The Mysterious Visitor

starts asking a lot of questions, it would surely look as though I was the one who cut tire portraits out of the frames."
    They had a delicious breakfast in the sunny nursery with the twins, who, Trixie decided, were almost as cute and mischievous as Bobby. In spite of the muses, the little boys and girls managed to spill their cocoa and drop several pieces of French toast on the floor. They were all four quarreling happily when Trixie and Di left.
    Because the girls had got up so early, it was only seven thirty when they returned to Di’s room. "I think we ought to have a meeting of the Bob-Whites this afternoon," Trixie said suddenly, "and decide what to do about Monty."
    "I agree with you," Di said. "Could we have the meeting here? Brian can drive the others home afterward."
    "All right," Trixie said. "I’ve sort of lost interest in the clubhouse now that it’s not really ours anymore. But what if Monty hangs around?"
    "He won’t," Di told her. "He’s going in to New York this afternoon to get the tow car Dad bought him. And Harrison won’t hang around, either. I’m going to tell him that if we get hungry, we’ll use some of the things I bought for the Halloween party. We’ll have toasted marshmallows and popcorn, so there won’t be any reason for him to come near us with his silly old silver tray." "Great," Trixie said with a grin. "I’ll call Honey now and tell her to notify the others, so our parents won’t expect anybody home until late this afternoon."
    When Trixie finished telephoning, the girls went downstairs and found that Mr. Lynch was just about to leave for the station in the limousine.
    "I’ll drop you kids off at the school if you’re all set," he said cheerfully.
    "Oh, that would be wonderful," Trixie said gratefully. "It’s a long walk to the bus stop at the end of your driveway."
    "Almost a mile," he said as they climbed into the backseat of the car. "That’s why I’d like to take Di to school every day, but she isn’t usually up and ready so early."
    "That’s not true!" Di affectionately hugged her father’s arm. "You’re the one who’s lazy in the morning. If I waited for you, I’d be late to school every day."
    Mr. Lynch chuckled. "It’s the truth. I got up early this morning so I wouldn’t have the pleasure of riding in to New York on the train with your uncle. He planned to take the nine fifteen with me, so I just decided that I’d take the eight forty-five." His big shoulders shook with laughter. "Well, here you are, girls."
    They waved good-bye and hurried up the steps to the school. "Your father doesn’t like Monty any more than we do," Trixie said. "Oh, I can’t wait until we prove that he is an impostor." "And I," Di said, "can’t wait for the gang to get together at our house this afternoon."

    They held the meeting on the terrace at four o’clock. Trixie did most of the talking, and for once the boys listened without interrupting. They frowned at her darkly when she described her visit to the hotel on Hawthorne Street but said nothing until she had finished telling them about her scene with Uncle Monty the night before.
    Then Jim said soberly, "Well, he’s a crook, all right. I think, Trix, you ought to tell the whole story to Mr. Lynch as soon as he comes home." "I do, too," Brian agreed.
    "Well, I don’t," Mart said. "We haven’t got a shred of proof. We can’t drag Tom into it, because we promised not to. So what have we got?
    Matches and portraits! Do you think Mr. Lynch is going to believe that Trixie actually went to Skid Row? Or that she found the portraits under those logs? Or that she had that fantastic chat with Uncle Monty out here last night? We believe her, because we know that she’s crazy enough to take all sorts of chances when she’s tracking down a mystery. But Mr. Lynch will simply think she’s crazy. Period. Full stop."
    "I agree with Mart," Honey said. "How do you feel about it, Di? You know your father better than the rest of us. Would he believe Trixie?"
    "I don’t think so," Di said. "But it might make him suspicious enough to hire private detectives." "What’s the matter with us?" Mart demanded. "We’re supposed to be amateur detectives. By the time private dicks get going on the case, Uncle Monty will have faded into anonymity." "Into what?" Di asked.
    Mart waved his hands. "Namelessness. Thin air. Once he’s cashed that check, no one will ever hear of Montague Wilson again."
    "Not unless there’s a real Montague