The Mystery on the Mississippi

lurking around your part of the motel are on their way now to their rendezvous. What they don’t know is that the authorities have it surrounded and that when you girls arrive, you’ll be able to identify at least one of them. You know who. Come with us quickly!”
    “Oh, yes, of course,” Honey said, taking Mrs. Aguilera’s hand. “Isn’t it exciting, Trixie? We’re really going to solve this case before we go back to New York. That’s what we wanted most to do. Now, thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Aguilera—”
    “Just a minute, Honey. Mrs. Aguilera, I want my brothers and Dan and Jim to go with us wherever we go. They went to the exhibit of spaceships over on the airport grounds. They’ll be home very soon.”
    “I’m sorry. There’s not a minute to lose.”
    “We have to get going,” Juan Aguilera insisted. “Hurry! The car is over on the side lot. We can get out this way, right here between these motel units.”
    “Well, maybe if the girls would rather wait till the boys come...” Mrs. Aguilera began, but her husband silenced her with one word.
    “No!”
    Mrs. Aguilera’s hesitation, her willingness to wait for the boys, lessened Trixie’s feeling of apprehension; still she persisted. “I’d at least like to call Mr. Brandio’s home to leave word for Mr. Wheeler. I want him to know where Honey and I have gone.”
    “He’ll be at the rendezvous. Both he and Mr. Wheeler will be there, you may be sure of that, by the time we get there,” Mrs. Aguilera said to her soothingly.
    “I’d like to try to reach him if you don’t mind,” Trixie said determinedly.
    “Make it quick, then,” Mr. Aguilera said.
    Trixie took off the receiver and waited for the dial tone. Nothing happened. She clicked the mechanism. There was no sign of life on the wire.
    “Hurry!” Mrs. Aguilera warned.
    Trixie clicked again, then hung up the receiver. “The line’s dead. I’ll have to go to the office and use the phone there.”
    “There isn’t a moment for you to go anywhere,” Mr. Aguilera said.
    “Then I’ll leave a note for the boys.”
    “Make it snappy!” Mr. Aguilera commanded. “We’ve already wasted too much time. Write it out on this piece of notepaper. I’ll put it under their door while you go with my wife to the car.”
    Trixie scribbled a quick account of what had happened. She told the boys that she didn’t know where they were going, but it looked as though the case might be settled very soon, that they’d been surprised to find that Mr. and Mrs. Aguilera were working with the authorities, and that she had tried to telephone to Mr. Brandio’s house, but the phone line from their room was dead. If the boys would call the Brandio number right away, they’d surely find out more information.
    Trixie would have written more, but both of the Aguileras were urging her to hurry. Honey, too, seemed impatient and eager to get on the way.
    When she had finished writing, Mr. Aguilera held out his hand. Reluctantly Trixie gave him the folded paper. “I could easily put it under the door myself,” she said under her breath.
    As the girls went out to the waiting car, Trixie could not get rid of a lingering feeling that something was very wrong. Why hadn’t the authorities at least hinted that these people were in their confidence? Why did she have this feeling of actual dislike for Mrs. Aguilera? Honey, however, seemed to accept the new development as something legitimate, and Honey was pretty good at analyzing people.
    Both girls sat in the back of a big black Cadillac, one on either side of Mrs. Aguilera, while Mr. Aguilera stepped hard on the accelerator. Then he backed and turned, with all wheels whining as they spun on the gravel.
    “Where are we going?” Trixie asked. “We’re heading north, aren’t we?” She peered into the darkness, looking for some familiar road sign.
    “I really don’t know,” Mrs. Aguilera said serenely. “I don’t bother about such details when my husband is doing the driving. I’m one of those silly women who know absolutely nothing about automobiles. You aren’t old enough to drive, are you, Trixie?”
    “No, I’m not, but my father lets me drive up and down our driveway. I can handle a car. I know how to start and stop and back up and....” She leaned over to try to see the speedometer. “I know we’re going awfully fast now. Do we have to go over the speed limit?”
    Mr. Aguilera didn’t answer. He growled something unintelligible.
    “He never