The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

by Campbell, Julie

  “It was priceless,” Mr. Belden said quietly. “It was Ming, you see.”

  “Wow!” Mart exclaimed. “A real honest-to-goodness genuine Ming? I’ve never clapped my illustrious orbs on one yet. No wonder the owner of it was upset.”

  “What’s so great about a Ming vase?” Trixie asked. “Is it especially beautiful, or what?”

  Her father thought for a moment.

  “Well, I’m no expert on the subject of beauty,” he said, “and I only saw a picture of that vase. It was pale green in color. It was somewhat squat in shape, and it looked as if it were made out of thick pottery.”

  Trixie felt bewildered. “It doesn’t sound very beautiful to me. I don’t understand. What makes it worth so much money?”

  Her father laughed. “I’m not really an expert on that, either. But once I was told that anything from the Ming dynasty is valuable because, you see, so little of it remains in the world today.” Mart helped himself to more roast potatoes. “Let’s see,” he said. “I had to read up on that period just the other day for my world history class.” He closed his eyes briefly. “ ‘The Ming dynasty ruled China between the fourteenth and seventeenth centuries.’ ” He opened his eyes and looked at Trixie. “You’d know that if you would only read your history books.”

  “You only read them because you have to,” Trixie retorted.

  “Maybe yes, and maybe no,” Mart said smugly. “But wait! There’s more.” He closed his eyes once more.

  Bobby looked interested. “Is Mart going to sleep?” he asked.

  “No,” Trixie said in a loud whisper. “He’s only showing off—as usual.”

  Mart ignored her. “ ‘The finest achievement of Chinese ceramics,’ ” he droned, “ ‘is often considered to be the excellent monochromatic porcelain of the Ming period.’ ” He opened his eyes and grinned proudly. “I got that from my history book, too.”

  “I still don’t know what it means,” Trixie said. Peter Belden laughed. “I’m not sure that I do, either,” he said. “But I do know that the insurance company has offered a very large reward for the recovery of the Ming vase.”

  Trixie was quiet for a long time.

  “Dad,” she said at last, “do you think Mr. Crandall stole the vase?”

  Mr. Belden pushed his chair back from the table.

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I really don’t know. Jonathan Crandall always seemed to me to be a fine man—hardworking and honest. I always thought of him, in banking terms, that is, as a good risk. But now—?” He shrugged.

  Trixie was thoughtful as she cleared the table and prepared to wash the dishes. She respected her father’s opinion. Obviously he wasn’t at all sure whether Jonathan Crandall was in fact guilty or innocent.

  If Mr. Crandall was innocent, though, who did steal the Ming vase? And, more important, where was it now?

  Something else was worrying Trixie, too— something she wished she didn’t have to think about. “But I know I’ve got to,” she muttered to herself, “and I’ve got to think about it right now!”

  By the time the dishes were done, she still had not made up her mind what to do about her problem.

  Mart, on the other hand, knew well what to do about his. He stood in the kitchen and stared thoughtfully at Reddy. Reddy stared back and wagged his tail.

  “Now,” Mart said to him firmly, “I need your leash, old boy. I need my book that tells us all about training canines like you. And I need your undivided attention. Good dog, good old boy!” He patted Reddy’s head.

  Reddy looked interested. So did Bobby.

  “Should I go get the book, Mart?” Bobby asked, his eyes shining.

  “Let him go get it himself,” Trixie snapped. “He needs the exercise.”

  “Tut-tut, little sister,” Mart drawled. “Are you

  worried because you think you’re going to lose your bet?”

  So Mart had already sensed that something was worrying her! That was the trouble with having an almost-twin. Often each one knew what the other was thinking.

  Trixie was glad that this time Mart had guessed wrong. “I’m sorry, Mart,” she said. “It’s something else I’ve got on my mind. I’ll go get your book for you. Heaven knows you need all the help you can get. I think Reddy’s got a mischievous look in his eye.”

  She could feel Mart watching her as she left the kitchen. She was glad, though, that she hadn’t told him her problem. He might have thought it was funny.

  She had only just reached the head of the stairs when the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it,” she called and ran along the hall to the extension by the dormer window seat.

  An excited Honey was on the other end of the line. “Trix?” she cried. “Guess what! It’s all set for tomorrow. My parents said Miss Trask could help us, and Mr. Lynch said it was okay with him, too. Isn’t that great? Di called me a few minutes ago. Wow! Is she happy!”

  “I’m glad,” Trixie said quietly, “and I know the boys will be, too. Speaking of the boys, has anyone told Dan what’s been going on?”

  “I told him,” Honey said. “I phoned him first. There’s good news from him, too. He’s got the whole day off tomorrow. He says he doesn’t want to miss out on any more excitement. Isn’t that terrific?”

  “Terrific,” Trixie agreed unenthusiastically. There was a small silence.

  “Trixie?” Honey’s voice was puzzled. “Is anything wrong? Your voice doesn’t sound right.” Suddenly Trixie couldn’t keep her troubles to herself any longer. “Oh, Honey!” she wailed. “I’ve got a horrible suspicion that I’ve done something really dumb! Remember Henry the Eighth?”

  Honey’s chuckle floated over the telephone wire. “How could I forget your monster!”

  Trixie lowered her voice. “But that’s just it. I think I have forgotten him. Oh, Honey! I think I’ve left him locked in that cellar.”

  Honey gasped. “You couldn’t have!”

  “But I could have,” Trixie insisted. “Henry followed me down the cellar steps. I know that for sure. But I don’t remember him following me back up. Did you see him after I came back to the living room with Harrison’s hat? Think!”

  “I am thinking.”

  “And-?”

  Honey groaned. “And I didn’t.”

  “He’s locked in that cellar,” Trixie wailed again. “I just know he is.”

  Honey sounded uncertain. “But Harrison said Henry’s owner would be home again. I wouldn’t worry, Trixie, really! Mrs. Crandall will find him.”

  “But suppose she doesn’t? Suppose she doesn’t get home till tomorrow? Or the day after that? Henry has no food or water down there. Harrison said that Mrs. Crandall would be home soon, but he didn’t tell us how long ‘soon’ is!” This time the silence was longer.

  Then Honey said in a small voice, “Are you trying to tell me that you want to go back to that house? Tonight?”

  “Yes,” Trixie said slowly, “I guess that’s just what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “But it’s nearly dark,” Honey cried, “and— and the woods will be spooky. Anyway, how would we get back in? We locked everything up, and the door key’s missing, remember?”

  Trixie said, “Listen, I’ll think of all that later. But for now, we could take our bikes and zip along to Sleepyside Hollow and be back in nothing flat. Oh, Honey, do say you’ll come with me. If I tell Brian or Mart how dumb I’ve been, they’ll tease me forever. Besides, I’ve simply got to talk to you. It’s about that cellar door.”

  Honey let out her breath in one long sigh. “All right,” she said. “I’ll come. I’ll call for you in ten minutes, okay?” She hung up.

  Trixie grabbed a warm sweater from her room and went to find Mart’s book. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was sure now that she’d made the right decision. She would never be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t go back to Sleepyside Hollow. The thought of a cold and hungry Henry would keep her awake.

  All the same
, she wished that Honey hadn’t put a certain thought into her head.

  Will the woods be spooky tonight?

  Honey’s ten minutes turned out to be twenty. It was almost dark when she arrived at last at Crabapple Farm.

  “I’m sorry,” she told Trixie breathlessly, jumping off her bicycle. “I would have been here sooner, but just as I was ready to leave, Di called again.”

  Trixie stared. “I hope Mr. Lynch didn’t change his mind. I already told the boys that he’d said it was all okay.”

  Honey laughed.

  “No, he didn’t change his mind. But it is another one of those funny-peculiar things. It’s about Harrison’s bike.”

  Trixie was busy with her own bicycle. She checked the tires for the last time and made sure the front light was working.

  “Harrison’s bike?” she said. “What about it?”

  “Di told me she’d just asked all the servants, and they’re positive Harrison doesn’t have a bicycle. It doesn’t belong to any of the Lynch staff, either.”

  “That is peculiar,” Trixie agreed. “I wonder where he got it?”

  But it was Honey’s turn to stare. She gazed over Trixie’s shoulder to the area where the picnic table stood.

  “What's that?”

  Trixie didn’t even bother to look. “That,” she said, “is my brother Mart giving Reddy obedience lessons.”

  “But Mart’s underneath the table!” Honey exclaimed.

  Trixie grinned. “So’s Reddy. Mart’s been trying to persuade him to come out for the last ten minutes. Reddy doesn’t want to.” She chuckled. “Mart is fit to be tied. He thought it was all going to be so easy, but he can’t even get close enough to put Reddy on the leash. Reddy’s not used to being on a leash.

  “Come on!” Trixie said firmly. “Let’s not worry about them. We’ve got troubles of our own, and I told Moms we’d be right back.”

  Soon they were riding swiftly along Glen Road toward the place that, even now, they were calling ‘Harrison’s Trail.’

  While they rode, Trixie told Honey about her experiment with the cellar door. “Mart didn’t seem to think it was at all strange,” she said. “He called it one of life’s little mysteries. But jeepers! I don’t think it’s a little mystery at all.”

  Honey didn’t think so, either. For the rest of the way, they tried to find an explanation for Harrison’s puzzling behavior.

  They were no nearer to a solution when they reached the beginning of the trail. Honey would have preferred to stop and talk a little longer about certain things—such as whether it wouldn’t be much better to turn around at once and go home!

  But Trixie didn’t hesitate. She plunged into the woods. Soon the beam from her bicycle’s headlight was appearing and disappearing among the sturdy trees as she followed the winding trail up the hill. Slowly, timidly, Honey followed, her bicycle weaving nervously from side to side on the narrow path.

  The two friends could smell again the pleasant scent of fragrant pines and pungent spruces. They could hear the movement of small night creatures rustling among the trees and bushes. An owl hooted. A bullfrog croaked. And far in the distance, a dog began to bark and bark and didn’t stop.

  “Trixie?” Honey called in a quavering voice. “See? I was right.”

  “You usually are,” Trixie called cheerfully over her shoulder. “But what were you right about this time?”

  “The woods,” Honey gasped, pedaling as hard as she could. “They really are spooky!”

  Then, just as they both felt they could pedal no farther, the woods stopped. Sleepyside Hollow lay below them.

  It took only a glance to tell them that someone was home. Cheerful lights blazed from every window of the little house. From the chimney, a wisp of gray smoke rose lazily in the cool evening air.

  “Good!” Honey said, vastly relieved. “Now we don’t have to go any farther. I told you that everything would be all right. Come on, Trixie, let’s go home.”

  “But we have to go down there, Honey, don’t you see?” Trixie said slowly. “I’ve got to make sure that Henry’s been found.”

  Honey groaned aloud but good-naturedly began to follow Trixie down the hill.

  She was just thinking that, at last, the scary part of the journey was over, when Trixie’s hand suddenly reached out and gripped the handlebars of her bicycle.

  “Quick!” Trixie whispered urgently. “Turn out your light!”

  Bewildered, Honey obeyed. “But what— why—?” Her voice faded into stunned silence as she followed Trixie’s pointing finger.

  There in the clearing, close to the house, was a sight the girls would never forget as long as they lived.

  A figure on horseback appeared silently through the trees. It sat motionless in the wide beam of light that streamed from an uncurtained window. It had broad shoulders. It wore a long, flowing black cloak.

  But there was one thing the rider did not have.

  “Oh, Honey!” Trixie gasped. “He has no head!”

  The Horse Wore Socks • 8

  TRIXIE AND HONEY felt as if they had been turned to stone. They could feel the cold metal of their bicycles under their nerveless hands, but their muscles were numb.

  They thought they made neither sound nor movement, but the ghostly figure seemed to stiffen. Its body turned as if to look in their direction. For a long moment, it hesitated.

  “Jeepers!” Trixie whispered. “It’s going to ride this way.”

  It didn’t. Suddenly, as silently as they had appeared, both horse and rider were gone.

  Trixie strained her eyes to peer across the clearing. What had happened was impossible, but it had happened—the headless horseman had vanished into thin air!

  Trixie let out her breath in one long gasp. “I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “I simply don’t believe it! Come on, Honey! He can’t have just disappeared. Let’s follow him.”

  “F-Follow him? Are you k-kidding?” Honey sounded as if she were about to faint. “You can’t f-follow ghosts, Trix. The only place I’m going is home!”

  “Listen, Honey,” said Trixie, in her most reasonable tone of voice, “you don’t really believe, any more than I do, that that was a ghost.”

  “I believe! I believe!” Honey said devoutly.

  “It’s just someone trying to scare us. I’m sure of it,” Trixie answered.

  “But why would anyone want to do that?” Honey wailed. “No one knew we were coming here. And how come you’re so brave all of a sudden? This afternoon you saw a cat and had a pink fit. This evening you saw a h-headless h-horseman, and you want to chase him.”

  “This is different,” Trixie answered, though she wasn’t exactly sure why it should be.

  “You’ve obviously forgotten the story of the headless horseman, Trix. I had to read it when I was in the fourth grade.”

  “I did, too,” Trixie said. “But that’s all it was—a story.”

  Honey shook her head vigorously. “But it wasn’t! People say that there really was a ghostly rider. It was a Hessian soldier who died in battle. Now his ghost rides through the woods—”

  “Not these woods,” Trixie said firmly. “That all happened around Tarry town a long time ago.”

  “Maybe it did. And maybe the ghost decided he needed a change of scenery and came here. But whatever he did, I’m scared. Oh, let’s go home, please, Trixie! Trixie? Where are you?”

  But her friend wasn’t there. For one heart-stopping moment, Honey thought that Trixie, too, had disappeared into thin air.

  Soon, however, she could just distinguish the dim outline of her friend ahead of her. She was walking her bicycle down the hill and into the clearing. Honey saw her stop and bend over something on the ground.

  “Honey!” Trixie’s urgent whisper floated up to her. “Come here! There’s something I’ve got to show you.”

  As Honey hesitated, the front door of the little frame house opened. A stream of light illuminated the yellow bicycle that Harrison had left proppe
d against the front porch. It shone on Trixie as, slowly, she straightened up and stood waiting.

  “Is—is anyone there?” called a gray-haired woman who stood in the doorway.

  “Mrs. Crandall?” Trixie said at once, moving toward her. “It’s only us. I’m Trixie Belden, and this—” she waved a hand at Honey, who was coming slowly, reluctantly, to join her—“is my friend Honey Wheeler. We were here this afternoon.”

  “Oh, my dears!” The front door opened wide. “Come in, come in. I knew I heard someone out there. My sister told me I was imagining things, but I knew I wasn’t. Leave your bikes on the porch. They’ll be quite safe.”

  While the girls obeyed, Mrs. Crandall continued to talk. It was as if, Trixie thought, she felt immensely relieved to see them. Trixie wondered if she had been expecting to see someone else—or something else—out there.

  Mrs. Crandall, neatly dressed in blouse and skirt, told them that she had only just returned from Croton-on-Hudson. Her brown eyes twinkled when she told them that she had brought her sister home with her to keep her company for a few days. As for Harrison’s accident—

  “I still don’t understand how the poor man came to shut himself in my cellar,” she declared, leading the way into the cozy living room. “I read your brother’s note, of course, but I never knew that door to slam quite that way before.” Now that she was safely inside the house, Honey also seemed to be relieved. She was still breathing hard, as though she’d been running a race. But she was feeling brave enough, Trixie noticed, to smile at the other occupant of the room, a plump little woman who was smiling at them both.