The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

stolen hamburger patties only to discard them in an old shack? Why did the Midnight Marauder warn everyone where he was about to strike next?
    Trixie couldn’t guess the answers to any of these questions, and she shook herself impatiently as she prepared to shower and dress.
    Later, when she hurried downstairs, she found Honey in the mansion’s library.
    “Oh, Trix,” Honey said, hurrying toward her friend, “I wasn’t sure if we should wake you up or not—you were sleeping so soundly. But so much has happened.”
    Trixie nodded. “I know. Miss Trask was telling me. I did forget to ask, though, if my parents are home.”
    “No, but they’ve phoned,” Honey said. “They’ll be home later this morning. Brian and Mart decided it would be best not to tell them about all the things that have been going on while they’ve been away. They’ll find out soon enough.”
    Something in Honey’s voice made Trixie look at
    her sharply. “Has something else happened?” Honey had been holding something behind her back. Now she withdrew her hand, and Trixie could see she was holding the Sunday edition of the Sleepyside Sun.
    “You’d better read what it says,” Honey told her friend in a low voice. “Not that you can miss it. The article’s on the front page.”
    Trixie took the newspaper from Honey’s hand and flung herself into the depths of a soft and luxurious armchair. Honey stood behind her as she spread the paper on her knee.
    Trixie drew her breath in sharply when she saw the banner headline, and her cheeks flamed with indignation as she read the words that followed it:

    TEEN-AGE VANDAL SOUGHT BY POLICE
    “What is wrong with today’s teen-agers?”
    This is the question that is being asked by all Sleepy-side residents today.
    A teen-ager, calling himself the Midnight Marauder, is terrorizing our town. Already he has senselessly vandalized our junior-senior high school and the popular hamburger place known to us all as “Wimpy’s.”
    Windows have been shattered, certain items have been stolen, and black paint, announcing the culprit’s identity, has been sprayed on both buildings.
    Dr. Anton Sibolsky, noted child psychologist, stated, when telephoned this morning, “There is no question but that this is the work of a seriously disturbed teenager. He feels himself unloved by his parents. Therefore, he is attempting to take his revenge on society.” Later, a spokesman for the police, Sergeant Wendell Molinson, announced that several suspects are under investigation. He also said that he expected to make an arrest shortly.
    The citizens of our town have a right to demand that action against these suspects be taken immediately.
    What is wrong with today’s teen-agers?
    Many people believe that to spare the rod is to spoil the child. This reporter endorses these sentiments wholeheartedly.

    Trixie gasped when she had finished the article. “Did you see who wrote this?” she asked.
    Honey nodded. “It was that same reporter we saw in Crimper’s yesterday—Vera Parker.”
    Trixie frowned, her blue eyes stormy with anger. “Did you read that bit about sparing the rod and spoiling the child?”
    Honey nodded wordlessly.
    “That didn’t come from any expert,” Trixie continued, “at least, not an expert on children. All Margo Birch knows about is antiques. It makes me so mad! And what does this mean?” She tapped a line of print with her forefinger: “Sergeant Molinson is ‘expected to make an arrest shortly’?” Honey walked across the room and gazed out the wide windows. “I’m afraid he made it pretty clear this morning, Trix,” she answered in a low voice. “He still suspects Mart.”
    “But why?” Trixie asked, staring at Honey’s back.
    Honey turned slowly to face her friend. “Because Mart refuses to say what he was doing at school on Friday night. You know and I know that he went there to pick up Miss Lonelyheart’s letters. But he doesn’t want anyone but us to know that.”
    Trixie stared down at the newspaper on her lap. “Then it all comes back to what we said before, Honey. We’re going to have to find the Midnight Marauder ourselves.”
    “But how?” Honey asked. “And where do we start?”
    Trixie was silent for such a long time that it seemed as if she hadn’t heard her friend at all.
    Then suddenly, she jumped to her feet. “I’ve had a feeling all along that I’d forgotten something—something important. At last I’ve remembered what it is! Yesterday