The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

heard the elevator and knew you were coming back, Miss Trask,” the custodian said thoughtfully. “How he ever got into the building—I’ve got it! I had a locksmith working on the entrance door. He must have slipped past him. I’ll get the police on the job right away.”
    A policeman arrived shortly. Bob and Barbara stood wide-eyed while he looked for fingerprints, took down everyone’s name, and questioned the Bob-Whites, their visitors, and Miss Trask. Then he left.
    “He could have given us some idea of what he was going to do next,” Trixie said.
    “He’s not supposed to talk,” Dan told her. “Anyway, what does he know about what happened? Not half as much as you do, Trixie. I can even see your mind working. You think that man was a pal of the sleek gentleman at the United Nations; that both of them are after the Incan idol.”
    “They could very well be, Dan,” Jim said thoughtfully.
    “Two smart thugs after one little statue?” Dan was dubious. “I’ll believe it when I see it. This guy just saw a chance to sneak past the locksmith and go after the loot. This apartment happened to be first on his list in the building.”
    “Aren’t we going to find out anything more now?” Barbara asked, disappointed.
    “Not now or ever, or I’ll miss my guess,” Dan said. “Burglary attempts are made all the time. The police have time to concern themselves only with the jobs where the thieves are successful. Looks like you have a clean-up job here, Trixie.”
    “Looks to me like Honey and I have work here for our detective agency.”
    “Looks to me like we’ll never get anything to eat,” Mart said with a twinkle in his eye. “And you know how I feel about food.”
    “Yes, you will, too, Mart Belden,” Trixie said indignantly. “We’ve brought all kinds of good things to fix for dinner. We stopped at those stores on Fiftieth Street—”
    “And we’re all going to pitch in and help,” Brian said. He walked into the kitchen and began unloading the individual items from the grocery bag.
    “You just sit down and rest, Miss Trask. We’ll have everything on the table in a jiffy,” Trixie said. “You’ll be our guest.”
    “That will be very nice. I can’t sit still, though. I’m too nervous.” Then Miss Trask brightened. “I’ll straighten up your room.”
    “You will?” Trixie exclaimed. “You darling, darling Miss Trask! I hate to straighten up anything. I’ll make a special portion of beef stroganoff just for you.”
    Miss Trask’s eyebrows went up; then her face relaxed in a smile. “I’ll like that, Trixie. Beef stroganoff, indeed!”

Wrong Number • 8

    TRIXIE GAVE JIM and Brian lettuce to wash, tomatoes to peel, and green onions to cut up for the salad.
    “The only thing I could cook would have so much garlic in it that we’d be run out of the apartment,” Dan said with a smile. “Anything I can do, Trixie?”
    “You and Ned can run around the corner to that little store and get some colas,” Trixie said. “We’ll want some later in the evening, and there isn’t a single bottle here.”
    “Bring some popcorn, too,” Honey added and gave Dan the housekeeping purse. “Maybe some extra butter, too. We may want popcorn after dinner.”
    “You don’t have much confidence in my cooking, do you?” Trixie said, laughing. “To be real truthful,
    I’m curious to see what I’ll turn out myself.”
    “If you need a chicken sewed up, I can do that,” Barbara said.
    “I’m pretty good with a needle, too,” Honey said, “but just suppose Barbara and I set the table. I’m sure we can handle that.”
    “I’ll help Trixie,” Diana said. “I know how to make Chinese fried rice.”
    “That would be keen!” Mart said. “Now who would like to sample my mashed potatoes avec fines herbes?”
    “ You made that up!” Diana said.
    “I did not! I ate potatoes with herbs one time at that French restaurant where we were the other evening. I asked the chef what was in them. I’ll bet my potatoes will taste every bit as good as his!”
    “Ooo-la-la!” Dan said and pretended to twirl a moustache. “Don’t shoot, Mart. I’m on my way.”
    An hour later, the apartment was filled with delicious fragrances. The aroma of crisped beef blended with that of half a dozen herbs and spices. Trixie had flour on her nose, apron, and hands, but she smiled triumphantly. “My beef stroganoff is perfect!” she declared.
    “Stop tasting it, then,” Mart said, smiling.