The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

there’s some connection between the driver and the victim. If there is, we can start to determine whether the driver had a motive for running the victim down Trixie smiled weakly at Sergeant Molinson. “Thanks for taking me seriously,” she said.
    “Speaking of the connection between the driver and the victim,” Brian said, “have you been able to find out who the victim is?”
    Sergeant Molinson shook his head. “He had no ID whatsoever on him, and he hasn’t regained consciousness long enough to tell us who he is. We took a set of fingerprints, though, and we’ll see what the FBI can tell us about those.”
    “You mean you think the man is a criminal?” Trixie asked.
    “Not at all,” Molinson said. “It isn’t just criminals who have prints on file with the FBI. Their victims often do, too. Some government employees are on file. So are people who worked in defense plants during the war. These days, with all the terrorists taking hostages all over the world, some international companies urge their top executives and their families to be fingerprinted, for identification in case of abduction. And there are many more reasons why people get fingerprinted.”
    “I hope you can find out who the man is. He might have a family. There might be people miles away w ho are worrying about him right this minute,” Honey said.
    Remembering the directions the stranger had asked for the night before, Trixie thought, Those people might he much closer than we think.

The House on Glenwood Avenue ● 5

    WE’LL DO OUR BEST,” Sergeant Molinson promised, closing his notebook and standing up to leave.
    “We know you will,” Trixie told him.
    The sergeant paused and peered down at the sandy-haired teen-ager. “We’ll want you to do your best, too. You’ve made a good start by notifying the police of the accident immediately and by telling me everything you know this morning. I’d like you to keep up the good work, as they say. No holding back. Is that a deal?”
    Trixie nodded dumbly, aware once again of the trouble she had caused the sergeant in the past—and aware, too, of his genuine concern for her safety.
    “The extent of the criminality involved here warrants the involvement of the constabulary,” Mart proclaimed. “If our sibling sleuth decides to doubt that, we will gainsay her.”
    “Thank you, I think.” Sergeant Molinson looked quizzically at Mart, left the den, and walked out through the front door.
    Just as the front door closed, there was a knock at the back door. Trixie opened it, and Jim stepped inside the kitchen.
    “The gang’s all here, I see,” he said, looking around at his fellow Bob-Whites. “I was beginning to feel absolutely abandoned at home. I decided to come over and get filled in on what happened last night—and to remind everyone that we ought to be putting signs on the Model A this very minute.“
    “Gleeps!” Trixie shouted, clapping her hand to her forehead. “I’d forgotten all about our rummage sale. We’d better get going!”
    “First things first,” Jim said firmly. “You owe me an explanation about the events of last night.”
    “And I owe Bobby two stories, which I’m going to go and read to him right now,” Honey said. “I hate to keep going over the story of the accident time after time,” she added, almost apologetically, as she hurried up the stairs.
    Sitting down at the kitchen table, Trixie, Mart, and Brian told Jim the details of the breakdown of the car, the meeting with the stranger, and the hit-and-run accident.
    When they finished, Jim’s eyes were clouded with worry. “I feel sort of responsible for what happened,” he said. “After all, Mr. Burnside told us that the car was temperamental. It was stupid of me to just take off in the station wagon. I ought to have driven along behind the Model A, to make sure you made it home all right.”
    “There’s no way that’s your fault, Jim,” Brian told him. “I took responsibility for getting the Model A home. If I hadn’t been so sure I could handle it, I would have asked for an escort. So it has to be my overconfidence that’s to blame.”
    “I think we’d just better stop blaming ourselves,” Trixie said spiritedly. “Sergeant Molinson said so just a few minutes ago. The driver of that van is responsible. We’re not.”
    “This is a different kind of responsibility, Trixie,” Jim said. “I’m talking about the fact that the four of you were alone and frightened on a