The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost

a deliveryman,” Mart took up the chant.
    “Thieves don’t have bosses. They want to do it themselves,” Hallie objected.
    Brian told her, “Some of them couldn’t work without direction.”
    “You mean they’re stupid,” Trixie said.
    “Why else would they be thieves?” Brian countered. “Well, they did drop the wad of paper that practically left their boss’s forwarding address,” Trixie said. “If I were that boss, I think I’d get out of there fast.” Her eyes grew round. “Maybe—he—did! Mr. Lynch said that comic with the funny name quit!”
    “Ill wager—” As his round blue eyes opened wider, Mart looked so much like Trixie that both Brian and Hallie laughed. “Cease the hilarity!” he ordered. “I have a theory to propound!”
    “I’ve pounded it first!” Trixie shouted. “That man was right there where he could get the names and addresses of all those people whose houses were crammed with stuff he could resell! I’m going to call Sergeant Molinson!” Leaving her berries, Trixie raced to the house. She returned within minutes. “Detective Belden scored again!” Mart whooped. “No!” Trixie snapped. “I was scooped.”
    “Molinson beat you to it?” Brian asked.
    “It’s in the morning paper. Dad was sitting on the steps reading all about it. The police are sure Oliver Tolliver was involved in the robberies, but he’s disappeared. It seems he’s been under suspicion for some time. He always works country clubs. He studies the members to see who looks worth robbing, then learns their names and addresses. He knows who isn’t home because they’re sitting right there laughing at him. While they’re laughing, he catches them off guard. They let him know which house has a dog, or—”
    “He overlooked Manchu—the dog in the house on Bowling Green!” Mart put in.
    “We can’t all be perfect,” Brian said dryly.
    “Anyway, that’s how Sergeant Molinson sums up the boss’s modus operandi,” Trixie concluded.
    Hallie sighed loudly. “Now you’re doing it, Trixie! It’ll be so good to talk with Cap when I get home. He wouldn’t recognize a three-syllable word if he tripped over it.”
    “It would seem that our amazing mentalist had good cause to go underground,” Mart declared.
    “Maybe...,” Trixie mused, feeling her excitement grow.
    “Hey!” Mart objected. “No sleuthing allowed till after the wedding.”
    At that moment, Trixie was facing the house. She saw Bobby leave the kitchen and sidle past his father. When he reached Mrs. Beldens bed of prize dahlias, he seemed to consider himself well hidden. He pulled a package from under his shirt and headed for the gate that opened on the woods path. Almost at once, she heard a clumsy imitation of a birdcall. What kind of game was Bobby playing this morning? With Bobby, one never knew.
    Before Trixie could pursue further her speculations about Oliver Tolliver, the amazing mentalist, Mrs. Belden tapped the gong that hung on the back porch. The berry pickers rinsed their hands at the garden tap and raced to the kitchen. Bobby beat them to the door and slid into his chair at the table.
    Mart sniffed the air and crowed, “Did ever a mortal smell a more delectable odor than com muffins and bacon?”
    “Odor, yes, but without much substance,” Mrs. Belden said. “We're short of bacon this morning. I was sure I had an extra two-pound package, but if it’s in the refrigerator, I can’t find it.”
    Mart was always hungry, and he didn’t hide his disappointment. Bobby said quickly, “Mart can have my share, Moms.”
    “I don’t believe it!” Mart said in honest astonishment. “Thanks, Bobby!”
    Bobby squirmed, then busily smeared butter on a muffin.
    By ten o’clock, the berries were stored in the cooler, and Mrs. Belden declared a holiday. “You’ve all earned it.”
    Freshly showered, Trixie called Honey, who told her, “We have to exercise the horses.” Trixie promised help at once.
    Usually Bobby howled to be included, but not today. “What’s on your agenda?” Brian asked him.
    Bobby was doubtful. “I don’t know if I have a gender.”
    “An outline.A plan.”
    “Oh. ’ Bobby put on his angel face. “Maybe I got a club meeting. Maybe.” He seemed to argue with himself and win. “Anyway, it’s portant.”
    Brian hugged Bobby’s sturdy shoulders. “Being important—that’s important!” But Bobby thought it was hard.
    “What’s so hard about playing in the woods?” Trixie