The Black Jacket Mystery

before I can pay you back.”
    “I guess my whiskers won’t grow too long, waitin’.” The storekeeper chuckled. “Something tells me Miss Trask will be coming by here right soon, with a ten-dollar bill in her pretty hand. And don’t forget to tell her I’m planning to brew a good, strong pot of tea and serve genuine, imported English tea biscuits when she comes. Don’t forget that, now.”
    “I won’t, Mr. Lytell.” Honey was fastening the clasp of the watchband as she spoke. “And thanks a lot.”
    “By the way, Trixie, what did you say was the name of that young feller you thought might be
    Mister Black Jacket? Guess I’d better phone Police Chief Moran to look him up if he’s still around. A good talking to wouldn’t be out of line.”
    “But he didn’t actually steal my watch,” Honey said earnestly. “He only found it.”
    “He knew he should have inquired around to find out who’d lost it,” Trixie said sharply. “I guess that’s why he didn’t tell the truth about finding it. He wanted money for it. So he practically stole it.”
    “Looks like that to me, too,” Mr. Lytell growled. “What did you say his name is?”
    “Dan M—” Trixie began.
    Honey interrupted her hastily. “Even if this person could be called a thief, we have no real evidence that he’s Dan, Trixie.”
    “But, Honey”—Trixie frowned—“nobody else around here wears pointed-toe Western boots except Dan Mangan!”
    They hadn’t noticed the door opening, or Bill Regan standing in the doorway listening with a scowl. He came toward them with a quick stride. “What was that about Dan Mangan? What has the boy been up to?”
    Before either of the surprised girls could explain, the storekeeper chuckled. “The young ladies don’t seem to agree on whether he’s done anything or not.”
    “Suppose you tell me about it,” Regan said curtly to them. “Start at the beginning.”
    So ,they did, and Regan s face grew whiter and more severe-looking as Trixie insisted that she was sure the seller of the watch had been Dan.
    “But I don’t think we can be sure,” Honey objected. “Why don’t we just forget the whole thing?”
    Bill Regan shook his head slowly. “I’ll have to talk with him tonight and with Maypenny. I’ll get the truth, and, if it’s as Trixie here believes, Maypenny will have to send him back where he came from.” But he sighed as he spoke, both girls noticed.
    “Maybe he did sell it,” Honey said stubbornly, “but maybe he needed the money badly for something.”
    “The boy has an honest job here, Honey. If he needed money for something important, Maypenny would have advanced it to him, I know.” He looked grim. “I’m afraid Dan’s an experiment that failed.” He turned on his heel and stalked across the floor and out the front door.
    Trixie was wearing an excited look as Honey turned to her. “Now what?” Honey asked a little impatiently.
    “He called Dan an experiment! Remember what Bobby said about a ‘dangerous sperimen’ that Regan and Tom Delanoy were bringing back from the city? They must have meant Dan!”
    “But what would that mean? And why should they call it dangerous?” Honey frowned. “He’s just a kid.”
    “And why would Regan have told Moms that he didn’t want us to know anything about it?” Trixie asked, puzzled. “And he looked awfully worried just now.”
    Mr. Lytell chuckled. “Seems to me the best way to find out what other people’s private conversations are about is to ask them. And if they don’t want to tell, seems to me it’s not polite to try to find out.”
    “You’re right, of course, Mr. Lytell,” Honey admitted. “But we don’t mean any harm. We’re just wondering.”
    “And we’re a little mixed up right now,” Trixie added with a sigh. “So standing around maybe-ing won’t help.”
    They said a hasty good-bye to Mr. Lytell, gathered up the peppermint sticks and other small items, and left for home.
    “Yeeks!When I think of all the housework waiting for me, I practically die!” Trixie moaned as they cantered along Glen Road.
    “We’ll divide it up and get through in nothing flat.” Honey laughed.
    “If I had a houseful of servants like you have, I’d never ruin my lily-white hands doing a single dish! And sewing! I just can’t get over the way you can sew and patch and do all those things. Why, even Aunt Alicia, when she looked at the lining of my B.W.G. coat, thought it had been tailor-made at some fancy