The Gatehouse Mystery

he's in now, Regan was cautious enough to tell the guy he'd have to bring letters of recommendation tomorrow before Dad would hire him."
    Honey giggled. "I know why Regan said that. He wants to get the man back, so he can give the Ford a going-over. He probably would have made him do it right now if Mother and Daddy hadn't driven off in it. There's something about the clutch that seems to baffle almost everyone," she went on.
    "You rich people are so helpless," Trixie said with a laugh. "We have an ancient Ford roadster and a station wagon. They don't even baffle Moms. She's like Miss Trask—very handy with a bobby pin."
    Jim set his jaw stubbornly. "I'm going to learn all about cars this fall even if I have to give up riding to do it." He strode off.
    Honey sighed. "It really makes Jim mad when you call us rich people, Trixie. You shouldn't do it. He wasn't rich until this summer."
    Trixie bit her lip. "I was only kidding. Neither of you acts like snobbish rich boys and girls I've known. I think Jim got mad because he thought I was insulting him when I said Moms was good with cars, implying that he isn't. Redheads are sensitive that way."
    Honey replaced the top on a can of saddle soap. "I don't think he was really mad," she said. "But he does hate the idea of being helpless about anything. He's always been so independent and knows how to take care of himself anywhere, except when it comes to cars."
    "I'm sorry," Trixie said. "If only I could learn to think before I blurt out cute remarks which aren't cute to anyone but me."
    "Never mind," Honey said consolingly. "Our new chauffeur will teach Jim everything in no time. Jim's so smart he'll learn very quickly. Why, just think, he'll be barely sixteen when he goes to college next fall."
    "I know," Trixie said. "He must have skipped a grade somewhere along the line besides doing two years of high school in one. Brian skipped the third grade; that's why he'll graduate next June, too."
    Honey smiled. "You and I'll be old ladies of eighteen when we get out of high school."
    "I may be older than that," Trixie said mournfully. "I may never even get out of junior high if the math is anything like Mart said it was last year. Dad had to help him with his homework a lot. And you should have heard Mart»moan and groan. Dad would only explain the theory; he wouldn't help him get the right answers."
    "I'm counting on Miss Trask," Honey said as they walked out of the stable, arm in arm. "Thank goodness she was a math instructor before she came to us."
    "We've just got to be good at math if we're going to be detectives," Trixie said. "Brian says FBI men are all lawyers or certified public accountants. If we're going to compete with CPA's, we've got to be super at math ourselves."
    "We're not starting out in a very super way," Honey said, pointing toward the garage. "Look at our new chauffeur's car. It's neither black nor dark blue. It's a very dirty green. I'll bet Jim could have rattled off the license number after one quick look."
    "Your new chauffeur," Trixie said thoughtfully, "certainly knows how to drive. Look at the way he's backing and turning without even getting near the hollyhocks. Regan generally bruises a few when he does it."
    They watched the car disappear down the driveway; then Regan called to them. "How do you like that?" he asked when they joined him. "A wizard under the hood and an expert behind the wheel. Do you think your dad will hire him, Honey? I could use a guy like that around here."
    "I'm sure he will," Honey said. "We were all talking about it at dinner this evening—how much we needed a chauffeur so you could spend all your time with the horses, Regan."
    "We need a new gardener, too," Regan said, narrowing his eyes. "Gallagher quit. Said somebody made off with his pruning saws and shovels."
    "Oh, heavens," Honey moaned. "We forgot and left them down at the cottage."
    "What cottage?" Regan demanded suspiciously.
    "It used to be the gatehouse," Honey explained, "when the old driveway circled down to Glen Road. Trixie and I were exploring it this morning."
    "What next?" he asked wearily. "Exploring with pruning saws and shovels?"
    "We 'had to let in some light," Trixie hastily explained. "So we cut away the vines from one window."
    "Nothing surprises me anymore," Regan said with a slow grin. "And I suppose the shovels were used to dig up a fortune in buried treasure?"
    "That's right," Trixie said quickly, grinning back at him. "We'd better go and get the