The Mystery of the Blinking Eye Page 6

  “I will if you six will promise not to come home with just a can of spaghetti and meatballs,” Mart agreed.

  “He likes kooky foods,” Dan explained in mock seriousness, “like gnat’s eyebrows....”

  “And Brazilian fried ants...”, Jim added. “Chocolate-covered...” Dan went on.

  “Ugh, I won’t have any appetite for dinner, I can tell that,” Barbara said, rubbing her stomach.

  “There are chocolate-covered ants in jars at some of those grocers,” Dan insisted. “I saw them.”

  “Grasshoppers, too,” Bob said. “Even in a store in Des Moines I saw some canned grasshoppers.”

  “And preserved grubworms,” Jim said. “Yummy!”

  “That’s enough!” Trixie said. “This is where we part. We’ll see you not later than five-thirty back at the apartment.”

  “If you turn out a dinner we can choke down, we may put on the magic show for you,” Mart called back. “ ‘Mart, the Mysterious Manipulator of Magic’ —that’s me.”

  “For that, we’ll put pink whipped cream on your fried grasshoppers,” Barbara said. “We like you, Mart.”

  “Like this,” Mart answered, drawing one finger across his throat.

  When Jim and Dan and the girls got back to the apartment, they found Miss Trask, Brian, Mart, Bob, and Ned in excited conversation. Jim unloaded the grocery purchases on the kitchen table. Then they went into the living room to see what all the excitement was about.

  “The joint has been cased, pillaged, plundered, spoliated,” Mart said out of the side of his mouth. “Oh, hush, Mart!” Miss Trask said. “This is serious.” She repeated what she had been telling the boys. “My sister was sleeping restfully at the hospital, so I decided to come back here. Soon after I returned, a man came to the door and told me he wanted to look at the apartment.”

  “What did he look like?” Trixie asked quickly. “Dark, short—I think he was a foreigner,” Miss Trask answered. “I asked him who had sent him and why. He said the owner was planning to sublet the apartment.”

  “Dad and Mother don’t want to sublet the apartment, I’m sure,” Jim interrupted.

  “I’d never heard that they did,” Miss Trask went on, “but he said that he was a prospective tenant, that the custodian had told him to come on up to the apartment and he would meet him here.”

  “I hope you didn’t fall for that,” Mart said.

  “Of course I didn’t,” Miss Trask said indignantly. “Did you let him in?” Jim asked quietly.

  “No, I told him to wait right there in the corridor while I went to check with the custodian.” Miss Trask’s voice trembled. “It took me a long time to find Mr. Pebbles. He was working in the building next door. The same company owns both buildings.”

  “Go on—go on—please!” Trixie begged impatiently. “He told me he’d be up just as soon as he finished replacing some broken tile on the kitchen floor where he was working. He said he had to finish it while the cement base was still damp—”

  “Oh, dear! Miss Trask, what happened?” Trixie was almost frantic.

  “I’m getting to it, Trixie, as fast as I can. The custodian told me to tell the man to wait in the hall out there.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ll show you what—just follow me!”

  She led them to the bedroom Honey and Trixie had been sharing. There wasn’t a thing in the room that hadn’t been pulled out of place, turned over, or tossed on the floor. Even the pictures were askew; the mattresses had been moved; the bed coverings were wadded into rolls. Dresser drawers lay on their sides, spilling their contents.

  “Jeepers!” Trixie said in amazement.

  “Thieves!” Honey cried. “I know my beautiful watch is gone, the one Daddy gave me for my birthday. Trixie, did you leave your watch here, too?”

  “I did. There it is on the dressing table. Your watch is there, too, Honey. It wasn’t jewelry he wanted. Here is where one of the men was while his companion was at the United Nations... see? What did Mr. Pebbles say when he came up here?”

  “He hasn’t been here yet; don’t you understand?” Miss Trask said. “It just now happened. When I came back to give that man the message from the custodian, he wasn’t here. The door to the apartment was open, and I found all this!”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “That must be Mr. Pebbles now,” Jim broke in. “We’re here, sir,” he called to the custodian.

  Mr. Pebbles was puffing. “I thought over what you said, Miss Trask. Then I remembered I hadn’t told anyone to look at the apartment. I knew that man was lying and was up to no good. I hurried as fast as I could. He didn’t waste any time, did he? Have you checked to see what he got away with?”

  Trixie and Honey made a quick survey.

  “Not a single thing is missing,” they reported after a few minutes.

  “I guess he was scared off when he heard the elevator and knew you were coming back, Miss Trask,” the custodian said thoughtfully. “How he ever got into the building—I’ve got it! I had a locksmith working on the entrance door. He must have slipped past him. I’ll get the police on the job right away.”

  A policeman arrived shortly. Bob and Barbara stood wide-eyed while he looked for fingerprints, took down everyone’s name, and questioned the Bob-Whites, their visitors, and Miss Trask. Then he left.

  “He could have given us some idea of what he was going to do next,” Trixie said.

  “He’s not supposed to talk,” Dan told her. “Anyway, what does he know about what happened? Not half as much as you do, Trixie. I can even see your mind working. You think that man was a pal of the sleek gentleman at the United Nations; that both of them are after the Incan idol.”

  “They could very well be, Dan,” Jim said thoughtfully.

  “Two smart thugs after one little statue?” Dan was dubious. “I’ll believe it when I see it. This guy just saw a chance to sneak past the locksmith and go after the loot. This apartment happened to be first on his list in the building.”

  “Aren’t we going to find out anything more now?” Barbara asked, disappointed.

  “Not now or ever, or I’ll miss my guess,” Dan said. “Burglary attempts are made all the time. The police have time to concern themselves only with the jobs where the thieves are successful. Looks like you have a clean-up job here, Trixie.”

  “Looks to me like Honey and I have work here for our detective agency.”

  “Looks to me like we’ll never get anything to eat,” Mart said with a twinkle in his eye. “And you know how I feel about food.”

  “Yes, you will, too, Mart Belden,” Trixie said indignantly. “We’ve brought all kinds of good things to fix for dinner. We stopped at those stores on Fiftieth Street—”

  “And we’re all going to pitch in and help,” Brian said. He walked into the kitchen and began unloading the individual items from the grocery bag.

  “You just sit down and rest, Miss Trask. We’ll have everything on the table in a jiffy,” Trixie said. “You’ll be our guest.”

  “That will be very nice. I can’t sit still, though. I’m too nervous.” Then Miss Trask brightened. “I’ll straighten up your room.”

  “You will?” Trixie exclaimed. “You darling, darling Miss Trask! I hate to straighten up anything. I’ll make a special portion of beef stroganoff just for you.”

  Miss Trask’s eyebrows went up; then her face relaxed in a smile. “I’ll like that, Trixie. Beef stroganoff, indeed!”

  Wrong Number • 8

  TRIXIE GAVE JIM and Brian lettuce to wash, tomatoes to peel, and green onions to cut up for the salad.

  “The only thing I could cook would have so much garlic in it that we’d be run out of the apartment,” Dan said with a smile. “Anything I can do, Trixie?”

  “You and Ned can run around the corner to that little store and get some colas,” Trixie said. “We’ll want some later in the evening, and there isn’t a single bottle here.”

  “Bring some popcorn
, too,” Honey added and gave Dan the housekeeping purse. “Maybe some extra butter, too. We may want popcorn after dinner.”

  “You don’t have much confidence in my cooking, do you?” Trixie said, laughing. “To be real truthful,

  I’m curious to see what I’ll turn out myself.”

  “If you need a chicken sewed up, I can do that,” Barbara said.

  “I’m pretty good with a needle, too,” Honey said, “but just suppose Barbara and I set the table. I’m sure we can handle that.”

  “I’ll help Trixie,” Diana said. “I know how to make Chinese fried rice.”

  “That would be keen!” Mart said. “Now who would like to sample my mashed potatoes avec fines herbes?”

  “You made that up!” Diana said.

  “I did not! I ate potatoes with herbs one time at that French restaurant where we were the other evening. I asked the chef what was in them. I’ll bet my potatoes will taste every bit as good as his!”

  “Ooo-la-la!” Dan said and pretended to twirl a moustache. “Don’t shoot, Mart. I’m on my way.”

  An hour later, the apartment was filled with delicious fragrances. The aroma of crisped beef blended with that of half a dozen herbs and spices. Trixie had flour on her nose, apron, and hands, but she smiled triumphantly. “My beef stroganoff is perfect!” she declared.

  “Stop tasting it, then,” Mart said, smiling. “There won’t be any left.”

  “Oh, yes, there will be,” Trixie sang. “I made the recipe that was supposed to be used for sixteen. I just hope you like it. You’ll have it again tomorrow.”

  She was wrong. There wasn’t a bit left of the delicious sliced brown beef smothered in sour cream, spices, onions, and tomatoes. Served with Diana’s delicious fried rice, it was perfect. Mart, too, surprised the girls by the way he cooked potatoes to the right fluffiness, put them through a ricer, and produced his French version of mashed potatoes.

  “What did you put in them?” Barbara asked as she reached for the dish and helped herself a second time.

  “Grated cheese,” Mart ticked off on his fingers, “sour cream, nutmeg, mace, thyme, chives, and lemon juice. Then,” he added dramatically, “just a taste of sesame seed, dill, and rosemary.”

  “I never heard of any of those things, except cheese,” Dan said, “but the tout ensemble—c'est parfait!”

  “Jeepers, Dan!” Trixie said, her blue eyes wide. “Where did you learn all that French?”

  “Hanging around Greenwich Village,” Dan said. “No, honest, Miss Trask coached me before dinner. I was going to throw it in if the girls came up with a bomb. They didn’t, though, and the dinner was perfect. So I can say it and mean it. That meat stuff— beef stroganoff you call it, Trix?—that was something!”

  “Did you like the salade, Monsieur Mangan?” Jim inquired.

  “Mais oui!” Dan answered. “Well, that’s the extent of my French. Gleeps! I think the whole spread was terrific.”

  “You can say that again!” Miss Trask said.

  “Miss Trask, Miss Trask!” Mart feigned shock. “Watch your language.”

  “I’ll have to watch my weight if Trixie cooks dinner very often.” The Wheelers’ housekeeper smiled at the young people.

  “If I could only forget for a little while what happened today,” Trixie said and winced, remembering. “That man at the United Nations and the burglar here! Oh, well.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Who’ll wash the dishes?”

  The hush was complete.

  “All right, then, you’ll be drafted!” Trixie announced. “Everyone except Miss Trask, Mart, Bob, Ned, and Brian.”

  “That’s not fair!” Dan protested.

  “It is, because they’re going to get ready for the magic show,” Trixie pointed out.

  “Bob and Barbara have promised to sing. Barbara shouldn’t have to help, either,” Honey said.

  “I don’t mind. I always help with the dishes at home,” Barbara insisted.

  After the work was done, Miss Trask drew back the long curtains from the great view window that looked down over Central Park to the lighted buildings on the city’s skyline. Gradually, one by one, the young people joined her and stood, fascinated. Ribbons of automobile lights wound in and out along the streets. Against the sky, the misted outlines of tall buildings glowed, alive with twinkling windows.

  “If we’d just turn our backs,” Ned said as Miss Trask snapped on half a dozen lamps and lit the electric fireplace, “we might almost be in the big kitchen of our home or at Happy Valley Farm.”

  “Or in Uncle Andrew’s lodge in the Ozarks,” Trixie added. “It’s cozy. Imagine, in August, having the fireplace lighted!”

  “It’s an illusion,” Miss Trask said. “It’s just light. I didn’t turn on the heat. The logs are imitations.”

  “It’s just as cozy as if they were real!” Jim said and settled down on the big sofa. “I’m ready to be entertained. Here’s a front row seat, Trixie!” He patted the seat beside him.

  Ned brought in a small table, covered it with a black cloth, then set a bowl, a black box, and some other strange props on it.

  Bob and Barbara took up their guitars and ran some eerie chords up and down the strings for a fanfare. Bowing, smiling, Mart stepped out on the stage and tapped with his wand for attention.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to be entertained by the world’s most famous magician. But if this trick works, I’ll be more surprised than you are. Watch carefully. You may be able to find out how to do it. If you do, let me know.”

  Mart took out a cola bottle and put it in a paper bag. “This is the favorite beverage of a lot of kids, but some may prefer another kind. Anyone for root beer?”

  “I’d like one,” Bob said, going to Mart’s side.

  Mart snapped his fingers, mumbled some magic words, reached into the paper bag, and drew out the same cola bottle!

  “Something must have gone wrong,” he said, an exaggeratedly worried look on his face. “I must have said the wrong word. Who wants lemon soda?”

  “I do,” Brian said and appeared at Mart’s other side. “You’ll have it, sir,” Mart said. “Abracadabra!” He snapped his fingers, reached into the bag, and brought out the very same bottle of cola.

  “Well, so much for that trick,” he said and put the bottle of cola back in the same bag, slapped the paper flat, rolled it up, and threw it over his shoulder.

  “Heavens, Mart, where did the bottle go?” Barbara called in amazement.

  “That’s the trick!” Mart said gleefully. “I made it disappear!”

  “Now, friends,” he went on, “whenever I do this trick—and I learned it from a famous Oriental magician—bands play, people shout, and ushers walk up the aisle with bouquets of flowers for me. Watch carefully. It puzzles me more than it will puzzle you. I have here a five-dollar bill. I borrowed it from Miss Trask. I’ll tear a corner from it, see? I’ll give the corner to Honey. Anyone knows that a torn corner can only be matched to a bill from which it has been torn. Do you see that envelope Bob is holding way across the room? You will agree that I haven’t touched it?” The members of the audience nodded.

  “Well, then, if Miss Trask will please take the envelope from Bob’s hand and open it, she will find a five-dollar bill with the corner torn. Right, Miss Trask?”

  “Yes, I have it here.” Miss Trask held up the bill. “Now, if Honey will hand the corner I tore to Miss Trask, she will see if it fits. Does it, Miss Trask?”

  “Perfectly! How did you do it? I was watching you all the time!”

  “I held that corner all the time, too,” Honey said.

  “It’s nothing. I even amaze myself.” Mart swelled out his chest.

  The show went on. Mart made a bowl of water disappear, but not till he’d tried twice and spilled some. He knotted scarves, shook the knots out, then struck metal hoops together into a chain, and shook them apart. As his show went on, he told funny stories and kept up a continuous patter that left all his watchers baffl
ed.

  After he bowed to great applause and left the stage with his faithful helpers, Ned, Bob, and Brian, Miss Trask slipped away to the kitchen and returned with a tray of soft drinks and a huge bowl of cheese popcorn. “We couldn’t pop it in an artificial fireplace, but it is good. Try it!”

  “Now, Mart Belden,” she said, after she had passed around the popcorn, “I want to know how you did those tricks. I could see what you were doing, but I don’t know how.”

  “Sorcery, occultism, necromancy, wizardry, black magic... you couldn’t possibly understand or perform the feats I have performed,” Mart said airily. “You just aren’t one of the gifted ones. Say, Trixie, that reminds me. What about that prophecy that woman gave you at Kennedy? Weren’t you supposed to come up with some kind of good fortune? You couldn’t call those two who have been following us good fortune, could you?”

  “No, but lots of other things come before the fortune in the prophecy,” Trixie reminded him.

  “There’s so much junk in it I can’t remember a tenth of it. There wasn’t anything about that thief today.”

  “There is, Mart,” insisted Trixie. “I know the prophecy by heart. ‘Watch out for thieves; they’re everywhere,’ it said.”

  “Heavens, I’m shivering,” Barbara said. “All this magic, thieves following, and prophecies! It’s wonderful! It’s fabulous the way it’s turning out! Say, Mart, why don’t you answer Miss Trask’s question? How did you do those tricks? I’m baffled!”

  “It was simple; I might just as well tell you. Here’s the cola bottle, for instance.” He produced the paper bag, opened it, and took out a flattened imitation cola bottle. “I bought it at the magic store.”

  “I could tell it was some kind of a fake bottle,” Trixie said, “but that trick with the five-dollar bill really threw me.”

  “That was easier than the other,” Ned said. “You see, before we came here, Mart took a five-dollar bill and tore off the corner. Then he palmed it—vanished it.”

  “Palmed? Vanished?” Diana asked.