huge Wheeler mansion now, and the boys were waiting on the steps for them.
Mart met them with a grin. “You dolls be sure to clam up,” he hissed, pulling at an imaginary moustache. “Don’t let on we’ve got her bound and gagged in the old icehouse.”
They both giggled, and Trixie pushed Mart out of the way as they hurried up the steps after Regan.
Sergeant Rooney of the Sleepyside Police satisfied himself that none of them could throw any light on the whereabouts of the famous young violinist. He was very much inclined, Trixie guessed from his offhand manner, to think that this was all much ado about nothing.
Miss Trask, the Wheelers’ efficient housekeeper, had assured him that no one belonging to the household had seen the child since midmorning.
Honey’s mother had been in her room resting all day and could add nothing to that.
Trixie and Honey told a straightforward story about their expedition to the marsh. “We knew Gaye had to practice,” Trixie said, “so we didn’t wait for her to come with us.”
Miss Crandall, mopping tears from her eyes, admitted that she had had a slight disagreement with her niece about practicing. “Nothing serious, of course,” she assured the officers. “The dear child is high-strung, like all great talents. A little firm discipline now and then is the only answer.” Her lips made a thin line as she concluded, and Trixie felt suddenly sorry for Gaye, wherever she was. Moms was right, she reflected. Gaye did lead a different kind of life from hers and Honey’s. And it couldn’t be a very happy one, with stern Miss Crandall in charge.
“And you’ve searched every room?” Sergeant Rooney asked Miss Trask, while his young officer solemnly made notes in a small black book.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Trask assured him firmly, “and every possible hiding place around the house. I’m afraid the child has run away.”
“Officer, you must find her before some terrible accident happens to my dear little niece!” Miss Crandall clutched at Sergeant Rooney’s arm. “She’s not used to being out all alone in the dark.” Her voice broke.
Sergeant Rooney eyed her suspiciously. Trixie could see that he wasn’t impressed by Miss Crandall’s emotion. “It’s still a long way from being dark, Miss Crandall. I’m sure she’ll turn up safe before you have anything to worry about.” He chuckled. “Most runaway kids dash home quick when it comes around to the next mealtime!” Miss Crandall frowned. “I hope you’re right, but my niece is no ordinary child. If she should meet with an accident that would injure her hands, her career would be ruined. You must find her at once!”
Trixie nudged Mart and whispered indignantly, “She sounds as if that career is all that matters!”
“Shh!” he whispered. “Can’t you see she’s concealing her trepidation behind a facade of insouciance?”
Trixie snorted. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean, I don’t believe it! And I bet you can’t even spell insou— whatever it is!”
“I’ll just take you up on that—” Mart started, but he broke off to scowl toward the doorway. “Now, how did the Sleepyside Sun find out what was going on?”
The butler was admitting Paul Trent at the front door and showing him to a chair in the foyer. Paul was carrying a manila envelope.
“Looks like he brought those pictures they took yesterday,” Trixie guessed. “Gaye’s aunt has to okay them.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Mart agreed. “For a minute there, I thought he might be a mind reader!”
They grinned at each other. “Not after watching him quarterback Central High last year!” Trixie laughed.
Miss Crandall was wringing her hands and moaning, “Somebody must find her! Can’t anyone do anything?” Mart felt a smart tap on his shoulder and turned hastily to see Paul Trent close behind him. “What’s going on, sonny? Who’s missing?” Trent asked importantly.
Trixie suppressed a giggle as she saw Mart flush. If
Mart met them with a grin. “You dolls be sure to clam up,” he hissed, pulling at an imaginary moustache. “Don’t let on we’ve got her bound and gagged in the old icehouse.”
They both giggled, and Trixie pushed Mart out of the way as they hurried up the steps after Regan.
Sergeant Rooney of the Sleepyside Police satisfied himself that none of them could throw any light on the whereabouts of the famous young violinist. He was very much inclined, Trixie guessed from his offhand manner, to think that this was all much ado about nothing.
Miss Trask, the Wheelers’ efficient housekeeper, had assured him that no one belonging to the household had seen the child since midmorning.
Honey’s mother had been in her room resting all day and could add nothing to that.
Trixie and Honey told a straightforward story about their expedition to the marsh. “We knew Gaye had to practice,” Trixie said, “so we didn’t wait for her to come with us.”
Miss Crandall, mopping tears from her eyes, admitted that she had had a slight disagreement with her niece about practicing. “Nothing serious, of course,” she assured the officers. “The dear child is high-strung, like all great talents. A little firm discipline now and then is the only answer.” Her lips made a thin line as she concluded, and Trixie felt suddenly sorry for Gaye, wherever she was. Moms was right, she reflected. Gaye did lead a different kind of life from hers and Honey’s. And it couldn’t be a very happy one, with stern Miss Crandall in charge.
“And you’ve searched every room?” Sergeant Rooney asked Miss Trask, while his young officer solemnly made notes in a small black book.
“Oh, yes,” Miss Trask assured him firmly, “and every possible hiding place around the house. I’m afraid the child has run away.”
“Officer, you must find her before some terrible accident happens to my dear little niece!” Miss Crandall clutched at Sergeant Rooney’s arm. “She’s not used to being out all alone in the dark.” Her voice broke.
Sergeant Rooney eyed her suspiciously. Trixie could see that he wasn’t impressed by Miss Crandall’s emotion. “It’s still a long way from being dark, Miss Crandall. I’m sure she’ll turn up safe before you have anything to worry about.” He chuckled. “Most runaway kids dash home quick when it comes around to the next mealtime!” Miss Crandall frowned. “I hope you’re right, but my niece is no ordinary child. If she should meet with an accident that would injure her hands, her career would be ruined. You must find her at once!”
Trixie nudged Mart and whispered indignantly, “She sounds as if that career is all that matters!”
“Shh!” he whispered. “Can’t you see she’s concealing her trepidation behind a facade of insouciance?”
Trixie snorted. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean, I don’t believe it! And I bet you can’t even spell insou— whatever it is!”
“I’ll just take you up on that—” Mart started, but he broke off to scowl toward the doorway. “Now, how did the Sleepyside Sun find out what was going on?”
The butler was admitting Paul Trent at the front door and showing him to a chair in the foyer. Paul was carrying a manila envelope.
“Looks like he brought those pictures they took yesterday,” Trixie guessed. “Gaye’s aunt has to okay them.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Mart agreed. “For a minute there, I thought he might be a mind reader!”
They grinned at each other. “Not after watching him quarterback Central High last year!” Trixie laughed.
Miss Crandall was wringing her hands and moaning, “Somebody must find her! Can’t anyone do anything?” Mart felt a smart tap on his shoulder and turned hastily to see Paul Trent close behind him. “What’s going on, sonny? Who’s missing?” Trent asked importantly.
Trixie suppressed a giggle as she saw Mart flush. If
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