The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

their horses into the safety of the warm and familiar stable.
    For the next hour, Trixie was kept so busy that she had no time to think of the puzzling events that had taken place since she got out of bed that morning.
    Jim, remembering his promise to Regan to look after the horses, was taking his responsibilities seriously. He saw to it that each animal was dried, brushed, and fed, and he stood over each Bob-White until the shining tack was rehung on the stable wall, the way Regan liked it.
    “Whew!” Honey gasped, her face red from exertion. “What a slave driver you turned out to be, Jim!”
    Her brother grinned and ran his hand through his red hair. “I know,” he answered, “but at least Regan can’t say we didn’t look after things while he was away.”
    A sound from the open doorway made him turn sharply, but it was only the wind, which seemed to have suddenly grown in intensity.
    Brian moved to stare at the now-pelting rain. “Did anyone listen to the weather forecast today?” he asked, frowning. “Somehow I don’t like the look of this.”
    “I sure didn’t listen,” Trixie called to him as she patted a contented Susie’s soft nose. “I thought we were going to have terrific weather.”
    The boys weren’t listening. Brian, Mart, and Jim were hurrying now to make sure that everything was secure.
    Trixie heard Mart say, “Do you think we’ve got problems, Brian?”
    “We haven’t,” she heard Brian answer. “But I’m just wondering whether Dad and Moms are going to be able to make it home tonight, after all. If that road from Albany gets washed out again, they’ll never get through. This rain doesn’t show any sign of letting up. If you ask me, I think we’re in for a real storm.”
    Trixie and Honey exchanged worried glances. “Maybe,” Honey said slowly, “Miss Trask and Regan will decide to stay over in White Plains, too, Trix. If they do—and if your parents can’t get home, either—maybe you’d all like to come and spend the night at the Manor House.”
    But when she repeated her invitation to Brian, he shook his head regretfully. “We’d better not, Honey, thanks all the same. Trixie can stay if she likes. But Mart and I had better get back to keep an eye on things at home.”
    Mart nodded. “And don’t forget, we’ve got to phone Sergeant Molinson, too—though I can’t see him driving out to that shack in all this rain. And we promised to let Dan know when we found the dogs.”
    “I’d almost forgotten about Sergeant Molinson,” said Trixie, who hadn’t forgotten for even a moment.
    She’d been hoping against hope that it was her brothers who’d forgotten their intention of calling the police.
    “You don’t have to be there, Trix,” Mart said, his eyes watching her face. “In fact, it might be better if you weren’t.”
    Brian chuckled. “It would be much better. I can see it all now. Trixie would be arguing so hard and insisting so hard on Mart’s innocence that Sergeant Molinson would be convinced Mart was guilty.”
    Trixie hesitated. Maybe it would be better if she wasn’t there. In that way, the sergeant couldn't forbid her to investigate on her own.
    She looked down at Reddy, who lay comfortably at her feet, his chin on his paws, his eyes closed.
    “Will you look after Reddy if I do stay over at Honey’s house?” she asked.
    Mart understood at once what she meant, and laughed. “Don’t worry, Trix,” he told her. “Our dog’s not going roaming any more today. We’ll keep our optic orbs focused firmly on the canine. You can count on it.”
    He bent down to Reddy, who opened one sleepy brown eye. “And no more hamburgers for you tonight, either,” Mart said loudly. “You’ve had enough to feed a zoo! Understand, dog?”
    Reddy yawned widely and closed his eye. He wanted nothing more than to take another long, satisfying nap.
    At the storm’s first brief lull, however, he was yanked unceremoniously to his feet, and a moment later, he was trotting sleepily after Trixie’s brothers as they raced toward Crabapple Farm.
    Jim took one last look around the stables, then hurried to close the big doors. “I’ll come back later to check on the horses,” he muttered. “Meantime, we’d better make a run for it ourselves. Are you ready? Ready, Patch, old boy? Quick, then! Let’s go!”
    With Patch racing at their heels, they hurried as fast as they could up the hill, while the wind tore at their clothing and the ice-cold rain stung