The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost

made herself take time to pour milk and drink it, then she hugged Bobby and left the room. Oh, please, hurry! she prayed, waiting for her telephone call to go through.
    She found the police station in an uproar. The police had been called to Glen Road Inn, and she finally contacted Sergeant Molinson there.
    “We need you at Crabapple Farm, sir!” she begged. “Bobby’s in danger! It’s that gang!”
    “Be right there,” Sergeant Molinson promised.
    Trixie went back downstairs and stood in the dark, watching Bobby without being seen. This whole nightmare had begun when Bobby used the “nock-lers.” Now Cap’s “nocklers” watched Bobby. Suddenly, she realized that Bobby was being watched just as she had watched Miss Ryks. This invasion of privacy was a matter of viewpoint! She much preferred being the watcher instead of the one being watched.
    During the heart-thumping wait for the police, Trixie forgave Bobby for every aggravating thing he’d ever done or said. She prayed for his safety as he went out the kitchen door with the food.
    When she was sure she heard a motor, she ran through the dark house and out the front door. The sergeant had wisely approached without using headlights. She rushed to him, sobbing under her breath, and quickly told him what was happening.
    “When Bobby comes back in the house, lock the door and turn off the lights,” the sergeant instructed her. “My men will take care of rounding up this gang.”
    It was a good plan, but it didn’t work. Trixie waited, but Bobby didn’t come back in the house. When she could stand the waiting no longer, she went after him.
    The instant Trixie opened the kitchen door, she was grabbed. She just had time to scream, as only she could scream, before a voice growled, “Shut up, or you’ve had it!” A hand was clamped over her mouth.
    Mart’s and Brian’s rooms were above the kitchen area. Trixie’s cry awakened them, and they pounded down the stairs. Lights flashed on in the guest room, then upstairs where Mr. and Mrs. Belden slept. Out of the dark came the police.
    Pajamas, police badges, cowboy boots, flashlights, and Reddy jumbled together in a terrifying game of hide-and-seek in and out of the shadows, through the house, around the shed, and into the garden.
    In the midst of the pandemonium, Trixie bit the hand on her mouth, butted hard with her head, and ran for the shed. “Bobby!” she screamed. “Where are you?”
    “They’re holdin’ me!” Bobby wailed.
    Just as Trixie reached Bobby, a pair of arms reached for her. She kicked, screamed, and fought them off until a stem voice boomed, “Trixie Belden! This is Sergeant Molinson!” Trixie calmed down, and the sergeant turned his flashlight on the interior of the shed.
    “There’s nobody else here. They got away!” she exclaimed.
    “Did you expect them to hang around?” the sergeant grumbled. “Our birds have flown the coop.”
    “This time I don’t care!” Trixie cried. “Bobby’s safe!” Her aims went around his shoulders, and she gently led him back to the house.
    Usually Bobby’s tears were minimal, squeezed out for effect. This time the tears gushed down his cheeks.
    Mr. and Mrs. Belden stared in amazement at their children and Sergeant Molinson, standing in an awkward row in the farmhouse kitchen.
    “What in the world is happening here?” Mrs. Belden demanded.
    Bobby told his story. He’d found the gang in the woods. They’d let him join their “secret club,” and it was always his turn to bring refreshments. It was fun until he saw they had Di’s doughnut-shaped radio. When they wouldn’t let him take it back to her, he realized that they were the ones who had robbed the Lynch house.
    “I’m sorry, Moms. I had to give them our food. The frog hunter said he’d make Reddy bleed if I didn't. First Reddy, then Dan. That’s what he said.”
    “Oh, my poor Bobby,” Mrs. Belden mourned.
    “I have to get back to conduct a search at the inn,” the sergeant said wearily. “There were two robberies there tonight.”
    “Miss Ryks?” Trixie asked.
    “How did you know? Somebody took all that junk she wears. Their real haul was Mrs. Boyer's diamond jewelry.”
    “Th-That isn’t what I meant,” Trixie stammered, then thought to herself, I was sure Miss Ryks was the thief.
    “Hallie,” Trixie whispered as she faced her cousin, “this thing is too big for us. We need some help. With police all over the inn, Miss Ryks’ll have to stay in that