The Mysterious Visitor

if it’s all right." The bell rang then, and the girls didn’t get another chance to talk until noon. Trixie raced to the nearest phone booth, and a few minutes later emerged, grinning. "Moms says it’s all right as long as we don’t talk all night." She tucked her hands through Di’s and Honey’s arms. "I’m too excited to eat. Tell me all about everything that happened last night."
    "It’s too long a story," Di said, "and there’re too many people around." She squeezed Trixie’s hand. "The important thing right now is that you’re not mad at me. I was so afraid you would be."
    "Why should I be?" Trixie demanded.
    "Because," Di said, flushing, "I was silly enough to believe you’d said mean things about me and my mother." She lowered her voice. "I hate Uncle Monty. I hate him! And I know now that he is an impostor."

Blue Eyes—or Brown? • 13

    DIREFUSED to say another word about her uncle until later that afternoon when the girls were alone in her room, away from anyone who could overhear them.
    It was a decorator’s dream of a room, done in royal blue and gold. There were twin beds in it, a huge sofa, two comfortable chairs, a desk, and even a love seat. The gold silk curtains matched the bedspreads, which were monogrammed in royal blue.
    "Your parents certainly like this color scheme," Trixie commented without thinking. "Even their matches—" She stopped, biting her lip.
    "It’s all right," Di said, smiling. "Honey told me everything last night. About your visit to Hawthorne Street and the package of our matches which that awful man who owns the hotel had in his pocket. But that isn’t why I’m sure now that Uncle Monty isn’t really my mother’s long-lost brother."
    "Well, what is the reason?" Trixie demanded impatiently. "I’m simply dying of curiosity, Di. If Honey told you everything last night, she must have told you that I think the most important clue involves those portraits of your mother’s parents."
    "There aren’t any portraits of my mother’s parents," Di said flatly.
    "What?" Trixie almost fell off the love seat. "Why, I was sine I saw portraits of your grandparents when your mother showed me through the gallery last spring. Don’t you remember, Di?" "You did," Di told her. "But let me start at the beginning. After the party Friday night, Uncle Monty locked up the gallery, as Mother had asked him to. But the next morning when the servants wanted to go in there and take down the draperies and clean up the mess, he couldn’t find the key. At least, that’s what he said. Because we hardly ever use that room, Mother didn’t know the key was missing until yesterday afternoon, when Honey asked her to show her the gallery. Then Uncle Monty told her that he had misplaced it. That was the word he used. He was sure it would turn up eventually. Mother agreed with him, as she always does. But just then Dad came home, and when he heard the key was missing, he had a fit. He sent for a locksmith at once and ordered him to change the locks on both doors.
    "While that was going on, the housekeeper and one of the maids began taking down the draperies. Because Dad was so worried for fear some dishonest person had found the key, he made them uncover the valuable paintings first. Eventually they got around to the drapery with the big bat on it, and when they took it down, Mother screamed. Because, you see, Trixie," Di finished, "someone had slashed the pictures from their frames!"
    Trixie rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in her hands. "I feel like screaming myself," she moaned.
    "I don’t," Di said. "It was the proof I needed to make me realize that Uncle Monty isn’t my uncle. Because, of course, it was he who did it."
    "Do your parents suspect Uncle Monty?" Trixie asked hopefully.
    "Oh, no," Di told her. "They think someone
    found the key after Uncle Monty lost it."
    "But that doesn’t make sense," Trixie pointed out. "If a thief got hold of the key, he would have stolen the valuable paintings."
    "That’s the point." Di agreed. "But Uncle Monty’s theory is that the thief planned to steal them all but was interrupted."
    "How is this thief supposed to have gotten in and out of your house?" Trixie demanded.
    "Oh, everyone thinks it must have been one of the servants," Di explained. "Or one of the caterers or a member of the orchestra. A lot of people had a chance to steal the portraits on Halloween when the gallery was wide open. Why, even the decorators could have