The Mysterious Code (10 page)

“Of course we aren’t angry,” Trixie said, relieved. “I was scared that night, though. I saw you. I went back for my notebook just in time to see you get into your car and leave. We thought you were thieves.”

“Hakaito brothers
not
thieves,” Oto said quickly. “Good vegetable gardeners, not thieves. Why you not call to us? We come back.”

“I was too scared,” Trixie said. “I’m relieved now, to know who it was.”

Oto Hakaito showed his white teeth in a broad smile. “Still cannot buy samurai swords?” he asked.

“No chance now,” said Trixie and Jim together. Then Jim went on, “We will see, however, that you have the fairest kind of a chance at the show.”

“I thank you very much,” said Oto Hakaito, bowing deeply as he turned to leave.

“Well,” Jim said, “that blows up your theory, Trixie, that the mysteries were related. I’m sure the Hakaito brothers had nothing to do with stealing the desk.”

“Who are the Hakaito brothers?” Brian asked. “Does anyone know?”

“I think they have a truck garden on the other side
of Sleepyside,” Honey answered. “And a produce shop in town. I’m pretty sure they are the ones who sell vegetables and fruits to our cook.”

“That figures,” said Mart. “That’s how they found out about the swords. I hope they are able to buy them. They belong in Tokyo if the Japanese think that much of them.”

“I think they do, too,” Trixie said. “But why would Honey’s family’s cook talk to Japanese gardeners about swords?”

“It could come about in the most natural way,” Mart answered. “Don’t imagine a lot of foreign intrigue. You are inadequately equipped to cope with a problem of such magnitude.”

Trixie snorted.

“Translated, Mart means you’ve enough to occupy your mind in this hemisphere,” Jim said. “Keep out of Asia!”

“You all make me tired,” Trixie said. “When something comes up, the rest of you just sit back and wonder and wish.
I
do something about it. Then you make fun of me. Why doesn’t someone else get busy and find out where that desk is, and who upset a little boy and gave him pneumonia?”

“Phewwww! We’ve been trying,” Mart said. “You
don’t do all your sleuthing singlehanded, either.”

“Sometimes I wish she did,” Honey said. “I’m a sleuth against my will.”

“The Reluctant Flatfoot,” Mart called her. “Maybe Spider is right and the desk will turn up in some odd place.”

“I’m afraid we can’t work on the furniture at the club tonight,” Honey told Trixie when they met in the corridor on their way to class. “Or try to solve any mysteries either.”

“Why not?” Trixie asked. “We have to use every minute we can. Why can’t we work?”

“Because Regan is pretty mad at us. He says we never help him exercise the horses any more,” Honey said.

Trixie’s face fell. “We can’t afford to have Regan mad at us,” she said. “He’s one of the best friends anyone ever had.”

“Miss Trask, too. She said she never sees us any more. She misses Bobby particularly.” Honey was exasperated with Trixie at times. She wished her friend wouldn’t try to solve every mystery all by herself. Honey wanted to be the kind of detective who sat in an office and directed other people. She had no liking for danger.

Trixie was just the opposite. The more involved a situation seemed to be, the better she liked it.

Adventure—even danger—beckoned to her and found her willing. The mysterious happenings that annoyed Honey and, in fact, the other members of the Bob-Whites of the Glen only excited Trixie. She would like to spend every moment with the club and its problems.

Trixie was scrupulous, though, about doing work that was expected of her. If Regan wanted the horses exercised, she would do it, no matter what she would rather do. Until Honey Wheeler’s family had bought Manor House, Trixie had never had a chance to ride a horse, and she had longed for one. Now the Wheelers’ five riding horses were at the disposal of Honey’s and Jim’s friends. Red-haired Regan lost his red-haired temper when the horses weren’t exercised and everything wasn’t shipshape around the stables.

“We’ll tell the boys when we meet them at noon that we have to ride,” Honey said. “Regan surely can use some help. He’s had Tom, our chauffeur, riding. If there’s anything Tom hates more than being away from the cars I don’t know what it is.”

“That’s true,” Trixie agreed. “And if there’s anything Regan hates more than an automobile, it’s another automobile. They’re both super at the jobs they have.”

“That’s why my daddy doesn’t want anything to happen that might make either of them want to leave,”
Honey said. “Why can’t Bobby come over to our house and visit Miss Trask and Regan tonight after school? He used to be with them often before he was sick. Diana’s little twin brothers Larry and Terry have been at our house several times. Regan is crazy about children. He was raised in an orphanage, and I guess that’s the reason. Can’t Bobby come over?”

“I’m afraid not. I thought you knew that Bobby hasn’t been allowed to go out of the house yet. He hasn’t quite recovered from his sickness after that desk was stolen. I wish Miss Trask and Regan would come to see him. You remember old Brom, the man with the whiskers who was at Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house? I told you about him. He comes to see Bobby often. He just loves him. He doesn’t have money to buy presents for Bobby, but the things he brings are wonderful. He made a willow whistle for Bobby that plays several notes.”

“I’d love to see it,” Honey said.

“He carved queer little witches and goblins for Bobby, too,” Trixie said. “I think Brom really thinks the elves live in the mountains near here. I
know
Bobby believes it. You should hear some of the legends old Brom tells Bobby. If someone would put them in a book, I know the book would sell.”

“Maybe some day we could collect them,” Honey
suggested, “if Brom would tell them to us so we could write them down. That would be a good project for the B.W.G.’s, wouldn’t it?”

“Not for me,” Trixie said. “You know the kind of marks I get in English.”

“The poems you wrote for your term paper were beautiful—the ones about the Navaho Indians. You wrote them after we came back from the ranch,” Honey said. “You got an
A
on them.”

“All I did was to repeat some of the ceremonial songs,” Trixie said, “and maybe twist them around a bit. I can’t write prose. Poems sing inside my head at times. It’s when I try to put them down on paper that I fail. Jeepers, Honey, we’re going to be late for class. The corridor is deserted. I didn’t hear the bell, did you?”

“Not a sound,” Honey said and they hurried into the English classroom.

At noon when Trixie told the boys that Regan was provoked at them for not helping exercise the horses, Jim said, “Honey must have seen Regan yesterday instead of today, or she must have misunderstood. Brian and Mart and I rode all the horses last evening. We took turns. I saw Tom this morning riding Susie, and Mother had Strawberry.”

“That leaves Jupiter, Lady, and Starlight,” Honey said.

“I’ll ride Jupiter tonight,” Brian said. He usually rode the chestnut gelding Starlight, but he longed to give Jupiter, Jim’s big black gelding, a real workout.

“Not tonight, Brian,” Jim said. “He hasn’t had enough exercise lately and he’ll be too hard to manage. I’ll take him. I seem to have put the Indian sign on him. He’s better with me than with anyone else. We’ll all have to pay more attention to exercising the horses from now on.”

“Let me ride Starlight,” Mart begged. “You said I could, Brian.”

Brian nodded his permission.

“I’ll ride Lady,” Honey said.

“Then Brian and I’ll go home and help Moms,” Trixie said. “It’s hard to do everything. We just
have
to work every minute we can on the furniture. We just
have
to study, too, and to help at home. I don’t know what Tad can find to make him jealous. We work harder than people do in the mines in Africa.”

“I think you are confusing, in your usual befuddled manner, Africa with Siberia,” Mart said smugly. “If you’d do a little reading now and then, instead of pursuing elusive individuals who practice infraction of the law, you’d—”

“I’d be as big a bore as you are, Mart Belden, with your big words that don’t mean anything,” Trixie, her face red, retorted.

“Don’t argue, please,” Diana said. “Remember, we have to work together.”

“All right, little dove of peace,” Mart said. He really liked Diana. She had a way of smoothing his feathers when they bristled.

Though Mart and Trixie seemed usually to be at swords’ points, if anyone said a word against either one of them, the other would spring to his defense immediately. It was just that they were too near one another in age. Because Mart was eleven months older, and a boy, and for that reason seemed to enjoy a few extra privileges, Trixie continuously tried to get even with him.

When the school bus stopped at Manor House that afternoon, Mart got off with Honey, Jim, and Diana. Diana usually cut across the upper part of the Wheeler estate to get to her own home. Trixie and Brian went on to Crabapple Farm.

Jim’s black and white springer spaniel, Patch, ran out barking and waving his tail like a semaphore. Regan, leading Jupiter, called to Jim, “Tell him to be quiet! He’s making Jupiter nervous, but he won’t mind me.”

“You know I’ve trained him to mind only me,” Jim said. “Heel, Patch!” The little dog dropped behind Jim and froze into immediate obedience. It was such a beautiful performance that everyone applauded, even the bus driver.

Jim stooped to pull the little dog’s ears affectionately.

“We’re sorry about not exercising the horses,” Trixie called from the bus. “It’s just that we’ve been so busy working on the antique show.”

“I know that,” Regan said, “but the horses don’t. You’ll have to do better, Trixie, or we’ll have a bunch of wild horses on our hands and nothing to ride in the spring.”

The bus driver stepped on the accelerator. “We’ll do better,” Trixie called through the window. “See if we don’t.”

The bus went on down the valley to Crabapple Farm.

“I’m surely glad you came home to help,” Mrs. Belden said. “This has been a day when everything seemed to go wrong. I haven’t had a minute to feed the chickens, and Bobby has been so cross.”

“I wasn’t cross,” Bobby called from the couch in the den. “I just wanted to get up and play with Reddy, and Moms never letted me.”

“That’s another thing,” Mrs. Belden said. “I haven’t seen Reddy since morning. He always keeps Bobby amused. He’s never stayed away from him this long before. Open a can of his food and go out and call him, please, Brian.”

Brian called, “Reddy! Here, Reddy! Come, Reddy!”

But no Reddy came bounding out of the woods as he usually did at the first sound of his name.

“He didn’t come when I called, Moms,” Brian said and put the can of dog food on the table in the kitchen.

“It’s strange,” Mrs. Belden said. “He probably chased a rabbit far into the heart of the game preserve. The Wheelers’ gamekeeper, Mr. Maypenny, won’t like that at all.”

“Mr. Maypenny is away,” Trixie said.

“I want my dog,” Bobby wailed. “My dog is losted. Please find my dog.”

“He isn’t lost, lamb,” Trixie said. “He’ll be home soon.”

Trixie wasn’t sure of what she was saying. She could see that her mother was concerned, too, and that Brian was worried. The whole family loved the playful Irish setter.

“He is too losted. I’ll go and hunt for him myself,” Bobby insisted.

“I’m sure he’ll be home soon,” his mother assured him. “Trixie will read to you, Bobby.”

“Don’t want another old story. I only like the ones Brom tells me. Where’s Brom? Is he losted, too? He didn’t come to see me for two years!” Bobby was tired of being kept in the house all the time, and he was unreasonable.

“Look out the window, lamb,” Trixie said. “That’s right, you may get up and go to the window. See who’s there!”

“It’s Jim!” Bobby cried. “He’s riding Jupiter! Moms, may I go out and see Jupiter and Jim?”

“No, you may not, Bobby. Why do you continue to ask me if you may go out-of-doors when the doctor said you couldn’t until the weather grows warmer?” Mrs. Belden was tired or she would never have lost patience with any of her children, and least of all with Bobby.

Bobby did not notice, however. He put his face up against the window. Jim turned Jupiter so the big horse’s black nose was pressed against Bobby’s, with just the glass between.

“Come in, Jim, and talk to me,” Bobby insisted. “Bring Jupiter in to see me!”

Jim laughed. “I can’t do that, Bobby,” he called, “but
I’ll put Jupiter out in the barn. Then I’ll come in for a while.”

“Give Jupiter some oats to eat!” Bobby shouted. “Call Reddy, too, please. I’m afraid Reddy is really losted, Moms,” he said as he lay down again on the couch in the study. “Jim will go and find him for me.”

“What’s this about Reddy?” Jim asked when he came in through the kitchen.

“I don’t know,” Trixie answered. “He doesn’t come when we call him. It’s never happened before, especially if he hasn’t been fed all day. Did you call him?”