The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

is in charge of the booth may know something about my Incan idol. I’ll show it to the person in charge.”
    “Don’t show it right away. Find out what you can about the other carvings first, if they have any.”
    “That’s smart of you, Honey. You’re right.”
    The girls went down the steps. There were gay shops on the lower level offering native work from almost every country in the world. Trixie went directly to the South American shops.
    All the articles were arranged in small booths. There were handwoven materials, some of them made into bright skirts and jackets; richly colored glass; wrought silver heavily studded with turquoise and other semiprecious stones. There were shaggy wool rugs; crude, highly pigmented paintings; and—
    “See them! Here they are!” Trixie called, excited. “Carved wooden idols! Honey, they look exactly like my funny little man.”
    Trixie took Honey’s hand, held it tight. They stood on tiptoe to look at a high shelf where a row of small brown idols stood. The idols seemed to have been made from one mold. “Are they wooden, or are they cast in plaster?” Trixie asked the beautiful dark-haired woman in the booth breathlessly.
    “They’re wooden,” she answered. She reached for one and placed it in Trixie’s hands.
    “It isn’t just quite the same, is it, Honey?” Trixie asked, examining the brown object carefully.
    “Almost. I think yours is older. Say, Trixie, maybe that’s the answer. Maybe that’s what makes those men want to steal it. Maybe it’s so old and rare that it’s worth a lot of money.”
    “I have a small Incan idol I bought at an antique store a few days ago,” Trixie explained to the clerk. She took it from her purse and passed it over the counter. “Do you know whether or not it is worth anything?”
    The woman accepted the statue. She turned it over and over in her hands. “I’m no expert,” she said after a moment. “I think they’re all frightfully homely. What did you want with one, anyway?”
    “I think mine is so ugly it’s darling. Then, it isn’t an antique?” Trixie was disappointed.
    “I told you I’m no expert. There’s a man standing right behind you who seems to know a lot about Incan carvings. He was in here about two hours ago and looked over every one I have in stock. Whatever he was looking for, I didn’t have it. Mr.—uh—” she called.
    “Yes, madame.” A short, dark-haired man with deep olive skin answered.
    The clerk explained why she had summoned him. When he saw the small statue Trixie drew from her purse, his eyes widened.
    “What is it you wish to know?” he asked.
    “Why—I—wonder—I just wanted to know if my statue is an antique.” The man was beautifully dressed and very important-looking. Trixie imagined he was someone of consequence in his own country.
    “May I look at the statue a little closer, please?”
    Honey moved up close to Trixie and hissed under her breath, “Hold on to it. Don’t let him get his hands on it.”
    Trixie, completely perplexed, ignored Honey’s warning and passed the statue over to the man. He held it to the light, examining every inch of it. Then he looked closely at Trixie and smiled enigmatically. “If someone has sold you this as an antique, miss, I’m afraid you have been victimized. I must not allow that. I shall be glad to take it off your hands for the price you paid for it. Unscrupulous people from my country have been known to bring cheap machine-made work into this country and try to pass it off as handmade.”
    He took out his wallet. “Whatever you paid, I’ll reimburse you.”
    “I don’t want my money back. I want to keep it. I didn’t buy it for an antique. I like it just as much even if it isn’t.” Trixie reached for her statue. The man pushed her hand away and shook his head. “No, miss, I couldn’t allow you to have this poor piece of work. If you do not want your money back, I shall replace it with one which is hand-carved. Here is my card. Come to this address tomorrow, and I will give you a better example of the work of my country.”
    “You are very kind, but I like my own better.” Before the man was aware of what was happening, Trixie had retrieved her little idol and put it in her purse.
    The man’s face flamed. “Are you a crazy girl? The idol is worthless!” He seized Trixie’s arm and whirled her around. “You give it back to me!” he demanded.
    A crowd, attracted by the man’s loud words, gathered. When he