The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

“There won’t be any left.”
    “Oh, yes, there will be,” Trixie sang. “I made the recipe that was supposed to be used for sixteen. I just hope you like it. You’ll have it again tomorrow.”
    She was wrong. There wasn’t a bit left of the delicious sliced brown beef smothered in sour cream, spices, onions, and tomatoes. Served with Diana’s delicious fried rice, it was perfect. Mart, too, surprised the girls by the way he cooked potatoes to the right fluffiness, put them through a ricer, and produced his French version of mashed potatoes.
    “What did you put in them?” Barbara asked as she reached for the dish and helped herself a second time.
    “Grated cheese,” Mart ticked off on his fingers, “sour cream, nutmeg, mace, thyme, chives, and lemon juice. Then,” he added dramatically, “just a taste of sesame seed, dill, and rosemary.”
    “I never heard of any of those things, except cheese,” Dan said, “but the tout ensemble — c'est parfait!”
    “ Jeepers, Dan!” Trixie said, her blue eyes wide. “Where did you learn all that French?”
    “Hanging around Greenwich Village,” Dan said. “No, honest, Miss Trask coached me before dinner. I was going to throw it in if the girls came up with a bomb. They didn’t, though, and the dinner was perfect. So I can say it and mean it. That meat stuff— beef stroganoff you call it, Trix?—that was something!”
    “Did you like the salade , Monsieur Mangan?” Jim inquired.
    “Mais oui!” Dan answered. “Well, that’s the extent of my French. Gleeps! I think the whole spread was terrific.”
    “You can say that again!” Miss Trask said.
    “Miss Trask, Miss Trask!” Mart feigned shock. “Watch your language.”
    “I’ll have to watch my weight if Trixie cooks dinner very often.” The Wheelers’ housekeeper smiled at the young people.
    “If I could only forget for a little while what happened today,” Trixie said and winced, remembering. “That man at the United Nations and the burglar here! Oh, well.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Who’ll wash the dishes?”
    The hush was complete.
    “All right, then, you’ll be drafted!” Trixie announced. “Everyone except Miss Trask, Mart, Bob, Ned, and Brian.”
    “That’s not fair!” Dan protested.
    “It is, because they’re going to get ready for the magic show,” Trixie pointed out.
    “Bob and Barbara have promised to sing. Barbara shouldn’t have to help, either,” Honey said.
    “I don’t mind. I always help with the dishes at home,” Barbara insisted.
    After the work was done, Miss Trask drew back the long curtains from the great view window that looked down over Central Park to the lighted buildings on the city’s skyline. Gradually, one by one, the young people joined her and stood, fascinated. Ribbons of automobile lights wound in and out along the streets. Against the sky, the misted outlines of tall buildings glowed, alive with twinkling windows.
    “If we’d just turn our backs,” Ned said as Miss Trask snapped on half a dozen lamps and lit the electric fireplace, “we might almost be in the big kitchen of our home or at Happy Valley Farm.”
    “Or in Uncle Andrew’s lodge in the Ozarks,” Trixie added. “It’s cozy. Imagine, in August, having the fireplace lighted!”
    “It’s an illusion,” Miss Trask said. “It’s just light. I didn’t turn on the heat. The logs are imitations.”
    “It’s just as cozy as if they were real!” Jim said and settled down on the big sofa. “I’m ready to be entertained. Here’s a front row seat, Trixie!” He patted the seat beside him.
    Ned brought in a small table, covered it with a black cloth, then set a bowl, a black box, and some other strange props on it.
    Bob and Barbara took up their guitars and ran some eerie chords up and down the strings for a fanfare. Bowing, smiling, Mart stepped out on the stage and tapped with his wand for attention.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to be entertained by the world’s most famous magician. But if this trick works, I’ll be more surprised than you are. Watch carefully. You may be able to find out how to do it. If you do, let me know.”
    Mart took out a cola bottle and put it in a paper bag. “This is the favorite beverage of a lot of kids, but some may prefer another kind. Anyone for root beer?”
    “I’d like one,” Bob said, going to Mart’s side.
    Mart snapped his fingers, mumbled some magic words, reached into the paper bag, and drew out the