The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

would get up and go right now, never mind the fact that they had been used to spending plenty of time hitching up a team of horses to a buggy. I bet the Stanleys could have solved those problems, if they hadn’t been railroaded out of their own company.”
    Trixie looked at the stranger’s bitter expression. You'd almost think it had happened to him, instead of to the Stanleys, she thought. Aloud she said, “You told us the other night that cars were your passion. I can certainly see now how true that is.”
    The stranger’s expression darkened even more. “I told you that, did I? Just what else did I say?”
    “N-Nothing,” Trixie said, taken aback by the man’s scowl. “Well, you did ask us how to get to Glenwood Avenue.”
    “Glenwood Avenue,” the man repeated. “Did I give an address on Glenwood Avenue?”
    Trixie shook her head. Then she gasped as she realized the probable reason for the stranger’s concern. “You don’t remember where you were going that night, either, do you?” she guessed. “I should have thought of that. You see, I knew someone once who had amnesia after an accident like yours.“
    “Amnesia,” the man repeated slowly. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I have, all right. I don’t remember anything about the last few days.”
    “Well, you mustn’t worry about it,” Trixie said. “I’m sure your memory will come back. Juliana— that’s my friend who had amnesia—couldn’t remember anything at all! But her memory came back eventually, and I’m sure yours will, too.”
    “Yes, I’m sure it will,” the man said in an odd tone of voice.
    “Anyway, there’s a chance that you’ll soon know what your name is, even if you don’t remember it yourself. Sergeant Molinson told us he took a set of fingerprints from you while you were unconscious. He’s running them through the FBI files. If you were a defense plant worker or a big executive or anything, your prints will be on file.”
    Trixie carefully avoided mentioning that a criminal record would also be a reason for the FBI to have a set of fingerprints. But the stranger apparently thought of that possibility for himself. “So everybody’s decided I’m a con, huh, because I didn’t have a wad of credit cards in my pocket with my name all over them?”
    “Nobody’s decided—” Trixie began.
    “Oh, I know how people’s minds work. If you aren’t a cookie-cutter image of everybody else, then you’re dangerous. Why, I’m surprised you dare to be in the same room with me, young lady. I didn’t come all wrapped up in a three-piece suit and tied with a bow. I don’t even have references from my banker!“
    “I don’t—” Trixie began again.
    “Never mind!” the stranger growled. “You’re going to tell me you’re not like that. You like people for themselves. Hogwash! You’re like everyone else in the world, and I don’t like any of you. Now, get out!” The man’s voice had risen to a frenzied shout, and Trixie was afraid that he might make himself sick if she didn’t leave. She turned and made a hasty retreat from the room.
    Out in the hall, Trixie leaned against a cool tiled wall and tried to collect her thoughts. The stranger obviously remembered something— something about the way he’d been treated by people in the past. She thought about what the stranger had said the night of the accident about not getting involved with people. She thought, too, about what her brother had said the day before about people who got hurt by other people and decided never to let it happen again.
    Trixie also realized that she’d never got around to asking the stranger about the miser. I wonder if the miser took something away from him and kept it. I wonder if that’s why he hates people so.
    Then Trixie felt a jolt like an electric shock as another thought occurred to her. I wonder if the miser is a woman!

A Visit From a Vandal • 8

    TRIXIE FINISHED HER MORNING at the hospital in a daze that was a combination of confusion from her conversation with the hit-and-run victim and fatigue. When Brian came for her, she was so lost in tired thought that she didn’t notice the honking of the horn.
    “Were you asleep on your feet all morning, or just for the past few minutes?” Brian asked teasingly as she climbed into the jalopy.
    “Pretty much all morning,” Trixie admitted sheepishly.
    Brian laughed. “When we called Jim at ten o’clock, he’d just gotten out of bed. He managed to sound stiff and sore