Miss Crandall was moaning as she recovered from her faint, and Gaye’s governess and the maid were hovering over her, nervously getting into each other’s way as they ministered to her.
Sergeant Rooney stopped by the solemn-faced little group of Bob-Whites. “I want all of you to try to think where the youngster may be hiding. You know, some old play spot of your own, a cave or an old building here on the estate.”
“Regan and the chauffeur have looked just about everywhere imaginable and had no luck,” Jim explained gravely.
The sergeant nodded. “I know. But one of you might know some special place.”
“We’ll try to think,” Trixie promised.
“Good.” Sergeant Rooney nodded. “The sooner we find her the better. Kids sometimes get themselves in a jam playing runaway.” He started after his assistant officer but stopped and looked back at them with a grim little smile. “But, for the love of pete, don’t start any wild rumors about kidnap plots. There’s nothing to point to any such thing.”
“If that dumb reporter Trent says we gave him that goofy kidnap idea, he’s lying,” Mart told him quickly, with a scowl.
“That’s right, Sergeant,” Trixie added quietly.
Sergeant Rooney nodded. “Trent didn’t accuse you of it. It was just a little suspicion that came to me, and I’m glad it wasn’t so.”
After the sergeant and his assistant had driven back to town to report, an uneasy silence settled down at the Wheelers’. Miss Crandall retired to her suite to check over the photographic proofs with a very subdued Paul Trent. He had, as Mart, grinning, confided to Brian and the girls, lost most of the wind out of his sails after the sergeant’s rebuke.
The Bob-Whites stood in a group until Jim, looking thoughtful, said, “Seems as if we ought to be doing something about Gaye, but we’d better wait until there’s a real reason to worry. Sergeant Rooney’s probably right.” The other four nodded.
Mart and Brian walked down to the foot of the driveway with the girls, while Jim went to catch up on some of his load of senior homework. He was taking two extra subjects, preparing for his entrance into college in the fall, and every spare minute of his time had to be used for study.
While the boys were loading Trixie’s bike into the car for the short ride home, Honey solemnly promised to phone Trixie the moment there was any news about Gaye. “I wish we could go looking for her together around here, but Mother has several things she wants me to do to get ready for the party tonight.”
Trixie nodded, with a glum expression. “If there is a party. It would be just like that little imp to hide somewhere till morning, just to spite her aunt!”
“I hope she has more consideration for Mother and the Arts Club than to do a stunt like that!” Honey’s hazel eyes flashed. “Mother and her committee have worked hard getting people to buy tickets for the recital, and they’ve been counting on this party to help boost the sale.”
Brian and Mart had lifted Trixie’s bike into the car and were ready to start for home. Brian started to climb into the driver’s seat. “Come on, Trix. Plenty to do at home, from the looks of this bundle of junk you brought from the marsh.”
“Okay, be right with you,” Trixie called. “Don’t forget to call,” she reminded Honey hastily.
“Don’t worry. I’ll phone the moment she shows up,” Honey assured her. Then, with a cheerful good-bye to the boys, Honey trundled her bike up toward the stable.
Trixie stopped as she was about-to enter the car and looked toward the clubhouse door. “You know,” she told Brian, “Gaye could be in there hiding. Even if the door is locked, she could have squeezed in through that side window if one of us left it unlatched.”
“That’s an idea,” Brian agreed. “I’ll take a look.” He strode up the walk to the door as Trixie and Mart watched, then went around out of sight at the side of the vine-covered cottage to examine the window.
But a moment later he reappeared, shaking his head. “Window’s locked,” he reported, starting to rejoin them. He changed his mind suddenly and turned back to try the door. It, too, was locked, and he turned away again.
“Bring our map while you’re at it,” Trixie called. “Jim pinned it to the door.”
But the map was not pinned to the door. Nor was it anywhere in sight on the ground nearby.
Trixie hurried to help look for it, while Mart waited impatiently.
“It probably blew away, and somebody picked it up and put it in the trash can,” he suggested.
“Golly! I hope they didn’t!” Trixie wailed. “I wanted to show it to Miss Bennett and the class on Monday. It was such a lovely map, with those cute drawings of yours, Brian.”
“Well, thank you, small sister! Your praise is music to my ears, or something!” Brian laughed.
“Huh!” Mart remarked dryly. “She didn’t think it was such a masterpiece when she dashed off and forgot it this morning!”
Trixie gave him a withering look, but Brian merely grinned. “Never mind, Trix. I’ll do you another and really let my artistic ability show.”
“Brian, you’re absolutely the darlingest—” Trixie beamed at her big brother.
“Sap,” Mart said, finishing her sentence for her. Then, as she glared at him, he strolled back to the car. “Come on. It’s gone, so why worry?”
But Trixie had noticed a tiny piece of paper in the tall grass beside the walk, and she made a sudden swoop to recover it. “Here’s part of it!” she exclaimed. “The pin’s still in it.”
“Let’s see.” Brian took it from her fingers. “The pin is bent, as if someone had jerked at the map before the paper tore. I used heavy paper so it wouldn’t go to pieces if you kids got it wet while you were wandering around in the marsh, trying to match my sketches with the plants there.”
“Then it didn’t blow away, after all,” Trixie said, frowning. “Somebody deliberately tore it down.”
“A tramp, probably,” Brian suggested. “Or some kid biking past and just plain curious. I hope he didn’t decide it was a treasure map and try to follow it!”
“He’ll end up with wet feet if he did!” Trixie laughed. But as she climbed into the rear seat of the jalopy a few minutes later and they started for home, she sobered suddenly at a thought. There was one person who might have been very interested in that map: Gaye!
Gaye could have hurried back to the clubhouse when she escaped from the music room and her practice session. Finding the map pinned to the door, she could easily have recognized it as the one that the girls had intended to use on their flower-picking excursion.
Perhaps she had decided to use it to follow them to the marsh and prove to them that she could find her way.
But Gaye would have had to walk, probably carrying Mr. Poo, whose delicate little feet could never have taken him several miles. But then, even though Honey and she had stopped for lunch and spent a long time picking the swamp plants, Gaye could hardly have reached the marsh on foot before they had come pedaling out on their way home. They would have been sure to meet her on the road.
Gaye could have caught a ride as far as the marsh, however, and wandered in looking for them while they were at the other end. The rain could have sent her into some shelter off the road. In that case, perhaps she was still there—lost and frightened.
Trixie wondered if she ought to tell the boys what she was thinking. Maybe they would decide to turn the car around and drive out to the marsh to search. But even as she leaned forward to interrupt their discussion of fuel injection and initial acceleration, whatever that was, she sank back again.
After all, anybody could have come along and taken the map. She hadn’t a shred of evidence that it had been Gaye. It would be better to wait to say anything until she arrived home and found out if Honey had phoned any news about the missing child.
She sat silent, until Mart turned suddenly and stared at her in mock surprise. “Hey! Where’s that brilliant outburst of chatter we customarily receive from our feminine sibling?”
They were just turning into the Belden driveway.
Brian stopped the car with a flourish and a roar of his engine. “All ashore that’s going ashore!” he sang out cheerfully. “Crabapple Farm, last stop!”
Mart hopped out and started unloading Trixie’s bike.
“Come on; come on; look alive!” he barked as Trixie took her time getting out of the car. “Climb out of the barge, Cleopatra! I can’t hold this thing all day!” He let go of the bike, and it started to wobble crazily down the driveway.
Trixie moved fast to catch it before it could crash. “Thanks, dear,” she said sarcastically. “You have such pretty manners. Pretty awful, I mean!”
And while Mart, pink-cheeked, was trying to think of a fitting retort, she marched her bike up to the garage storeroom, where all the Belden bikes were kept in a neat row.
It wasn’t until she had put her own bike in its regular rack that she noticed that Bobby’s bike wasn’t there. That was unusual. Dad had made it a firm rule that every bike had to be put away safely after being used. Bobby knew that as well as the rest of them did, and he always obeyed.
“Yikes! I hope Bobby hasn’t left it standing out somewhere! Moms will be furious with him. I guess I’d better look for it and put it away for him,” she decided quickly.
She started out of the storeroom but saw Brian carrying an armful of the plants she and Honey had gathered at the swamp. He would expect her, of course, to lend a helping hand in getting them ready for Miss Bennett on Monday morning. After all, it was her project, and he was just being obliging.
But, in spite of her good intentions, she ducked back out of sight till he had passed. “I’ll help him as soon as I find Bobby’s bike and put it away,” she told herself. “Though I’m sure Brian will do a much neater job alone.”
She dashed about, trying to find the half-size bike, but it was nowhere in the yard or the orchard.
When she did get around to the potting shed, Brian was just labeling the last bunch of the plants.
“About time you showed up, Lady Jane,” he growled.
“I’m sorry, Brian,” she said contritely. “I intended to come sooner, but I had something important to tend to, really.”
“Forget it, fuzzy head!” Brian said good-naturedly, tousling the short curls on top of her head. “I didn’t mind doing it by myself.”
“You’re an angel! And thanks millions!” Trixie grinned happily at him, blowing him a kiss. “I just know you’re going to be the best doctor in the whole world someday, because you never mind doing things for people.” Before Brian could get over his embarrassment and find an answer, she had darted off to look for her mother.
Her mother was reading and resting as Trixie came into the cheerful living room. Saturday afternoon was her time to relax, with Bobby safely asleep and dinner preparation still a couple of hours off.
“Has Honey phoned any news, Moms?” Trixie asked.
“No, dear, but I just spoke to Miss Trask. There’s still no sign of that little rascal Gaye. Miss Trask feels sure that the child is deliberately hiding to worry Miss Crandall about her performance at the party for the Arts Club tonight. She feels sure Gaye will put in an appearance any moment now, especially since it’s getting close to Mr. Poo’s dinner hour, and Gaye loves him too much to let him be hungry.”
“She’s a funny little thing,” Trixie said soberly. “I wish
I could like her. I’m trying, Moms, really, but I’m not doing so well, I’m afraid.”
“You will, dear,” Mrs. Belden told her serenely.
But Trixie was not so sure. Her sigh said as much. She helped herself to an apple and munched it thoughtfully, strolling across the room and back restlessly.
“Is there anything you need me for here?” she asked finally.
“Not for a couple of hours.” Her mother smiled as she answered. She studied Trixie a minute and then put down her book. “There’s something on your mind. Don’t you want to tell me what it is, dear?”
Trixie hesitated. Then she asked suddenly, “Moms, did Bobby get the signed photo from Gaye this morning?” Her mother looked surprised. “Why, no, dear, he didn’t. As a matter of fact, he rode his bike over to Wheelers’ right after breakfast, hoping she’d have it all ready for him. And when he got there, she was already practicing the concerto or sonata or whatever it is that she is doing tonight for the Arts Club. She wasn’t allowed to stop to come down and talk to him. I think that was part of the argument she had with her aunt just before she disappeared.”
“I’ll bet Bobby was terribly disappointed,” said Trixie. “I was hoping that maybe he’d seen her and could tell us if she’d mentioned running away.”
Mrs. Belden shook her head. “No, he didn’t see her at all. And to top it, something went wrong with his bicycle brake, and Regan wouldn’t let him start for home again on it. He made Bobby leave it for him to fix this afternoon.”
Trixie was suddenly tense. “Then Bobby’s bike is over there?”
Her mother frowned, puzzled. “Why, of course. It was very good of Regan to offer to fix it, even though Bobby wasn’t too happy about having to walk home.” She shuddered. “I’m only thankful that nothing broke while Bobby was riding. He might have ended up in a muddy ditch, with a bruised knee or a skinned nose— or worse!”
Trixie’s eyes widened suddenly with excitement. “Oh!” she said in a small voice.
Mrs. Belden had opened her book again. She looked up in surprise. “Oh, what?” she asked quickly.
“Oh, nothing, Moms,” Trixie assured her hastily. She had decided not to say anything about the sudden thought that had come to her mind at mention of the muddy ditch. That small bicycle in a muddy ditch out near the strange old lady’s house—that could have been Bobby’s! Gaye could have found it and used it! And that would answer the question of how Gaye could have reached the swamp and disappeared while the two girls were still gathering the plants deep in the marshland. But if she did—what had happened to her after that?
‘.‘Moms, please,” she said abruptly, “may I go and see if Regan’s fixed Bobby’s bike? If he has, then I’ll bring it home so Bobby can go riding with me tomorrow afternoon.”
“Go ahead, dear.” Mrs. Belden’s eyes twinkled. “It’s very thoughtful of you. Besides, I wouldn’t think of keeping you here while all the excitement is going on over there. But be back in a couple of hours so we can start getting dinner ready and eat on time.”
“Thanks, Moms! You’re wonderful!” Trixie dashed for the doorway, and a moment later she was running down the driveway.
A Piece of Glass • 8
REGAN WAS BUSY around the stable as Trixie came hurrying up the Wheeler driveway.
“Hi,” she called breathlessly to the tall groom. “Any sign of Gaye?”
“Not yet,” Regan answered soberly.
“Do you think she might be hiding around here somewhere?”
Regan looked thoughtful. “I did at first,” he admitted, “but I’m not so sure now. Miss Crandall is fit to be tied because we haven’t found her, but I don’t know of a place on this whole property, including the lake, that we haven’t checked. It’s getting to look like that half-baked reporter kid hit the nail on the head when he guessed it might be a kidnapping.”
“Golly, I hope not!” Trixie breathed. “Are there any clues?”
Regan shook his head. “Nope. But that might not mean anything. A gang of professional crooks would be too smart to leave clues.” He picked up a pitchfork and started into the stable.
Trixie called after him, “Moms was wondering if you’d had time to fix Bobby’s bike. I can wheel it home if it’s ready.”
Regan turned with a look of chagrin on his honest face. “I knew there was something I was forgetting. Drat it! I’ve been running in circles all day.”
“That’s okay, R
egan,” Trixie said quickly. “I can take it the way it is, and Brian can probably fix it in the morning.”
Regan hesitated. “Well,” he said finally, “I hate to go back on my promises, Trixie, but maybe that would be better, after all. When I finish here, I’ve got to take another walk around the lake to the boathouse, just to make sure we didn’t overlook any signs there.”
Trixie nodded and asked hopefully, “Could I go along and look, too?”
The stableman shook his head emphatically. “No, thanks. Just run on up to the toolshed. It’s open. Be sure to tell your mom I’m sorry I didn’t get around to fixing the bike. And tell Brian the brake probably only needs tightening.”
“Okay, and thanks, anyhow,” Trixie called back as she started up the long, winding driveway.
As she trudged up toward the toolshed, she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Here she had been so sure that Gaye had taken the disabled bicycle and ridden to the marsh. And all the time, the bike was safe in the shed. A fine detective she was!
As she pushed open the toolshed door and looked inside, her heart beat faster again. There was no bicycle there!
Then there was still a good chance that Gaye was out at the marsh, she thought excitedly. She simply had to get out there and examine that muddy bike in the ditch. If it was Bobby’s, she could rush back with the news, and they would soon locate Gaye.
Trixie glanced at her wristwatch. In a little more than an hour and a half, her mother would be expecting her back to help prepare dinner. How could she get out to the marsh and back again in that short space of time?
She heard Lady whinnying down at the stable. The little thoroughbred was Mrs. Wheeler’s pet, but she had been too busy lately to exercise her regularly, so Regan had taken on that job in addition to all his regular duties. Sometimes he let Trixie take Lady out instead of steady old Susie, but a lecture always went with it, plus warnings to take good care of the part-Arabian Lady.
Trixie made up her mind suddenly. She started running down the driveway, calling, “Regan!” as she saw Regan and young Tom Delanoy, the chauffeur, coming out of the stable leading Lady.
The Marshland Mystery Page 6
