The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

anyway. Everything that’s happened since yesterday morning seems crazy.”
    “Or the work of a crazy person,” Honey told her. “Do—do you think Grandpa Crimper is crazy?” She spoke in a low voice, as if she were fearful the old man would overhear her.
    Even Trixie looked around carefully before she shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure, Honey. My dad says he has got more eccentric as he’s grown older, but—”
    She broke off abruptly as the roar of an engine came closer.
    Suddenly there was a shrill scream of skidding tires, and a small truck hurtled around the corner. Trixie caught a brief glimpse of a figure at the wheel. He was wearing a red shirt, and he was grinning widely.
    In the next instant, the truck was headed straight toward the place where she was standing.

The Next Victim • 15

    HONEY SCREAMED and yanked at Trixie’s arm.
    At the last possible second, however, the driver swerved away from the road’s edge and slammed on his brakes.
    Trixie was still breathing hard when Grandpa Crimper clambered nimbly to the ground.
    “See?” he said. “I haven’t lost m’touch at all. I wish Sonny could have seen me. Can’t drive? Lot of nonsense! Come on, you two. Get your bikes, and let’s put ’em in the back.”
    Trixie was still breathing hard two minutes later as she scrambled into the front seat beside Honey.
    “I thought you were going to run over me,” she told the old man as he clambered back into the driver’s seat.
    “Then the more fool you, Trixie Belden,” was all Grandpa answered, fumbling with the key in the ignition.
    Suddenly, the engine roared to life. Gears grated. Tires squealed on the road’s damp surface as Grandpa Crimper yanked hard on the steering wheel. The truck screeched into a wild, neck-jolting U-turn, and soon it was hurtling east along Glen Road.
    It was the wildest ride Trixie and Honey had ever had. Honey hung on to the dashboard, and Trixie fumbled to cling to the door’s armrest beside her.
    They discovered very shortly that Mr. Crimper didn’t bother to obey traffic signals. He made up his own. Twice he came to a stop sign, and twice he merely speeded up, stuck his head out of the window, and yelled, “Coming through!”
    By the time he had turned into the Crimpers’ driveway on Albany Post Road, Trixie and Honey couldn’t believe they were still in one piece.
    “I never thought we’d make it,” Trixie told her friend in an undertone.
    “I’m still not convinced we have,” Honey answered in a whisper as she stared with wide eyes
    at the tall, three-storied house in front of her.
    It looked like a Victorian mansion, quite unlike the neat frame houses that surrounded it. The Crimper house was built of yellow brick and trimmed with curlicue woodwork. Its wide front porch seemed to have been especially made for the two comfortable rocking chairs that stood there, and its lace-curtained windows appeared warmly inviting.
    “Nice effect, eh?” Grandpa Crimper said, watching Honey’s face. “Everyone expected me to have a house like this. So I built it myself.”
    Before Honey had a chance to answer, the front door swung open, and a gray-haired woman hurried toward them. She was followed by young Mr. Crimper, who began speaking as soon as he caught sight of his father.
    “I knew it!” he cried. “I knew Dad had taken the truck! He sneaked it out of here as soon as my back was turned.”
    The gray-haired lady sighed. “Really, Earl,” she said, looking at Grandpa, “why you do these things is beyond me. Didn’t you know how worried we’d be? Where in the world have you been? We’ve been going out of our minds thinking of what could have happened—”
    “Now, Mother,” the old man interrupted, “I only went for a short spin, and see? I’ve brought you a couple of visitors. Trixie”—he glanced at her wickedly out of the corners of his eyes—“insisted on having a piece of your chocolate cake. And this other girlie is Honey Wheeler. Her folks bought Manor House. Remember that place, Mother?”
    Trixie could tell that Grandpa Crimper had successfully diverted his wife’s attention.
    With cries of delight, she hurried to welcome them to her home. Soon she had shepherded the two girls inside and led them to the warm and fragrant kitchen.
    It was soon obvious, however, that Grandpa had not managed to placate his son. Even though Trixie did her best not to listen, she could hear young Mr. Crimper’s