The Gatehouse Mystery

Louie." She forced a chuckle from her dry throat. "You never went to see a doctor. You've had more black eyes in your life than you've ever had poison ivy. I thought, at first, that the person who stole the diamond and lost it in the cottage was a fruit picker. But you never worked in the country. If you had, your skin would be tanned, and you'd have known better than to hide in the midst of poison ivy." Again she chuckled dryly. "You've been working in a big city—"
    "That I have," he interrupted with a harsh laugh.
    "The big city of New York, you two-bit private eye. Just for being so fresh, I'm going to—"
    "Just what will you do?" a voice interrupted from the doorway. There was a small click, and the room was suddenly flooded with light.
    Trixie whirled around, blinking in the glare of the bright overhead lights. Jim was coming into the room; and right behind him loomed Regan, his finger on the trigger of his hunting rifle.
    "Reach for the ceiling, Laughing Boy," Regan said ominously. "I'm a crack shot. Right, Jim?"
    Jim didn't bother to answer. He crossed over to the window and stared down at the driveway. From where she was standing by the dressing table, Trixie could see the headlights of a car. A prowl car! "Here come the police," Jim said to Dick, who was holding his hands in the air. "Bracelets are going to look nice on your skinny wrists!"
    "Oh, Jim," Trixie cried. "He knocked you out and left you in the bushes. How did you get here?"
    Jim smiled briefly. "I'm lucky. I didn't stay unconscious long. But it took time to get free of the rope he had tied around my wrists and ankles. It was dark by the time I burst into the Hoyts' farmhouse and asked them if I could use their phone." He shrugged. "By that time, I knew that Dick had forged Mr. Whitney's name to the reference Dad showed me. I finally took the hint, Trixie, and looked at it again. So, when we were having our so-called steering lesson, I asked Dick the Dip—he is a pickpocket, Trixie—if he didn't think
    Mr. Whitney's thick, curly hair made him look like a Hon. Dick heartily agreed with me. That did it. He gave himself away, because, you see, Mr. Whitney is as bald as a billiard ball."
    "Jim, Jim," Trixie interrupted. "You shouldn't have gone off with him alone. I—" But a big policeman was striding into the room.
    "Why, Dapper Dick," he said, patting the thin, frightened-looking man's pockets. "Every state trooper in the country has been looking for you since Tuesday. We picked up Louie early yesterday morning in the dog wagon. He has a nice case of poison ivy, too." The officer pulled Dick's hands behind his back and manacled them together. "Figured you were close by, but not this close. Where's the rock, Pretty Boy?"
    Dick glared at Trixie. "That fresh little girl has it. Why don't you frisk her for it?"
    Trixie giggled nervously. "Honey Wheeler and I found the diamond, Officer. My mother has it now. Mrs. Peter Belden, you know. I'll go right home and get it."
    "No hurry about that," the policeman said cheerfully. "If your dad's Pete Belden, he can turn it over to the Sarge in the morning. I guess a banker's house is about as safe as the bank itself." He turned to Regan. "Want to ride back to headquarters with me and prefer charges? Breaking and entering, assault and battery— what else?"
    "Well, now," Regan said easily, "I don't know as Mr. Wheeler would want to get mixed up in this. The publicity, you know. If you were looking for the guy, anyway, you won't need our testimony to hold him, will you?"
    The policeman guffawed. "We've got enough on him and Louie to put 'em behind bars until they're old and gray." He gave Dick a playful poke with his nightstick. "Get going, Pretty Boy. For the next few years you won't have to worry about poison ivy."
    After they had gone, Trixie collapsed in the nearest chair. "How did the police happen to arrive at such a nice moment?" she asked Jim. "Both the phones are out of order."
    "I know," Jim said. "I know all too well. I called the house and the garage from Hoyts', and then I guessed that Dick had probably cut the wires. I called the police then—I knew the Bob-Whites of the Glen had better not fool around any longer." He grinned. "Then I dashed through the woods as fast as I could." Trixie stared at him. "What kept you from dashing right up here and getting caught in our own trap, the way I brightly did?"
    Jim chuckled. "I saw a speck of moving light in this room, and I figured Dick was busy with