The Mystery on the Mississippi

and moved over to an outside lane. “Have another look at the paper. I doubt if anyone in South America is going to steal our country’s plans. The South Americans are our allies.”
    Trixie shook her curls indignantly. “You forget, Jim, that people speak Spanish in Cuba. They’d give a lot of dinero to find out our space plans and pass them on to—”
    Honey whooped. “You’re right, Trixie. Right, as usual. See... here it says La Habana and... ohoooo... here it says vamos a Cuba... .”
    “That doesn’t sound much like writing for children,” Mart said, puzzled. “Where’d you get that notion, Honey?”
    “From the map of the river with those strange sketches. Show him that paper, Trixie.”
    Trixie straightened out the narrow paper with the outline of the Mississippi River. “I can’t make much sense out of this,” she said. “Can you?”
    The crooked Mississippi meandered from the bottom of the sheet to the opposite corner at the top. Here and there along its course little drawings stood out.
    “This looks like a fez,” Mart said, pointing, “and here’s a pyramid, and another. Heck, what could that be?”
    “Egypt, of course,” Brian said. “But what does Egypt have to do with spaceships? Here’s something else funny—a set of false teeth. See, right in a row, and close by them, an island in the river.”
    “It looks like one of those picture puzzles in the bound copies of the old magazines we have in our school library,” Honey said. “Rebuses, I think they called them.”
    “They really do,” Trixie said, delighted with the interest the other Bob-Whites were showing. “I think this is the biggest puzzle of all—this picture of an old gray-bearded man, then a line of arrows pointing to an old steamboat.”
    “Yes, how about that?” Honey asked, awed. “What are you going to do with this junk?” Dan asked. “As far as I can see, it’s a lot of gobbledy-gook. What’s your next move?”
    “Show the papers to Mr. Brandio, of course,” Honey said, “and to Daddy. Isn’t that true, Trixie?”
    Trixie folded the papers and put them back in her purse. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “We’d better wait awhile for that, Honey. I want to know more about this—and more about Mr. Lontard—before I run to your father and Mr. Brandio. They’d just laugh at me.”
    “Come to think of it, you’re dead right,” Mart said. “People from all over the world are in and out of the Lambert-St. Louis airport. A few foreign words on scraps of paper can’t mean much, Trix.”
    “Don’t be too sure of that, Mart. I didn’t mean I wasn’t still suspicious. All I meant was that I want more to go on than I have now. More evidence is what I need. Honey and I’ll have to find out if Pierre Lontard really is up to something shady. Then we’ll take it up with the authorities.”
    “That sounds sensible,” Brian said. “I suppose the FBI has a thousand rumors a day reported to them. I know you, though, Trix. You’re just like a bulldog with a hold on a tramp’s leg. You’ll never let go. Forget it for now. Here’s the motel, right ahead. Let’s see what we can do about an invitation to go aboard the Catfish Princess. That’s the first order of business. All agreed?”
    “Right you are, Brian!” Jim said. He parked the car neatly, then glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s about time to meet Dad for dinner. Let’s hope he’ll have some idea of how we can get on the towboat.”
    Mr. Wheeler did have an idea. “A lot of New York firms use Mississippi River barges to move freight,” he said. “They’re much cheaper than railroads for transporting freight... slower but dependable. You remember, Honey, when Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and their children visited us last summer?”
    “Of course. I took the children swimming every day.”
    “That’s right. Their father never has stopped saying what a wonderful baby-sitter you were.”
    “Thanks. What does that have to do with the Catfish Princess ?”
    “Possibly nothing at all. Mr. Thompson’s firm does own a barge line on the Mississippi, though. Well, not exactly the Mississippi; his line starts back at Cincinnati.”
    “Do you think the Thompson firm might own the Catfish Princess or maybe some other towboat, Daddy, that would take guests?”
    “I’ll find out. I saw Mr. Thompson today at the Missouri Athletic Club, so I know he’s in the city.”
    “Oh, will you call him? Right now?” Trixie’s eyes were