The Mysterious Visitor

is an impostor before he makes off with all that money."
    "He won’t be able to cash that check in a hurry," Jim said thoughtfully. "How’s he going to live in the meantime?"
    "Easy," Mart said. "He’ll sell the Robin right off. It would only handicap him in more ways than one. A, it would make him stick out like a sore thumb if Mr. Lynch should put dicks on his trail. B, it would slow down his speed."
    "I don’t agree with you," Trixie put in. "That trailer is a perfect little home on wheels. It has a darling little kitchenette and a bathroom with a separate shower compartment. Besides, it’s a very attractive combination living room and bedroom. And now it even has a TV set. I don’t think Uncle Monty would sell it in a hurry. Why should he? What’s he got to fear from Mr. Lynch? Nobody suspects him except us."
    "If he does sell it," Honey said, more to herself than to the others, "I wish he’d sell it to Tom. It would make a perfect home for him and Celia. Daddy would give them a nice plot of land." "More wishful thinking," Jim said. "Where would Tom get the money for a trailer?"
    "I don’t know," Honey admitted. "But it’s going to cost them an awful lot of money to put a bathroom and a kitchen in the gatehouse. Not to mention laying floors. I can’t imagine why Celia has her heart set on our clubhouse. It’s perfect for us, but I think she’s going to end up hating it. And so does Miss Trask."
    "The main reason why Celia likes it," Jim explained, "is because it’s on our property. If they set up housekeeping in the village, they’ll lose their jobs, because Dad and Mother have to have a maid and a chauffeur who live on the premises. The gatehouse is the obvious place, and there’s nothing we can do about it. So let’s get back to Uncle Monty. Trixie’s right. He’s not going to sell the Robin. It would make a perfect hideout if he ever should need one. All he has to do is park it in the woods beside a stream, first having stocked it with canned goods."
    "Without electricity," Mart objected, "it’s nothing more than a little house on wheels, and an awfully conspicuous one. Monty knows Trix suspects him. He can’t be sure that she won’t tell Mr. Lynch what she knows. Maybe not right away, but eventually. If I were in his shoes, I’d get rid of that trailer as soon as I cashed the check."
    "Well, you’re not in his shoes," Trixie argued. "And I don’t think he’s the least bit afraid of me. And even if he is, I agree with Jim. The trailer would make a perfect hideout."
    "Oh, let’s not argue," Honey wailed. "I feel so discouraged about everything. All my life I dreamed about belonging to a secret club and having a secret clubhouse, and then just when we get things all set, ping! The bubble bursts. There’s no sense in our sitting around here talking about Uncle Monty. There isn’t a single solitary thing we can do about him."
    "I feel discouraged, too," Di said. "Why don’t we just let him go? Dad won’t miss the money." "We can’t do that," Trixie said. "It would amount to practically the same thing as aiding and abetting a criminal, wouldn’t it?"
    "But we really don’t know whether or not he is a criminal," Di said.
    "I’m going to know pretty soon," Trixie said.
    "How?" everyone asked her at once.
    "Never mind," she replied mysteriously. "If I don’t have proof by tomorrow morning that Uncle Monty is a criminal, you can chop off my head." "Nobody wants your head," Mart said. "It looks almost natural where it is. But without the rest of you—no thanks." He shuddered elaborately.
    "Shut up, Mart," Brian said sternly. "This is no time to joke about corpses. If Trixie isn’t careful, she’ll end up as one."
    "That’s right," Jim added. "People have committed murder for less than fifty grand. You stay out of this, Trix. All of you girls stay out of it. Brian and Mart and I will get the proof we need." "I intend to stay out of it," Di said emphatically. "I’m scared of Uncle Monty."
    "Me, too," Honey admitted. "If he’d caught me out on this terrace in the dead of night, I know I’d have dropped dead on the spot."
    "Let’s drop death from the conversation," Trixie said with a chuckle. "Impostors don’t murder people. They’re borderline crooks and are careful not to do anything which might land them in jail."
    "Don’t be too sure of that, Sis," Mart said, drawing his fingers across Trixie’s throat. "Most crooks will cross the border for fifty grand. Now, I have a plan