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again.
    “Maybe we ought to call Dad and Moms,” Trixie said, on the point of tears. “If Mart’s in trouble, they’d want to know about it.”
    Brian had obviously been thinking the same thing, because he answered at once, “Let’s hold off for a while, Trix. Maybe Mart is right, and he’ll be through in a few minutes.”
    All the same, it was another long, interminable thirty minutes before the door opened once more and Mart came hurrying toward them. He was followed by Sergeant Molinson’s heavy figure.
    “So,” Sergeant Molinson said, when he saw Trixie, “I might have known that Miss Detective Belden would be here
    “But why would you want to question my brother?” Trixie cried hotly. “He doesn’t know anything about what happened at school—or at Wimpy’s, either.”
    “Ah, so you heard about Wimpy’s?” Sergeant Molinson looked at her thoughtfully.
    “She knows only what I’ve just told her,” Brian put in, “and I know only what the school principal told me.”
    Dan frowned. “We’ve just heard about it,” he said, “and it doesn’t make sense.”
    “Not unless a teen-ager’s behind all this,” Sergeant Molinson replied, staring hard at Mart. “We don’t yet have any evidence to arrest anyone, but we’re going to get it. You can count on it.”
    For the second time that morning, Trixie thought her almost-twin was on the point of volunteering some sort of information. Exactly what it was, she couldn’t imagine.
    In the next moment, however, it was obvious that Mart had changed his mind, because all he said was, “Is it okay, then? Can I go?”
    “You can go for now,” Sergeant Molinson answered, turning away, “but don’t go far. I’ll have some questions to ask you later.”
    The Bob-Whites were silent until they were standing on the sidewalk once more.
    Then Trixie burst out, “All right, Mart. Now tell us. What’s going on? What’s worrying you? How could Sergeant Molinson even begin to suspect you of being the Midnight Marauder? Were you on the school grounds last night? Oh, Mart, what is it you know that you’re not telling anyone —even us?”
    Mart was silent for a long moment. Then he raised his head and looked into her worried blue eyes. “All right, Trix,” he said at last. “I guess I’d better tell you. But I warn you, you’re not going to like it. Let’s go on home, and then—”
    He never completed his sentence. His gaze sharpened suddenly as he stared at something over Trixie’s left shoulder.
    She swung around to see what had caught his attention.
    At first, she could see nothing unusual. The usual number of Saturday morning shoppers seemed to be hurrying along the street. Then she noticed that they all seemed to be hurrying in one direction. Their steps slowed as they neared Crimper’s department store. It was an old two-story building that had been there as long as Trixie could remember.
    “What is it?” Honey asked, turning her head to see what Mart and Trixie were looking at.
    Trixie frowned. “Everyone seems to be watching something on top of Crimper’s roof. Come on; let’s go and look.”
    The Bob-Whites raced along the sidewalk and joined others whose necks were craning upward.
    Trixie saw the store’s upper story, where shoppers and salespeople alike were crowded at the windows, trying to peer upward. Her sharp eyes scanned the roof’s eaves. “I can’t see anything,” she said at last.
    “Me, either,” Honey said, pressing close to her friend.
    All along, Mart had been busy scanning the crowd. “I think you’ll find the only thing your orbs can discern,” he announced, with a sudden return to his old manner, “is a certain person playing one of his excruciating jokes. It’s the most ancient trick in the lexicon.”
    “What’s a lexicon?” Di whispered.
    “The theory,” Mart went on, “is that if you stare at something long enough and hard enough, others will naturally think there is something to stare at. Thus a