The Mysterious Code (16 page)

“It’s a shame we didn’t sell them to the Hakaito brothers when they wanted to buy them,” Brian said. “Now we’ll probably never see them again, and they won’t do anyone any good.”

Trixie didn’t think the police were trying very hard to investigate the robbery at the clubhouse. “Why do they have to take forever to find anything out?” she asked the others. “I’d like to do a little investigating myself.”

“Lay off it,” Mart warned. “You know what Moms and Dad said … no more sleuthing.”

“I don’t have time now before the show,” Trixie said, “but if I did, I’d—”

“You’d what?” Mart asked. “Bull Thompson’s in the reform school, and he didn’t give anyone a single lead on his partners.”

“Well, there must be
some
way of finding who they are,” Trixie insisted. “I’d feel a lot safer about our show on Saturday if they all were in jail.”

She meant it, too, because one or two of the people who had promised Trixie some of their rare antiques had withdrawn their offers in the face of the publicity about the clubhouse.

“Another thing,” she said, “no one has ever found out who returned the oak desk the night of the blizzard. I know Bull Thompson didn’t have a change of heart. It’s a real mystery.”

“Maybe one of the other crooks in Bull’s gang is a softie and returned it,” Mart said.

“That isn’t even probable,” Trixie said. “Anyone who would put gasoline rags around our clubhouse hasn’t any heart at all.”

That night after Trixie went to bed she couldn’t sleep. Her mind went back to the Valentine party … the
music, dancing.
It was wonderful
, she thought.
Then that awful time at the clubhouse … those gasoline rags … that fire might have been our club burning. I
wish
the police could trace those crooks
.

All at once a thought struck her. “Jeepers,” she said to herself, “I forgot all about that dog tag I found. It isn’t Reddy’s. Maybe it’s not even Patch’s tag. If it isn’t, it
might
be a clue! I’ll ask Jim about it tomorrow.”

On the bus the next morning Trixie asked Jim to meet her in the library at study period. When he did, she took the metal disk from her pocket, turned it numbered side up, and asked, “What is this, Jim, a dog tag? Did it come off of Patch’s collar? It doesn’t belong to Reddy.”

“One thing at a time, Trixie,” Jim said. “It isn’t Patch’s tag. It isn’t a dog tag at all. It’s the number of an automobile.”

“An automobile?” Trixie asked excitedly. “Then it
is
a clue. It belongs to one of the crooks who stole the swords!”

“What
are
you talking about?” Jim asked.

“The night of the robbery at the clubhouse,” Trixie said, as she rubbed the disk to show the number better, “I found this on the ground outside.”

“Why didn’t you show it to someone before?” Jim asked, exasperated. “I wish you wouldn’t try to do so
many things on your own. If the police had had it, they might have been able to trace the car long before this.”

“Don’t be mad at me, Jim. I didn’t know it had anything to do with the car the thieves used.”

“You could have tried to find out what it was before this. Come on, let’s go and use the public telephone.”

“You aren’t going to call the police and give them my clue, are you, Jim?” Trixie asked.

“It isn’t
your
clue, Trixie, and the police are sure enough going to have to know about this key ring tag. I’m going to call the Motor Registration Bureau over at the county seat, and see if they can tell me who owns the car with this number.”

Meekly Trixie followed Jim out into the hall and listened while he called.

She heard him ask for information, listen for an answer. “I have a good legitimate reason for wanting to know it,” she heard Jim say.

When he turned away from the telephone, however, she could tell from the look on his face that he hadn’t been given the information.

“They say they never give it over the telephone,” Jim said, “only to insurance companies and the police.”

“Then we’ll just have to go and see Sergeant Molinson after school,” Trixie said.

“
You
don’t have to go,” Jim said. “
I
can go.”

“Like fun you will,” Trixie said. “It’s
my
clue, and if you think for one minute, Jim Frayne, that you’re going there without me—”

“Calm down, calm down, smooth your hair back, Trixie,” Jim said. “I just thought you’d have to help your mother, or do some work at the club.”

“There isn’t anything I have to do to help Moms, and most of the work is done at the club,” Trixie said.

“Come along, then,” Jim said.

But it wasn’t that easy. When Jim and Trixie told the rest of the B.W.G.’s they were going to do an errand in town after school, Mart was suspicious.

“It’s another one of Trixie’s ‘cases,’ as she calls them,” Mart said. “
I
have another name for them.”

“It’ll be a big word no one can understand,” Trixie said.

“Just try to remember, Trixie Belden,” Honey said, “that we are
all
members of the Bob-Whites of the Glen. If you know something about that robbery that the rest of us don’t know, you’d better tell us.”

“Yes,” Diana said, “it seems to me you’re getting so you think you know everything, and want to do everything yourself. You’re not even any fun any more.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trixie said, perplexed.

“We’re talking about just what it is you have to do after school tonight that you can’t tell the rest of us,” Mart said. “Spill it, Trixie.”

“If you are all going to be mad at me I might just as well tell you,” Trixie said. “It’s just that I found this tag the night of the fire. I thought it was a dog tag and that maybe it belonged to Patch. Jim says it’s a key ring tag and probably this number on it will tell us who owned the car the thieves made off in. We were going down to the police station to have them call the Motor Registration Bureau for information.”

“Then we’ll just go right along with you,” Mart said. “We wouldn’t want to deprive you of our company, would we?” he asked the other B.W.G.’s.

“We wouldn’t think of it,” they chorused.

“We won’t be taking the bus,” Diana said over her shoulder to the bus driver who held the door open.

“You call Moms,” Trixie said to Brian, “please. She’ll think everything is all right if
you
call her and tell her we’ll be a little late.”

“Don’t bother to call,” Honey said. “Tom is going to bring Mother in to the station to take the train to meet Daddy in New York. I’ll tell him to pick us up at the
schoolhouse. We’ll get home about the same time we would if we took the bus.”

So it was arranged.

On the way to the police station the Bob-Whites passed the small retail store where the Hakaito brothers sold the produce they raised in their outlying farms and greenhouses.

Kasyo was in the window arranging a display. When he saw the Bob-Whites pass, he waved to them frantically, and called back to his brother Oto. Together they threw open the door, grinning and bowing.

Inside, Oto pulled out a bench and some chairs.

“Please to sit down,” he invited.

“We’re sorry, Oto,” Jim said, “but we have to hurry over to the police station.”

“Won’t take long,” Oto said. “Maybe have something more to tell police. You miss something from clubhouse the night of Valentine party?” he asked.

Trixie’s face fell. “The swords,” she said. “Now you’ll never be able to buy them for your father and the museum in Tokyo. They were stolen.”

“Hakaito brothers
have
swords,” Oto replied. “We find them in pawnshop in White Plains. Thief pawn them there.”

“He did?” Trixie exclaimed. “Did you ask the
pawnbroker for a description of him?”

“Yes,” Oto said sadly. “He said he didn’t remember who pawned swords. I do not think he tell the truth.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Mart said. “Those people are always afraid they’ll get in bad with the law.”

“Maybe the police can help jog his memory,” Trixie said. “We’re going there now, you know,” she said to the Hakaito brothers. “Did you say
you
have the swords now?”

“Yes, Miss Trixie,” Oto said. “Hakaito brothers buy samurai swords. We were going to take them to clubhouse tonight, give them back to Bob-Whites of the Glen. Here are your swords!”

Kasyo unrolled the paper from a package he pulled from under the counter and displayed the Satsuma samurai swords, polished and beautiful.

While Mart and Brian and Honey and Diana exclaimed over the return of the swords and chatted with the Japanese brothers, Jim and Trixie, huddled in the background, whispered busily.

“We can’t possibly accept the swords, can we?” Jim asked the others, interrupting their conversation.

The Hakaito brothers’ faces fell.

“You not accept present?” Oto asked.

“No,” Trixie said. “You want those swords to send
to your father. They are yours. They belong in Tokyo. You paid money for them at the pawnshop, money you worked hard to earn.”

“Makes no difference,” Oto and Kasyo said, then Oto continued, “Money is for little UNICEF children. We give swords. Maybe be lucky enough to buy them back at antique show.” They both grinned happily.

“Why not just consider lending them to us for the exhibit?” Jim inquired. “We’d never feel right if you weren’t able to send them to your father.”

The Hakaito brothers held a conference in quick, sibilant whispers.

“How much you think swords sell for at show?” Oto asked.

“Maybe a hundred dollars for the pair,” Trixie said. “I think that is what we planned to ask for them. Why?”

“We pay only fifty dollars,” Oto said happily, “at pawnshop! We pay you fifty dollars more, then we own swords, and you exhibit them at show. That right?”

“It’s wonderful!” Trixie said. “I’m
so
glad we will have them to display at the antique show.”

“You like maybe to show other swords?” Oto asked hesitantly.

“We sure would!” Mart exclaimed. “Do you have others?”

“Yes,” Kasyo said, “six other swords. After antique show we send all to Tokyo to our father. We have Japanese prints and carved ivory, too. You like to show them?”

Trixie clapped her hands, delighted. “We’d love it,” she said. “Shall the boys pick them up tomorrow?”

“If you like
we
fix exhibit at showroom,” Oto said. Kasyo nodded vigorously. “We fix Japanese style,” he said.

“That will be swell!” Jim said.

“Keen!” Mart added.

“Thanks a million,” Trixie said. “We have to go now. We’ll see you at the showroom tomorrow. Good-by!”

“Good-by! Good-by!” the Hakaito brothers said, smiling happily.

At the station Sergeant Molinson groaned when he saw Trixie and her group. “Oh, no,” he said, “not again! What is it this time?”

Trixie told him about the Hakaito brothers and the swords; how they had bought them at the pawnshop, and how the man who sold them said he could not remember who brought them in.

“We’ll send a man over to inquire,” the sergeant
said. “I doubt if it leads to anything. It’s hard to get information out of those guys. They seldom ask questions when anything is pawned. We’ll look into it right away,” he added quickly when he saw Trixie’s disappointed face. “Is that all?”

Trixie produced the tag and told of their attempt to get information about it from the Bureau.

“They have to obey the rules,” the sergeant said. “We’ll see now just what they have over at the Bureau on this license number.”

He dialed, waited for the sound of ringing, then repeated the number on the key tag and held the receiver, waiting.

“Yes?” he said. “That’s right. No, that’s the number on the tag. What did you say? Stolen? When? Yes, that’s the night all right. Was it recovered? I see. Thanks.”

“That clue led up a blind alley,” he told the anxious waiting B.W.G.’s. “The car
was
stolen the night your clubhouse was entered. The White Plains police found it two days later. No harm done. Just out of gas.”

“Were there any clues to who stole it?” Jim asked hopefully.

“None at all,” Sergeant Molinson said. “It probably
was
the crooks who were trying to break into your clubhouse. The stolen escape car won’t help us a bit. I’ll hold
on to this tag, Trixie. Might as well forget about the car, kids.”

“Did he tell you what the car looked like—the man at the Bureau?” Trixie asked.

“Yeah, Trixie, he did,” the sergeant said. “It was a blue and white sedan. If you can make anything out of that let us know, will you? There are probably a thousand blue and white sedans that pass here every day. Maybe we should have taken Mrs. Vanderpoel’s suggestion after all and added you to our squad.”

“Maybe you
do
need help,” Trixie said. “Our antique show is the day after tomorrow, you know.”

“Don’t I know it!” the sergeant exclaimed.

“We will have lots of valuable things in the showroom by tomorrow night,” Trixie added.

“Shall I detail the whole squad to watch them?” the sergeant asked sarcastically. “The showroom is on Main Street in plain sight. Your father’s bank, Trixie, is right across the street. Is he going to call off the bank guard to watch your showroom? You kids are beginning to get on my nerves. We’ll watch the place for you. Scram!”