The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

Evalinda’s arms and both legs were in traction, Trixie couldn’t imagine how she’d ever manage to shake hands. The others, too, watched curiously.
    “They don’t believe you know how to shake hands. Show them, Muggins,” Dr. Reed urged the little girl.
    She smiled at him, raised her head, and shook it from side to side. Little tinkly bells jingled a fairy greeting. Then, as she saw the puzzled faces on her visitors, her broad smile came back. “They’re tied to my top pigtails! Dr. Reed brought the bells to me last week. Dr. Reed thinks of everything.”
    “Everything but a way to make you eat so you’ll get big and strong,” a white-capped nurse said as she placed a foaming glass of malted milk with a bent straw near the little girl.
    “If you drink it down to here”—Dr. Reed indicated a line near the bottom of the glass—“I’ll take the last sip for you, and you know, Muggins, every time I drink or eat... hocus-pocus! A fairy puts a present in my pocket for you!”
    The little girl sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed till the liquid slowly reached the mark. Then Dr. Joe took the glass and drank the rest. Evalinda’s big eyes traveled from one of his coat pockets to the other. When the last drop had disappeared, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cloth Chinese doll. “Her name is ‘Pretty Blossom.’ The magic thing about her is that you’ll never get lonesome as long as her head is on your pillow.”
    He tucked the small doll next to the little dark head on the pillow, then said, “Guess what, Muggins. Yesterday Bob and Barbara, the twins here, appeared on a talent show at Celebrity Broadcasting Studio. They sang folk songs on television.”
    “Oh, Dr. Reed,” Evalinda cried. “You know that’s what I want to do most of all in the world. If you’d close the door, I’m sure Nurse won’t mind if they’d just sing one little song. Will you, please?”
    “We’d love to sing for you,” Barbara answered. “We sing better with our guitars, but maybe you won’t mind if we sing without accompaniment.”
    So they sang:

“Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin’ for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Comin’ for to carry me home.”

    Evalinda’s clear voice took up the melody as they went on:

“I looked over Jordan, and what did I see
Comin’ for to carry me home?
A band of angels comin’ after me,
Comin’ for to carry me home.”

    Barbara and Bob stilled their voices gradually, and the little girl’s sweet voice rose in solo just before the song’s end.
    When the nurse opened the door to signal them that it was time to leave, the young people threw kisses back to the tiny, brave patient. Then they waited in a cheerful sun-room at the end of the hall while Dr. Reed made several other calls.
    “It was a wonderful evening,” Barbara said as the doctor let them out at the door of the apartment building. “We loved the chance to see the railroad and to meet your family, and Evalinda, too.”
    “My family and I enjoyed having you,” Dr. Joe said. “You could tell that from the way the kids acted. As for Muggins, she’ll be talking about you till her small arms and legs are sturdy and strong.”
    “That’ll be the day, sir,” Brian said, his voice filled with deep respect.
    The doorman let them into the apartment building. He touched Trixie’s arm as she passed. “There’s a telephone call for you, miss,” he said.
    Mart, overhearing, suggested, “Can’t you take it upstairs?”
    “I guess I can’t,” Trixie answered. “Whoever it is may be calling from a pay station or long distance. They’d just have to call back again. Go on upstairs, everybody, and I’ll be right up. It may be just a wrong number again, Mart.”
    “Yeah, it may be, but they asked for you. Come on, gang; let’s see if Miss Trask caught the video tape show. She just might have noticed those guys in back.” Trixie went into the booth, took up the receiver, and said, “Hello? This is Trixie Belden.”
    A man’s guttural voice answered.
    “What did you say?” Trixie inquired. “Meet you where? Who are you?”
    “You know who I am.”
    She could barely make out the reply.
    “Are you—you’re one of the men who’ve been following us all the time. Why didn’t you tell us what you want?”
    The caller ignored her question. “You got the statue?”
    “Yes, I have it.... You say it belongs to a rich man in Peru?... Someone stole it? Well, I didn’t steal it.