The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

him. “I was also remembering that those drapes were closed this afternoon, too. Think how gloomy it must be inside! That poor little girl!”
    Jim looked at Trixie curiously, but, true to his word, he didn’t ask any questions. Putting the car in reverse, he backed out of the driveway. “We want the house on the corner, you said?”

    Mrs. Manning had the door open before the Bob-Whites were out of the car. “You’re going to be so proud of me!” she called as they came up the walk. “I was very firm with myself. ‘Out it goes!’ I said whenever I felt myself wanting to hold on to something.”
    She led them to the basement and pointed at a huge pile in one corner. “Out it goes!” she repeated, flinging one arm out in a gesture of banishment.
    “Okay—out it goes,” Jim agreed as he walked toward the pile. He picked up a box from which a piece of weathered wood protruded.
    “Now, that’s a doubletree,” Mrs. Manning said, reaching out and putting a hand on the piece of wood. “It was originally used to yoke a pair of horses together, but I thought it would be lovely for hanging a hooked rug or an old quilt on the wall. I do wish I had a wall big enough.” She let go of the doubletree reluctantly, and Jim carried the box out of the basement.
    Trixie picked up an open box filled with picture frames.
    “Those were a real bargain,” Mrs. Manning told her. “The whole box went at auction for just two dollars. Some of them are really lovely, and the cost of frames these days is truly out of sight! Of course, you have to have just the right pictures to go in them, and since they’re so old, some of the sizes are rather odd.”
    “I’m sure someone will be delighted to find them,” Trixie said politely.
    Trixie and Jim made several trips up the stairs, each time carrying something that Mrs. Manning had almost, but not quite, found the perfect use for.
    When the corner of the basement was empty, the station wagon was almost full.
    “I hope you don’t have too much more to collect yet tonight,” Mrs. Manning said.
    “As a matter of fact, we do,” Jim said. “We may have to make a trip home to drop things off. This is a bigger job than I’d figured, I’m afraid.”
    “Well, we can at least get that box of books in,” Trixie said.
    “Oh, is Glenda Maurer giving you the books her children sorted out over vacation?” Mrs. Manning asked.
    “Why, yes—that is, I guess it’s Mrs. Maurer. She lives in the third house down,” Trixie said.
    Mrs. Manning nodded smugly. “That’s Glenda. She’d mentioned just last week that she had to get around to calling someone about those books. Your timing was perfect there, too.”
    “This must be quite a close-knit neighborhood,” Jim said.
    “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Manning told him. “Most of us have lived here for years and years. We all have children about the same ages, and our children played together while they were growing up. We took turns baby-sitting, chairing the PTA—that sort of thing.”
    “There’s one house that doesn’t seem to fit that pattern,” Jim said.
    “There are two I can think of that don’t, actually,” Mrs. Manning corrected him. “There are the Greens. They’re a young couple who just moved in next to the Maurers. They’re newlyweds, so they don’t have much in common with us old folks. Still, they’re very nice young people.
    “And then there are the Greens’ neighbors.” Mrs. Manning’s tone changed to one of disapproval. “Of course, they may be nice, too, for all I know. But they certainly do keep to themselves. The drapes are pulled day and night. I never see anyone coming or going. In fact, I don’t even know exactly how many people live there. It’s all very mysterious, I must say.”
    “Well, I guess there’s one family like that in every neighborhood,” Jim said casually. “Thank you very much for your donation, Mrs. Manning,” he added as he and Trixie got in the car. “I hope we’ll see you at the sale.”
    “I’d love to come, but I’m not sure I dare. I might buy more than I got rid of!” Laughing at her own foolishness, Mrs. Manning waved good-bye and went back into the house.
    “Well, the next stop is Mrs. Maurer’s house, I guess,” Jim said as he turned the key in the ignition.
    Trixie looked at him appreciatively. Jim had made a point of getting more information about the house Trixie was curious about. But, still true to his word, he wasn’t going to force Trixie to