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gang—strips the interiors of everything valuable before abandoning them. People are awfully careless with trailers," he went on. "They’re so big and so easily recognized, the owners feel confident nobody would try to steal them any more than a thief would try to steal a house. You’d be surprised how many people leave their keys in the tow car and go off for hours. All the thief has to do is drive into some isolated spot, transfer the trailer equipment to his truck, and drive away again." He shrugged in disgust "The guy who owned the red trailer we re looking for left it hitched up, all ready to go, in his garage and then left town for a week. He came back sooner than he planned, and now he’s yelling, Help, help!’ to us."
    "He certainly invited trouble," Miss Trask agreed. "And I’ll be very careful driving back with the Swan. Why, the fixtures in it must have cost several thousand dollars!"
    "That’s right," the trooper said. "The last one we found abandoned was minus a radio, an electric dishwasher, stove, and refrigerator, all brand-new. There’s a smart gang back of these robberies. They haven’t attempted to sell any of the loot yet. We figure they’ll wait until the excitement dies down; then they’ll load up a truck and try to dispose of the stuff in some other state." He tipped his cap and moved on to the next trailer. "Got to keep on with the routine questioning," he said over his shoulder, "but I haven’t much hope of finding the Robin until after the nest has been robbed."
    Miss Trask apparently had not heard him, ( but Honey and Trixie stared at each other. The Robin! Could there be two red trailers with that name?
    "Well, girls," Miss Trask said, glancing at her wrist-watch, "it’s getting late. Let’s have dinner in the restaurant. You can start housekeeping in earnest tomorrow."
    They strolled around the park to the big cafeteria, which was really more of a clubhouse, with a recreation room, library, and dance hall. Music was blaring from an electric record player, and couples were dancing indoors and out on the wide-screened porch. But Trixie hardly saw or heard anything. All she could think of was that the shaggy-haired man had stolen the Robin, after all. And that meant he wouldn’t dare notify the police that Joeanne had run away. Where was the thin little girl now?
    Trixie shuddered. It was growing dark, and she must be all alone in the woods, hungry and frightened. Hardly realizing what she was doing, Trixie stacked dishes on her tray and followed Miss Trask and Honey to a table. But before she could reach the table, a waiter with a huge tray of stacked soiled dishes cut directly in front of her. Trixie tried to turn, but people in line behind her had crowded too close, and the waiter’s tray crashed right into Trixie’s.
    Trixie winced as hot spaghetti skidded along her bare arms, and then the stack of soiled dishes toppled to the cement floor with a deafening crash. Somebody near Trixie screamed, and a man behind one of the counters yelled, "For pete’s sake, Jeff, that’s the second time this week You’re as good as fired."
    The waiter scowled and turned on Trixie, sputtering with rage. "It was all your fault. You weren’t watching where you were going. You’ll have to pay for the damage, you stupid little fool!"
    Trixie gulped guiltily. She had been lost in thought, but the waiter certainly had no business cutting right in front of her. "I'm sorry," she began, but both Miss Trask and the manager had hurried to the scene.
    "All right, Jeff, all right; clean up this mess," the manager said briskly.
    "We’ll pay for the damage," Miss Trask told him. "It wasn’t the girl’s fault at all," a man behind Trixie put in. "That waiter is a clumsy oaf."
    Jeff's face reddened, and he shook one fist threateningly as he shouted, "The customer’s always right, but I’m not going to pay for this wreckage. You can’t make me."
    Miss Trask slipped a bill from her purse, but the manager