The Mystery of the Castaway Children

front porch in half. A dingy card coated with plastic showed that Jeff Higgins lived in apartment A.
    The man who answered the door wore trifocal glasses and had ink on his hands. He doesn’t look like a criminal, thought Trixie. Jeff Higgins simply looked worn out.
    And so did his living room, Trixie discovered when he invited them in while he read Elmer Durham’s note.
    “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll get the Dodge file.” While he was gone, a younger man stepped over the porch divider rail and came in through the screen door with an opened can of beer. He shouted, “Hey, Pop, I want to borrow your—” Then he stopped in his tracks at the sight of the three visitors.
    Trixie never did find out what he wanted to borrow. He plopped down on the arm of a threadbare davenport and stared at them. Roger Higgins was larger than his father, with a great brush of brown hair, a moustache, and a bushy beard. There were puffs under his eyes and a bulge over his belt. This definitely wasn’t his first can of beer.
    Jeff Higgins came back into the room, ruffling through papers.
    “Whatcha got there?” the younger man asked. “Keep your shirt on, Rog,” Jeff said. “These people want to see the Dodge papers.”
    “They can’t do that,” Roger said, scowling. “Oh, yes, they can,” his father said mildly, handing Jim the folder.
    Roger Higgins snatched for it as it passed in front of him but missed. “Hey, Pop, aren’t you even asking for identification?”
    “Here’s El’s note,” Jeff said, handing it to Roger. Then he left the room.
    Quickly Jim put in, “I’m Jim Frayne. This is my sister, Madeleine Wheeler, and our neighbor, Trixie Belden.” Then he gave Trixie the folder.
    She spread it on her knees and stared at the neat handwriting. “Where do we start?” she whispered.
    Honey looked over her shoulder and murmured, “You can skip that section on tools and household goods.”
    “And the description of their motor vehicles,” added Jim.
    “Let’s see,” Trixie mumbled. “A ten-year-old Dodge pickup... a late model Dodge compact... oh, here it is—livestock.”
    Trixie looked up and dropped her lashes at once. Roger Higgins was listening to every word they said. He shifted his position and then stood up to see what she was reading. When she tilted the paper, Roger walked over to stand behind her. Without being too obvious about it, she kept her arm covering as much of the page as she could. She didn’t say a word when she found the section describing the black Shetland-.
    “Item number 204,” Trixie murmured. She added nonchalantly, “Is the auction sales record here, too?”
    “The kid’s lookin’ at it,” Roger growled.
    As Trixie glanced toward Jim for confirmation, Roger, pretending to be helpful, took the inventory folder from her hands. He took the sales record from Jim and then managed to spill the entire contents of the Dodge file on the floor. He scooped up the papers and did not return them.
    “Who are you kids?” he demanded. “Why are you stickin’ your noses into our business?” He tilted his can and drank noisily. “Frayne... Wheeler... Belden,” he muttered. A light dawned. “From out near Glen Road somewhere?”
    “Right,” Jim said politely.
    “Slumming, huh?” Roger’s red, full lips moved halfway between a smile and a sneer. He drummed his fingers on his beer can and announced, “Okay, the party’s over. Now get out.”
    “But—” Trixie protested.
    Roger held open the screen door and made a sweeping bow. Hot with anger, Trixie had no choice except to go through the door and down the walk, followed first by Honey, then by Jim.
    The minute they were back in the car, Trixie turned to Jim. “The pony—was it sold?”
    “There’s no record of a sale,” Jim said as he hurried to get them safely out of the neighborhood.
    “Good. That means Davy got his hands on him first,” Trixie said. “If we find one, we’ll find the other.”
    Jim looked at his watch. “We’re late for lunch. Why don’t we stop at Wimpy’s?”
    Both Honey and Trixie voted to go home. “Every minute that passes is moving us closer to nine o’clock,” said Trixie.
    “Besides, I feel uneasy about Dodgy since meeting Roger,” Honey added apprehensively. “What if he follows us home?”
    “He seemed to know where we live,” Jim agreed.
    “I wish he didn’t,” Trixie fretted.
    “He could have checked our car license number,” Jim said. “We were at his