The Mystery of the Antique Doll

not a word. But when the package was wrapped, he handed it to Honey and flashed a toothless smile.
    “Merci, mademoiselles,” he said with a bit of a lisp, and then shuffled over to sit down in a rickety chair in the corner.
    Honey held the box for a few moments, uncertain about what to do.
    Then she murmured, “Thank you—I mean, you’re welcome,” and turned to leave.
    Trixie held the door for her, and they stepped outside into the street.
    “Wow,” Trixie said. “That was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Who was that man anyway? Do you think he was André?”
    “I don’t know,” Honey replied, shifting the box to her other arm. “I wonder what kind of shop that is?”
    “Beats me,” Trixie said. “Maybe it’s a watch shop, but it looks to me as if they haven’t sold a watch in twenty years!”
    She stopped speaking as, from the comer of her eye, she became aware of someone watching them. She turned and saw a tall, thin man with bushy red eyebrows standing in a doorway a few yards away. He was wearing a dingy trench coat and his hat was pushed back to reveal a shock of flaming red hair. Their eyes met and locked for a second. Then the man began to walk toward them.
    “Quick, Honey,” Trixie said. “Get in the taxi!”
    Before Honey could protest, Trixie opened the taxi door and shoved her friend inside. Then, climbing in after her, she quickly slammed the door.
    “Drive somewhere. Anywhere!” Trixie commanded Charles. She pushed down both locks. “And drive fast!”
    “Something is wrong, mademoiselle?” asked Charles.
    “No. We, uh, we’re just in a hurry,” Trixie replied.
    “What is the matter with you?” Honey whispered.
    “There was a strange-looking man out there,” Trixie said, twisting so she could get a better view out the back window. “He was watching us.”
    “What’s wrong with someone watching us?” Honey asked.
    “He seemed too interested in us,” Trixie said, frowning and thinking hard. “But maybe he was more interested in our package. Maybe he was going to steal it from us!”
    “Do you really think so?” Honey gasped. “I think maybe we’d better take it back to the hotel before we go to the Louvre. After all, Mr. Reid said the doll was very valuable, so perhaps we shouldn’t take any chances. Charles?”
    “Yes, mademoiselle?”
    “Would you mind taking us back to the hotel for a minute?” Honey asked. “We’d like to drop this package off before we go to the museum.”
    “Not at all, mademoiselle.”
    A few moments later the taxi pulled up in front of the reassuringly familiar building. Trixie and Honey dashed up in the elevator, carefully placed the box onto one of the beds, and then went back downstairs. They quickly climbed into the waiting taxi.
    “That’s finally settled,” Honey said with a sigh. “Now let’s get on with the sight-seeing!” Charles put the cab in gear, and off they sped. But Trixie couldn’t stop thinking about the man outside the shop where they’d picked up the doll—if it really was a doll. After all, she thought, we never saw what was in that box, did we?
    But the beautiful view out the window proved to be a much stronger attraction than any thoughts about the mysterious stranger and the peculiar shop. Soon the taxi pulled up in front of an enormous building.
    “Here you are,” said Charles. “The Musée du Louvre.”
    The girls spent all afternoon wandering from room to room, across centuries of art history. Overwhelmed by the beautiful paintings, elegant furniture, and imposing statues, they walked as if in a trance. They managed to see the Gothic and Renaissance collections, the tapestries, the medieval metalwork, and the Renaissance bronzes. At last, they began to slow down.
    Honey glanced at her watch and sighed. “It’s almost 5 o’clock,” she said. “It will probably be closing time soon. We’d better go back to the hotel. I think I need to soak in a hot tub!”
    Trixie agreed emphatically, and they dragged themselves back downstairs to find Charles waiting for them in front. The girls sat in limp silence as Charles drove them back to the hotel. Mrs. Wheeler was there, very glad to see they had made it through their day in Paris safely.
    “Rest for an hour before dinner,” she suggested, when she saw how tired they looked.
    Trixie took off her shoes, and put her weary feet up on the satin bedspread. But after lying quietly for a while, she abruptly sat up again.
    “I’m going to open