The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

by Campbell, Julie

Grandpa set the last box back in its place and closed the cabinet door. “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he announced, “this collection is worth plenty.”

  Trixie frowned and thought that Grandpa was probably right. The collection was worth plenty— but only to Grandpa, not to anyone else. Or could there be another person...?

  “Did someone offer to buy it?” she asked.

  “Pah!” Grandpa replied, sounding angry. “Sonny wanted me to get rid of the whole lot several weeks ago. He called in someone from New York —some antique dealer—a woman who didn’t know what she was talking about.”

  Trixie thought of the dark-haired woman she had seen only the previous day in Crimper’s Department Store. “Was it Margo Birch?” she asked.

  Grandpa nodded his white head. “That’s the fool woman. She told Sonny the collection was practically worthless. She offered me fifty dollars for the lot. When I found out about it, I told her I wouldn’t sell any of it for even fifty thousand dollars. She came back twice to try and get me to change my mind.”

  “She must have wanted the collection badly,” Honey remarked.

  “She said she’d found a buyer who was willing to take it off my hands,” Grandpa said briefly, leading the way back to the kitchen. “She made it sound as if she was doing me a favor. Fool woman!”

  From the expression on Honey’s face, Trixie could tell that she thought fifty dollars for Grandpa’s sorry-looking collection was probably more than fair.

  His son, who had heard the last part of his father’s conversation, obviously thought so, too. “Now, Dad,” he said sharply, “Margo Birch is a fine woman. She was trying to be neighborly, that’s all.” He glanced at Trixie. “She lives a few doors down from us, you see, and she thought Dad would be pleased—”

  “Well, she was wrong,” Grandpa broke in angrily.

  Trixie was still thinking about old Mr. Crimper five minutes later, as she and Honey scrambled once more into the cab of the small truck.

  This time it was young Mr. Crimper who had insisted, to Trixie’s relief, on driving them home. Honey’s bike was safely stowed in the back. Trixie’s bicycle had been left behind in the Crimper’s garage. The bike, she had been assured once more, would be returned to her as soon as it had been repaired.

  “Don’t worry,” young Mr. Crimper told Trixie, guessing her thoughts as he pulled carefully out of the driveway, “I’ll see to it that Dad won’t get his hands on it once it’s been fixed.” He smiled. “In spite of what you might think, I’m glad my father’s enjoying himself. It’s just that I don’t want any harm to come to him.”

  Trixie nodded. “I guess I’d feel the same way if I were in your position.”

  Privately, she couldn’t even imagine Peter Belden, her banker father, ever indulging in the kind of eccentric behavior that Grandpa Crimper did.

  Gazing idly out of the truck window, she noticed how much damage the storm had done. Although the air smelled fresh and clean, the many fallen branches made the woods look ravaged. It was as if the branches had been torn off by some giant, ungentle hand.

  Soon they were back on Glen Road. Then, as they drew level with the path that the Bob-Whites had named Harrison’s Trail, Trixie’s tongue felt dry and her heart skipped a beat.

  Sergeant Molinson’s police car was parked at its entrance. It probably had been there when they had passed the same spot before, although that time, Grandpa Crimper had been driving the truck so fast that Trixie hadn’t noticed it.

  Now she guessed that the sergeant and his men were still searching for clues around the old shed in the woods. She also guessed that Brian, Mart, and Jim were still with them.

  At the sight of the police car, young Mr. Crimper slowed almost to a stop. Then he frowned and muttered, “No, I won’t wait now. I’ll talk to the sergeant later, on my way home.”

  Startled, Trixie glanced at him. “Has something happened, Mr. Crimper?”

  Even as she asked the question, she had a sudden hunch what his answer was going to be.

  He nodded his head slowly. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” he answered, “except the police, that is. And I certainly don’t want my parents to hear about this. It would worry them both.”

  He removed one hand from the steering wheel and reached into the pocket of his jacket. “Take a look at this,” he said. “It must have arrived in the store’s mail yesterday. Somehow, though, it got buried under some papers on my desk. I didn’t find it until I went there first thing this morning to finish off some bookkeeping. I didn’t know what to do. I was about to call the police when you arrived at the house.”

  He handed her a letter.

  Honey drew in her breath sharply as she recognized the hand-printed letters on the envelope.

  “And you say this arrived at the store yesterday?” she asked.

  Mr. Crimper nodded and looked worried.

  The envelope was similar to the one delivered to Manor House the previous day. This time it said merely: Mr. Crimper, Crimper’s Department Store, Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, N.Y.

  Even as Trixie unfolded the letter, she knew what she would find.

  The message read:

  BEWARE!

  TOMORROW NIGHT I’M GOING TO VISIT YOU!

  THE MIDNIGHT MARAUDER

  “If this was delivered yesterday,” Trixie said slowly, “then that means the Marauder is going to visit the store tonight!”

  “I know,” Mr. Crimper said briefly.

  Trixie felt a surge of excitement. This was the big chance she’d been hoping for. The Midnight

  Marauder wasn’t going to be the only one to visit the old department store tonight.

  Somehow, in some way, Trixie intended to be there, too.

  Trixie Makes Plans • 16

  TRIXIE WAS STILL THINKING about the letter when Mr. Crimper stopped at the entrance to the Beldens’ driveway.

  “Will you two be all right if I drop you here?” he asked. “I want to catch Sergeant Molinson before he goes back to town.”

  The two girls nodded and watched as Honey’s bike was carefully lifted to the ground. Then, with a cheerful wave of the hand, Mr. Crimper was gone.

  He was no sooner out of sight than Honey turned to her friend eagerly. “Well?” she demanded. “Did it match?”

  Trixie had been so busy making and discarding first one plan and then another that she didn’t realize at first what Honey meant. She frowned. “Did what match? Oh, you mean this?”

  She pulled the scrap of material from her pocket once more and stared at it absently.

  “Of course I mean that,” Honey exclaimed impatiently. “I knew you wanted me to look at old Mr. Crimper’s jewelry boxes to give yourself a chance to compare the two pieces of cloth. I also saw you holding one against the other behind his back.”

  Trixie chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.“

  “So did they match? Was Grandpa’s torn shirt the one the Midnight Marauder was wearing on Friday night?”

  Honey’s face fell as Trixie shook her head. “No,” Trixie said, “it didn’t. It was the wrong shade of red. And from the way Mrs. Crimper was scolding just as we were leaving, I’ve got an idea that Grandpa’s shirt wasn’t torn when he left home this morning. Maybe it got ripped when we collided on our bikes.”

  Honey sighed. “I was hoping we’d found the villain.”

  “Perhaps we already have,” Trixie said, still thinking hard. “Have you considered that it might be young Mr. Crimper who’s the Midnight Marauder? I have a hunch—”

  Honey stared. “But why would you think so?“

  “He does have a truck,” Trixie pointed out, “and we know the vandal drove one on Friday night.” She ran a hand through her curls. “I just can’t think why he would want to vandalize his own store, though.”

  “Maybe to collect the insurance money?” Honey suggested.

  “Then why did he also rob the school—and Wimpy’s—and the Robin? It just doesn’t make sense.”

 
; “None of it has made sense,” Honey exclaimed suddenly, “ever since this business started. The villain, whoever he is, broke a window at school and stole only a small amount of cash. He stole hamburger meat from Wimpy’s—and then he dropped it from his truck—”

  “—and the rest he stored in an old shed in the woods,” Trixie added.

  “And then when he came to the Robin, ” Honey said, “he stole three junk-jewelry necklaces and only ten dollars in cash.”

  The two girls stared at each other.

  “It’s almost as if he’s just trying to be a pest,” Trixie said at last.

  “Or someone who likes practical jokes.”

  “Or someone else at school that we haven’t thought of,” Trixie said slowly. “One of Mart’s pen pals who’ve been writing to Miss Lonelyheart.”

  Honey was silent, and Trixie guessed she was trying to think which teen-ager it could be.

  “The only one we know for sure isn’t the Midnight Marauder,” Trixie continued, frowning, “is Mart. And only we Bob-Whites are certain of that. This is why, Honey, we’ve got to be there tonight.”

  Honey looked startled. “Be where?“

  “Crimper’s,” Trixie replied and then began walking along the driveway. “We’ve got to think of some way to get in there. It’s Sunday, so the department store closes early tonight, at six.”

  Honey, wheeling her bike beside her friend, was already shaking her head. “I don’t see how we’re going to arrange that, Trix. Tomorrow’s a school day, so we’ll be expected to turn in early.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Trixie muttered. “I’ve just got to.”

  She frowned as she approached Crabapple Farm. Her father’s car, which she had expected to see parked in the driveway, wasn’t there. Neither was there any sign that her mother was home. The house was obviously still deserted—except for Reddy.

  Suddenly he came bounding around the side of the house toward the two girls. Then, when he saw them, he skidded to a halt and growled softly, deep in his throat.

  Trixie looked at him in astonishment. “Reddy! What’s the matter, boy?” She snapped her fingers. “Come! I mean—go!”

  Reddy came at once, though slowly, as if he were reluctant to obey. Soon he was sitting at Trixie’s feet and looking at her expectantly, as if he were demanding some sort of reward. When none was forthcoming, he merely appeared bored and soon strolled back toward the house.

  Honey laughed. “I wonder what that was all about. It looked as if he was expecting someone else and was disappointed that it was only us.”

  In another moment, both girls had forgotten the incident as Trixie let them into the kitchen through the back door.

  “I don’t understand it, Honey,” she exclaimed, looking around the familiar room. “Dad, Moms, and Bobby should have been home long ago. What could have happened to them?”

  It wasn’t long before her question was answered. The telephone rang just as Trixie was about to hurry upstairs to change out of her muddy clothes.

  “Trixie?” her mother’s voice said on the other end of the line. “Where have you been? Where are Brian and Mart? I’ve been calling home every ten minutes for the last hour.”

  Quickly, Trixie explained that she had been at Manor House with Honey. “And the boys are around here somewhere,” she added vaguely, not wanting to worry her mother with the details of where they really were—and what they were doing there.

  Mrs. Belden hesitated and then said slowly, “The silliest thing has happened, Trixie. We were all ready to come home, when I slipped as I was getting into the car.”

  “Oh, Moms!” Trixie cried, her heart skipping a beat. “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?”

  “I seem to have wrenched my back,” her mother answered. “But it’s all right. The doctor says it’s not serious—except he says I should stay relaxed and quiet until tomorrow. Do you think you children can manage till then? Dad’s here, and he wants to talk to you. Bobby, too.”

  Five minutes later, Trixie turned away from the telephone. Although she still felt concerned about her mother, Mr. Belden had assured her several times that the injury was not anything to be upset about.

  “And we’ll be home tomorrow, without fail,” Peter Belden had said. “Tell Brian I’m relying on him to keep an eye on things for me. I’ve already called the bank and told them I won’t be in until late tomorrow. As for Bobby, he’ll have to miss a morning at school, that’s all. It can’t be helped. Now, are you sure you kids are going to be okay?”

  Trixie had assured him that they would be. She had talked to Bobby, who sounded rather pleased at the thought of having a morning off from school.

  “It’s like a ’cation, Trix,” his high voice piped into her ear. “Don’t you wish you were having a ’cation, too?”

  He’d sounded delighted when she assured him that she did wish she was having a vacation, though, as she told Honey as soon as the phone conversation was over, a vacation was the last thing on her mind right now.

  “This is going to make a difference in our plans,” Trixie said. “I wish Moms hadn’t hurt her back, and I do wish they were home. But, Honey, don’t you see?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Now we’ll be able to go to Crimper’s tonight.”

  Honey frowned. “I don’t like it, Trix,” she answered. “It’s sneaky. Anyway, Brian won’t let you g°”

  Trixie stared at her friend thoughtfully. “He would—if I told him about it. But I don’t think I’m going to say anything.”

  Honey looked at her friend with wide, troubled eyes. “That may be all right for you, Trixie, but what about me? Miss Trask won’t let me go, either.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” Trixie answered, moving once more toward the foot of the stairs. “You can tell Miss Trask you’re spending the night with me. I’ll tell Brian I’m spending the night with you, and then—”

  “But that’s sneaky!” Honey wailed, following her friend upstairs to her bedroom.

  “I know,” Trixie said quietly, turning to face her friend. “But think of it this way, Honey. Mart’s in trouble—and with the police, too. He needs help. We’ve got to help him—at least, I have to.”

  Honey thought for a moment. “All right, I’ll come. But I hope we won’t be sorry.”

  “We won’t be sorry,” Trixie assured her.

  All the same, she put her hands behind her back and crossed all her fingers, just to make sure.

  Caught at Crimper’s ● 17

  TRIXIE HAD NEVER KNOWN a day to last as long as that one did. She found herself watching the clock and wondering if it had stopped.

  Honey had gone home to ask permission to stay with Trixie overnight, and Brian and Mart returned at last.

  Trixie could tell from the expressions on their faces that there had been no new discoveries at the shed in the woods.

  Mart told his sister briefly that he was still under suspicion. Then both boys listened quietly while Trixie explained what had happened to their mother.

  Brian insisted on placing a call to Albany to hear for himself that Mrs. Belden really was all right.

  Mart, too, talked to his parents. At one point, Trixie noticed, he hesitated before assuring his father that everything was fine at home.

  Trixie could tell that be would have liked to tell his parents all his troubles, but he didn’t.

  “I didn’t want to worry them,” he said when he hung up at last.

  “Quit worrying about it, Mart,” Brian told his brother. “If you’d only tell the sergeant what you were doing at school Friday night....”

  But Mart flatly refused. Although he had felt better when, the previous day, he had told his secret to the other Bob-Whites, today he was blaming himself again for all that had happened.

  “It’s all my fault,” he repeated several times. “I’ve obviously given someone rotten advice— and they’ve done what I told them to do.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Brian objected.

  “T
hen, what other explanation is there for what’s been going on?” Mart demanded.

  “If it hadn’t been for that dumb article in this morning’s Sun—’’Trixiebegan.

  “It’s more than that,” Mart said, gazing at her miserably. “It isn’t only the opinion of the reporter, Vera Parker, that counts. It isn’t only Margo

  Birch who thinks the Midnight Marauder’s a disturbed teen-ager. It’s the whole community. I was listening to the radio this morning. Since the damage to the Robin, everyone’s angry and upset. They’re afraid they might be the next ones on the list, you see.”

  Trixie opened her mouth to correct him but then hastily closed it again.

  Brian hadn’t noticed. “Everyone thinks the vandal is a student from Sleepyside’s junior-senior high school, Trix,” he explained.

  Mart stared at Reddy who was sitting by the back door, waiting to be let out again, for the third time in as many minutes.

  “Even Reddy doesn’t want to be friends with me today,” Mart remarked bitterly.

  “He doesn’t want to be friends with any of us today,” Brian answered, watching Reddy race outside once the door was opened for him. “What’s the matter with that dog?”

  But Trixie had things other than Reddy’s peculiar behavior to think about. Brian was taking his responsibilities seriously. As temporary head of the house, he insisted that all chores had to be done before their parents returned.

  Soon Trixie was busy dusting, a job she disliked. She discovered that even this didn’t make the time pass any more quickly.

  Several times, during the course of that long afternoon, Trixie almost confided in her eldest brother. In the end, she didn’t, because she felt sure Brian wouldn’t approve of what she was about to do. If her parents had been home, it might have been different. With them away, Brian was being unusually bossy.

  It was four o’clock when Trixie put away all the cleaning materials. Then she said casually, “By the way, Brian, I’ve been invited to sleep over at Honey’s again tonight.”

  Brian was unsuspicious. “Don’t be late for school in the morning, then” was all he answered.