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Trixie dressed the minute she awoke and quickly ran down the lane to pick up the morning paper. She found that Mart was at the box ahead of her, with the pages of the Sleepyside Sun opened out like the sails of a boat.
    Mart called, “Hi, twin,” then announced, “Those thieves were busy little beavers last night. Besides pulling the Lynch robbery, they entered a house on Bowling Green but were chased out by a dog named Manchu. They took everything of value from a house near Glen Road Inn, and they totally stripped one of those new houses down on the river.” Mart read aloud, “ ‘Police report the common denominator is the fact that the owners of all these properties dined last night at the Sleepyside Country Club, attracted by the performance of the comic, Oliver Tolliver.’ ” Mart chewed his lip. “If I were that Oliver Tolliver, I’d be moving on.”
    “What? Oh, I see,” said Trixie. “His name is linked with a police report, and that’s bad publicity.”
    “Right,” Mart agreed. “Want to share the paper?”
    “Too late. Here comes Dad,” Trixie said. “Do the police know the order of the robberies?”
    “They’re guessing. Sergeant Molinson built a timetable based on telephoned information.”
    “Got in pretty late last night” was Mr. Beldens greeting.
    “Boy, was there a reason!” Mart said. “It’s spread all over the front page of the Sun.”
    Together Trixie and Mart began to tell their story and managed to confuse Peter Belden totally. He begged, “Kindly let me read it for myself, please.” When the three reached the kitchen, they found Brian and Hallie telling Mrs. Belden and Bobby about the empty family room at the Lynch mansion.
    “You mean, somebody tooked—I mean, taked—”
    “How about just plain took, Bobby?” Mrs. Belden corrected.
    “-just plain took all those neat games in the playroom?” Bobby asked.
    “Every one,” Trixie told him.
    “Even Di’s portable radio shaped like a doughnut?” Bobby persisted.
    “That, too,” Mart agreed.
    “Boy,” Bobby mourned, “that’s sad. I liked that radio. Di was going to let me hang it on the handlebar of my bike. If I ever get a bike.”
    “That’s nice, Bobby.” Mr. Belden winked solemnly, then ducked behind his newspaper to hide a grin.
    “No,” Bobby declared. “It isn’t nice at all. The radio is just plain took. Now I can’t borrow it.”
    Trixie thought of all the hours of fun she had shared in that family room at the Lynch mansion. “It is sad, Bobby. I’m sorry the radio was ‘just plain took.’ ” Only Trixie and Hallie sat with Mr. Belden while he drank his second cup of coffee. They were faced by the printed wall of his propped-up newspaper. All they could see were the want ads.
    “Need your gutters cleaned?” Hallie droned. “Interested in self-hypnosis? Swimming lessons? Wrecking service?”
    Trixie broke in. “Listen to this! ‘Lost: Wheelchair. Vicinity Lytell Store on Glen Road. Reward. Call Teed Moving Service.’ ”
    Hallie wrinkled her straight nose. “So that’s what happened. A wheelchair rolled out of a truck.”
    Trixie shrugged and reached for more toast. “There goes our mystery.” She snapped her fingers. “Gleeps! We can try for the reward money anyway. With the wedding coming up, the Bob-Whites can use extra money. When Moms lets me out of the kitchen, I’ll look for the wheel marks. That wheelchair didn’t just land beside the road like a helicopter.”
    Hallie grinned. "Count me in.” Trixie agreed unwillingly.
    She felt more cheerful when Hallie offered to dust. It was a chore Trixie hated.
    Wearing a pair of Trixie’s shorts and a knit shirt, Hallie padded barefoot to the end of the lane with Trixie. The Belden mailbox stood in a clump of daisies. “No marks,” Trixie muttered.
    “What did you expect?” Hallie retorted. “The mail truck’s stopped here. Brian’s jalopy’s gone up the lane. Uncle Peter’s come and gone. I don’t see any marks