The Mystery on the Mississippi

all the others. Did they come by boat? Why didn’t we meet them and come by boat, too? This is a terrible way to come to the old steamboat. My feet are soaking wet, and I’m so cold and scared.”
    “That won’t bother you much longer,” Mr. Aguilera snarled. He pushed the two girls up the old plank to the main deck of the dilapidated steamboat.
    “Go on!” he ordered. “Up the next steps to the pilothouse! Go on. Move faster.”
    “The others?” Honey asked, stumbling ahead and reaching back for Trixie’s hand. “Aren’t they here yet?”
    “Oh, yeah,” Mr. Aguilera chuckled. “The others are here, all right. Open up, Frenchy!”
    A huge light flashed on the deck above.
    Trixie and Honey, shaking and faltering, walked the few steps across the top deck to the pilothouse. As they neared, rusty hinges creaked, and the door swung wide into a dimly lighted room.
    There, his feet planted far apart, rocking back and forth on his heels, stood Pierre Lontard. He was exultant; a grin covered his face.

On the Steamboat ● 15

    GREETINGS, MY DEAR little detective friends!” Lontard said, his voice as oily as that of Red Riding Hood’s wolf. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
    Trixie and Honey could not answer.
    “Well, aren’t you? You’ve played cat and mouse with me for far too long. So you thought your dear friends Elena and Juan Aguilera were protecting you from me!” He laughed again, a deep, throaty, evil laugh that sent Trixie’s blood racing cold to the very tips of her fingers.
    Honey was deathly pale.
    “What do you intend to do?” Trixie asked with superhuman courage. “What do you want from us? Are you going to kill us?”
    “One question at a time, my pretty little spitfire. First, what do I want? My papers you stole from me and that you still keep from me. I want those immediately. Search her thoroughly!” he commanded Mrs. Aguilera.
    “Then, for the second question, what am I going to do to you? Am I going to kill you? The answer to that question depends entirely on you, Miss Trixie. For your companion, I do not care, except that what happens to you must happen to her, too, for she has a tongue.
    “In my country, to steal private papers means certain death to a thief. In your country, men are more compassionate. Perhaps I have learned compassion from your people, yes? What have you to report, Elena? You have found nothing?”
    In the light of the huge battery-charged lamp, Trixie could see the contents of her purse strewn on the floor.
    “Nothing!” Mrs. Aguilera repeated.
    Pierre Lontard turned furiously on Trixie. “Where are they? Where are the papers?” He gave her such a shove that she nearly fell to the floor.
    “I don’t have them.”
    Suddenly Honey rushed to him and scratched him furiously across the face. Half blinded by her attack, he swung on her and would have struck her, but Mrs. Aguilera stepped between them. “Wait,” she commanded. “We do not yet have the papers.”
    “That is right. We do not. Where are they?” he demanded of Trixie in a cold, hard voice. “Answer me, miss, immediately. Beware of what will happen to you if those papers are not returned! You have cost me thousands of dollars already, evading me and withholding from me my rightful property. Where are they?” He stood over Trixie, arm upraised, waiting for the answer.
    “Don’t you see she doesn’t have them?” Honey answered. “How could she? They’re—”
    “Honey, no!” Trixie cautioned. “Let me talk, please.”
    Honey put her hand over her mouth and nodded pitifully.
    “Then, speak!” Lontard howled in fury. “Speak! Where are my papers?”
    A thought raced through Trixie’s mind. If I tell him now that the police have the papers, he will certainly kill us. Her voice never faltered as she said bravely, “I can say nothing except that I don’t have them. They are no longer in my possession.”
    “That is very plain. Where have you put them? Where have you hidden them? Speak immediately, or take the consequences.” Lontard’s voice was filled with rage, and his face reddened.
    “I have said all I can. I don’t have them.”
    “Then you have hidden them. Where?” He swore fiercely. “Now I must go and find where you have hidden them. Very well. If I do not find the papers where they are almost certain to be—in your room at the motel—then, my pretty little Trixie, you will no longer be pretty. Bind her! Take care of both of these interfering meddlers! Never