The Mystery on the Mississippi Read online

  “I’ve never known my dad to be so upset over anything,” Jim said. “I guess we’re really in trouble because we didn’t tell him anything about this business before now.”

  Trixie’s face fell. “I wouldn’t have caused him any worry for the whole world,” she said. “I was going to tell him everything just as soon as we saw him. I didn’t have any idea we’d be held here. I was just so glad to get off the Comet that I didn’t think of anything else. Honey, you know I wouldn’t have worried your father if it could have been helped, don’t you?”

  “We all know that,” Honey said, turning indignantly to Jim. “If you’ll remember back a little way, Jim, you’ll quickly realize that everything significant that has happened to us has happened since we embarked on the Catfish Princess. You’ll remember, too, that we tried to get hold of Dad on the telephone at Cairo, and we found out someone—Lontard, we’re certain—said we were going on to Memphis. I can’t see where Trixie is to blame. In fact, I don’t see any good reason why we have to be held here for questioning.”

  “It’s routine,” Dan told her. “The whole thing will clear up as soon as Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Brandio get here. What I can’t understand is how the federal agents knew you had the papers in your purse.”

  “I can,” Mart said quickly. “At least, I have an idea. That sneaky clerk at the motel in Cairo was hanging around listening to us talk, and he was looking right over Trixie’s shoulder when she took the papers out of her purse back there in the lobby. Don’t you remember, Trix, that Honey and Dan warned you to keep your voice down and close your purse?”

  “I do remember now,” Trixie replied. “I suppose the clerk thought we were all working together— Lontard, Bob, and all of us Bob-Whites. Heavens!

  Maybe the investigators don’t even know that Bob is mixed up with Lontard... or that we think he is. Oh, dear, maybe they don’t even know anything about Lontard! I wish your father and Mr. Brandio would hurry!”

  Early-Morning Swim • 9

  ITWAS THIRTY or forty minutes longer before Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Brandio entered the small room where the Bob-Whites were waiting. A government agent was with the two men. He was smiling. Trixie, watching, relaxed a little. Then, as she looked at Mr. Wheeler’s serious face, her own sobered again.

  “We’ve talked the matter over,” the federal investigator said. “We’ve checked your stories with these gentlemen. Much is involved. Many people, too, including the skipper of the boat that brought you all here.”

  Then they do know that Bob may be mixed up with Lontard, Trixie thought, and she listened carefully to what the agent went on to say.

  “Mr. Brandio explained how you were drawn into the case. We will want to talk to you further, perhaps several times. Young lady,” he turned to Trixie, “it would be just as well if you worked with us in the future. Mr. Wheeler has explained your uncanny ability to hunt out infractions of the law. It’s not a good business for two young girls.”

  Trixie straightened her back and tried to speak. The investigator held up his hand. “I know, Trixie, that you and Honey have done some wonderful work as amateur detectives. This thing you’re mixed up in now is pretty far over your heads. Why not let us take care of it from now on?”

  “Trixie and I never hunt out cases,” Honey protested loyally. “And we are going to have our own agency someday.”

  “Good! We can use all the talent we can get in this business. I didn’t get into it myself till I finished college and law school. I guess I was about twenty-four years old when I got my first job in intelligence work. That gives you quite a few years to go, doesn’t it?”

  “Then, you think that if Honey and I see something that looks really suspicious, we should wait around till the police notice it?”

  “Of course not! In our complicated society today, with all the projects that are under way—secret projects, projects that must be protected from subversive agents—we need the help of every citizen, young and old, in the United States. I don’t intend to minimize the good you and Honey do, the good all the Bob-Whites do, or any organization like yours. I’m just asking you, Trixie, as a special favor to people whose lifework it is, not to try to go it alone. See what I mean?”

  “I guess I do, sir. I didn’t intend to go it alone, as you say. I was just waiting to see if there was anything we actually knew was wrong before I bothered Mr. Wheeler with it. Now I know you want us to report anything that even looks suspicious.”

  “Right you are. That’s what the clerk in the Heartland Motel at Cairo was doing when he saw you take those papers from your purse. Don’t hold that against him. By the way, girls, a word of warning: Don’t mention those papers to anyone—not a word about them. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Trixie and Honey chorused.

  The government agent turned around to the other Bob-Whites. “That goes for the rest of you, too, please. You’ll probably hear from me again before long. In the meantime, I want you to all make a note of this telephone number.” He wrote hurriedly on a card and handed it to Mr. Wheeler. “If any little thing comes up that seems to bear on this case, get to a telephone and let us know. I can’t enlighten you beyond what you have seen and know, for until we appraise the papers, we can’t get a clear-cut picture. If you’re in any kind of danger, though, at any time —and we’ll do our best to see that you aren’t—call the nearest law enforcement group, then get in touch with us.”

  The Bob-Whites assured him that they did understand and would remember what he said.

  “You aren’t going to hold us any longer, then?” Trixie asked hopefully.

  “No. We are releasing you to Mr. Brandio and Mr. Wheeler. We have told these gentlemen that we will want to be informed, certainly, before you leave this part of the country to return to New York. Don’t forget what I’ve said, especially you, Trixie and Honey.”

  It was near dark when they left the federal office in downtown St. Louis. In the excitement, no one had thought about food. It was Mart who reminded them.

  “Some of the rest of you may be able to live on air,” he sighed. “Not me. I’m no hothouse plant. I’m starving. Let’s find a hamburger joint, and soon.”

  Mr. Brandio smiled. “We’ll settle for the Mayfair, just up the street, Mart. How about it? You can get a hamburger in the Hofbrau there, if you insist, but wait till you see the menu.”

  In the German restaurant, the crowd had thinned out. The Bob-Whites eagerly gathered around a large table, sniffing the good smells of German cooking. Mart rubbed his stomach blissfully and, when the waiter stopped for his order, ran his finger down the page and said, “Bring me all of it, with a roast suckling pig on the side.”

  When their food was brought, Trixie had .no appetite whatever. Mr. Wheeler will start asking us a lot of questions, she thought, as soon as we settle down to eat. I can’t answer any more. He’s always been so wonderful to us. He brought us here to St. Louis to show us a good time. Now we’ve—I have, anyway-embarrassed him in front of Mr. Brandio. I wish he wouldn’t look so worried.

  Just then Mr. Wheeler laughed out loud at something Mart said. Mr. Brandio laughed, too. Trixie’s heart took wings. Her plate in front of her had a new and tantalizing look. Her mouth watered. A sigh of gratitude to Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Brandio went up from her full heart.

  From that time on—as they ate their dinner, rose, fully satisfied, from the table, and drove to the waterfront to pick up the car—Mr. Wheeler said no more about their experience. Even when Trixie and Honey rode to the motel with Honey’s father and his friend,

  Mr. Wheeler said nothing. At the door of the motel room, he was brief.

  “At Mr. Brandio’s suggestion, I’ll leave these two telephone numbers with you. One is a direct, unlisted line to Mr. Brandio’s office, and the other is to his home. I’ll see the boys and leave the numbers with them, too. I’ll keep in constant touch with Mr. Brandio, and I can relay any information you give me to the police. One thing I ask of you: If you are puzzled about anythi
ng, telephone first and wonder about it afterward. In this case, please do as the federal investigator suggested: Work with them.”

  “Oh, I will, Mr. Wheeler, and Honey will, too, I know. I can’t ever tell you how great I think you’ve been.”

  “Forget it. I think a lot of the Bob-Whites. I’m glad those papers are in the hands of the government agents. That should end the Lontard business. Good night, girls.”

  When he had gone, Trixie closed the door carefully and snapped on the night lock. Then she went to the mirror on her dresser and stood a long time, saying nothing, looking at her reflection but not even seeming to see it.

  “What’s the matter now?” Honey asked curiously. “One thing I guess we all forgot. Your father did, apparently, and so did Mr. Brandio.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They took Bob off to the Coast Guard station before he knew about the government men questioning us. He doesn’t know they were there or that they took the papers I had in my purse. If Bob doesn’t know it, Pierre Lontard doesn’t know it, either.”

  “So?”

  “So he still thinks the papers are in my purse, doesn’t he?”

  “Oh, Trixie, you’re right. Maybe we’d better call Daddy after he gets back to Mr. Brandio’s and tell him what you’ve just said.”

  “No, let’s not. We’re safe inside our room. The door’s bolted. The boys are right next door. It will be time enough to tell your father in the morning. I’m awfully tired, aren’t you?”

  “I am. I’ve just realized it. Tomorrow, though, we’d better tell Daddy. We have to do what the federal agents told us to do. And Daddy, too. That’s why he left those numbers.”

  It didn’t happen quite that way, however.

  Trixie was sleepless. For a long time after she had climbed into bed, she tossed from side to side. Her mind went back to the Catfish Princess, to the song-fest under the stars. She thought of the ransacked room on the boat, of the man overboard, of the puzzlement and anxiety when the driver sent to meet them was detoured to Memphis, of the wild ride on the river with Bob, and of the session in the federal building in St. Louis.

  Finally she fell into a deep sleep. It lasted about four hours. Unable to sleep again, Trixie sat up in bed. Dawn was breaking. Not a sound could be heard outside. The light over the swimming pool just beyond their window had been dimmed. She got up and pushed back the curtain. The dark sky, tinged with pink, was reflected in the water outside. The room seemed stuffy. The pool’s coolness beckoned to Trixie. Quiet as a mouse, she slipped into her swimsuit, tucked a towel into her beach bag, softly slipped the chain from the lock, opened the door, and went out.

  Faint stars and a pale crescent moon were still visible in the sky. Insects in the trees scratched out their ratchety music. On the highway beyond, heavy trucks went by, their noise somewhat deadened by the low motel buildings between the pool and the flower gardens and the road.

  Trixie yawned, put her beach bag on the bench beside the pool, walked out on the board balanced above the pool, and dived cleanly into the cool, refreshing water.

  She swam to the far end of the pool, climbed out, and sat on the edge, dangling her feet in the water. Then, in the half-light, at the end of the pool nearest the motel parking lot, she saw a dim figure emerge from the water and disappear. Someone else likes to swim at dawn, Trixie thought, just as I do. The water feels so good. Lazily she rose, walked out on the board, and dived gracefully down into the depths.

  Before she could turn and head toward the surface, a strange, awful thing happened. Tremendous suction suddenly drew her toward the bottom. With all her might, Trixie fought, kicking hard against the concrete floor to force herself to the surface of the water. With every thrust, she was caught tighter in the whirling maelstrom that drew her murderously into its vortex.

  The drain had been opened! Water was flowing with monstrous force through the outlet. Trixie was caught in its spiraling speed!

  For a brief moment, her head rose above the water. Gasping, she caught a deep breath and screamed in terror. With renewed strength, she slashed the water, kicking desperately and flailing her arms. Using every ounce of strength, she fought her way out of the pull of the water to safety at the pool’s edge.

  There, summoned by her scream, the boys and Honey found her. Huddled around her, they soothed and reassured her. Honey held her dearest friend and smoothed her sandy curls. Color returned to Trixie’s face. Strength slowly returned to her body.

  “Somebody tampered with that drain,” she said faintly. “I saw someone leave the pool as I swam to the far end. It was Pierre Lontard! I know it!”

  “Oh, Trixie!” Mart protested.

  “I’m certain of it.” Trixie stood up. “He didn’t wait long to close in, did he?”

  “What could he gain by drowning you?” Mart wanted to know. “You seem to forget one very important thing. You’ve turned over the papers to the police. You’re not quite yourself, Trixie, seeing things...

  Trixie’s eyes blazed. Her strength came back in waves. “You’re the one, Mart Belden, who has forgotten the important thing. Bob was whisked away by the Coast Guard before I turned over the papers. Because he doesn’t know, Lontard doesn’t know. And, as for my seeing things, just look at that bench over there. I’m concerned because I’m not seeing things—-things that should be there, like my beach bag. Pierre Lontard thought my purse was in it, just as sure as you’re born. If I’m seeing things, where’s my beach bag? Who but Pierre Lontard would want it enough to try to drown me to get it?”

  “You win!” Mart said sadly.

  “Let’s wake the motel manager and tell him what’s happened,” Jim said, his eyes blazing.

  “Let’s get Daddy first,” Honey insisted.

  “Oh, not that... so soon!” Trixie begged. “He hasn’t much more than gotten to sleep.”

  “None of us had,” Mart said bluntly. “Why the pool lured you out in the middle of the night, I’ll never know. Why couldn’t you at least act like you had some sense, Trixie?”

  “That kind of talk won’t get us anywhere, Mart,” Brian said quietly.

  “Nix on the criticism,” Dan agreed. “Your sister’s had a bad fright.”

  “I know it,” Mart said, trembling. “I’m still so scared, I don’t know what I’m saying. I just wish....”

  “I shouldn’t have taken any risk right now,” Trixie admitted. “Mart’s right about that. But how could I know a swim would be dangerous? There’s the manager now, so here we go on the merry-go-round again! Mr. Wheeler to tell, the federal agents to report to...

  “And, in the meantime, where did Lontard go?” Jim asked. “Halfway to the next state, while we stand here gabbing. Here, sir!” he called to the red-faced manager who hurried toward him. “You see, Trixie got up early to take a swim... someone tried to kill her... tampered with the drain... see where the water level is now? The suction as the pool drained almost drowned her. Isn’t there a guard around this place at night?”

  “There is. Of course there is,” the puffing manager replied. “See here, suppose you begin at the beginning. What’s wrong?”

  Off to Hannibal ● 10

  WHILE I’M EXPLAINING to the manager what happened, Honey, please get Dad and tell him about it.” Jim’s face was worried. “I wish these crazy things wouldn’t keep happening.”

  “It’s all my fault, all the time,” Trixie said. “You might as well tell your father, when you talk to him, Honey, that I’m to blame for what’s just happened.”

  “I won’t tell him anything of the kind. You’re not to blame. It’s that man who’s so desperate to get at those papers you had. I have to tell Daddy what happened, because we promised, and he’ll have to report all this to the federal investigators, too.”

  “Well, get it over with,” Mart told her impatiently. “I just hope he doesn’t say we have to go back to New York right away. I’ll die if I don’t get to Hannibal to see the Mark Twain country.”

  “I don’
t believe what we want to do is important now,” Trixie said sadly. “We’ve—that is, I have-interfered enough with the important work your father came out here to do. Maybe I didn’t intend to interfere with it when I got mixed up with that Lontard, but now I’m so confused I don’t know what I’m even saying. I’ll go to my room and get out of this wet swimsuit.”

  “Will someone please take the time to tell me what this is all about?” the manager asked in a bewildered voice.

  The boys told him, and he immediately summoned a maintenance man to check the drain in the pool. A few minutes later, the man reported that it had been opened—and not accidentally.

  “So someone did do it deliberately,” Brian said quickly, then lowered his voice. “It was Lontard, that’s obvious.”

  Jim put his finger to his lips in warning.

  “I get it,” Brian agreed under his breath. “Mum’s the word, till we talk to the police.”

  “What did you say?” the manager asked. “Did someone say something?”

  No one answered, so he went on. “I don’t understand any of this. I’m sure of one thing. No one deliberately tried to drown anyone. It’s too fantastic. Why would anyone do a thing like that? Do you kids have any idea?”

  “Trixie said a man ran from the pool just before she dived from the board, just before her accident,” Mart said.

  “A man ran from the pool? That couldn’t be. She must have imagined it. My apartment is right in the front of the motel. I didn’t héar a thing till the girl screamed. The restaurant is in front, too, and the pastry cook works at night—getting the baking done for the next day, you know. I’ll ask him if he heard anyone or saw anyone.”

  “Here I am,” the white-suited chef said. He had obviously been listening. “The kid’s right. She really did see someone. I did, too. It was a guy in swim trunks, running for the parking lot. I opened the door to yell at him, but he gunned his car and drove off.” Trixie had dressed hurriedly and joined the group in time to hear the cook’s words. “Was it a black car?” she asked anxiously.