The Mystery of the Missing Heiress Read online

  Your TRIXIE BELDEN Library

  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 (new)

  21 The Mystery of the Castaway Children (new)

  22 Mystery at Meads Mountain (new)

  Copyright © MCMLXX, MCMLXXVII by

  Western Publishing Company, Inc.

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

  GOLDEN, GOLDEN PRESS®, and TRIXIE BELDEN® are 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.

  0-307-21542-3

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

  Discovery at the Marsh • 1

  HONK THE HORN!” Trixie Belden called excitedly and put her hand over Brian s tanned fingers. With an older brother’s tolerance, he smiled and stopped his battered, stripped-down car in front of the Manor House, the huge Wheeler estate at Sleepy-side-on-the-Hudson.

  “If I know Honey and Jim,” he said, “they’ve been looking out of a window for half an hour, rackets in hand, waiting for us.”

  “Maybe,” Trixie said and jumped from the car. “They should be coming around the house right now if they heard the car.”

  Mart, almost her twin, swung his slim legs over the doorless backseat. “Heck, they can hear it the minute Brian backs out of the garage, half a mile away.”

  “Hi!” they called to Tom, the Wheeler chauffeur, who was washing down the station wagon.

  “Hi, yourselves!” Tom answered. Anyone could tell from the broad grin on his face that he liked the “Belden kids,” as he called them—especially Trixie, his boss’s daughter’s best friend. It was so much fun to tease her. She had a temper, although her short, sandy curls and big blue eyes belied it.

  “I’m trying to clean and polish this car so it’ll look just the way you want it,” Tom said. “I didn’t think it would take long for you to get here, once you heard the news.”

  “What news?” Trixie asked breathlessly. “Hi, Honey! Hi, Jim! Are you going on a trip? Is that the news?”

  Honey, a tall, graceful blonde just Trixie’s age, came out of the house, smiling, followed by her older brother, Jim.

  Tom threw down the hose in disgust. “Do you mean you Belden kids don’t know what I’m talking about? Gosh, Honey, I sure opened my big mouth. Your dad will be plenty mad at me.”

  “No, he won’t,” said Honey, laughing. “Daddy never gets plenty mad’ at anyone, without a very good reason.”

  “Then what did Tom mean?” Trixie insisted.

  “Aren’t we going to play tennis this morning?”

  Jim just laughed. “Take a look in the garage!”

  He watched Trixie, Brian, and Mart as their eyes widened in wonder at the brand-new Continental sedan, shiny and blue, glittering with chrome.

  “Gol, it’s neat!” Mart said, awed.

  “Cool!” Brian echoed.

  “Isn’t she a beauty?” Tom asked, laying his hands lovingly on the hood. “She’ll sure leave you far behind in the old station wagon, Jim.”

  “Are you going to drive the station wagon now, Jim?” Trixie asked with great interest.

  “Not only drive it.” Jim grew an inch taller before their eyes. “I’m part owner!”

  “Is Honey the other part?” Trixie asked quickly. Then she added sadly, “She can't even drive.”

  “I’m one of the owners,” Honey said excitedly. “You are, too, Trixie, and Brian and Mart and Diana and Dan!”

  She giggled at the questions in their eyes. “Daddy is giving our station wagon to the Bob-Whites of the Glen.”

  “He’s doing what?” Trixie asked, unbelieving. “Look at what Mart’s doing!”

  Mart, out of sheer joy at the news, turned cartwheel after cartwheel down the concrete drive.

  At Trixie’s words he stopped, dusted himself off, and stamped his foot, frustrated. “Why am I so steamed up? I won’t be old enough to drive for another year. But, say—” he grinned impishly—“I sure can order my own limousine.”

  He turned to Jim, opened the station wagon’s rear door with a flourish, stepped in, and commanded, “Home, James!”

  The others laughed delightedly, ran around the car, patted it, and exclaimed, hardly daring to believe this glorious car could really be their very own.

  Reddy, the Beldens’ Irish setter, who had followed them from home, raced madly around the Bob-Whites, then skidded suddenly to a stop, tail wagging, wondering about the excitement and loving it all.

  “Let’s take a spin down Glen Road,” Trixie called, “and sound the horn all the way. Beep! Beep! Honk! Honk! Come on, gang. Who’ll drive, Jim or Brian?”

  You drive,” Jim told his friend generously and opened the door to the driver's seat.

  “Nope... you“ Brian protested. “I have to wheel my old jalopy out of the drive, anyway.”

  He gave his old car a loving push, remembering the agony they all went through to earn the fifty dollars it had cost months before. “We’ll have to stop at Di’s, then hunt up Dan and tell him. Hi, Regan!”

  Regan, the Wheelers’ groom and one of the Bob-Whites’ very best friends, came out of the stable and over to the station wagon.

  Because Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler had to be away much of the time, Regan kept Honey and Jim in line. He extended his advice to include the Belden young people, too, when they were around the Wheeler estate. None of them resented his discipline. It always was just.

  They didn’t resent it now when, as they were about to take off in their new car, Regan said soberly, “The car’s swell. I’m glad you have it—but it doesn’t have to be exercised. Inside the stable”— he gestured with his thumb—‘I have five riding horses begging to be taken out... pawing and restless. That’s the first order of business. Right, kids? Don’t forget the Turf Show next month!” Reluctantly but understandingly, they nodded their heads. Any other day, Trixie thought, just any other day....

  “Okay, Regan,” she said aloud as they all walked toward the stable. “You win. But, jeepers, it’ll be forever before we get to try out our new car. When we come back, we’ll have to groom the horses, clean the tack—”

  “One thing at a time, Miss Fidget!” A smile curved around Regan’s mouth. “I just might help.”

  “You nearly always do,” Trixie said, ashamed. “Shall I ride Susie today?” She stroked the little black mare’s soft nose.

  “If you will, please, Trixie. You ride well enough now, though, that you could almost have your choice of horses.” Regan never was lavish with his praise, and Trixie colored.

  “You can’t ride Jupiter!” Jim warned as he saddled the mettlesome black gelding. “Brian’s the only one who rides him, except me.”

  “You forget Daddy,” Honey reminded him. “Jupiter’s really his horse.” She swept her hand arou
nd, indicating the walls of the tack room. “Look at the ribbons he’s taken for jumping! Oh, well, I’ll take Lady, any day.” At the sound of Honey’s voice, the beautiful gray mare raised her head.

  “That leaves Starlight for Brian and Strawberry for me,” Mart said. “Go back home, Reddy! Home!” He might as well have spoken to the wind. Reddy ran yapping into the shrubbery, only to come galumphing back, mouth drooling, brown eyes begging: You do want me, don't you?

  Honey laughed. “You may as well give in, Mart Patch always goes. He’s Jim's shadow.” The springer spaniel, hearing his name, upped his big ears and whimpered. Honey bent to stroke his wriggling body. “The dogs love the woods as much as we do.”

  “Shall we go past Di’s house first and tell her the news about the car, then pick up Dan at Mr. Maypenny’s cottage?”

  The woods, a huge game preserve, was only a small part of the Wheeler estate with its private lake for swimming, its fine stable, and its paddock. The preserve was the place the Bob-Whites liked best to ride. It was deep, dark, and mysterious, with trails crossing and recrossing. There were parts of it, still unexplored, where deer and foxes roamed. On rare occasions even a catamount found its way down from the Catskills. The west boundary ended only ten feet from the edge of the great bluffs that hung over the Hudson River.

  Jim rode ahead as they left Manor House. The others followed him down the path that would take them past Crabapple Farm, the Beldens’ clapboarded old home, which was wrapped cozily in orchards ripe with fruit. It was a modest home compared to the large estates which had grown up around it over the years. Three generations of Beldens had lived here, adding rooms as needed. Now it sprawled, gracious and hospitable, in the midst of rose and vegetable gardens, chicken runs, and berry patches.

  From inside the farm’s white picket fence, Bobby, the youngest Belden, a first grader, waved as the Bob-Whites passed. He whistled to Reddy, who ignored his little master to follow the horses.

  “I’ll be glad when Bobby is old enough to ride with us,” Trixie thought as she looked back at her small brother’s dejected form. “It doesn’t seem right....”

  In the driveway of Diana Lynch’s great stone home, they reined in their horses and whistled the clear club call: bob, bob-white!

  Around the comer of the exercise yard, a silver and gold palomino raised his head and whinnied. Diana, a beautiful girl with shining black shoulder-length hair, wearing tan jodhpurs, answered the whistle: bob-white! bob, bob-white! and ran out.

  “I knew you were coming. Miss Trask called me.”

  “She did?” Honey asked. “She fixed some sandwiches for us to take along. Isn't she a dear? Did she tell you anything?”

  “Just that you were riding and wanted me to go with you…. I've saddled Sunny. Say... what could Miss Trask have told me? Why are you all grinning? Tell me!”

  Mart urged Strawberry over closer to Diana and brushed his hand nonchalantly over his short, sandy hair. “It’s nothing... really nothing... it’s just....”

  “That the Bob-Whites have their very own car!” Trixie exploded. “A station wagon!”

  “Now, where in the world would we ever get anything like that? You have to be fooling. I’m not old enough to drive. You aren’t, Trixie. Honey isn’t, either, or Mart. Where would we get a car?” she repeated. “Where?”

  “Honey and Jim’s father,” Trixie said dramatically. “He has a marvelous new Lincoln Continental and has given his old car to the Bob-Whites. Did you ever hear of anything like that? Jim’s going to paint our club name on the door. Who’ll drive it? Why, Jim and Brian, for now, and Dan will learn. But it belongs to every one of us! Oh, hurry, Di. Were going to the gamekeeper’s cottage to tell Dan the news, too.”

  Diana didn’t move. “I just can’t believe it!” she gasped. “It’s too—too—too super! Why, even the Sleepyside Turf Club doesn’t own a car!”

  “Why speak of that unimportant organization in the same breath with the Bob-Whites of the Glen?” Mart asked. “Gol, when I think of all that’s happened to us in the past year or so....”

  “Ever since Honey’s family moved to Manor House,” Trixie added, “and Di’s family moved here —and Dan!”

  “We have the best dub in the United States of America,” Honey said. “I always wanted to belong to a club like ours.”

  Trixie nodded her head. “Now all seven of us belong.”

  “With a clubhouse thrown in,” Brian reminded her.

  “Which we broke our backs mending and rebuilding and furnishing—” Mart stopped when he saw Trixie’s face.

  “Mart Belden! Were the luckiest people in the whole world! Just think of it—the Wheeler gatehouse for our dub!”

  “It’s true, what Mart said,” Honey said quietly. “It looked terrible, all choked with vines and so dilapidated. Daddy’s so proud of the way we fixed it up without any help from anyone. That’s one reason that he gave us the station wagon. He likes the things the Bob-Whites do.”

  “Trixie didn’t give me half a chance to finish what I started to say— Oh, stand still a minute, can’t you?” Mart said to Strawberry, who was pawing the ground, eager to get going. “I liked the work we did on the clubhouse. I was just trying to be a little bit funny. There’s no end to the things Mr. Wheeler does to help our dub—Di’s dad, too, and our own mom and dad.”

  Honey shook her blond head. “There’s more to it than that, Mart. When I think of the crazy, dressed-up kid I was before I met Trixie and the rest of you.... Heavens, I never even owned a pair of jeans before. I never had one day s fun in all my life till....”

  “Poor little rich girl!” Mart dried imaginary tears. “It’s true. Jim and I practically live at Crabapple Farm now... picnics and barbecues... your mother’s cooking. It’s a lot easier to give things to people when you have too much yourself. It’s better to do things with and for other people. The Bob-Whites have taught us that, haven’t they, Jim?”

  “Sure! Of course, I’m a Johnny-come-lately—just since your family took pity on a down-and-out orphan, Honey, and adopted me. I sure think I fell into a great life with some great friends. It took a punk like that stepfather of mine to make me realize this.”

  “Ho-hum!” Mart broke in, pretending to stifle a yawn. “Is this a love-in, or are we going to ride?”

  “Ride!” Trixie said briskly. “It doesn’t hurt anyone, though, to stop now and then and think about good things people do. Too many people are running down our country and everyone in it, with a special hate for teen-agers. I like us. I like all of us.” She turned Susie sharply, urged her into a trot, and called back over her shoulder, “You have to remember that Dan doesn’t know about the car. Let’s turn into the woods here.”

  They left Glen Road for a world of tangy spruce and pine as the intriguing shade of the trail closed around them.

  Reddy and Patch spread out, barking deliriously as they caught the pungent scent of damp pine needles, spongy leaf mold, and elusive cottontails.

  The surefooted horses picked their way, sniffing the fresh air, Jupiter snorting and shaking his black head, restive under Jim’s tight control.

  Ahead of them, at the edge of the clearing, they could see the rustic old cottage of Mr. Maypenny, the Wheeler gamekeeper. Nearby, Dan Mangan

  was cutting up a fallen tree.

  When he heard the Bob-White whistle, he shouted a welcome they couldn’t quite hear, but he grinned a greeting they couldn’t mistake.

  When they neared and called out the news, his grin broke into a whoop of joy.

  “One-seventh of the car is yours,” Mart added as he dismounted and dropped his reins to ground-tie Strawberry. “Jim and Brian will give you a driving lesson right away.”

  “How about that?A station wagon of our own!” Dan shouted to Mr. Maypenny, who had come out of his house when he heard Dan’s whoop.

  “It’s no more than you all deserve,” the gamekeeper said. His eyes twinkled as Mart and Dan, irrepressible, went into an Indian war dance. It sto
pped abruptly, though, when Jupiter reared, exciting the gentler horses.

  Mart raced to pick up Strawberry’s reins, while the girls calmed their mounts.

  The elderly man watched thoughtfully. Trixie wondered if he was thinking how miraculously Regan’s rebellious nephew Dan had changed from a wild member of a tough New York City gang into the hardworking, happy lad he now was! It pleased her to think that the Bob-Whites had had something to do with that change.

  “Dan, can we pick you up on the way back?” Jim called over his shoulder. “Were riding the horses

  into the woods for exercise.”

  “Go along with them,” Mr. Maypenny told Dan. “Lay down the saw—the wood can wait—and saddle old Spartan. It’ll do him good to get a little trail riding, too.”

  With a shout, Trixie held up her hand, fingers crossed. “I was hoping and wishing Dan could come!”

  Dan rested his saw against the trunk of a tree and grinned his thanks to Mr. Maypenny. It didn’t take him long to saddle Spartan and fall in behind the other Bob-Whites.

  Single file, they rode on. Through heavy, overhanging branches they could glimpse the blue of the sky and feel the soft touch of late summer wind on their tanned faces.

  Stirred by the sound of their voices and the yammering of the excited dogs, flocks of scolding birds rose. Little ground squirrels and cottontail rabbits skittered for refuge.

  At the end of the woods trail, Jim, who was leading, held up his arm to signal the others to stop. From now on, the ground was barred to horses. Signs proclaimed this order.

  The Bob-Whites tied their horses. Farther on, afoot, they came to other notices forbidding any further progress.

  “I wish Dad owned this part between here and the bluff,” Jim said. “He’d do more than warn people. He’d fence off this part. He may do it yet, if the county will let him.”

  Erosion had undermined the lip of the bluff so that only a dangerously thin shelf remained, ready to crumble and fall without warning.

  Carefully the Bob-Whites circled the area till they stood on higher and firmer ground. Here, in a clump of pines, they would eat their sandwiches.