The Mysterious Visitor

"That ruins everything."
    "What do you mean?" Honey demanded. "Now I can’t get a look at her grandparents’ portraits." Trixie frowned. "I thought Di would probably invite us out to lunch or something pretty soon, and I’d get a chance to sneak into the gallery."
    "Well, if she does," Honey said cheerfully, "all I have to do is ask her to show me the paintings. She must know where the key is kept. And if she doesn’t, she can get it from her mother."
    "How smart you are," Trixie said. "I’ve already been through the gallery, but you haven’t." She grabbed Honey’s arm. "Let’s call up Di now and hint around for an invite. I can’t wait to find out if her grandparents both had blue eyes."
    Honey giggled. "I can’t wait to find out that you’re wrong about that. But where are your manners, Miss Belden? Nice young ladies don’t hint for invitations."
    Trixie sniffed. "I’m not a lady. You don’t need me to help you measure these windows. I’m only keeping you from your job. So if it’s okay, I’ll go up to the house now and give Di a ring." She raced off before Honey had a chance to object.
    Tom Delanoy was raking the leaves on the front lawn and hailed Trixie as she ran toward the house. "Where’s the fire, Trix?"
    Trixie stopped to catch her breath. "No fire, Tom. Unless you’re talking about that old saying that where there’s smoke there must be fire."
    He leaned on his rake, grinning. "I suppose by that remark, you’re trying to lead the topic of conversation back to where we dropped it after the Halloween party last night?"
    Trixie nodded. "Uncle Monty."
    "In that case," Tom said, "the old saying that applies best is ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’ " Trixie nodded again, vigorously. "You’re sure he was the man you spoke to at the station two weeks ago, aren’t you?"
    Tom thought for a minute. "No, I’m not sure, Trix. And I’m sorry I said what I did last night. If you kids are going to blab it all over the village, I’ll end up with a nice libel suit on my neck." "We won’t repeat a word of what you said,"
    Trixie said hastily. "On account of Di, you know. She’s very sensitive, especially about Uncle Monty."
    Tom mopped his brow, obviously relieved. "Thank goodness for that! If Mr. Wheeler ever knew what a fool I was last night, he’d fire me. I know he would. And I like this job, Trix."
    "I know you do," Trixie said sympathetically. "The Wheelers are wonderful people. And you must know, Tom, that Honey and Jim and we Beldens would never do anything to get you into trouble."
    "I know," he said, "especially since it was you kids who got me the job. The thing is, Trix, I said what I did for your sake. You’re quite a little detective. There’s no sense in denying it. I felt that sooner or later you’d find out that Uncle Monty has—I mean someone who looks an awful lot like him—has friends on Hawthorne Street. It’s not too safe, even in the daytime, for a kid like you. If you feel you have to snoop around, get one of your brothers to go with you. Or better yet, let them go by themselves. That’s why I said what I did in front of them."
    Trixie’s mouth fell open with surprise. "Are you implying, Tom, that Uncle Monty has gone back to Hawthorne Street since he’s been living out at the Lynches’?"
    "I’m not implying anything at all, Trixie," Tom said firmly.
    "Then how else," Trixie asked, "could I possibly have found out that he—or someone who looks like him—has friends there? I mean, unless you told me?"
    Tom squinted up at the sun in the bright blue sky. "You’ve been known to trail people, haven’t you? Well, all I’m saying is, don’t trail this suspect." Abruptly he changed the subject. "Now, Trixie, about that cottage down by the road." Trixie blinked. "What about it, Tom?"
    Still avoiding her eyes, he said, "You kids spend a lot of time in it, and, so far as I can see, you’ve spent a lot of money fixing it up."
    Trixie started to say something, but he held up one hand to silence her. "I don’t want to pry into your secrets, but, well, you know that Celia and I plan to get married someday, and, well, the truth of the matter is, Mr. Wheeler said we could have the old gatehouse."
    "Oh, no," Trixie moaned.
    Tom looked almost as unhappy as she did. "I’m sorry about this, Trixie, but what can I do? Celia is crazy about the place."
    "Since we fixed it up," Trixie said bitterly. "It was nothing but a tumbledown shack before." "I can’t help that,"