The Marshland Mystery

the door was standing ajar. She wondered who could be in there. If that Trent character was snooping around inside, she made up her mind, she’d tell him off, but good, especially after his mean crack about the club members.
    But when she pushed the door open all the way, the person she saw was Jim Frayne. He was surrounded by books and papers and was concentrating so hard on studying that he didn’t know she was there.
    Trixie felt guilty at interrupting him, and she started moving backward quietly, pulling the door closed after her. Unfortunately for her good intentions, she caught one heel against a bit of uneven planking and tripped, falling flat on her back with a dull thud.
    Red-faced, she scrambled to her feet at once and saw Jim standing in the doorway, looking surprised.
    “Now what are you up to?” he demanded with a grin. “That’s no way for a lady to come calling on a gent.”
    “I wasn’t coming; I was g-going,” Trixie told him indignantly, her face getting redder. “I was b-backing away so I wouldn’t interrupt your studying.”
    “Where have you been?” Jim took a keen look at the waiting mare. “Lady looks beat. You haven’t been running her, I hope. Regan will skin you alive.”
    “Does she look that bad? I slowed her down a long way back.” Trixie’s blue eyes were troubled.
    Jim studied her a moment. “What were you running from, Trix?” he asked soberly. “Did somebody bother you? ”
    “Oh, no! Nothing like that,” she assured Jim hastily. And then she suddenly made up her mind to tell him about the house by the marsh. “It was just that I was in a hurry to get here. I’ve been to Martin’s Marsh, and I think I’ve found out where Gaye is!”
    “Gaye? Oh, great!” Jim’s whole face lit up. “Where?”
    “Out there, in a cottage near the marsh. Or I’m pretty
    sure she is!” Trixie told him eagerly. “I was on my way to tell Miss Crandall.”
    “Wait a minute,” Jim said gravely. “You say you’re pretty sure. You’re not just guessing?”
    “Well, partly guessing. But I found Bobby’s bike there, in a ditch, and I’m almost certain Gaye rode it there. And I found this on the brick walk.” She handed him the rhinestone with the painted back. “I think it fell out of her dog’s collar.”
    Jim studied the rhinestone, without speaking.
    “Don’t you see? Gaye must be there! There’s a scary old woman living in the cottage who says she never saw Gaye, but I don’t believe her. And I’m sure I heard Mr. Poo barking in the house.”
    “You say you’re pretty sure, almost certain, and think this thing could have fallen out of the poodle’s collar— but you’re not really sure of anything except that somebody took Bobby’s bike and left it in a ditch. Isn’t that so?”
    “I suppose it is,” Trixie admitted honestly. “It could have been the old lady’s dog I heard. But it seems to me Gaye could be there.”
    “If you tell Miss Crandall, she’ll hit the ceiling and want to go charging out to the marsh place with a bunch of cops.” Jim looked troubled. “And Gaye may not be anywhere near there.”
    “I know.” Trixie nodded. “But we can’t just let nothing happen, in case she is there!”
    A car was turning into the driveway. It was Brian’s jalopy. He saw them and brought the car to a stop. “So there you are!” He sounded cross. “Where’s that bike of Bobby’s you were supposed to bring home?” He shook his head reproachfully at his sister. “The little imp woke up from his nap half an hour ago and has been yowling ever since that he wants to take a ride on his bike.”
    “I’m sorry—” Trixie began, but Brian interrupted.
    “I had to give him my stopwatch to play with to keep him quiet, and I suppose there’ll be nothing left of it by the time I get back! If he wrecks it, I’ll sue you! Now, where’s the bike?”
    “Against a tree out near Martin’s Marsh,” Trixie said, “and I think it was Gaye who left it nearby.”
    “Gaye? Now, wait a minute. What is this? Gaye out at Martin’s Marsh? You’re kidding!”
    “No, she isn’t,” Jim told him seriously. “There’s a good chance Trixie found the answer to Gaye’s disappearance. The question before the house now is what we’d better do about it.”
    “Fill me in,” Brian turned to Trixie.
    It took only a couple of minutes for her to tell Brian about the mysterious cottage at the marsh. He looked grave as she finished.
    “What do you think she