The Mystery of the Antique Doll

off. They went through customs, and Mr. Wheeler got them settled in a cab.

    Trixie watched out the window in amazement as the taxi sped from the airport, taking them into the center of Paris. She gasped with delight as they passed by the Arc de Triomphe. It was even more beautiful than she’d imagined.
    The taxi left them at the Hôtel Nova Parc Elysée. After Trixie and Honey had settled into the room they were to share, Mrs. Wheeler stuck her head through the doorway of the adjoining suite.
    “Now, girls,” she said, smiling at the pile of clothes yet to be hung up. “I’m off to Saint Laurent, but I’ve left word with the manager to get you a taxi. It will be at your disposal for the afternoon. You won’t have to pay the driver, because the fee will go on the hotel bill. But here are some francs, just in case. You can buy snacks or whatever you’d like.”
    “Oh, thank you, Mom,” Honey said, as she put the folded bills in her purse. “Will the taxi driver just wait for us while we’re in the museum?”
    “Yes, dear. I’ve asked them to find a driver who speaks English,” Mrs. Wheeler continued, “so you shouldn’t have any problems. Now, have a nice day, and meet us back here by 6 o’clock at the latest.”
    “Okay, Mom,” Honey said. She watched the door close behind her mother, then turned to Trixie. “We’d better turn our watches forward, or we’ll never know what time it is.”
    “Good idea!” Trixie adjusted her watch, and then the two girls took the elevator down to the main lobby.
    “Wait a minute, Honey,” Trixie said, suddenly stopping. “What about Mr. Reid? Shouldn’t we pick up the doll?”
    “I was just thinking about that,” Honey said, as they made their way through the glass doors in search of their taxi. “Let’s pick up the doll first, and then go to the Louvre. We can ask the driver to take us to the address Mr. Reid gave us. I have it right here.” Trixie nodded in agreement, and then stood back as Honey asked the doorman to point out their taxi. The doorman led them to one of the black cabs that was parked a short distance away.
    “Charles, these are the young ladies you will be driving today,” the doorman said. Charles smiled, and opened the door for his passengers.
    “I am told I am to take you to the Louvre,” he said haltingly.
    “That’s correct,” Honey said. “But would you please take us to this address first?”
    Handing the slip of paper to him, she waited as he examined it closely for a moment.
    “We have to pick up a package,” she explained, “and then we’ll be going to the museum.”
    “Very well,” Charles said, and the taxi started off through the streets of Paris.
    As they crossed one of the many bridges over the Seine, several barges were making their way along the river. The smokestack of one barge was tilted back, allowing it to pass under the low bridge.
    Soon the cab was heading through the winding back alleys of a very run-down part of the city. Small, weather-beaten buildings were sandwiched in between blank-faced warehouses and factories. Very few people were in the streets. This wasn’t at all the kind of neighborhood Trixie had been expecting. It was so deserted! Trixie felt a sudden shiver of worry between her shoulder blades.
    Before she could voice her worries to Honey, the cab pulled to a stop before a decrepit little shop. A crooked sign over the door said EMILE FAURIER in faded letters. The sidewalk in front was littered with crumpled papers, and the store looked as if it should have gone out of business years ago. The windows were so encrusted with dirt that it was impossible to see inside.
    “Wait here,” Honey said to Charles, and the girls climbed out of the car. They cautiously opened the rickety door. There was no one inside, but soon a small, stooped man wearing thick glasses emerged from the back. Trixie could see a dusty display of watches on the counter, but the rest of the shop seemed to be empty.
    “We’re 1-looking for André, please,” Honey stammered. She handed the envelope containing the note across the cracked glass of the counter. The man opened it and peered at the note for what seemed like a very long time.
    At last he nodded briefly and went into the back of the shop. In a few minutes he returned, carrying a large wooden box. Pulling a sheet of brown paper from somewhere under the counter, he quickly wrapped the box and tied it with an old piece of string. All this time, he spoke