The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

because Trixie’s parents, almost before the sun was up, had taken her youngest brother, six-year-old Bobby, and had gone to Albany for the day, to visit friends. They would not be back until late this evening.
    Now, on this March morning, Trixie was wishing with all her heart that they hadn’t gone so soon. Dad and Moms would have helped search for Reddy—and they would have done it without arguing.
    “Come on, Trix,” Mart said impatiently. “What d’you think has happened to that dumb dog of ours?”
    Trixie sighed. “That’s just it—I don’t know,” she confessed. “But it all began last night. It was late, and I was upstairs in my room getting ready for bed....”
    Her story didn’t take long to tell. But while she spoke, remembering what she had seen, her large blue eyes were troubled.
    Some small sound from outside had drawn her to the bedroom window. She’d been just in time to see the dog’s long, graceful body disappearing silently around the corner of the house.
    Something about him had made her heart skip a beat. He’d looked oddly alert and intent. It was almost as if he’d just received an urgent summons, one that he could neither ignore nor resist.
    At first Trixie thought the dog had spotted an intruder. She had even strained her ears to listen for Reddy’s warning bark. But there had been nothing, not even the sound of his movements as he made his way to some mysterious canine destination of his own.
    “So I didn’t think any more about it,” she finished. “But don’t you see? Wherever it was he went, he didn’t come back. And I’ve got this funny idea that keeps going around and around in my head—”
    She stopped and shot an apprehensive look at Mart. She realized she had just given him another chance to tease her. Teasing Trixie was one of Mart’s favorite occupations.
    She waited for him to say something typical, like “The peculiar idea circulates through your peculiar cranium because there’s nothing inside to stop it.”
    But Mart, who loved to use big words but could never spell them, said nothing. He merely continued to poke at his scrambled eggs.
    Trixie was so surprised by his silence that she completely forgot what she was going to tell them next.
    It was Brian who prompted her. “What funny idea keeps going around in your head?” he asked.
    Trixie hesitated, then said in a rush, “I keep thinking that maybe Reddy’s hurt. Or maybe he’s shut up somewhere accidentally, and he can’t get out.”
    Puzzled, she stole another look at Mart. She was no longer sure he was even listening.
    Seventeen-year-old Brian rose from the table and took his empty plate to the sink. “I still think you’re worrying about nothing, Trix,” he told her over his shoulder. “Reddy probably spotted a rabbit last night—or maybe it was a squirrel. Dumb dog! He ought to have learned by now that he won’t catch any of ’em. They’re always too quick for him.”
    “But supposing I’m right and you’re wrong, what then?” Trixie retorted.
    Brian had begun washing his dishes, but now he sighed, reached for a kitchen towel, and began wiping his hands. “Okay, Trix,” he said quietly. “What d’you want us to do?”
    “I want you to come and help me look for him.” Trixie tried to keep the note of triumph out of her voice. She had won! Soon, with a little luck, Reddy would be found!
    “I’ve only got one more question,” Brian said. “What are you going to do about the others?”
    “Others?”
    “The other Bob-Whites,” Brian explained patiently. “They’ll be here soon to take us to school.
    We volunteered to work on the grounds this morning as part of the cleanup crew, remember?”
    Trixie clutched her blond curls with both hands. “Gleeps!” she exclaimed. “I forgot!”
    Mart looked up suddenly and grinned. “See, Trix?” he said, the teasing note back in his voice. “I’m not the only one with a bad memory today.“
    “Of course,” Brian added, “most of the Bob-Whites didn’t exactly volunteer their services. One Bob-White volunteered for all of us. She told us everyone at school was going to help.”
    “But that’s right,” Trixie said breathlessly. “The custodian’s sick, you see, and what with the spring dance coming up next week, there’s a lot to do. So when Mr. Stratton asked for volunteers to help clean up the school—”
    Mart grunted. “We know, Trix. You’re the one who volunteered us.”
    Trixie nodded. “Except now, I