The Mystery of the Antique Doll

in the light of the door. Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, she stood up and began to run after him. She could hear the comforting sound of twelve feet scuffling behind her through the gravel, as the rest of the Bob-Whites followed her lead.
    Without thinking about what she was doing, or why, she took the front steps of The Antique Barn two at a time and burst in right behind the Inspector. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light inside, she gasped.
    Sitting on top of a round, antique oak table were six or seven neat stacks of freshly printed money. An open suitcase sat on the table next to the stacks. Through the door that opened into the back she caught a glimpse of the antique press. A square sheet of paper rested on its bed, and off to one side stood a man who was slicing rows of bills apart.
    Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the three heads came up, and their jaws simultaneously dropped.
    “What the…” Carl Reid growled, when he saw the intruders.
    The other two men stopped what they were doing and came toward the group standing in the doorway.
    Inspector Patou stepped forward quickly, separating himself from the Bob-Whites. He reached into his breast pocket and started to pull something out. Thinking he was reaching for a gun, the three men put their hands in the air.
    “My name is Marcel Patou, and I am sent here from the Paris Sûreté to put you under arrest,” he said, his voice rising shrilly. He whipped out the badge and identification papers from his inside pocket. When the men realized that he held only papers and no gun, their hands came down.
    As the Inspector thrust the identification at them, the papers leapt from his hand and fell to the floor.
    “Hey, boss,” one of the men said. “This one’s a tough guy. I’m scared, ain’t you?”
    But Carl Reid wasn’t amused. “You can’t arrest me, you dumb cop,” he snarled menacingly. He headed toward the Inspector, who was bent over, retrieving his badge. “This is the United States, and you haven’t got any jurisdiction here. You can’t touch me.
    Inspector Patou stood up, with an expression of shock and outrage on his face. Slowly, his frown deepened and the creases on his forehead resembled etchings in stone.
    “I most certainly can arrest you, sir,” he said slowly. “Since we are dealing here with the American dollars, I believe the American authorities will be more than happy to take you into custody. They will handle the formalities once I have turned you in. I think that perhaps your involvement with certain French criminals will make the remainder of my job much easier once I have returned to my country.”
    He drew himself up to full height and glowered at the smirking faces of the men who stood in front of him.
    “Just one question, Frenchie,” Carl Reid sneered. “Have you got a gun?”
    As Carl Reid spoke, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a nasty-looking revolver. The Inspector hesitated a moment too long and, before he could get his gun out, all three men were pointing guns at the little group standing in the doorway.
    “Gimme the gun, Frenchie!” Carl Reid said icily.
    The Inspector slowly, reluctantly, handed over his gun and then raised his hands over his head. His expression was one of resignation and defeat, and the Bob-Whites were stunned. They had set out to trap some counterfeiters—and they were trapped instead!
    “Tie these jerks up,” Carl Reid said wearily, gesturing at them with his thumb.
    “We’ll take care of them later—on the ride to Philly.”
    “Good idea, boss. You want me to put gags on them?”
    “No,” Carl Reid said after a short silence. “Unless, of course, they get noisy.”
    He and one accomplice kept their guns trained on the little group as the third man tied them up. Afraid to say anything, all that the Bob-Whites could do was look at each other in dismay. Brian caught Trixie’s eye, but she was unable to read his expression. Di looked as if she was about to cry as the man approached her with the rope.
    Appalled, Trixie watched as, one after another, the man tied them up. First he tied their wrists together, and then wrapped the remaining rope around their torsos, pinning their arms against their sides.
    The group was powerless to prevent it from happening. Trixie desperately tried to think of something, but with two guns aimed at them, there was no alternative but to act docile.
    Trixie’s mind raced. There has to be a way out of this, she