The Black Jacket Mystery

finished, Brian himself stalked in and took over. After washing his own hands thoroughly in the best surgical style he could remember seeing on TV, he left for the living room followed by Trixie bearing the basin of hot water and Honey carrying the needle and thread on a pad of sterile gauze.
    But when Brian went to work on Mr. Maypenny’s injury, the two, at Jim’s suggestion, fled back to the kitchen.
    They sat by the kitchen table to talk over the latest twist in their mystery.
    “I suppose there’s no doubt Dan’s the one,” Trixie said with a shake of her head. “I wonder what we should say to Regan when he gets back!”
    “I think this is one time we ought to talk it over with the boys first,” Honey advised seriously. “After all, this isn’t all our business—” She stopped abruptly and stared at the ceiling. “Did you hear that? It sounded like a footstep up there.”
    “No,” Trixie admitted, staring at the ceiling. But she had no sooner answered than there was a sound that could have come from a creaking board in the attic. Trixie turned a startled face to Honey. “It did sound like a footstep!”
    “There was a light up there when we rode up, Honey said with growing excitement. “Remember?
    They stopped speaking to listen again, but there was no other sound from above. The boys were talking cheerfully in the living room, but neither Trixie nor Honey heard Dan’s voice. “Maybe it’s Dan up there!” Trixie said suddenly. “I don’t hear him.
    Maybe he climbed the ladder to get away from us ‘snoops’ and is sulking in his castle up there!” She giggled.
    But a couple of minutes later, when they went back into the living room, Dan was seated frowning at Jim and Brian as they took care of Mr. Maypenny’s gashed scalp. He had slid down in his chair with his feet stuck out in their pointed-toe black boots so that the girls had to walk around him to approach Mr. Maypenny’s bunk.
    Trixie cast a quick look at a ladder, in the far comer of the room, that led up to the attic. The trapdoor at the head of the ladder was closed, and even at a brief glance she could see that the hook was firmly caught in the eyebolt. When the trapdoor was fastened this way from below, no one could move it from above. So it was clear, she decided firmly, that there couldn’t be anyone up there. As for the light that Honey thought she had seen shining out of the attic as they rode up, she probably was mistaken. They were all so excited about poor Mr. Maypenny that Honey must have imagined it.
    Mr. Maypenny had managed to be very brave. He even laughed off the idea that his head hurt. But after it was bandaged, and he could lie back and close his eyes and relax, he seemed very glad to be quiet.
    “You’ll be all right, sir, if you’ll just rest here till morning. I wouldn’t get up and wander around if I were you. You’re likely to get dizzy,” Brian told him.
    Mr. Maypenny answered faintly, “I’ll get along, boy. And much obliged for the bandagin’. The lad here will take care of me now.” He opened his eyes and smiled toward Dan, then closed them and turned his head away again with a half-groan.
    “Think we ought to phone Doc Tremaine to ride over and see him in the morning?” Jim whispered to Brian.
    But it wasn’t Brian who answered. It was Dan Mangan. “You heard what Mr. Maypenny said,” Dan told them defiantly. “I can look out for him if he needs it. You just forget about calling any doctor! I’ll take care of him.”
    “What do you know about head injuries?” Brian asked sharply.
    “I’ve been conked on the bean a couple of times,” Dan told him with a scowl. “I didn’t have to drag in a sawbones to cure me.” He gestured toward the door. “Why don’t the bunch of you get out? You rich kids always have to play it your way. Nobody else knows anything. Big men!”
    “Rich kids! Boy!” Mart had been silent as long as he could stand it. He faced Dan with disgust. “Boy, are you misinformed! We Beldens aren’t rich. I' wish we were—I’m lazy. But we live on a farm, and all of us kids work hard to make it go.”
    “And our dad puts in eight horns a day on his job at the bank, sometimes lots longer,” Trixie cut in, “for his salary!”
    Dan glowered at her. “What about him?” He nodded toward Jim. “And Honey? They’re rollin’ in it!”
    “Jim was worse off than you’ve ever been,” Brian said quietly, “not many months ago.”
    Dan scowled at Jim, who