The Marshland Mystery Read online

  1 The Secret of the Mansion

  2 The Red Trailer Mystery

  3 The Gatehouse Mystery

  4 The Mysterious Visitor

  5 The Mystery Off Glen Road

  6 Mystery in Arizona

  7 The Mysterious Code

  8 The Black Jacket Mystery

  9 The Happy Valley Mystery

  10 The Marshland Mystery

  11 The Mystery at Bob-White Cave

  12 The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

  13 The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island

  14 The Mystery of the Emeralds

  15 Mystery on the Mississippi

  16 The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

  17 The Mystery of the Uninvited Guest

  18 The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper

  19 The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

  20 The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road

  21 The Mystery of the Castaway Children

  22 Mystery at Mead’s Mountain

  23 The Mystery of the Queen’s Necklace

  24 Mystery at Saratoga

  25 The Sasquatch Mystery

  26 The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

  27 The Mystery of the Ghostly Galleon

  28 The Hudson River Mystery

  29 The Mystery of the Velvet Gown

  30 The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

  31 Mystery at Maypenny’s

  32 The Mystery of the Whispering Witch (new)

  33 The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim (new)

  34 The Mystery of the Missing Millionaire (new)

  Copyright © 1977, 1962 by

  Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Produced in U.S.A.

  GOLDEN®, GOLDEN PRESS®, and TRIXIE BELDEN® are registered trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  ISBN 0-307-21578-4

  All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.

  Trixie Makes Plans • 1

  BRIEF APRIL SHOWERS had been falling off and on since early morning, but now, as the junior-senior high school at Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson let out for the weekend, the skies were clear. Only a handful of white, fluffy clouds still decorated the horizon to the northwest, above the faraway Catskill Mountains.

  Trixie Belden, her sandy, close-cropped curls dancing in a brisk little breeze, exited from the wide doorway with a surge of boys and girls.

  Trixie was bubbly, sturdy, thirteen-almost-fourteen, with round blue eyes that sparkled right now with excitement as she looked about eagerly for her very best friend, Honey Wheeler. She could hardly wait to tell Honey what she was planning for the next day.

  But Honey was nowhere in sight. Usually they came out at the same time and met under the tallest of the maples beside the main walk. All Trixie could do was wait, fidgeting with impatience.

  Honey was thirteen, too. Her home was out on Glen Road, on a huge estate next to the modest farm that the Beldens had lived on for generations. There were woodlands, a lake, a stable of fine horses, and every other luxury that her millionaire father could provide. But she had been a lonely, unhappy girl until she had met Trixie, less than a year before, when the Wheelers had bought Manor House.

  The two girls had hit it off at once and had become the closest of friends and partners in several adventures. They both loved mysteries and had solved several together.

  The girls and their brothers were members of a secret club they had started several months earlier. They called themselves the Bob-Whites of the Glen, B.W.G.’s for short. The club wasn’t for fun alone, though; as Trixie’s oldest brother, Brian, had said, “We’re brothers and sisters helping each other, as well as having good times.” And that’s how it was working out. They had had some exciting times together since they had started and had worked hard to make a success of their club.

  Trixie had just about made up her mind to go back inside the building to see what was keeping Honey, when she heard a teasing voice say, “Hi, small one! Why the gleam in the cerulean orbs? Can it be there is mischief afoot in yon tangle-haired head?”

  It was freckle-faced Mart, her “middle” brother. He was grinning at her from the other side of the tree.

  Trixie frowned. “My hair isn’t tangled. It’s naturally curly, just the same as yours is when you don’t have it whacked off in that silly-looking short haircut!”

  “Insults will get you nowhere, chickie. Come on, give out with the information. What’s your latest brainstorm?” he teased.

  But Trixie knew how to stop him. “Now, don’t be a snoop, my dear little twin brother! Sister will tell you all about it later on.”

  If there was anything Mart hated, it was being called Trixie’s twin. He was eleven months older, but they looked so much alike that people were always gushing over him and telling him that they could see he was a Belden—he looked so much like his twin sister, Trixie. Even having his hair clipped and standing tall didn’t help; he was only an inch or so taller than Trixie.

  His face reddened with irritation. “Forget it. I couldn’t care less. It’s probably some harebrained, dizzy idea like sending red flannel long johns to the Navahos.”

  He turned abruptly and swaggered off, swinging his load of books so violently in an effort to be nonchalant that books and papers flew in all directions. Mart had to scramble to gather them up before they were stepped on by the hurrying boys and girls.

  Trixie held back an impulse to run and help him. She was really very fond of Mart, even if he could be a pest at times. The truth was that if she ever got herself into any sort of jam, Mart helped her out of it, though he grumbled and groused while he did it. Like last November, she thought, when she let herself get captured by a dangerous imposter. What a dumb thing to do! If Mart hadn’t helped her that time, she would have been a goner.

  By the time she had decided to help pick up the books and papers, Mart had them gathered together and was striding away toward the bus stop, and Honey and one of the other B.W.G.’s, pretty, dark-haired Diana Lynch, were coming hurriedly toward her.

  “Hi! I thought you were going to spend the evening here!” Trixie greeted them. “Come on! We can catch the bus if we hurry. I’ve got something I want to tell you both.”

  “What’s happened?” Honey asked eagerly. “Tell us right away!”

  Honey was taller than either Trixie or Di, though she was a few weeks younger. She was slim and athletic and the best swimmer in the club. It was her wide hazel eyes and honey-colored hair that had earned her her nickname.

  “Well, nothing yet,” Trixie had to admit as the three hurriedly made their way through the milling crowd toward the bus stop. “But you can’t tell what might happen!”

  “It sounds exciting!” Di said. “Hurry and tell us!” Di was always ready to follow Trixie’s ideas. She thought there was no one like Trixie. It was Trixie’s love of mysteries that really kept life exciting for all the B.W.G.’s. Sometimes, in fact, life got a little too exciting when Trixie was at work!

  “Well, this afternoon, in botany class—” Trixie began. Then she broke off. “Oh, gleeps! There goes the bus! We’ll have to wait for the next one. And I wanted to tell Brian and ask him to go with us—”

  “Where?” Honey asked. “If you don’t tell us all about it, right this second, I’m going to stand here and scream as loud as I can! And I’ll tell everybody you were torturing me!”

  “And I will, too!” Di giggled.

  But Trixie waited till they were seated on the bench at the bus stop before she continued. “It’s a surprise for Miss Bennett,” she began. “You remember what happened in botany clas
s this afternoon, Di, when one of those goofy kids tripped over his own feet while he was carrying Miss Bennett’s book of pressed herbs to the cabinet.”

  “They spilled all over, and everything got mixed up and broken,” Di told Honey, who wasn’t taking botany that term. “I felt so sorry for Miss Bennett. I thought for a minute she was going to cry when she saw the mess.”

  “But she didn’t,” Trixie said soberly. “She was awfully brave. She just said she knew Joel hadn’t done it purposely, so there was no use getting upset. She let him sweep up all the dried leaves and flowers and throw them into her wastebasket.”

  “She can get new ones, can’t she?” Honey frowned. “There must be plenty around.”

  “I suppose she could if she didn’t have rheumatism and have to walk with a cane. It must have taken her years to get her collection.”

  “But where do the B.W.G.’s come in?” Honey asked. “I’m sure none of us would know an herb from a weed.”

  “Brian does. It was in Miss Bennett’s class that he first got the idea of becoming a doctor. He used to drag home armfuls of all sorts of weeds and swamp plants every weekend and spend most of Sunday cataloging them.”

  “Then if he still has his collection, why can’t he give it

  to Miss Bennett?” Honey asked eagerly.

  Trixie shook her head and looked gloomy. “He doesn’t have it anymore. Practically the same thing happened to it that happened to Miss Bennett’s. Only it was Bobby who got into it and made hash out of it a few months ago.”

  Bobby was Trixie’s six-year-old brother. There were few things he didn’t get into, but there was no use in being angry with him, Trixie had found out. His naughtiness never lasted long, and he was always so sorry that his big sister, who adored him, was quick to forgive him when the little boy’s chubby arms went around her neck.

  “I don’t know anybody who has pressed plants and things,” Di said regretfully. “Could we take some money from the club treasury and buy some for Miss Bennett?”

  “I think Mart, as treasurer, would okay it,” Trixie told her with a sigh, “only there’s no place where you can buy them. You have to gather them up yourself, in swamps and fields and among rocks.”

  “Oh!” Di looked disappointed. “Then what you’re thinking about is our going someplace tomorrow and finding some specimens for her.”

  “That’s it,” Trixie told her with enthusiasm. “Brian could drive us in his jalopy and show us which ones are which. And Mart and Jim could help. And I guess Dan Mangan might get off, for just one day, from all the traps and things he takes care of for Mr. Maypenny.”

  Dan Mangan was the B.W.G.’s newest member. He had come from the city under a cloud of suspicion but, due to Trixie’s detective work, had been cleared and had found a real home with the Wheelers’ gamekeeper.

  “It should be fun,” Honey said, but she had lost a lot of her first excitement. Gathering herbs didn’t sound very thrilling. “I don’t know about sloshing around in an oozy old swamp, though. Ugh!”

  “We can stay on the paths. There are always paths in swamps,” Trixie assured her. “Brian told me so.”

  “Well,” Di sighed, “I suppose you can count me in.”

  “And the rest of us, I imagine.” Honey smiled. “I’m sure Jim will think it’s a great idea.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she glanced at the identification bracelet on Trixie’s wrist.

  Trixie’s cheeks got red as she flashed a reproachful look at her best friend, then pulled her sweater sleeve down over the inexpensive gift that Honey’s adopted brother had given her after their adventurous Easter holiday on Trixie’s uncle’s farm in Iowa.

  Honey and Di knew it wasn’t really a sentimental gift, but they liked to make Trixie blush. Jim Frayne had been a runaway not too many months before, when Trixie and Honey had first met him. They had helped him escape from a brutal stepfather, and Jim had been deeply grateful. Now, adopted by the Wheelers, and himself the inheritor of an estate of half a million dollars, Jim was a senior at Sleepyside High and planned to go to college in the fall. After college, he intended to use his entire fortune to establish a home and school for homeless boys such as he himself had been.

  All the B.W.G.’s were proud of Jim because, in spite of his wealth, he worked as hard as the Belden boys after school and on weekends. He and Trixie were copresidents of the club, and it had been his idea that no member could use money for the club that she or he hadn’t earned. So they all had jobs at home, for which their parents paid them small regular salaries.

  It wasn’t easy to get schoolwork finished and attend to their other jobs, too, but they managed somehow, and each put something into the club treasury every week.

  That was how the clubhouse had been fixed up out of the old run-down gatehouse at the foot of the Wheeler driveway. The gatehouse, almost hidden by wisteria and honeysuckle vines, had been the scene of one of Trixie’s first mysteries. Now it was the neat, weathertight little Bob-White clubhouse, thanks to many hours of hard work by all the B.W.G.’s.

  “Oh, well,” Di sighed as the bus came along and stopped, “I suppose we can wear old jeans and sneakers in the swamp.”

  When they had crowded on with the rest of the boys and girls, they were too late to find a seat together.

  “Oh, fine!” Trixie grumbled. “Now we each squeeze onto a corner of a seat, and we can’t even visit!”

  “Ow!” A football player had just stepped on Di’s foot as he pushed toward the rear.

  Honey giggled. “Maybe this kind of thing builds character!” she suggested as the bus picked up speed and hurtled around a corner, jiggling everyone.

  It wasn’t until they had limped out at the Wheeler bus stop that they took a free breath.

  “Whew! Now I know how a sardine feels!” Di groaned.

  “Do you suppose that’s what they mean by ‘togetherness’?” Honey laughed as she straightened the skirt of her pretty spring dress.

  They were still laughing when they noticed Mart sprawled out nonchalantly on the bench.

  “Where have you females been?” he demanded. “Don’t you know you all have chores waiting? Two demerits each for stopping for ice-cream bars!”

  “We didn’t,” Trixie answered pertly. “We were planning an exciting trip for tomorrow, and since you’re the only B.W.G. around, I suppose we’ll have to tell you about it before we tell the intelligent ones.”

  “Trip?” Mart stirred lazily and got up. “So?”

  Di smiled warmly at him. “To gather herbs in a swamp. And you and Jim and Brian are invited, too. Tell him, Trixie.”

  But before Trixie could start, Mart put up a warning hand. “Stop right there, dreamer. This is the end. Tomorrow we males are booked to labor from dawn till sundown. Hast thou forgotten that this is the time of planting? In other words, didn’t you hear Dad tell Brian we’d help Mr. Maypenny with his garden tomorrow?”

  “Yipes! I forgot all about it!” Trixie frowned. “And we were counting on getting Brian to take us in his car!”

  “Something tells me, squaw, you won’t get far from the family tepee tomorrow, unless you bike your way.” Mart chortled. “Dan will be working all day and so will Jim.”

  “I guess we could bike if the swamp isn’t too far,” Honey said, a frown on her pretty forehead. “If it’s a long way, I suppose we’d better give up the idea. Don’t you think so, Trix?”

  “No!” Trixie set her jaw stubbornly. “And if nobody else wants to go, I’m going alone.”

  Mart took a quick look at his sister’s expression and knew that she meant it. He had seen that look before. “Just where is the swamp you’re heading for?” he asked, a little more seriously.

  “Miss Bennett said most of her plant specimens came from Sedley Swamp. That’s where we’re going.”

  “Sedley Swamp!” Mart exclaimed. Then he shouted with laughter. “My dear lame-brained sister, there ain’t no such animal. Sedley Swamp is no more. It is now part of our new concrete superhig
hway!”

  Strange Visitors ● 2

  OH, NO! YOU’RE JUST trying to be funny, Mart Belden!” Trixie accused her brother.

  “Don’t tease, Mart,” Honey seconded her. “Really, we re very serious about gathering some plants out there tomorrow for Miss Bennett.”

  “If you are,” Mart said, still amused, “you’ll have to dig down under a few feet of concrete before you find Sedley Swamp. It has faded into history.”

  “Well,” Trixie sighed, “I suppose that’s that. And I had such big plans for walking into botany room Monday with my arms full of milkweed and bee balm!”

  “Now you’ll have to study, instead of trying to get good marks by buttering up Miss Bennett,” Mart continued teasingly.

  Trixie flashed him an annoyed look. “We weren’t buttering her up at all.” Then she explained about the destruction of the teacher’s prize specimens.

  Honey added the last word. “So, you see, Trixie was being very unselfish, Mart. And it was her own idea, not Di’s or mine.”

  “Very noble, I’m sure,” Mart agreed, “but why do you busy little bees have to gather the plants from one special swamp? Won’t any other one do?”

  “Of course. Only I never heard of another swamp within biking distance,” Trixie said promptly.

  “There is one, but you probably didn’t think of it as a swamp. It’s called Martin’s Marsh, but that would convey nothing to you, dear sister, because you, with your complete lack of familiarity with your native tongue, could hardly be expected to realize that marsh is simply a synonym for swamp. ”

  Trixie sniffed. “I happen to know that marshes and swamps are practically the same, but I never heard of any Martin’s Marsh—and I bet you made up the name.”

  “I wish you’d mean it even half the times you say ‘I bet,’ ” Mart chuckled. “I’d be rich with all the money I’d win from you. It just happens that it’s about a half mile east of Sleepyside, beyond the old Martin Manor House ruins. Brian gathered most of his specimens there when he was taking botany.”