The Mysterious Visitor

we could wear masks," Di said worriedly. "I guess the best thing to do is to pretend that my real face is a mask." She began to practice in front of the mirror. "How’s this for a mask, Trixie? Would you say that I had a dead pan?" Trixie shook with laughter. "With your cheeks sucked in like that and your eyes practically popping out of your head, you look more like a fish. You’re going to have a hard time eating with that kind of a frozen face. Me, I’m going to concentrate on the delicious food you always have."

    Somehow, during dinner they managed to talk and behave just as though Uncle Monty really were Mrs. Lynch’s brother. He, in turn, gave no sign that he suspected them of suspecting him. After dinner Trixie found that she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She hadn’t had nearly enough sleep the night before, and neither had Di.
    "Thank goodness we haven’t any homework."
    Trixie yawned as they undressed and climbed into bed. She fell sound asleep almost the minute her head touched the soft pillow.
    Because she had gone to sleep so early, she awoke a few hours later. The luminous dial on Di’s clock told her that it was twelve thirty. Trixie slipped out of bed and cautiously opened the door. The house was very quiet. Di had loaned her a warm housecoat, and she quickly put it on. Then, in her bare feet, she tiptoed down the stairs.
    The halls were dimly lighted, but the dining room, which she had to pass through in order to get to the terrace, was pitch dark. Trixie tried to peer into the darkness but couldn’t even see the outlines of the heavier pieces of furniture.
    "I guess I’ll have to turn on a light," she said to herself, wishing she had a flashlight or candle. "Either that or trip over the furniture in here and wake everyone in the house." Trixie groped along the walls until she found the light switch. The soft click sounded like a deafening crash, and the bright lights that immediately flooded the room and the terrace seemed blinding. For a moment she stood still, not daring to move.
    She hadn’t been frightened before, but her hands trembled as she opened the French doors and crept across the flagstone floor to the fireplace. It seemed as though a thousand pairs of eyes must be watching her. And, except for two huge, clean logs, the fireplace was empty. Then Trixie remembered that there was another fireplace at the other end of the terrace, and she hurried over to it. She poked through the ashes and in a few minutes drew out what she had hardly dared to hope she might be lucky enough to find: two tightly rolled canvases which had been crammed under the bottom log. The backs were scorched, but only the comers had been burned away.
    Trixie hastily unrolled them and, kneeling on the terrace, spread them flat. Two pairs of blue eyes stared up at her!
    "What do you think you re doing?"
    It was only a whisper, but it was uttered so close to Trixie that it sounded like a shout. For a moment she was too surprised to move; then she turned her head and saw that Uncle Monty was standing right behind her. He was fully clothed, but even in that terrible moment she noticed that he was wearing sneakers. That explained why he had been able to creep up behind her without making a sound that would have warned her.
    Trixie’s eyes traveled from his feet to his face. He looked so angry that she opened her mouth to scream, but only a croak came out of her dry throat.
    He grabbed her arm and jerked her roughly to her feet. "Scream," he hissed, "and I’ll—"
    Trixie found her voice then. She was much more angry than she was frightened. "Keep your hands off me," she said. "I have no intention of screaming. I’m not afraid of you."
    He pointed to- the portraits, which were slowly rolling up again. "So it was you who committed the vandalism," he whispered hoarsely. "I thought so. That’s what you were doing when I caught you in the gallery all alone on Halloween."
    Trixie gulped. If anyone came downstairs now and found them on the terrace with those incriminating portraits, it would be Monty’s word against hers.
    "If you know what’s good for you," he continued, "you’ll go back to bed and pretend this little scene was a nightmare."
    Trixie tossed her head. "While you finish burning the portraits, I suppose. That’s what you came downstairs to do, didn’t you? It’s too bad you didn’t have a chance to make sure they were completely burned last night, when you slashed them from their