The Gatehouse Mystery

that police are on their trail. As long as they feel sure they have only you and me to worry about, they may try to get it from us. We'll set some sort of trap, and they'll walk right into it." She tightened her grip on Honey's slender arm. "Then we'll be heroines." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "That new gardener of yours who hasn't got very good references— he may be one of the gang."
    Honey's hazel eyes were wide with admiration. "How smart you are, Trixie! I didn't like his looks at all. He's sort of shriveled and bent and, well—he made me think of a giant peanut, with no eyes to speak of."
    "Is he going to sleep in?" Trixie asked.
    Honey nodded. "He arrived C.O.D. in a taxi and said he wouldn't take the job unless he could sleep in. There are only three bedrooms on the third floor, you know. The cook and Celia have two of them, so Miss Trask had to plead with Regan to let the new chauffeur share his suite over the garage." She sighed. "You're so right about the servant problem, Trixie. Regan didn't like the idea at all at first. Although he never uses the other bedroom, he has got lots of his personal belongings in the living room, pictures and books and such."
    Trixie laughed. "I'll bet Miss Trask won him over to the idea of sharing the suite with Dick pretty quickly. Regan has wanted your family to hire a chauffeur ever since you moved up here." She sobered. ."What's the new gardener's name?"
    "Nailor," Honey told her. "Oh, oh, Trixie. He may have already taken the diamond from my jewel box!"
    "Not a chance," Trixie said. "Not in the daytime. Your house is always so full of people. He wouldn't even dare spy around. But tonight—tonight—"
    Just then a gleaming, midnight-blue sedan turned out of the Wheelers' driveway and headed toward them.
    "It's Mother and Daddy on the way to the station," Honey cried. "I've got to stop them and say good-bye." She waved her arms frantically, and the car stopped.
    Trixie watched while Honey climbed in to kiss her parents, and then both girls waved until the car disappeared from view.
    "Our new chauffeur is certainly handsome in his uniform," Honey said. "What a difference 1 Regan couldn't be made to wear one. Not that anybody cared!"
    "Speaking of Regan," Trixie said, "reminds me of Bobby. I'd better go see what he's up to." They hurried along the road and up the steep driveway. At the top, they could see that Jim was giving Bobby a riding lesson in the corral. "Moms," Trixie panted, "would give me the dickens if she knew what a nuisance Bobby is to all of you. I'm forever leaving him with Jim or Regan when it's really my job to look out for him."
    "Don't let it worry you," Honey said, stopping to catch her breath by a clump of rhododendron. "They both adore the little imp. We all do." She put out her hand to hold Trixie back. "You were saying something about the gardener that gave me goose pimples. Do you really think that Nailor is a—"
    "That must be him now," Trixie interrupted as a wizened little man appeared in the hollyhock bed by the stable. "He looks like a monkey, not a peanut." Honey smiled. "We don't see eye-to-eye on anything. You thought our new chauffeur, Dick, looked like a weasel, and I think he's very nice-looking."
    "I still think he looks like a weasel," Trixie insisted. "His eyes are close together." She grinned. "Maybe I should have said mink, because he did look super in his uniform—and, he was awfully nice with Bobby when they met. He gave him fifty cents, so he could catch frogs in his own strainer."
    Honey pushed her bangs away from her perspiring forehead. "I'm getting confused—weasels, minks, and frogs. As Regan would say, what next?"
    "The next step," Trixie said, "is for you to invite me to spend the night with you."
    "But that's a standing invitation," Honey said, chuckling. "You know that, Trixie."
    "Thanks," Trixie said. "I accept. But Miss Trask had better let Moms know she really wants me. Bobby and I seem to live here."
    "You and Bobby," Honey cried impulsively, "are the nicest things that ever happened to me—except for Jim. And, if it hadn't been for you, I would never have had him for a brother. Oh, please, Trixie," she finished. "Let me tell him about the diamond."
    Trixie sniffed. "And have him make fun of our theories? Or, worse still, report us to the FBI? You know perfectly well, Honey Wheeler, this is no time to let Jim in on the secret. Later," she added mysteriously, "we may need his help."

    While Trixie was