Free The Mysterious Visitor by Julie Campbell Page B

Speaking of phobias, I have one very definite phobia about dirty dishes. In fact—"
    "Never mind," Trixie interrupted, grinning. "We all know that you cringe at the sight of a kitchen sink and that you spend your nights dreaming up ways to sneak out of the house after meals so that your poor, overworked sister is stuck with the dirty work."
    Mart eyed her critically. "Poor, yes. Overworked, no. But it seems to me, Cinderella, that we have strayed far from the subject of that memorable luncheon you enjoyed out here last spring.
    Did you bring the subject up simply to stimulate our appetites, or did you have something in mind which you felt was pertinent to the subject of blue-eyed parents?"
    "You must be a mind reader," Trixie said sarcastically. "In words of one syllable, the answer to your question is yes. After lunch, Di’s mother showed me through the house. Di, I remember now, trailed forlornly along behind us, but the point is, when Mrs. Lynch took me through the gallery, we spent a lot of time gazing at the portraits of her parents, which had been painted by a famous artist whose name I’ve forgotten." "What a retentive memory you have, Cinderella!" Mart said, bowing so low that his wig fell off. "Don’t tell me you recall whether or not said parents of Mrs. Lynch had blue eyes?"
    Trixie shook her head sadly. "My memory isn’t that good. But I do remember almost exactly where those portraits were hanging. If the walls weren’t draped now, I could lead you boys right to them, and then we’d know for sure."
    "Exactly," Mart said. "But since the walls are covered, where does that get us?"
    "Don’t be such a moron," Trixie cried impatiently. "The musicians in the orchestra will probably have supper when we have ours. This room will be empty then. What’s to prevent me from sneaking in here and peering behind that huge bat on the wall over there?"
    "Nothing," Mart said, "unless it happens to be your turn to keep Uncle Monty from running things. In which case, I shall be very happy to do the peeking and peering, myself."
    "Wait a minute," Jim interrupted. "Peeking isn’t going to do any good unless Trixie happens to know where the master switch is that turns on the lights above the portraits. They’re usually in the top part of each frame, but they’re sure to be turned off now. In this dim light you won’t be able to tell whether Di’s grandparents had blue or black eyes."
    "I can use a flashlight," Trixie said promptly. "Where are you going to get one now, Trixie?" Jim demanded.
    "From Di, of course," Trixie said.
    "No," Brian said firmly. "Di has got to be left out of this completely until we have definite proof that her uncle is an impostor."
    "I forgot about that angle," Trixie admitted. "Well, a candle will do just as well. There are a lot of them in the dining room."
    Just then Honey and Mr. Wilson came out of the study across the hall from the gallery. At least, Trixie felt pretty sure that they must be Honey and Di’s uncle. Honey had donned her devil’s mask and black curly wig. Mr. Wilson was wearing a black domino and was now a small masked cowboy.
    At that moment Di appeared with several boys and girls, all of whom were masked. They were laughing hilariously, because every one of the girls was dressed as a witch, and every one of the boys was wearing a cowboy costume.
    "Well, podners," Uncle Monty said, joining in the laughter, "great minds think alike, they say. It carries me back to the days of my youth when I was a broncobuster out west. Dining one rodeo, a masked cowboy appeared, and, let me tell you, when he roped a steer, it stayed roped. And during the roundup, when the calves are branded, he did the work of ten. That masked cowboy, podners, was yours truly."
    Uncle Monty talked on and on, while the other guests arrived, and was soon the center of a circle of admiring boys and girls. Even Trixie was momentarily hypnotized by the exciting tales he told them. But suddenly Honey whispered in