The Mystery on the Mississippi Read online

  “This isn’t Sleepyside. We’re hundreds and hundreds of miles from there. We’re way down here in an old river town, and that Frenchman is just waiting to murder us!” Honey cried. “Jim, why don’t you call Mr. Brandio’s office and have them wire us some more money?”

  “I don’t want to do that, except as a last resort, Honey. I think Dad would be embarrassed. We’re a fine outfit if we can’t figure some way out of this. Do you suppose we could hire someone to take us back to St. Louis and have them collect the fare there?”

  “Of course!” Honey cried triumphantly. “Jim, you find a driver for us!”

  It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, however. Not a taxi driver with whom they talked would make a run of such length. A crowd collected around the Bob-Whites. It was a sympathetic crowd, but no one was very helpful.

  When they had been turned down the third time, a young man wearing a yachting cap arrived at the desk. “Are you kids in some kind of jam?” he asked.

  “That’s the name for it,” Jim told him. “It’s this way....”

  After Jim told the story, Mart, who had been fidgeting around impatiently, asked, “Any suggestions, buddy, on how to get back to St. Louis?”

  The young man smiled. “This one. I’ve got an outboard cruiser I’m taking up to Alton Dam for a competition run to be held there tomorrow. If you want to crowd in, I’ll take you along.”

  “Wow!” Mart shouted. “More of the old Bob-White luck! Let’s go.”

  “We can pay you thirty dollars,” Jim said practically. “If that isn’t enough, we can get more when we get to St. Louis and call my father.”

  “Why should I charge you, when I’m going there anyway?” the young man said with a smile. “I’ll be glad to have some company.”

  “We couldn’t let you go to all that trouble for nothing,” Jim insisted. “Let us pay you what we have.”

  “Not a chance. Is this all of your gang?”

  “I’m Trixie Belden,” Trixie told him, holding out her hand. “We’re grateful to you for a chance to go back to St. Louis right away. We’ll find some way of showing you our thanks later. These are my brothers Brian and Mart. This is Dan Mangan, and Honey Wheeler and her brother, Jim.”

  “Call me Bob,” the young man said. He didn’t give his last name. “I’m ready to take off if you are. My car is out front. We can all get into it if you don’t mind crowding. The boat’s over on the Ohio side. It’s where all small craft dock. I’ll leave my car on the levee there till I get back.”

  Trixie glanced at her watch. “Is there enough time for us to get some lunch? We had breakfast real early. I’m hungry. We can go into the coffee shop. It won’t take long. Will you be our guest, Bob?”

  “If you can make it snappy. I want to get going.” So they hurried through hamburgers, downed malted milks, bought several small packages of cookies to eat later on, and, when the sun was directly overhead, followed Bob to his car.

  The run across Cairo took no time at all. Almost before they knew it, Bob pulled up and parked near a maze of masts and bobbing motorboats. He helped the girls into a shining varnished motorboat, the Comet.

  “Man, this is a honey,” Jim said, whistling. “You don’t think we’ll overload her, do you?”

  “No, I don’t,” Bob said brusquely. “Just get in.”

  “This sure beats going to St. Louis by car,” Mart said jubilantly. “We’ll see what it feels like to zoom along the river, instead of the pace we went at on the Catfish Princess. Not that I didn’t think that was super, too,” he added quickly. “Need any help, Bob?”

  “No, thanks.” Bob cast off, got under way down the Ohio, around the bend of the huge lake formed by the confluence of the two rivers, and headed the Comet up the Mississippi.

  “I guess we gave old Pierre Lontard the slip this time,” Trixie whispered to Honey. “He thought he had us all nicely sewed up in Cairo. That for you!” She waved airily in the direction of the delta city, fast fading into the distance behind the motorboat.

  Far from her sight, back in Cairo, a man walked hastily along the levee near the marina, climbed into his car, and hurriedly stepped on the accelerator of a black Mercedes.

  Rescued ● 8

  THE SPEED of the boat brought coolness with it. Trixie and Honey, their hair ruffled by the breeze, bent with the sway of the boat and laughed happily. They passed a towboat, its engines laboring as it pushed a heavy tow of oil barges upstream against the current.

  “The Catfish Princess had it easy, just rolling along downriver, didn’t it?” Mart asked. “Slow as it was, it makes me lonesome for it when I see another towboat. Boy, this one sure churns up the waves, doesn’t it, Bob?”

  Bob, his head bent over the wheel, didn’t answer. He kicked angrily at the floor under him.

  “I know what you’re thinking, fella,” Jim said. He had a speedboat of his own on the Hudson. “Those waves sure mess up the current, don’t they?”

  Bob didn’t answer. He just kept his gaze fixed on the buoys that marked the channel line.

  Thebes loomed up. Children stood on the hilltop on shore. The Bob-Whites waved to them. Bob slowed his boat, reached for binoculars under the seat and, holding them with one hand, looked intently past the shoreline toward the village.

  A road paralleled the river. Cars and trucks sped along it. Bob’s binoculars followed one car. Trixie, curious, could see very little without distance glasses. One thing seemed peculiar to her, though. It looked as if the car had its headlights on, or the sun’s reflection gave that impression.

  “What do you see, Bob?” she asked. “May I look?”

  Bob turned quickly, shoved the binoculars under the seat, and stepped on the accelerator.

  “It wasn’t anything,” he said shortly.

  I guess he forgot I asked him if I could use the glasses, Trixie thought. He's kind of edgy. I thought he'd be more fun. When we're out in Jim's boat at home, he's not a bit like Bob. Maybe the Mississippi River is different. It has such a strong current, Bob has to watch it every minute.

  Jim and Brian seemed puzzled, too, at Bob’s odd behavior.

  “Everyone around here is too sober,” .Trixie burst out. “Let’s sing something.” With a clear voice, she led a song Paul had sung back on the Catfish Princess.

  “Oh, the riverman’s life is the life for me,

  Hi diddle diddle de dee!

  Out on the water yet near to the land,

  Hi diddle diddle de dee!

  Oh, I don’t like the ocean with all of its motion,

  Hi diddle diddle de dee!

  And I don’t like the whales, or sea serpents with scales,

  Hi diddle diddle de dee!”

  The putt-putt of the motor seemed to mark time as the boat sped on. Its driver paid no attention to the singing, however. He riveted his gaze on the shoreline.

  As the Bob-Whites began to swing into the second verse, Bob straightened in his seat, took out his glasses again, and stared at the shore. He flashed on the boat’s lights. “Just trying them out,” he said to Jim, who was close enough to follow his movements. Suddenly the boat swayed. The engine sputtered, coughed, and stopped. They were running quite close to the shore, a shore that was swampy and completely deserted.

  Bob pumped the accelerator and fooled with the controls.

  “Anything I can do?” Jim asked helpfully. “I have a boat something like the Comet. Maybe there’s water in the gas.” He leaned down, put a little gas in his hand, and blew on it to see if some water remained after evaporation of the gas. “Nope, that isn’t it.”

  “Just leave it to me. I’ll get her going,” Bob said curtly. He stepped on the accelerator again. The engine responded.

  “Boy, that’s a souped-up baby!” Jim said admiringly. “Bet she’ll do fifty.”

  Bob made a gesture of impatience. “Just keep your hands off, buddy. I’m going to run her in here and see what’s the matter.”

  He took his hand from the throttle, tipped the engin
e up from the water,, and ran through a reed-filled swamp into a cove concealed by a maze of low-hanging willows. Just as the bow entered the cove, two men waded up to the boat. They were red-faced and angry.

  “What in tarnation are you doin’ in here?” one of them growled. “We’ve been spottin’ a school of fish here for days. Just about to sink our lines. Now you’ve messed everything up. What’s wrong with your boat?”

  “Not a thing,” Bob answered coldly, his eyes going past the men to the road on shore. “I just wanted a chance to look over my motor. It’s been missing.”

  “Look her over then,” one of the men said. “You can’t do any more harm here. Well, ain’t you gettin’ out?”

  Up on shore, a car’s engine raced. Its wheels spun in the sand; then it roared up the road.

  “I guess not,” Bob answered, and he started the engine. “She seems to be working all right now.” The boat purred perfectly as he backed out and swung it into the channel. “I guess I was mistaken,” he called back to the angry men. “Better fishing next time!”

  “Don’t you think that was queer?” Trixie whispered to Honey as the boat sped on its course. “Bob’s been acting sort of odd ever since we started, not a bit good-natured the way he was when he invited us on board. I wonder....” She bent her head close to Dan. “Did you hear that car up on the road when we stopped? Bob seemed to be listening for it. Or am I crazy?”

  “You’re not crazy,” Dan assured her. “Just pipe down. Keep quiet. Don’t say a thing.”

  “Then you think something’s odd, too?”

  “I’m sure of it. Hush!”

  Bob bent low over the wheel again.

  The willowed shoreline whizzed by in a green blur.

  Faster they went, and faster, throwing the spray high and white. The Comet fairly jumped through the water. The flying landscape changed from flat marshy land to sandstone cliffs that rose high above the shore. Jim’s face turned white as they watched Bob steer into the track of a sailboat manned by two young boys. “Watch it!” he called sharply.

  Bob only growled and sped ahead, breaking every river traffic rule.

  Men in small boats shook their fists angrily as they rocked dangerously in the wake of the Comet. Tow-boats whistled sharp warnings as Bob ran perilously close to their crawling barges.

  Trixie was certain now that there was something alarming about Bob’s actions. There wasn’t much to connect him with Pierre Lontard, yet she was sure he was in cahoots with the young man in some way. Could they have arranged a rendezvous at the spot where Bob ran into the fishermen? Bob had been furious when he saw the men.

  Jim and Brian, sober-faced, relayed knowing glances to Mart and Dan, immediately back of them, and to the girls. They said little to one another, and what they did say was sometimes lost because of the roar of the boat’s motor.

  Trixie’s mind went frantically back to the lobby of the Heartland Motel, where they had waited. She tried to remember anything that had happened there that might throw some light on Bob’s behavior. When had she first noticed him? Not till they were dickering with the taxi drivers. No... that wasn’t quite true. She had noticed a yachting cap on the head of someone in the lobby. Could Bob possibly have been Lontard’s stool pigeon all the time? Could Lontard have stationed him at the motel to watch for the Bob-Whites? Had he watched for a chance to get them on his boat? Sadly Trixie thought: We did something Moms has been warning us against ever since we could talk: We accepted a ride with a stranger.

  Trixie put her head close to Dan’s. “I think we’ve been led into a trap,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Dan nodded. So did Mart. They knew, too.

  In front of Dan and Mart, Jim turned around, bent his head meaningfully toward Bob’s head in front of him, and held his finger to his lips.

  What could they do? Very little. Recklessly as he drove, Bob wasn’t going to do anything that would harm himself. So wrecking the Comet was out.

  Something, someone will be waiting to seize us, whenever and wherever he lands us, Trixie thought. That’s it. That’s why Bob was signaling, turning his lights on and off way back there when we were singing, just before he headed into that swamp. If the fishermen hadn’t been there.... Trixie shivered. Honey put her hand out and grasped Trixie’s, and Trixie squeezed hard. “Don’t be afraid,” she said as loudly as she dared. “Bob’s just showing off how fast the Comet will go. Remember? He’s going to race her tomorrow.”

  “I... don’t... think... that’s... it,” Honey answered.

  The Comet passed Cape Girardeau. It passed the levee of St. Genevieve.

  If Bob does happen to be in cahoots with Pierre Lontard, we’ll know it when we get to St. Louis, Trixie thought. That's when we'll find out what he's up to.

  The Comet slowed as they approached Jefferson Barracks, far below the city. This is it, Trixie thought quickly. Lontard will be waiting on shore for us. He's been following the road above the riverbank. Should we go overboard when he slows down? Would we be able to swim to some boat here in the river? The faces of the other Bob-Whites were just as serious as Trixie’s. Their eyes seemed to be seeking some avenue of escape.

  Bob, intent on making shore, steered directly toward a grove of willows. Trixie moved closer to Honey, motioned to the other Bob-Whites to huddle, then said aloud, “Shall we swim?”

  Bob, startled, turned around and snarled, “Try it! I have a gun for emergencies, and don’t think I won’t use it.”

  Trixie, horrified, looked out to the broad river. It was strangely, suddenly, bare of any water traffic. No boats? Far in the background, she saw white water churning, white water that quickly revealed two Coast Guard patrol boats bearing down on them. Smiles broke out on the faces of the Bob-Whites as Trixie pointed out the boats rapidly closing in.

  Bob had taken his hand from the throttle to turn into a shaded cove. Then, alerted by the sudden silence of the Bob-Whites, he looked around. What he saw galvanized him into furious action. Snarling like a wildcat, he backed up, spun the Comet around, and headed for open water. His runabout, geared for speed, responded immediately. Quick as he was, though, he couldn’t overcome the moments he had lost in reversing. The V of the approaching boats narrowed, plunging Bob’s boat into the only channel he could follow—the one that led toward the nearest city dock.

  “Don’t try any funny business!” one of the Coast Guard seamen shouted. “Put in ahead, where you see that warehouse!”

  Bob, one hand on the throttle, tried to reach below him, where the barrel of a rifle glinted in the afternoon sun. Trixie, seeing his gesture, shouted out, “He has a gun. He’ll use it!”

  The guardsman in the boat nearest the Comet drew his gun, leveled it at Bob’s cold, white face, and said, “One move toward that gun, buddy, and you’ll never handle another one. Keep going!”

  Like most other cornered culprits, Bob lost his resistance quickly. He sagged like a balloon with the air released, kept his hand on the lever, and steered the Comet obediently into the dock. At the guardsman’s command, Jim and Brian threw a line around the timberhead and made the cruiser fast. The guardsmen then commandeered Bob’^ rifle.

  “All right, give me a ticket!” Bob said sullenly. “I suppose that’s what you have in mind.”

  “It was what we had in mind when we first spotted you back there on the river,” the officer said. “A ticket on almost all the counts you could have against you, beginning with no registration number on your boat and ending with reckless steering and endangering lives. It’s a little more now, my friend. You did a good job of resisting back there, so we’ll just go and talk it over at headquarters. Come along, now.”

  The Bob-Whites watched Bob, cursing under his breath, being led off. They were obviously relieved to see him go.

  “Now we’ll see what you kids have to say,” one of the seamen said. “How are you hooked up with him?” He nodded toward Bob’s back.

  A small group of wharf hangers-on had collected, watching. Before any
Bob-White could reply, two men stepped out of the crowd. One of them flashed a badge, spoke quietly to the Coast Guard men, and said in a loud voice, “We’ll take over now. We have some questions to ask.”

  The seamen saluted and left.

  “Now, who’ll speak for the group?” one of the men asked.

  Jim started to answer, but Trixie put her hand out to protest. “I think it depends on who is asking the questions.”

  “I think they’re federal agents, Trix,” Dan said quickly. “What do you suppose they want?”

  “We haven’t done anything,” Trixie said quickly. The other Bob-Whites echoed, “Not a thing!”

  “We were stranded in Cairo,” Trixie began, “and Bob—he’s the owner of the Comet—offered us a ride back to St. Louis. You see, we live in New York...

  “That’s enough for now. We’ll find out all the details later. I’d like to see your purse, young lady. May I please have it?”

  Trixie looked wildly at Dan. “Do you know they’re from the government? Are you sure it isn’t another of Lontard’s tricks?”

  The man who asked to see her purse took his identification from his pocket and opened the folder to show it to the Bob-Whites.

  Silently Trixie handed over her purse. The man took the papers from it, quickly glanced at them, then nodded to the other man. “I guess you’ll all have something to talk about at headquarters. You will please come with us.”

  It was a sadly dejected group that waited numbly for Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Brandio to appear at the federal building, where they were being held.

  After lengthy explanations of their identities, they had finally been allowed to make a phone call. When Mr. Wheeler heard Jim’s voice, Jim reported, he was frantic. The driver of the car, sent on from Cairo to Memphis, had failed to make contact. Mr. Wheeler had telephoned authorities in Cairo, who told him of the Bob-Whites’ departure by water. No one could tell him a thing about the boat they had used or the man who owned it. Mr. Brandio, summoned by Mr. Wheeler, had been trying to reach federal authorities for word of the young people when Jim’s call came through.