The Marshland Mystery

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 there was one thing that Mart disliked nearly as much as being called Trixie’s “twin,” it was being called “sonny.”
    “Why don’t you ask the law over there?” Mart snapped.
    Trent scowled at him. “You’re one of those smart-aleck Bob-Whites, aren’t you? From that crummy Sleepyside High?” He sneered and started to turn away.
    “Yeah, that ‘crummy’ school that walloped you thirty-eight to three last term!” Mart gave an insulting little snicker. “Boy, I’ll bet Central was glad when you graduated!”
    Trent’s sneer turned to a scowl, and his fists doubled as he towered over Mart. Trixie interrupted hurriedly. “It’s little Gaye. She’s run away somewhere.”
    “Gaye? Jeepers!” Trent forgot Mart at once and abruptly dashed off to talk to Sergeant Rooney.
    Mart glowered after him. “I should have smacked him! What did you have to speak up for?”
    “To keep you from getting a punch in the nose!” Trixie told him. “So thank me.” But Mart only scowled.
    Trent’s voice came through a sudden hush. “It looks like a kidnapping to me, Sergeant. They’ll probably get a ransom note any minute.”
    Mitzi, Gaye’s maid, shrieked, and Miss Crandall promptly toppled over in a faint and would have fallen if the sergeant hadn’t moved quickly to catch her. He led her to a chair and left her in the weeping Mitzi’s hands before he marched back to confront young Trent.
    “Where did you get that nonsense about kidnapping?” he demanded brusquely.
    Trent scowled and looked uneasy. An audible snicker from Mart did nothing to help. Trent flashed Mart an angry look and then asked Sergeant Rooney sullenly, “How do you know it’s nonsense? The kid makes a fortune with her fiddle. Why wouldn’t some crook get the idea of a kidnapping?”
    The sergeant said coldly, “There’s no evidence of such a thing. I don’t know where you got the idea,” he said, glancing toward Mart and Trixie and their fellow Bob-Whites before he