The Mystery of the Castaway Children

makes sense, doesn’t it? countered Trixie.
    “I think it makes sense to let Dodgy get some rest,” Di spoke up firmly.
    “Right,” said Brian, setting Dodgy back down on his blanket. “Oh, I’m sorry. I knew I’d get oil on him.”
    Trixie smacked her brow with her palm. “Of course,” she said with sudden understanding. “There was machine oil as well as tar at that old Dutch barn. There was even alfalfa. And Davy had been washing Dodgy’s clothes without soap in the spring across the road.”
    “Well, so much for the clues Dodgy brought with him,” said Brian.
    Just then, Mart loped into the yard and tossed a grease-smeared pin into Trixie’s lap. “The culprit!” he announced dramatically.
    Bobby followed behind Mart, saying, “That’s the biggest safety pin I ever saw.”
    “It’s a horse’s blanket pin, that’s why,” Dan pointed out.
    “From the fly sheet!” exclaimed Trixie and Honey at the same time.
    “Davy must have used it for Dodgy’s diaper after he left the fly sheet at the inn,” Honey went on.
    “Smart little Davy,” moaned Trixie.
    And not-so-smart little Trixie, she thought with disgust. Fine detective she was—practically leading a kidnapper to helpless children and finding clues no longer needed!
    Before she could lecture herself any more, there was a sudden screech of tires in the driveway. The group on the lawn looked up to see a red sports car, with the top down, coming to a halt not far from them. The driver had a moustache and a bushy brown beard.
    “Roger Higgins!” Trixie gasped. She instinctively moved closer to Dodgy.
    “I do declare!” Roger called. He leaned back and spread an arm along the back of the car seat. “I’m returning your little visit. Polite of me, huh? I thought we might have a chat with our mutual friend, Moses White.” His glance swung from Dodgy to the pony that browsed near the fence. “But I see you already have company. I’ll just have to come back another time!”
    He spun his car around, the wheels kicking up gravel, and left as quickly as he had come. “What’s mutual?” Bobby wanted to know.
    Trixie was so angry and frightened that she couldn’t answer.
    “Two people feeling or doing the same thing at the same time,” explained Brian.
    “Then I mutual that guy,” Bobby said. “I don’t like him, same as he doesn’t like us.”
    “Me, too, Bobby,” Trixie said. “I don’t mutual that man.” Then she pounded her bare knees with both fists. “Oh, what are we to do? He saw both Dodgy and Wicky, and he must think Davy’s here, too. We cant wait for Davy to come in on his own, even though the sergeant thinks he will.”
    “Did he give us a direct order to wait?” Honey asked.
    When Trixie’s sandy curls shook, Dan got to his feet. “We’ve waited long enough then,” he declared.
    Leaving Dan and Di behind to protect Dodgy, the others began a thorough scouring of the grounds around Crabapple Farm.
    Even Bobby joined in the search, staying as close as he could to Mart. Trixie chose the woods area nearest the doghouse. She shouted her throat raw in calling for Davy, but there was never a sound to be heard except the same calls from the other Bob-Whites.
    In the early dusk, the group met in the kitchen, tired, hungry, and discouraged. They fixed more sandwiches and shared their findings.
    Brian had noticed several apple cores in the orchard. Jim held up a shoelace that nobody claimed. Mart presented Jim’s beach towel, which Honey and Trixie recalled seeing at the boathouse.
    “Well, I found it on the flat roof of the chicken house, behind the tool shed,” Mart said.
    That s where I found the napkin,” Bobby put in. “And where I found this!” He thrust forward a carrot top with only a rim of orange left below the greenery.
    The towel was folded into a mattress,” said Mart. “He must have slept here last night.” Trixie was so tired that tears seemed to be the only relief. It s all my fault, she wailed. “I should never have gone near those auctioneers!” Then she straightened up in her chair. “I almost forgot—the sergeant said to call him if anything went wrong. I guess it’s time to call.”
    This time, the sergeant didn’t roar when Trixie explained the latest developments. “Okay, now listen to me,” he commanded. “I’m calling your parents to have them bring the Dodges here. And I want all of you to pile into that station wagon of yours and bring the baby to the police station.