The Mystery of the Antique Doll

glad you all had such a nice time.”
    “Well, I don’t know about nice,” said Trixie with a pixyish smile, “but it was exciting!
    Then she climbed the stairs to her room, with a smile on her face.



14 * The Sergeant’s Commendation

    IN THE SEVERAL WEEKS since The Antique Barn closed its doors for good, Thanksgiving had come and gone. The Bob-Whites were now busy getting ready for Christmas. With the help of Dan Mangan, Brian had installed a small wood-burning stove in the clubhouse. It had been given to them by Mrs. De Keyser. She had found it in her cellar shortly after the incident in the shop.
    “Oh, I really have no need of it now,” she’d said. “It was used in the days before central heating was installed in the house.”
    Now, thanks to Mrs. De Keyser, they could meet in their clubhouse during the winter, and it was a good thing, too. It made a perfect place to work on their Christmas gifts— at least the ones that weren’t for other Bob-Whites.
    Mart was building a large wooden dump truck for Bobby, and he’d also sent away for plans on how to build a giant wooden salad bowl. It was two feet in diameter, and he was planning to present it to his mother— providing he could figure out the directions. They had turned out to be a lot more complicated than he’d expected.
    Trixie, who hadn’t arrived at the clubhouse yet, was knitting long, brightly colored scarfs for everyone she could think of. She had so much knitting to do as a result that she was certain her fingers would drop off.
    Honey had decided to sew silk neckties for all the men and boys, and make sachets for the women with rose-petal potpourri. Carefully choosing rose petals after the morning dew had been dried by the sun, she had mixed them with special essences and oils. Then they had been set aside to get stronger. Now she was sewing little satin cases which she was planning to stuff with the scented, dried flowers.
    Dan was whittling small wooden figures; Jim was binding together blank pages to make personal diaries; and Di was making Christmas decorations to give as gifts. She had already dipped walnuts and pinecones in gold paint, and was now covering Styrofoam balls with multicolored, embroidered ribbons.
    It was cozy and warm in the clubhouse, and an air of busy productivity added to the comfortable hominess of the room.
    “What time is it?” Di asked, as she tried to unstick her glue-covered fingers from the embroidered ribbon without pulling it off the Styrofoam ball.
    “Seven-thirty,” Brian answered. “Do you have to be home at any particular time?”
    “Oh. Eleven at the latest,” said Di. She finally managed to get herself unstuck. With a satisfied expression, she placed the ball on a sheet of clean paper to dry. “That wasn’t why I asked. I was just wondering where Trixie is.”
    No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the door burst open. A blast of chilly air and one Trixie Belden came into the room.
    “Back to the salt mines,” Trixie said cheerfully. She took off her hat, and shook out her short hair.
    “Where have you been?” Mart asked. “Well, basketball practice was a little late,” she said, “but that wasn’t all of it. Wait until you hear what I have to say! Carl Reid is facing a twenty-year sentence in the United States, and his accomplices in Europe have all been caught!”
    “When did you hear that!” Mart exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. “How come nobody ever tells me these things!”
    “Well, I saw Sergeant Molinson on my way home today,” Trixie answered, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “He specifically asked me to let all of you know. Not only was Carl Reid a very big wheel in this particular ring, but his arrest led to the conviction of several other big criminals the government has been trying to pin something on for years. He especially told me to thank you all for your part in solving the mystery.”
    “Our part?” Brian said. “What does he mean by our part? It was you and Honey who did it all, practically single-handedly!”
    “Now don’t exaggerate!” Trixie said in her most humble tone. “Not quite.”
    “She’s right, Brian.” Mart said. “After all, I was there too, and that night I not only never got a hamburger, I almost was a hamburger!”
    “And how about Inspector Patou?” Di asked. “Did Sergeant Molinson tell you anything about him?”
    “Yes, as a matter of fact he did,” Trixie answered.