The Gatehouse Mystery

of tracing paper," Trixie said stubbornly, "I could show you how easy it is to become a forger."
    "I have both," Honey said. "In my desk. Come on." She led the way across the hall and pulled down the front of her desk. "There you are. Now what?"
    Trixie pointed to a pad of note paper. "Sign your name on the first sheet."
    "Madeleine G. Wheeler," Honey wrote with a flourish. Trixie stared. "Is that your real name?"
    "Of course it is," Honey told her. "I was named for my mother. Honey is just a nickname, because of the color of my hair."
    Trixie slipped a piece of carbon paper between the first and second sheets of the writing tablet and laid a piece of tracing paper over Honey's signature. Then she carefully traced the name. After that, she tore the second sheet of paper from the pad and showed Honey a faint, but perfect carbon copy of "Madeleine G. Wheeler." Next, Trixie took Honey's fountain pen and carefully inked over every letter of the carbon copy.
    Honey gasped. "My stars, you can't tell the original from your copy! Where on earth did you learn that trick, Trixie?"
    "Mart taught it to me," Trixie said with a giggle. "Although I don't think his ambition is to become a forger. He read about it in some book. Anyway, according to Jim, your father only glanced at Mr. Whitney's signature on Dick's reference. If he had looked more closely, he might have seen traces of carbon on the signature. Look at my forgery of your name, and you'll see what I mean."
    Honey took the sheet of paper to the window. "I do see what you mean," she said after a moment. "The M and the W are sort of blurred."
    "Sh-h," Trixie cautioned her as she heard voices out in the hall. "Here come the boys. Destroy the evidence, or they'll tease me to death."
    They carefully crumpled the three sheets of paper containing Honey's signature and crammed them into Jim's scrap basket. Then they hurried out into the hall. "What were you doing in my room?" Jim demanded suspiciously.
    "It was my room until yesterday," Honey reminded him, smiling. "Hurry up and change, boys. We'll only have time for a dip before lunch."
    As Trixie tried to dart by him, Mart stopped her. "The cat that swallowed the canary," he said, "couldn't have looked more guilty. What have you two been up to?"
    "None of your business," Trixie retorted. "Let me go. It's too hot for you to display your brotherly love of me."
    Mart snorted. "Remember the motto of our club-just one big, happy family. That means no secrets. The word is written plainly on both of your girlish faces. S-e-c-r-e-t-s!" He gave Trixie a little shake. "Give." Trixie pulled away from him, but before she could say anything, Jim interrupted. "Something is rustling inside my scrap basket," he said, striding across the room to the desk. "Aha," he went on. "Crumpled paper. Shall we examine it, men?"
    "By all means," Mart said. "By all means. After all, they were trespassing, weren't they?"
    "Jim Frayne," Honey screamed. "If you look at those papers, I'll—I'll never forgive you."
    He shook with laughter. "That does it. I was only teasing before, but now—"
    "Now," Brian said, "we had better investigate further." He strode over to the scrap basket and yanked out the ball of tracing paper. He tossed it to Mart, who caught it expertly. Trixie made a dive for him, but he tossed it over her head to Jim, who passed it along to Brian.
    "Stop it," Honey begged. "It's too hot for dodge ball."
    "I think you're all as mean as can be," Trixie cried angrily. "Especially Jim, who pretends to be so honorable all over the place. If you were just the least bit honorable, you'd let us take those papers and go away."
    "What?" Mart demanded. "Are there more of them? The plot thickens. What were you doing?"
    "Writing poison letters, of course," Trixie said. "Gleeps," Mart yelled. "I wash my hands of the whole matter!"
    Trixie pushed by him. "I'm going downstairs and telephone Dad about Moms's birthday present. If you delay me one more minute, he'll be out to lunch, and he'll probably buy her something in the village. Honey,' she added over her shoulder, "keep them from reading those poison letters if it's the last thing you do. We don't want to lose all of our dear, dear brothers."

The Missing Box • 16

    TRIXIE'S FATHER heartily approved of her plan. "I'd be very glad to pay Honey fifty cents an hour for helping your mother with the mending," he said. "Especially now, when she's so busy canning. And it's just the kind of birthday present she