The Gatehouse Mystery Page 4

  “If you’d only phoned for permission,” Mrs. Belden said, shaking her head. “When you weren’t here at nine-fifteen your father called the Manor House, but the line was busy. I finally got so worried we called information and got the number of Regan’s room. He reported that you were on your way home.”

  “I should have called,” Trixie admitted. “And I’m very sorry.” She grinned hopefully. “I haven’t got any excuse except the old one. I didn’t think.”

  Mr. Belden smiled. “Honesty deserves some reward, I guess. We’ll let you off this once. And when Brian and Mart come back, we will extend the rule to nine-thirty until school opens. As long as you’re with them, your mother won’t worry.”

  “Gee, thanks, Dad,” Trixie said, and hurried up to her room.

  The next morning, when she and Bobby climbed the hill to the Manor House, they saw that the old, dark-green car was again parked in front of the garage. Regan introduced them to the new chauffeur.

  “Dick,” he said, “this is Trixie Belden and her kid brother, Bobby. They live in the little white farmhouse down in the hollow.”

  The tall, blond man bowed. “How do you do, Miss Trixie and Master Bobby.”

  Trixie shook hands with him and said, “Please don’t call me ‘miss,’ Dick. I’m just plain Trixie.”

  “Hey,” Bobby interrupted. “You’re a chowpur, Dick. What’s a chowpur?”

  Dick grinned down at him. “It means I drive cars and take care of their motors. When your legs get a little longer, I’ll teach you how to shift gears.”

  “Yippee!” Bobby yelled with delight. “An’ I’ll teach you how to catch frogs in Mummy’s best strainer.”

  “So,” Trixie scolded. “That’s where it disappeared! You’re a bad boy, Bobby Belden! Moms looked all over the place for that big strainer yesterday.”

  “Ah, don’t scold the kid.” Dick reached into his pocket and produced two quarters. “Here, Bobby. You can buy yourself a strainer for your very own.”

  Bobby stared with his round, blue eyes at the money which Dick dropped into his fat little hand. “For my very own,” he repeated. “Hey! For my very own!”

  Just then Miss Trask appeared. “I gave Mr. Wheeler your letter of recommendation,” she told Dick. “He’s leaving on a business trip with Mrs. Wheeler in about an hour and said to tell you to start work today if you like.”

  “I’d like to very much,” Dick said. “I’m to sleep in, I suppose?”

  Miss Trask nodded. “There’s another bedroom over the garage. You and Regan can share the same living-room and bath in the suite.”

  Dick scowled. “Over the garage? I took it for granted that I’d sleep in the house.”

  Miss Trask looked surprised, but she said cheerfully, “Oh, you’ll like sharing Regan’s suite much better. The rooms are very comfortable and attractive. There’s a television set and a fine radio-phonograph and a private telephone which you are at liberty to use for all the private calls you wish to make.”

  “You couldn’t pay me to sleep in the house,” Regan said, reaching into the back of Dick’s car for his suitcase. “Come on, fella, I’ll help you put your gear away.”

  “Gimme that!” It was almost a snarl, and Trixie stared at the new chauffeur who grabbed his bag roughly away from Regan.

  Regan stared at him, too. “Take it easy, fella,” he said quietly. “I only meant to be helpful.”

  Instantly the expression on Dick’s face changed. “Sorry,” he said contritely. “Got two new summer uniforms in my grip and a bottle of black shoe polish. If it broke, I’d be out fifty bucks!”

  “Fifty dollars,” Miss Trask said, scribbling on a pad. “You’ll be reimbursed at once, Richard. Mr. Wheeler said you were to charge anything you needed at the Sleepyside Department Store.”

  “Thanks,” Dick said pleasantly. “I thought I might as well come prepared, so I bought a couple of gabardine coats and caps yesterday in town.”

  “Fine.” Miss Trask smiled at him. “As soon as you’re settled a bit, you’d better get into uniform. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler will want you to drive them to the station. They’re taking the eleven forty-seven express to New York.” She hurried away into the house.

  Trixie followed her more slowly. Bobby flatly refused to leave his new friend, and with an important air, led the way up the stairs to the suite over the garage.

  In the spacious hall of the Manor House, Trixie met Honey.

  “Such excitement,” Honey said wearily. “Every time Daddy tries to take a vacation, something happens. When Mother heard he had to go to Chicago this morning, she didn’t know whether to go with him or not.”

  “I take it she’s going,” Trixie said. “But I know she hated to leave you, Honey.”

  Honey nodded. “I could have gone along, but they won’t be back for at least a week.” She slipped her arm through Trixie’s. “I couldn’t be gone that long; not with what’s upstairs in my jewelry box. Let’s search the cottage for more clues.”

  As they strolled down the lawn, Trixie asked, “Are we in the doghouse? Did Gallagher really quit?”

  “That’s right,” Honey said, “but Miss Trask isn’t angry with us. She’s already hired another gardener. A man named Nailor appeared right after breakfast asking for the job. He didn’t have any really good references, but Daddy said to try him out for a week. Nobody could be worse than Gallagher was.” She giggled. “I dashed right down to the cottage and brought the pruning saws and shovels back to the tool house. And I do mean dash. I was scared to death for fear someone was lurking in the woods.”

  “I’m sorry I said what I did yesterday,” Trixie admitted. “Whoever was eavesdropping must be miles away by now. I hope you didn’t take the flashlights back to the tack room,” she added. “I think we ought to go over every inch of the floor. Maybe we’ll find more footprints.”

  “I never even thought about the flashlights,” Honey said. “Here they are. Right where we left them, outside by the window.”

  “Thank goodness it didn’t rain last night,” Trixie said. “The batteries would have been ruined and Regan would have been as mad as anything.”

  Honey smiled. “We get worse every day, you and I. We’re always taking things and forgetting to return them.”

  Inside the cottage, they got down on their hands and knees with the flashlights and examined the dirt floor.

  “This looks like another footprint,” Trixie said suddenly. “And it’s not the same as the other one. Look, it was made by a rubber heel. You can see the trade-mark plainly.”

  Honey pointed the beam of her torch on the new clue. “You’re absolutely right, Trixie. Two men must have been in here since the rain Monday night. And they must have walked up and down a lot. That’s why we can’t find the other footprints. They’ve been scuffed away.”

  Trixie thought for a minute. “I don’t think they walked up and down. I think they had a fight. That’s why all but the two heelmarks were scuffed away.”

  “Oh, oh,” Honey gasped. “They fought over the diamond, Trixie. Maybe one of them murdered the other one!” She moved closer to Trixie. “Now I am scared!”

  Trixie grinned. “You’re as bad as I am, Honey. You’re letting your imagination run away with you. People don’t go around killing other people for a diamond which they go off and leave behind.”

  Honey sighed with relief. Then she frowned with a puzzled expression on her pretty face. “Why did they go off and leave the diamond behind, Trixie? It’s very, very valuable.”

  Trixie shrugged. “One of them dropped it while they were fighting, and it got ground into the mud. Then maybe they heard someone coming and hid in the woods. When they came back, we had already taken the diamond away.”

  Honey shuddered. “Maybe two men were hiding in the thicket yesterday. Maybe both of them know I have the diamond. Oh, Trixie, I can’t stand it.”

  Trixie went outside and stared into the thicket. “No poison ivy in there,” she said. “The wild honeysuckle
must have choked it all out. Let’s go in and see if we can find any more clues.” She pulled away some of the vines and pushed her way through others. Then she stopped, staring at the ground. “The man with rubber heels was hiding here yesterday, Honey. Look.”

  Honey peered over her shoulder at the footprints. “You’re right, Trixie,” she said. “The trade-mark is the same. What happened to the man with the leather heels?”

  Trixie pushed clear through the thicket to the path in the woods. She followed it down to Glen Road, with Honey right behind her.

  “You’re wasting your time looking for clues in the woods,” Honey said. “There are too many pine needles.”

  Trixie stopped short so suddenly that Honey almost banged into her. “Look,” she said, pointing. “Tire marks and more footprints! Both kinds of footprints!”

  Chapter 5

  Bobby’s Secrets

  Sure enough, on the soft shoulder of the road, there were unmistakable signs that a car had been parked there since the Monday night rain and that two men had walked from it toward the cottage.

  Honey giggled nervously. “We’re as smart as real detectives, Trixie. Two men, who have a car, must have spent Tuesday night in the cottage.”

  Trixie nodded. She walked north along the road a yard or so and then stopped. “Here are more tire marks but only rubber-heeled footprints.”

  Honey joined her. “What do you deduce, Sherlock?”

  Trixie grinned. “I deduce that Mr. Rubber Heels came back later and parked the car at this spot. But Mr. Leather Heels wasn’t with him, or else he stayed in the car.”

  “Or else he has wings,” Honey agreed, “or seven-league boots. If he walked anywhere along the shoulder, he would have left footprints.”

  “Mr. Rubber Heels,” Trixie said thoughtfully, “walked straight into the woods from the car. Then he came out of the woods and got into his car. The way the footprints point shows that.”

  “They certainly do,” Honey said. “I’ll tell you what I think happened. Gallagher mowed the lawns early Wednesday morning. The men saw him and were afraid he might come into the cottage. So they drove away in such a hurry they didn’t realize one of them had dropped the diamond.”

  “That’s what I think,” Trixie said. “Later they drove back and parked here. Mr. Leather Heels stayed in the car, and Mr. Rubber Heels sneaked through the woods to make sure the coast was clear before he dared search the cottage. When he arrived, we were cutting away the vines from the window, so he hid in the thicket. When he heard the dogs barking, he hurried back to the car and they both drove away.”

  Honey laughed. “Thank goodness, the mystery is solved. When we turn the diamond over to the police, all they’ll have to look for is a man with rubber heels who also has a bad case of poison ivy. When the detectives see these tire tracks, they can probably tell what kind of car to look for.” She turned around. “I’ve got to dash back to the house and say good-by to Mother and Daddy. If I hurry, there’ll just be time for Daddy to call the Sleepyside police station and—”

  Trixie grabbed her arm. “Don’t you dare tell your father anything, Honey Wheeler. If you do, we’ll probably both end up in jail.”

  Honey gasped. “Wh-what on earth for?”

  Trixie shook her head sadly. “Don’t you realize that the men who stole the diamond and dropped it in the cottage must be in another state by now? They may never be caught, all because we didn’t turn the diamond over to the police the minute we found it. It’s all my fault,” she admitted ruefully. “And there’s some awful law about withholding information which might lead to the capture of criminals.”

  Honey gasped again. “Well, let’s not withhold it another minute!”

  “Please,” Trixie begged. “Listen a minute, Honey. I think we may be able to capture the criminals ourselves. Then nobody’ll be mad at us for keeping the diamond a secret.”

  “I think you’re crazy,” Honey said, pulling away from her. “You just said the police might not be able to catch the diamond thieves. What makes you think we can?”

  “If you’d only listen,” Trixie moaned. “I think the two men will come back later on. But they won’t if there’s even a suspicion that police are on their trail. As long as they feel sure they have only you and me to worry about, they may try to get it from us. We’ll set some sort of trap and they’ll walk right into it.” She tightened her grip on Honey’s slender arm. “Then we’ll be heroines.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That new gardener of yours who hasn’t got very good references—he may be one of the gang.”

  Honey’s hazel eyes were wide with admiration. “How smart you are, Trixie! I didn’t like his looks at all. He’s sort of shriveled and bent and, well—he made me think of a giant peanut, with no eyes to speak of.”

  “Is he going to sleep in?” Trixie asked.

  Honey nodded. “He arrived C.O.D. in a taxi and said he wouldn’t take the job unless he could sleep in. There are only three bedrooms on the third floor, you know. The cook and Celia have two of them, so Miss Trask had to plead with Regan to let the new chauffeur share his suite over the garage.” She sighed. “You’re so right about the servant problem, Trixie. Regan didn’t like the idea at all at first. Although he never uses the other bedroom, he has got lots of his personal belongings in the living-room. You know, pictures and books and such.”

  Trixie laughed. “I’ll bet Miss Trask won him over to the idea of sharing the suite with Dick pretty quickly. Regan has wanted your family to hire a chauffeur ever since you moved up here.” She sobered. “What’s the new gardener’s name?”

  “Nailor,” Honey told her. “Oh, oh, Trixie. He may have already taken the diamond from my jewel box!”

  “Not a chance,” Trixie said. “Not in the daytime. Your house is always crawling with people. He wouldn’t even dare spy around. But tonight—tonight—”

  Just then a gleaming midnight-blue sedan turned out of the Wheelers’ driveway and headed up the road toward them.

  “It’s Mother and Daddy on the way to the station,” Honey cried. “I’ve got to stop them and say good-by.” She waved her arms frantically, and the car slowed to a stop.

  Trixie watched while Honey climbed in to kiss her parents, and then both girls waved until the car disappeared from view.

  “Our new chauffeur is certainly handsome in his uniform,” Honey said. “What a difference! Regan couldn’t be made to wear one. Not that anybody cared.”

  “Speaking of Regan,” Trixie said, “reminds me of Bobby. I’d better go see what he’s up to.” They hurried along the road and up the steep driveway. At the top, they could see that Jim was giving Bobby a riding lesson in the corral. “Moms,” Trixie panted, “would give me the dickens if she knew what a nuisance Bobby is to all of you. I’m forever leaving him with Jim or Regan when it’s really my job to look out for him.”

  “Don’t let it worry you,” Honey said, stopping to catch her breath by a clump of rhododendron. “They both adore the little imp. We all do.” She put out her hand to hold Trixie back. “You were saying something about the gardener which gave me goose pimples. Do you really think that Nailor is a—”

  “That must be he now,” Trixie interrupted as a wizened little man appeared in the hollyhock bed by the stable. “He looks more like a monkey than a peanut.”

  Honey smiled. “We don’t see eye-to-eye on anything. You thought our new chauffeur, Dick, looked like a weasel, and I think he’s very nice-looking.”

  “I still think he looks like a weasel,” Trixie insisted. “His eyes are close together.” She grinned. “Maybe I should have said mink, because he did look super in his uniform—and, he was awfully nice with Bobby when they met. He gave him fifty cents, so he could catch frogs in his own strainer.”

  Honey pushed her bangs away from her perspiring forehead. “I’m getting confused—weasels, minks, and frogs. As Regan would say, what next?”

  “The next step,” Trixie said, “is for you to invite me to spend
the night with you.”

  “But that’s a standing invitation,” Honey said, chuckling. “You know that, Trixie.”

  “Thanks,” Trixie said. “I accept. But Miss Trask had better let Moms know she really wants me. Bobby and I seem to live here.”

  “You and Bobby,” Honey cried impulsively, “are the nicest things that ever happened to me—except for Jim. And, if it hadn’t been for you, I would never have had him for a brother. Oh, please, Trixie,” she finished. “Let me tell him about the diamond.”

  Trixie sniffed. “And have him make fun of our theories? Or, worse still, report us to the FBI? You know perfectly well, Honey Wheeler, this is no time to let Jim in on the secret. Later,” she added mysteriously, “we may need his help.”

  While Trixie was helping her mother fix luncheon, Miss Trask called, inviting Trixie for supper and to spend the night. When Mrs. Belden came back from the phone, she said, “They’re so hospitable, Trixie, I never can say no. Are you sure you’re not wearing out your welcome?”

  Trixie grinned. “They’ve already put an extra leaf in the dining-room table so there’ll be room for Brian and Mart. And they fixed up the extra guest rooms for them, too.” She hugged her mother impulsively. “I really like our house much better than any place in the world, but it is fun to go visiting.”

  “Of course it is.” Mrs. Belden smiled. “And I don’t suppose you have tomatoes almost every meal the way we do down here when they’re in season.”

  “Only because Gallagher was such a lazy gardener,” Trixie said. “They have even more tomatoes than we have, but nobody picks them except Miss Trask, and she’s almost always too busy to go near the vegetable garden.”

  “What a pity,” Mrs. Belden said as she dried tender baby lettuce leaves in a clean dish towel. “Maybe a nice way for you to repay them for their hospitality would be for you to take them some of my homemade tomato juice.”