The Mysterious Visitor

morning, dear. Early tomorrow morning. So be sure to say good-bye to him this evening. He wants to avoid the traffic on the highway, so he’ll be gone before we are awake." Staring into her soup, Di said dutifully, "Goodbye, Uncle Monty."
    Mr. Lynch roared with laughter, but Mrs. Lynch gasped. "Diana!" she cried in a horrified tone of voice. "Couldn’t you wait until just before you go to bed? Really, darling. And you must remember to give your precious uncle a farewell kiss."
    The thought of kissing Uncle Monty made Diana shudder, and Trixie shuddered sympathetically along with her.
    "Fond embraces are not necessary," Mr. Lynch said to his wife. "The child hardly knows your brother. And since the chances are good that she will never see him again, I see no reason for a sentimental scene."
    Mrs. Lynch’s lower lip trembled. "My own brother, my long-lost big brother—"
    Monty patted her plump hand and said soothingly, "It’s all right, Sister. I know I am not popular with your husband and your daughter, although I have striven to please them in every way. They have never returned my affection, but I forgive them from the depth of my heart. Your husband has been most generous in giving me such a large endowment fund for my boys’ school. I am very grateful to him."
    "Well, I’m glad there are no hard feelings, Monty," Mr. Lynch said with a jovial smile.
    Trixie didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation; she was too busy thinking. Monty was leaving early the next morning. After that, it would be too late to prove that he was an impostor. Once he got away, even if she could prove it, Monty could be as far away as South America, for all she knew. Trixie looked toward Uncle Monty. He was smiling at something Mrs. Lynch had said and seemed strangely satisfied with himself. Suddenly Trixie made up her mind. She would search Monty’s room for clues that very night. Somehow she had to get a flashlight.
    After dinner the girls went straight up to Di’s room. Trixie unpacked the suitcase which Brian had carried upstairs earlier. Pretending to be very sleepy, she quickly donned a pair of flannel pajamas and slipped into bed. "Good night, Di," she said, feeling a little guilty because she hadn’t shared her plan with her hostess. But how could she? Di, herself, had admitted twice that she was afraid of Monty.
    "Good night, Trixie," Di said and turned out the bedside light.
    Trixie promptly sat up. "Why, it’s as light as day outdoors," she cried. "And it’s too overcast for the moon to be shining so brightly."
    "It’s the floodlights," Di said sleepily. "We usually leave them on until the last car has been put away for the night. It makes it easier to get in and out of the garage, you know." She yawned. "If the light bothers you, I’ll pull down the shades."
    "Oh, no," Trixie said hastily. "I love it." To herself she added, If you only knew how much I love it. She lay there tensely for what seemed like hours, thinking. At nine Monty went out to the Robin to watch television. At nine thirty he came back in to play canasta with Mrs. Lynch. It’s nine forty-five. Di is asleep. Now is the time.
    She slipped out of bed and into the hall. At the top of the stairs she listened to the murmur of voices. Sure enough, Monty and Mrs. Lynch were in the study. Then Trixie hurried on to Monty’s room. Somewhere in that room must be the evidence she needed to prove that he was an impostor. There had to be something—a letter, a notebook, a newspaper clipping....
    Trixie quietly closed the door behind her and stood there for a minute until her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. Beside the bed were two suitcases, strapped and locked. Trixie dashed across the room and flung open the closet door. It was empty. The bureau drawers were empty, too, and so were the bed-table drawers. Monty was not going to leave the next morning. He was obviously planning to leave that very night!
    Too late, Trixie remembered that he was in the study below. He could hardly have helped hearing her as she searched his room, slamming the closet door and the drawers in her haste. Quickly she darted into the hall. Someone had started up the stairs. Whoever it was would see her if she tried to get back into Di’s room. If it was Monty, she couldn’t hide in his room. If it was Mr. or Mrs. Lynch, she couldn’t hide in their room across the hall. And she couldn’t stay where she was in the hall. Every avenue of escape seemed to be cut