The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

of not trusting anyone was what really made trouble for me, at the trial and before. There will always be Andrew Kowalskis in the world, but they aren’t the overwhelming majority that I thought they were. Your brother was right—getting involved with other people is what life is all about.
    “So you see, I actually stopped by today to thank you all and to say I’ll probably be seeing you soon,” the inventor concluded.
    “You mean you’re coming back to Sleepyside?” Trixie asked.
    “I don’t have much choice,” Henry Meiser said with a grin. “Eileen finally put her foot down. She told me she won’t uproot her children for me again, and she resigned as my secretary.”
    “Oh, that’s too bad,” Trixie said, unable to understand why he seemed to be so happy about the decision.
    “At least, she agreed to interview replacements for me. As soon as she finds one, she’ll stop being my employee—and start being my wife!” Henry Meiser’s grin was that of the cat who swallowed the canary.
    Trixie felt tears brimming in her eyes once again, but this time with happiness. “May we come and visit you?” she asked.
    “We’ll be counting on it,” Mr. Meiser said. “I’ve applied for a patent on my invention. Once it’s granted, I’ll sell the rights to the highest bidder, and then I’ll just sit back while the money rolls in. There’ll be plenty of time for socializing then.”
    “The miser!” Trixie cried. “Mr. Meiser, we never did find out what that invention is! Can’t you at least give us a hint?”
    “I can do a lot more than that,” the inventor said. “Nobody can beat me to the punch at this late date. The miser is a special carburetor. Do you know what a carburetor is?”
    “It’s what makes a Model A break down,” Trixie replied, wondering how a new version of that invention could be worth any money.
    Henry Meiser laughed. “Every car has a carburetor. It’s the part that supplies the fuel mixture to the engine. In a way, it’s the part that determines how much fuel the car uses. And with my miser, a car will use about one-third as much fuel as the carburetors now use.”
    “Whew!” Trixie breathed. “With the cost of gas these days....”
    “Exactly. People will be clamoring to have the miser in their cars. And the best part of my invention is that it can be added to existing cars at a fraction of the cost of buying a new car. It’ll pay for itself in a few hundred miles.”
    The inventor didn’t speak for a moment, while he looked about him. “In a few years,” he said softly, “any car without a miser carburetor will belong right here at a sale like this.”
    “You mean as antiques?” Trixie asked.
    Henry Meiser turned and looked at her with a sparkle in his eyes. “Nope,” the inventor said. “As rummage!”
    With a wave of his hand, he turned and walked away to the waiting squad car.
    As the two girls watched him leave, Honey asked thoughtfully, “If you were an inventor, Trix, what would you invent?”
    “That’s easy, Honey,” Trixie answered with a mischievous grin. “More mysteries, of course!”