dick. Just for being so fresh, I’m going to—”
“Just what will you do?” a voice interrupted from the doorway. There was a small click and the room was suddenly flooded with light.
Trixie whirled around, blinking in the glare of the bright overhead lights. Jim was coming in the room; and, right behind him, loomed Regan, his finger on the trigger of his hunting rifle.
“Reach for the ceiling, Laughing-Boy,” Regan said ominously. “I’m a crack shot, right, Jim?”
Jim didn’t bother to answer. He crossed over to the window and stared down at the driveway. From where she was standing by the dressing table, Trixie could see the headlights of a car. A prowl car!
“Here come the police,” Jim said to Dick who was holding his hands in the air. “Bracelets are going to look nice on your skinny wrists!”
“Oh, Jim,” Trixie cried. “He knocked you out and left you in the bushes. How did you get here?”
Jim smiled briefly. “I’m tough. I didn’t stay unconscious long. But it took time to get free of the rope he had tied around my wrists and ankles. It was dark by the time I burst into the Hoyts’ farmhouse and asked them if I could use their phone.” He shrugged. “By that time, I knew that Dick had forged Mr. Whitney’s name to the reference Dad showed me. I finally took the hint, Trixie, and looked at it again. So, when we were having our so-called steering lesson, I asked Dick the Dip—he is a pickpocket, Trixie—if he didn’t think Mr. Whitney’s thick, curly hair made him look like a lion. Dick heartily agreed with me. That did it. He gave himself away, because, you see, Mr. Whitney is as bald as a billiard ball.”
“Jim, Jim,” Trixie interrupted. “You shouldn’t have gone off with him alone. I—” But a big policeman was striding into the room.
“Why, Dapper Dick,” he said, patting the thin, frightened-looking man’s pockets. “Every state trooper in the county has been looking for you since Tuesday. We picked up Louie early yesterday morning in the dogwagon. He has a nice case of poison ivy, too.” The officer pulled Dick’s hands behind his back and manacled them together. “Figured you were close by, but not this close. Where’s the rock, Pretty Boy?”
Dick glared at Trixie. “That fresh little girl has it. Why don’t you frisk her?”
Trixie giggled nervously. “Honey Wheeler and I found the diamond, Officer. My mother has it now. Mrs. Peter Belden, you know. I’ll go right home and get it.”
“No hurry about that,” the policeman said cheerfully. “If your dad’s Pete Belden, he can turn it over to the Sarge in the morning. I guess a banker’s house is about as safe as the bank itself.” He turned to Regan. “Want to ride back to headquarters with me and prefer charges? Breaking and entering, assault and battery—what else?”
“Well, now,” Regan said easily, “I don’t know as Mr. Wheeler would want to get mixed up in this. The publicity, you know. If you were looking for the guy anyway, you won’t need our testimony to hold him, will you?”
The policeman guffawed. “We�
��ve got enough on him and Louie to put ’em behind bars until they’re old and gray.” He gave Dick a playful poke with his nightstick. “Get going, Pretty Boy. For the next few years you won’t have to worry about poison ivy.”
After they had gone, Trixie collapsed in the nearest chair. “How did the police happen to arrive at such a nice moment?” she asked Jim. “Both the phones are out of order.”
“I know,” Jim said. “I know all too well. I called the house and the garage from the Hoyts’, and then I guessed that Dick had probably cut the wires. I called the police then—I knew the Bob-Whites of the Glen had better not fool around any longer.” He grinned. “Then I dashed through the woods as fast as I could.”
Trixie stared at him. “What kept you from dashing right up here and getting caught in our own trap, the way I brightly did?”
Jim chuckled. “I saw a speck of moving light in this room, and I figured Dick was busy with Honey’s jewelry box. Regan’s a good guy, I thought, he won’t want to miss the fun. When I told Regan what had happened to me, he quickly decided it would be more fun if he had a loaded gun.”
The cheery groom took a deep breath and let it out again. “It wasn’t loaded, Jim, my boy. You know I never leave a bullet in my rifle when I’m not using it. But I figured our pickpocket friend wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Then he really is Dick the Dip,” Trixie gasped. “How did you know, Jim?”
“Because,” Jim said, “when I accused him of being one of the two men your brothers said state troopers were looking for all along the river, he started to boast. It was just a wild guess, and I should have kept my mouth shut. But as soon as I realized that he’d been making fools of all of us, except you, Trixie, I lost my temper.”
The Gatehouse Mystery Page 16