The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

bikeathon all along, and Ben has been known to use the telephone for practical jokes. Nick Roberts went from agreeing to help us to asking us—me—to call the whole thing off. He also tore one of the bikeathon posters off the wall. I saw him do it.”
    Sergeant Molinson jotted a few more words, then closed his notebook. “The two boys will have to be questioned, although what you’ve told me hardly proves that they’re responsible for the phone calls and vandalism. Meanwhile, I’d suggest that you young people consider canceling the bikeathon. Someone doesn’t want it to take place. I know it’s for a worthy cause, but it isn’t worth having someone get hurt.”
    At dinner that night, Brian and Mart told their parents about the conversation with Sergeant Molinson. Trixie stared at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork.
    “Just the other night, Brian was saying that Trixie had outgrown her attraction to mysteries,” Mart said. “Now here we are, knee-deep in another one. I guess she’s just gotten better at keeping secrets.”
    “I must say that I agree with Sergeant Molinson,” Mrs. Belden said. “I know how strongly you all feel about helping the art department, but if that caller meant what he said, Mrs. Vanderpoel could be in danger. I know none of you would want to cause her to be-harmed.”
    “Sergeant Molinson told us before he left school today that Mrs. Vanderpoel isn’t afraid,” Mart told his parents. “She called the police because she was angry. She doesn’t really like the idea of telephones, anyway, and when she got that call, she was really annoyed.”
    “The fact that she isn’t afraid doesn’t mean that she couldn’t get hurt,” Mr. Belden said. “Far from it. In fact, people often come to harm because they refuse to take warnings.”
    Trixie didn’t raise her eyes from her plate, but she could feel her father looking directly at her as he spoke.
    “I think that canceling the bikeathon is something we should at least consider,” Brian said quietly.
    Trixie and Mart looked quickly at him, then at each other.
    “I disagree, Brian,” Mart said. “There’s just not enough evidence to prove that the phone calls are linked to the vandalism of Mr. Maypenny’s game cart or Di’s tires—and those are the only actions that have been taken so far. As long as the police know what’s happened, they’ll be on the lookout. There’s just too much money at stake for us to go running scared.”
    Trixie looked at Mart gratefully. Once again, they were on the same side of an issue. He said exactly what I’ve been thinking, Trixie thought. Only he explained it better than I could have. The bikeathon just has to happen. 1 couldn’t stand to disappoint all the students in the art department and Mr. Crider, after he was so kind and helpful.
    Mr. and Mrs. Belden said no more about canceling the bikeathon. They were confident that their children—Brian, especially—had enough common sense to make the right decision.
    Trixie was wondering whether their confidence was justified, when Jim telephoned after supper.
    “Trixie, you and Brian and Mart have to come to the Manor House right away. It’s important.”

A Confession • 14

    NONE OF THE BELDENS spoke on the way to the Manor House. They concentrated on hurrying as fast as they could over the narrow footpath that led from Crabapple Farm to the Wheeler mansion.
    In their silence, Trixie could sense that her brothers were sharing her own troubled line of thought: What had made Jim call them and demand that they come over immediately? Did it have something to do with the bikeathon? Had there been another act of vandalism or another threatening phone call? Were Miss Trask or Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler demanding that the bikeathon be canceled?
    When she saw the Manor House looming ahead out of the darkness, Trixie felt the same sense of awe she always felt when seeing the huge, imposing building. This time, her awe was tinged with nervousness. What were they going to hear once they were inside?
    Miss Trask answered the door. She looked as calm and efficient as always, in a trim gray suit and sturdy oxfords. Her bright blue eyes were alert, but they gave no clue to her thoughts as she escorted the three Beldens into the library.
    Trixie was doubly awed by the library, with its towering, floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined with leather-bound books. She started nervously when Miss Trask closed the heavy oak door behind her as she