The Gatehouse Mystery

quietly. "It's so hard to buy her anything, and so silly, too. Whenever she wants anything, she buys it herself."
    "I know something you could do for your mother," Trixie said. "Your handwriting is beautiful, and she gets an awful lot of letters from people asking for donations to their pet charities. A lot of the mail we brought up from the mailbox last night looked like appeals for money. You could answer them for her, Honey. Miss Trask couldn't possibly have time to."
    "It's a wonderful idea," Honey cried. "I can even draw the checks and have them all ready for her to sign. I know about how much she gives to each charity. Why, I could be sort of a private secretary, couldn't I?"
    "That's right," Trixie said. "And you could do the same thing for your father. His own secretary at the office in New York must be pretty busy. Speaking of which," she went on, turning to Jim, "did anybody check up on Dick's letter of recommendation from Mr. Whitney?"
    They all stopped their horses in a little clearing in the woods and stared at Trixie. "Why, I don't know what you mean," Jim said. "It was one of those 'To whom it may concern' things. Typewritten. But Dad certainly knows Mr. Whitney's signature when he sees it. They've been corresponding for years. Why should anyone check?"
    "I'd like to see that signature," she said mysteriously. "And I'd also like to know, Honey, if your father was expecting a letter from Mr. Whitney which he never got."

Signatures • 15

    HONEY STARED at Trixie. "What are you talking about? What makes you think Daddy was expecting a letter from Mr. Whitney?"
    "Well, was he, or wasn't he?" Trixie asked.
    "I don't know," Honey said. "Daddy was on vacation, you know, until he was suddenly called to Chicago. His secretary forwarded any letters she couldn't answer herself up here. He might have been expecting one from Mr. Whitney which didn't arrive until after he left. But what difference does it make, Trixie? It couldn't have been important. They don't correspond about business. They just write to each other arranging to meet for lunch or for fishing or hunting trips."
    "I see," Trixie said, turning back to Jim. "Since that letter of recommendation wasn't personal, do you think I could see it? It was just written to whom it may concern,' wasn't it?"
    "That's right," Jim said. "It was really just the simple kind of reference that most employers give their employees when they're honorably discharged. You know: 'This is to certify that Richard Blank worked for me as a chauffeur for the past three years. I found him honest, industrious, and satisfactory in every way.' So what?"
    "So it's all right for me to look at it, isn't it?" Trixie asked.
    "Perfectly all right," Jim said, "except that I haven't got it. Dad was in such a hurry when he left Thursday morning, he glanced at it, showed it to me, and then tossed it into a pigeonhole of his desk."
    "I dare you to look for it," Trixie said.
    "Well, I won't." Jim picked up his reins. "You're suffering from heat exhaustion, Trixie, but you don't know it. Let's go home and take a swim in the lake before lunch."
    Trixie leaned from her saddle to grab his arm. "Please look for it, Jim. It may be important."
    He glared at her. "It would have to be important. Anytime I go rummaging through the papers in Dad's desk, you'll know I'm crazy with the heat."
    Trixie sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. Just skip it."
    No one said anything while they trotted their horses back to the stable. Regan took one look at the girls' hot, perspiring faces and reached for their bridles.
    "Slide off and get into swimming clothes," he told them. "I'll groom Lady and Susie."
    "Oh, thanks, Regan," Honey said, quickly dismounting. "This must be the hottest day of the summer."
    "It only seems that way," he said, "because a thunderstorm is brewing." He glanced up at the puffy white clouds in the blue sky. "The radio was right for once. We'll get rain this evening."
    "I hope it doesn't rain this afternoon," Jim said. "I'm looking forward to my steering lesson. Maybe when I do some real driving, all that gear-shifting business will make sense."
    Brian laughed. "From the way Jim talks," he said to Regan, "you'd think he wasn't my prize pupil. He'll be driving circles around us in no time."
    "He can have my license any time he wants it," Regan said, slipping a halter over Susie's head. "Now that Dick knows a little something of what his job is like, he isn't so crazy about it. But he's bound and