The Mysterious Visitor

transportation."
    Meekly Trixie said, "Yes, Miss Golden," but she wasn’t really listening. So she completely forgot to call her mother during the lunch hour. It was Honey who reminded her that Miss Golden wanted to see her just as she was about to board the bus.
    "Gleeps," Trixie yelled and grabbed Mart’s arm as he tried to push past her. "Tell Moms I’ve got to stay after school. I’ll come home C.O.D. in a cab if there’s anything left of me."
    As it turned out, Miss Golden was not cross; she was simply disappointed. "You’ve got an excellent mind, Trixie," she said, "when you concentrate. Are you worried about something?" "Yes," Trixie said truthfully. "One of my best friends is mad at me."
    Miss Golden laughed. "Well, kiss and make up, and see if you can’t concentrate a little more in class tomorrow, dear."
    "I will," Trixie promised and hurried down to the locker room. Suddenly it all dawned on her. Uncle Monty was the answer, of course. It was he who had turned Di against her. And the reason was obvious. He didn’t want Trixie to be invited out to the Lynches’ house again. He didn’t want her to have any opportunity of looking at those portraits in the gallery. He wasn’t taking any chances at all. With Di not speaking to her, Trixie couldn’t even ask her any questions which might be embarrassing to Uncle Monty. He felt he was safe when Trixie was not around.
    If he was an impostor.
    Trixie was surer than ever now that he was. She slipped on her jacket and left the school without telephoning for a cab. If she didn’t arrive home for an hour or more, no one would worry. If she couldn’t get the proof she wanted in one way, she would get it in another.
    On Sunday Trixie had carefully inspected the maps in the glove compartment of her father’s car, so she knew exactly where Hawthorne Street was. Almost running, she set off for that part of town. But when she left Main Street and tinned into the alley that led to it, she slowed to a walk. It was a narrow, winding alley, with sidewalks that were lined on both sides by two-story houses that looked so rickety they made Trixie feel as though they might topple down on her head any minute.
    "There’s nothing to be afraid of," Trixie said to herself firmly. "This used to be a cowpath once. I’m going to pretend that all these strange-looking people are harmless cows."
    The people who were sitting on the stoops and the sagging porches were strange-looking, but they stared at Trixie as though she were the one who was odd. The women, in their bright shawls and full skirts, looked like gypsies, and the men, when they moved at all, shuffled as though their feet hurt. Even the children moved slowly and stared suspiciously at Trixie as she passed by.
    She began to walk faster after a while, and at the same time she wished she had gone straight home from school. Suddenly the narrow alley ended, and before her lay a long, straight street. A dusty sign told her that it was Hawthorne Street.
    Trixie glanced at the houses and suppressed a shudder. They were no worse than the dilapidated buildings in the alley, but there was something evil about them. The accumulated dirt of years clung to them, and there wasn’t a single solitary soul in sight. But Trixie sensed that people were watching her from behind those filthy, curtainless windows. She forced herself to keep moving and realized that she was shuffling along the street just as the men in the alley behind her had shuffled.
    "It’s the air around here," she thought. "It’s absolutely stifling. It makes me feel as though it’s not even worthwhile breathing."
    There were no porches or stoops here. Although the tarnished brass numerals on the doors were clogged with dirt, they were so close that they were easy to read. The first one Trixie glanced at was Number 201, and then, almost before she realized it, she had stopped in front of Number 291. At that same moment the door was opened and a man came out.
    Because the door opened right onto the narrow sidewalk, and Trixie had stopped right in front of it, he almost stepped on her toes. She drew back just in time and said, "I’m sorry."
    Inwardly she thought, I’m a lot more sorry than you think. I wish I’d taken Tom’s advice and stayed away from here. Her knees were shaking because the man was so ugly and the street was so silent. He was wearing a tight-fitting, shiny blue suit and had obviously not shaved for several days. His eyebrows were so bushy