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She did know it, but the panic of the moment had driven it from her mind. Once again, she was grateful for Brian’s calm reaction to a crisis.
    “It’s so awful just to sit here with him,” Honey said, her voice revealing how close she was to tears.
    “I know that,” Brian said. “I feel pretty helpless, too. That’s why I snapped at you, Trixie. I’m sorry.“
    “I deserved it, Brian,” Trixie told him. “I guess this man was right when he said I’m not a very good listener. But maybe, if people keep telling me the same thing over and over often enough, harshly enough, I’ll finally get it through my skull.”
    “Oh, Trixie, you do listen!” Honey hastened to defend her friend. “Sometimes it takes a while for you to think things out—and the rest of us don’t seem to be very good at that. Mr. Lytell would never have gotten his money back that time if you hadn’t listened. This man was wrong.”
    “He said we shouldn’t get involved with him, either,” Brian added. “It looks as if we’ve got ourselves good and involved with him now.”
    Trixie looked down solemnly at the twisted body of the stranger. “We don’t even know his name,” she murmured.
    The man on the ground moaned softly and turned his head from side to side. A bleeding gash on his forehead showed in the dim light.
    “Just lie still,” Brian told him gently.
    “Can’t,” the man panted. “Can’t... stop. Find. Find the—” He stopped speaking as he tried to raise his head. He groaned in pain and let his head sink back down to the pavement. “Miser,” he groaned.
    “He has to find the miser? Is that what he said?” Trixie asked, looking from Brian to Honey.
    Honey raised her shoulders in a worried shrug, and Brian shook his head. “That’s what it sounded like to me, but it’s hard to tell,” he said. “I don’t know if ‘miser’ was the end of the sentence or a whole separate thought.”
    “Has anybody heard of a miser who lives on Glenwood Avenue?” Trixie demanded. “The only miser I remember was Jim’s uncle, who kept a lot of money hidden in his mattress. But he didn’t live on Glen wood. He lived on Glen Road. Anyway, he’s dead now.”
    “I can’t think of any misers in Sleepyside,” Brian said. “But then, I know I’m not thinking straight right now. For that matter, our friend here probably isn’t, either. Don’t take what he says too seriously. And don’t get carried away with ideas about tracking down a miser.”
    Trixie nodded her agreement absentmindedly, staring down at the closed eyes of the stranger. She wondered if the eyes would ever open again. Her own eyes widened, and she reached out to clutch Brian’s arm as another thought occurred to her. “I know who we have to track down, and it isn’t the miser! It’s the green van! That driver just committed a hit-and-run offense. This is a case for the police!“
    “I’ve thought about that,” Brian said. “I’ve thought about how stupid I was not to notice the license number of the van.”
    “Oh, woe, I didn’t think about that, either! I didn’t see the driver, and I didn’t see the license plate. All I know is that it was a big green van. That’s going to be a big fat help to the police!” Trixie said.
    “I can add a little bit to that,” Brian told her. “I know the make and approximate age of the van. That will be of some help, I suppose. Green vans aren’t as common as some kinds of vehicles— although they aren’t as rare as, say, a Model A.” Trixie turned and looked back across the street at Mr. Burnside’s Model A. “I’d forgotten all about it, too. I know it’s silly to think that some inanimate object can be unlucky, but somehow I feel as though we’ve been jinxed ever since we picked up that car.“
    “Don’t even think it!” Honey said with a shudder. “We still have that car in our possession for seven more days, until the sale. If those seven days are anything like the last couple of hours, I