The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

immediately in front of them.
    Even while Trixie backpedaled desperately in a futile attempt to stop, Honey was shouting, “Watch out! Oh, please, watch out!”
    But it was too late!
    Trixie had a brief glimpse of the other rider’s startled face turned toward her. Wildly, she yanked at her handlebars and swerved toward the edge of the road.
    Then she felt her back wheel skid uncontrollably on a patch of mud, while her front wheel slid obstinately toward the trunk of a thick spruce tree.
    Seconds later, she felt herself falling, and the ground was coming up to meet her.
    Trixie lay still, gasping for breath and trembling with shock. She was too frightened even to move. She had a horrid suspicion that if she did try to move, she’d find she had broken every bone in her body!
    She felt someone bending over her and a voice, close to tears, repeating over and over, “Oh, Trixie, are you all right? Say something. Speak to me. Oh, Trixie, are you all right?”
    Trixie groaned and moved first one leg and then the other. No pain. Nothing was broken. Gingerly, she sat up and stared down at her Bob-White jacket.
    Someone last night, probably Celia, had sponged off the worst of the mud from the encounter outside the stable. Now it was worse than ever. Lumps of mud and bits of dead leaves and small twigs clung to the front of it.
    “There, you see?” a man’s voice said. “I told you she was all right. Nothing to make a fuss about at all!”
    Trixie glanced up and saw Honey’s worried face bent toward her. Behind her stood an elderly man, dressed, incredibly, in walking shorts and wearing a torn red flannel shirt. His thin white hair stood out from his head, and his bright blue eyes stared at her with almost clinical detachment.
    “You were speeding, Trixie Belden!” he announced, gazing at her unsmilingly.
    “At least I wasn’t racing through the woods,” Trixie retorted. “Are you all right, sir?”
    “Of course I’m not all right,” the old man snapped. “You scared the living daylights out of me, to say nothing of almost breaking your own fool neck. Now I suppose you’re going to tell me you expect me to provide milk and cookies for the two of you.”
    Bewildered, Honey was looking from one to the other of them. “But we don’t expect you to do anything of the kind,” she protested, “do we, Trix?”
    Trixie nodded her head slowly. “Oh, yes. I think milk and cookies would be the least we should have.” She sighed and slowly got to her feet. She felt herself all over. “I’m okay, I guess.” She stared sternly at the white-haired man. “But if I’d broken any bones, I’d have expected far more than cookies. I’d want chocolate cake, at least.” Surprisingly, the old man chuckled. “I might be able to find you a piece of chocolate cake, at that.” He looked at Honey, his eyes twinkling. “You, too, girlie.”
    Trixie hid a smile at the expression on Honey’s face. She guessed that her friend didn’t like being called “girlie” any more than Trixie did. But Trixie knew that it was useless to argue about it. Trixie had tried many times before.
    “Honey,” Trixie said, “I’d like you to meet Grandpa Crimper. He used to own Crimper’s department store, you know.”
    “Still do,” Grandpa muttered, “except they won’t let me run it anymore. They say I’m too old. Lot of nonsense! I’m as young as I ever was.”
    “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Crimper,” Honey said uncertainly. “I’m Honey Wheeler.”
    “Call me Grandpa, girlie,” the old man answered. “Your folks must be the ones who bought Manor House. Well, come on, come on! What are you doing hanging about? If you want chocolate cake, you’re going to have to come with me to get it. I don’t carry stuff like that around with me, you know. I don’t know what’s wrong with you young folks these days. Can’t think for y’selves at all. Have to tell you everything.” He glared at Trixie. “Are you coming or not?”
    Trixie was limping slightly as she walked over to the tree to examine her bike. Its front wheel was hopelessly buckled, and its back one was even bent out of shape.
    “Something tells me I’m going to have to walk,” she said slowly.
    “Do you good,” was the old man’s unsympathetic answer, “except you won’t have to. I seem to remember I’ve got a truck parked around here somewhere, if only I can think where I left it.” Trixie frowned. “I don’t understand. What were you doing