The Marshland Mystery

continued, “but wherever it came from, forget it till we find something that points to it.” He frowned. “Clear?”
    The young reporter nodded and looked crestfallen as the sergeant and his assisting officer moved away, quietly discussing the case.
    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