“Meat?” Jim said, puzzled. “Is it meat?”
“But not just any meat,” Trixie answered. “They’re hamburger patties, Jim.” She picked one up in her hand and showed it to her friends. “There’s enough meat here to feed lots of people— and a couple of dogs, too.” She stared down at two unrepentant and tail-wagging culprits. “I’ll bet this is what attracted their attention last night. They smelled it, you see. Then they got in here and stuffed themselves.”
Di frowned. “But how did the meat get here?” she asked.
Trixie turned the carton around and pointed to the large letters printed on its side.
It read: WIMPY’S.
“I’ll tell you how I think the meat got here,” she said quietly. “I think it was dumped in this shack by the Midnight Marauder.”
Five minutes later, the Bob-Whites were still discussing Trixie’s puzzling find.
“I still don’t understand,” Di said, brushing back her long, silky hair. “What do you think the dogs were doing here? What were they doing on the floor like that?”
Jim chuckled and bent to fondle Patch’s eager head. “These rascals,” he said, “must have smelled the meat. Either that, or they saw the person with it and followed whoever it was. In any case, the dogs arrived here and promptly got to work on Wimpy’s carton. Then, I would imagine, they had a feast.”
“That’s what I think, too,” Trixie put in. “And I also think they ate so much they had to sleep it off.”
“So that’s what they were doing when we found them,” Honey murmured.
Brian had thought of something else. “We’d better leave everything just the way we found it,” he said. “The police will want to see this.”
“Oh, Brian, do we have to tell them?” Trixie cried. “I thought we could do all the investigating ourselves.”
Jim looked stern. “We can’t do that, Trix. This is evidence.”
“I don’t care what it is,” Trixie answered, her eyes flashing. “If we tell Sergeant Molinson about it, I know exactly what he’s going to say. He’ll think that Mart is the Midnight Marauder, that he stashed the hamburger here, and that we’re trying to cover up for him.”
“I think Trixie’s right,” Honey said in a low voice. “Couldn’t we—?”
But Brian was shaking his head. “No,” he said, sounding regretful, “I don’t think we can.”
“And besides,” Mart said suddenly, as if he’d just made up his mind about something, “there’s no way that Dad and Moms will let us keep quiet about it.” He looked at his sister. “I’m going to tell them everything as soon as they get back.”
“About Miss Lonelyheart, too?” Trixie asked, trying not to smile.
Mart sighed. “About Miss Lonelyheart, too,” he answered, nodding his head, “though I’m not looking forward to that bit.”
“Maybe I’m wrong,” Di put in slowly, “but have you decided exactly what we’re going to tell the police? I mean, we don’t even know where we are. Trixie and Honey found this old shack by accident—”
“—and we merely followed their signals,” Brian added, frowning. “How about it, Jim? You’re the woodsman. What directions do we give the police, anyway?”
Trixie was hoping that Jim wouldn’t know the exact location of the old shack in the woods any more than she did.
But in the next moment, her heart sank as the Bob-Whites followed him outside while he explained. “If you follow that trail,” he pointed to the back of the clearing, “it’ll lead us to the Albany Post Road. Behind us is Sleepyside Hollow. And, of course, if we go back the way we came, we’ll come to Harrison’s Trail and eventually home.”
“Speaking of home,” Brian said, looking up at the black clouds gathering overhead, “I think we’d better get back fast. We can phone Sergeant Molinson as soon as we’ve seen to the horses. Don’t you think so, Trix?”
But Trixie’s gaze had followed Jim’s pointing finger. “Are you sure we’re close to the Albany Post Road, Jim?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” Jim answered. “Why?”
“I keep on wondering,” Trixie said, “why that hamburger meat was put in here in the first place. Why this shack? Why these woods? I wonder if the Midnight Marauder lives around here somewhere.“
“Will you listen to her?” Brian said, grinning. “She’s never satisfied. If we answer one question, she can think of ten more to take its place.”
“At least we found the dogs,” Di said, bending again to give Reddy a hug.
“Yes,” Trixie said slowly, “we found the dogs. But I’d like to know if they found the meat by accident—or if they actually saw the person who hid it here.” She stared at Reddy and wished he could talk.
But Reddy merely sat back on his haunches and looked smug.
It began to rain again just as the Bob-Whites were turning into the stable yard.
Di, who wanted to hurry home to care for her horse, waved a cheery hand at her friends and turned Sunny’s head toward the paddock.
“You’d better hurry,” she called over her shoulder. “Something tells me the weather’s going to get much worse than this.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than the stinging rain, accompanied by squalls of gusty wind, fell on humans and animals alike.
The Bob-Whites waited only long enough to see Di reach the top of the hill, and then they, too, hurried their horses into the safety of the warm and familiar stable.
For the next hour, Trixie was kept so busy that she had no time to think of the puzzling events that had taken place since she got out of bed that morning.
Jim, remembering his promise to Regan to look after the horses, was taking his responsibilities seriously. He saw to it that each animal was dried, brushed, and fed, and he stood over each Bob-White until the shining tack was rehung on the stable wall, the way Regan liked it.
“Whew!” Honey gasped, her face red from exertion. “What a slave driver you turned out to be, Jim!”
Her brother grinned and ran his hand through his red hair. “I know,” he answered, “but at least Regan can’t say we didn’t look after things while he was away.”
A sound from the open doorway made him turn sharply, but it was only the wind, which seemed to have suddenly grown in intensity.
Brian moved to stare at the now-pelting rain. “Did anyone listen to the weather forecast today?” he asked, frowning. “Somehow I don’t like the look of this.”
“I sure didn’t listen,” Trixie called to him as she patted a contented Susie’s soft nose. “I thought we were going to have terrific weather.”
The boys weren’t listening. Brian, Mart, and Jim were hurrying now to make sure that everything was secure.
Trixie heard Mart say, “Do you think we’ve got problems, Brian?”
“We haven’t,” she heard Brian answer. “But I’m just wondering whether Dad and Moms are going to be able to make it home tonight, after all. If that road from Albany gets washed out again, they’ll never get through. This rain doesn’t show any sign of letting up. If you ask me, I think we’re in for a real storm.”
Trixie and Honey exchanged worried glances. “Maybe,” Honey said slowly, “Miss Trask and Regan will decide to stay over in White Plains, too, Trix. If they do—and if your parents can’t get home, either—maybe you’d all like to come and spend the night at the Manor House.”
But when she repeated her invitation to Brian, he shook his head regretfully. “We’d better not, Honey, thanks all the same. Trixie can stay if she likes. But Mart and I had better get back to keep an eye on things at home.”
Mart nodded. “And don’t forget, we’ve got to phone Sergeant Molinson, too—though I can’t see him driving out to that shack in all this rain. And we promised to let Dan know when we found the dogs.”
“I’d almost forgotten about Sergeant Molinson,” said Trixie, who hadn’t forgotten for even a moment.
She’d been hoping against hope that it was her brothers who’d forgotten their
intention of calling the police.
“You don’t have to be there, Trix,” Mart said, his eyes watching her face. “In fact, it might be better if you weren’t.”
Brian chuckled. “It would be much better. I can see it all now. Trixie would be arguing so hard and insisting so hard on Mart’s innocence that Sergeant Molinson would be convinced Mart was guilty.”
Trixie hesitated. Maybe it would be better if she wasn’t there. In that way, the sergeant couldn't forbid her to investigate on her own.
She looked down at Reddy, who lay comfortably at her feet, his chin on his paws, his eyes closed.
“Will you look after Reddy if I do stay over at Honey’s house?” she asked.
Mart understood at once what she meant, and laughed. “Don’t worry, Trix,” he told her. “Our dog’s not going roaming any more today. We’ll keep our optic orbs focused firmly on the canine. You can count on it.”
He bent down to Reddy, who opened one sleepy brown eye. “And no more hamburgers for you tonight, either,” Mart said loudly. “You’ve had enough to feed a zoo! Understand, dog?”
Reddy yawned widely and closed his eye. He wanted nothing more than to take another long, satisfying nap.
At the storm’s first brief lull, however, he was yanked unceremoniously to his feet, and a moment later, he was trotting sleepily after Trixie’s brothers as they raced toward Crabapple Farm.
Jim took one last look around the stables, then hurried to close the big doors. “I’ll come back later to check on the horses,” he muttered. “Meantime, we’d better make a run for it ourselves. Are you ready? Ready, Patch, old boy? Quick, then! Let’s go!”
With Patch racing at their heels, they hurried as fast as they could up the hill, while the wind tore at their clothing and the ice-cold rain stung their faces.
Once inside the warm haven of the Manor House, they saw Celia Delanoy, who seemed to have been waiting for them. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re home,” she exclaimed. “And you’ve found Patch! Miss Trask told me he was missing. Where was he?”
“It’s a long story,” Jim said, stripping off his wet jacket, “and we’ll tell you about it later. Right now we’d better get on upstairs and climb into some dry clothes. Is there any word from Regan or Miss Trask?”
Celia shook her head. “No, they haven’t called, so maybe they’ll be home soon.”
The three Bob-Whites were halfway up the stairs when Celia seemed to remember something. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, pulling a letter from her apron pocket and holding it up to Jim. “This arrived in the afternoon mail. I was going to give it to Miss Trask, but maybe you’d better open it, as long as she isn’t here.”
Jim frowned as he stared at the envelope. “That’s funny,” he said. “It’s not addressed to anybody in particular. It says: Manor House, Glen Road, Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. And it’s written in block capital letters.”
Trixie held her breath as Jim ripped open the envelope. She had a sudden suspicion concerning what he would find inside it.
Jim read the letter, then stared up at the two girls in consternation. “It says: ‘Beware! Tonight I’m going to visit you!’ And it’s signed—”
“The Midnight Marauder,” Trixie finished.
A Mysterious Figure • 10
HONEY’S EYES were wide with alarm. “The Midnight Marauder’s coming here?”
Jim nodded slowly. “That’s what the letter says. The next question is: What are we going to do now?”
Trixie leaned over the banister rail to see if Celia was still there. But the Wheelers’ pretty maid had already hurried back to the kitchen and had no suspicion that anything was wrong.
Trixie was thinking fast as she hurried into Honey’s bedroom and turned to face her friends, who had followed her.
“Listen,” Trixie said excitedly, “I’ve got an idea. Don’t you see—this is our chance. It’s what we’ve been waiting for. This time we know for sure where the Midnight Marauder’s going to strike next. He’s coming here. And when he does, we’re going to catch him!”
Honey frowned. “I—I don’t think I like it, Trix,” she said uncertainly, and her hazel eyes were troubled as she gazed at her friend.
“I agree,” Jim said quietly. “I don’t think there’s any argument this time. We’re going to have to call in the police. We can’t handle this ourselves.”
“But we don’t have to,” Trixie exclaimed, brushing her wet curls away from her damp forehead with an impatient hand. “Don’t you see? We’ll call all the Bob-Whites together. Then all of us will stand on guard all night.”
“The Midnight Marauder may not show up, anyway,” Jim said suddenly. “Listen to that storm! I can’t see anyone setting out in it. Anyway, what’s the purpose in all of this?”
“I don’t know,” Trixie answered. “The more I think about it, the more it seems as if someone’s angry—or upset—or—oh, who can tell? But this is our big chance to catch whoever it is. And it’s our big chance to clear Mart’s name.”
Honey shook her head. “I’m sorry, Trix, I really am. I want to help Mart as much as anyone does.”
“Well, then?” Trixie demanded.
“Oh, Trixie,” Honey wailed, “you know that Miss Trask would never let us try to act on our own.”
“But Miss Trask isn’t here,” Trixie pointed out, “and if this storm keeps up, I don’t think she will be.”
There was silence as the three gazed at each other.
“I’ll tell you what, Trix,” Jim said at last. “Let me call the police and see what they have to say. Maybe you’re right. Maybe the storm’s so bad that no one can get through. If that’s the case, then we’ll stand guard here ourselves. Okay?”
Trixie couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t disappointed. With Sergeant Molinson at the Manor House, there was no knowing what would happen. And suppose he stationed his police officers all around the grounds. In that way, he might catch the Midnight Marauder. On the other hand, Trixie had an idea that the mysterious intruder might be frightened away.
She sighed. “Okay, Jim,” she said finally. “If that’s what you and Honey want to do, I guess I can’t stop you.”
After he had gone, Honey squeezed her friend’s arm. “Come on, Trix,” she said. “Don’t be angry with us. Everything’ll turn out all right, you’ll see. The storm is making you upset.”
“I’m not angry,” Trixie answered, trying to smile. “I understand how you and Jim feel.” She sighed. “I guess if I’d been the one to receive the letter, I’d feel the same way. You’re right, Honey. The storm is making me feel uncomfortable.” Honey looked relieved. “In that case, why don’t you get out of those wet things?” she suggested. “You left a pair of your jeans here last time you spent the night. And you can borrow one of my blouses. How’s that?”
Both Trixie and Honey had showered and changed by the time Jim returned. He knocked on the door and stuck his red head into the room. “You can relax, Trix,” he said slowly. “It looks as if you’re getting your own way, after all.”
Trixie had been busy toweling her hair dry. Now she looked up, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Jim replied, “that the telephone lines have been knocked out by the storm. I can’t get through to the police.”
Honey paused with her hair brush in her hand. “But that means—”
Jim nodded. “It means that we’re cut off from everyone, Honey. The storm outside is even worse than it was before. We’re going to have to deal with the Midnight Marauder alone!”
Several times during the course of that evening, Trixie realized that things weren’t turning out exactly the way she had imagined they would. She had hoped that the other Bob-Whites would be there to help them, and she and Jim had made several attempts to phone them. But it was no use.
Outside, the wind and the rain combined to thwart any ideas they might have had of running to anyone for help.
Several times, Trixie had run to the front door and opened it
just a little way. She had gazed across the verandah of the big house and tried to peer through the driving rain. She wanted to see if, by some miracle, her brothers had sensed that they were needed up there on the hill. But they hadn’t.
Neither had Di nor Dan.
Each time, Trixie had returned to the large living room, where Honey and Jim had gazed at her questioningly. And each time, Trixie shook her head.
Jim had made one more unsuccessful trip to the dead telephone, when Trixie burst out, “Oh, let’s face it! No one’s going to come and help us. We’re just going to have to watch out for the Midnight Marauder by ourselves.”
“But there’re only three of us!” Honey wailed.
“There’re four—if we also tell Celia,” Jim said, nodding in the general direction of the kitchen, “or more than that, if we tell the other servants.”
Thus far, the three friends had instinctively kept their worries to themselves for fear of frightening the staff. Now, however, they discussed the problem, wondering what was best to do. Finally, they decided to keep the news to themselves.
“There’s no way Celia can leave the Manor House tonight,” Jim pointed out. “It might be different if she were sleeping alone in the trailer. But with Tom still away with Mom and Dad, she was planning on sleeping here tonight, anyway—”
Honey nodded. “You’re right, Jim. Let’s not tell anyone.”
Trixie sighed and thought of the neat red trailer, the Robin, which Mr. Lynch had once given to Trixie and Mart but which now belonged to Celia and Tom.
The Robin, which had once been the scene of yet another of Trixie’s mysteries, was now parked in a clearing in the woods behind the Wheeler stables.
Honey must have been thinking of the Robin, too. She smiled at Trixie and said, “I think Celia’s lucky to have such a nice place to live, though that trailer could be parked a million miles away from here, for all the good it’d do Celia tonight. She’d never reach it in this storm.”
“And I’ll never reach the horses, either,” Jim said, frowning. “I hope they’re okay.”
The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder Page 7
