The Mystery on the Mississippi

map.
    “We’ll have to hustle along, or we won’t get back to see that space exhibit,” Mart reminded Jim. “It looks like rain, too—all those clouds. This is no shortcut along the river. I don’t know why you had to stick around that island for so long, Trixie. You sure didn’t dig up any information.”
    “I did, too, Mart Belden. What do you say about that paper Lem found?”
    “What good will that do you, when you promised not to tell about it?”
    “That’s right. We did find out, though, about those men going ashore with those bundles.”
    “You can’t tell that, either. We promised. Anyhow, I don’t think it had anything to do with Pierre Lontard—not if you think he was stealing plans from one of those airplane factories. He couldn’t carry a spaceship in a bundle.”
    “Mart, you’re always suspicious about everything I try to do, every clue that Honey and I find. Of course they couldn’t carry a spaceship in a bundle. That’s silly. That paper did belong with the other papers of Pierre Lontard that I found. As far as the bundles are concerned, they could contain models. Experts make models of spaceships before they start to build the real thing.”
    “Of course, Trixie,” Dan agreed. “And they make thousands of parts. Those men could have some spaceship parts in the bundles.”
    “Then, please tell me why they’d have to take them as far north as Jackson’s Island and park them there,” Mart insisted. “I’d say you’re sniffing on a trail that just isn’t there.”
    “They’d want to hide them as far away as they could, till they had all the stuff accumulated. The bad part of it is that I can’t tell Mr. Brandio or the federal agents anything about it. Why did I have to promise?” Trixie looked out at the fast-gathering clouds on the horizon and sighed.
    Honey gazed into space, and she sighed, too. “It was the best clue we’ve had, and we can’t use it.”
    “Or can we?” Trixie’s face glowed. “We can at least do this: We can tell the agents to check everything on that map of the river very carefully, and we can say that we’re sure the sketches mean something.”
    “Maybe we can do that... maybe,” Honey said. “Jeepers, it’s getting dark, isn’t it?”
    “The wind’s coming up, too,” Brian said. “Let’s speed up, Jim. There’s not much traffic on this side road. You should be able to make good time. Not much chance of clues along here, either, Trixie. We
    made a mistake to come this way.”
    A terrific gust of wind hit the car, and lightning flashed across the black sky, almost blinding Jim. The car swerved onto the shoulder of the road and almost upset as Jim jerked it back onto the pavement.
    Then the rain came, first in large drops pounding against the windshield. Then the sky seemed to open and spill tons of water all at once.
    “We’d better find some sort of shelter!” Brian shouted. “Not under these trees by the side of the road, Jim. Lightning might strike them.”
    “I... know... that,” Jim said, tugging at the wheel to keep the car under control. He strained his eyes ahead. “Isn’t that a side road? It sure is. I’ll pull up there. We won’t be in danger of anyone running into us, at least. Gosh, it’s dark. Look at it pour!” The light car found traction in the gravel of the side road and slowly forged ahead. Trees thinned out, and a dark mass loomed ahead.
    “It’s a private road we’re on,” Brian muttered. “That looks like a house. Boy, is it a big one! Almost as big as your house at home, Jim.”
    Honey shivered. “I’m glad we don’t live in such a spooky place. Isn’t that a porte cochère on the side? We could pull up under it, couldn’t we?”
    “Sure we can, sis,” Jim said. “You must have eyes like an owl’s. I can hardly see a thing. I only know I’m still on the road.”
    “You’re on the driveway and almost under cover,” Trixie cried. “Stop, now! There!”
    “Jeepers, that’s a relief!” Jim took his hands from the wheel. “This is worse than a storm in the Catskills. I thought nothing could beat one of those.”
    “The wind’s blowing so hard it may blow the old house over on us.” Honey snuggled down in her seat. “I’ll bet it’s been ages since anybody lived here.”
    “I’m just glad nobody’s home,” Mart said. “Imagine the characters that would live here—witches and goblins and... gangsters. If you’re looking for a hideout for Lontard’s outfit, you