The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

he’s captured.”
    “I don’t know what more we can do,” Jim said, turning his eyes to the road as the fight changed. “We’ve already told Sergeant Molinson everything we saw.”
    In the Sleepyside police station, Trixie remained silent. Sergeant Molinson’s frown at her appearance was all the warning she needed. She stood to one side, watching, as the fingerprints of Jim’s right hand were taken. Then Jim showed Sergeant Molinson where he had grasped the gas can when he had turned it upright.
    The telephone on Molinson’s desk rang. He answered and, after a brief conversation, began writing a series of numbers on a note pad.
    Trixie turned to a cork bulletin board and began scanning the various cards and papers tacked on it. There were hints about bicycle safety. A small holder contained stickers with emergency numbers for police, fire, and ambulance, to be placed on telephones. A large color poster illustrated various kinds of harmful drugs, how they were used and what their effects were.
    Molinson hung up the phone and spoke to one of his officers. “That was the local Social Security office. Here’s a list of numbers of the checks that were stolen from the rural postal route on Glen Road. The office is sending out warning bulletins to all area banks. I don’t think we’ll see the checks around here, but make some copies of this list and get them to Lytell’s store on Glen Road.”
    Trixie broke her silence. “Did you say the Glen Road postal route? That would include Mrs. Elliot, wouldn’t it? Was her check stolen, too?”
    Molinson scowled. “You’re right up-to-date, aren’t you? The checks were stolen ten days ago. The names of people who didn’t receive their Social Security checks were in last week’s paper.”
    Trixie reddened and spoke to Jim, who was wiping his hand on a paper towel. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
    She hurried out of the police station and down the street to the office of the Sleepyside Sun. At a table in the lobby, she opened the large binder containing recent back issues of the paper. Trixie had been too busy lately with school and other activities to bother reading the newspapers delivered to Crabapple Farm. Anyway, the New York City paper was usually filled only with politics, problems of foreign countries, and big-city crime. And the Sleepy-side Sun had mostly news she didn’t care about, either: “Mrs. Smith entertained Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. Anderson for luncheon and bridge on Tuesday.” The following week, Mrs. Jones’s name would be first, because the luncheon had been at her home. Trixie seldom looked at the paper unless she expected an item about some activity in which she or her friends had participated. Remembering Molinson’s scowl, Trixie vowed that she would keep more “up-to-date.”
    Now she scanned the story in last week’s paper about the stolen checks. Mrs. Elliots name was not on the list of people whose checks had been stolen.
    Trixie called to the man sitting at a desk behind the counter. “Is this a complete list of the people who had their Social Security checks stolen?”
    The man looked up. “Everyone who reported that they hadn’t received their checks is listed.” Trixie left the newspaper office. If Mrs. Elliot had not received her check, why hadn’t she reported it? Maybe her name had been accidentally omitted from the list in the story.
    Jim, waiting beside the car, grinned as she approached. “Sergeant Molinson said that he never got rid of you that easily before.”
    “He’s not going to discourage me,” Trixie replied stiffly. “Did he say anything else about the arsonist after I left?”
    Jim shook his head.
    “What about fingerprints on that gas can?” Trixie asked.
    “After mine were eliminated, most of the others seemed to be the same particular pattern. They’re probably Max’s. There were also some smudges that could have been made by gloves.” Trixie gave an exasperated sigh. “So I guess Sergeant Molinson’s not going to do anything else about it.”
    “He didn’t say,” Jim said wryly.
    “I wish we had time to go out to Mrs. Elliot’s again,” Trixie said. “There’s something I’d like to ask her.”
    Jim hesitated, then shook his head. “From what Mart said, you’d better get home. If you get in trouble with your folks for skipping your chores, you might be grounded. Then you would have to leave everything up to Sergeant Molinson.”
    Trixie sighed again. “I guess