The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

by Campbell, Julie

“And so has Miss Diana Lynch.” Dr. Ferris chuckled. “In fact, I’ve been kept so busy on the telephone; answering anxious inquiries, it’s a wonder I’ve had any time left over to give to my patient.”

  “But how is he, Doctor?” Jim asked.

  “He’s fine—or he will be if I can prevent him from dashing off to that bazaar of yours this afternoon.”

  Trixie stared. “Dashing off to—? But why would he want to do that? We’ve found someone to take over for him.”

  Dr. Ferris looked seriously at them both. “You will, I know, be glad to hear that the X rays showed that Mr. Harrison was not suffering from a concussion. I would, however, like to keep him quiet for another couple of days.”

  Jim nodded. “Oh, sure. I think that’s by far the best thing to do.”

  “But Mr. Harrison does not think that’s the best thing to do,” Dr. Ferris announced. “He seems to feel, you see, that he’s letting you down.

  He wants to be at his place of work for this afternoon’s activities. You say you’ve already found someone to take over for him. But he doesn’t know that, so he’s insisting that he should be released from the hospital at once. I want you two to talk him out of it.”

  He was so certain that they would do as he asked that, even as he was talking, he led the way across the grass and through the hospital’s main doors.

  Trixie had only enough time to wave at a candy-striper friend in the hospital gift shop before Dr. Ferris steered her firmly past it to the main desk.

  “It’s all right,” he said to the nurse there. “These young people have my permission to visit Mr. Harrison in room one-sixteen.” He turned to Trixie and Jim. “I knew I could count on you,” he said. He shook their hands briefly and was gone.

  “Whew!” Jim said. “I feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck!” He looked at Trixie. “And you know something else? Dr. Ferris hurried us along so fast that he made us forget what we came here to deliver.”

  “The derby hat!” Trixie exclaimed. “You’d better run and get it.” She remembered again. “On second thought, we’ll both run and get it, or you’ll say I’m being bossy again.”

  Jim only laughed and took her hand. Together they hurried back into the sunshine, then raced each other to the car.

  The station wagon appeared to be exactly the way they had left it.

  “Jeepers!” Trixie cried breathlessly. “I locked my door, but I forgot to roll up my window. I hope everything’s all right inside.”

  She stuck her curly head through the opening and glanced around. At once she realized that everything was not all right.

  She could see the bikes, the flowers, the cookies, and the carton of jams. But the top of the carton was bare.

  Someone had stolen Harrison’s hat!

  Trixie Is Worried • 11

  TRIXIE STARED at the empty carton top. “I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “Who would want to steal an old hat like that?”

  “Maybe it fell on the floor,” Jim said. “Did you look?”

  “I looked,” Trixie answered, “and it’s not there. It isn’t anywhere in the station wagon! Oh, Jim! What are we going to tell Harrison?” She groaned. “Worse, what are we going to tell Di?”

  “There’s only one thing we can do,” Jim said. *’ “We’re going to have to tell the truth. We’ll explain how it happened—”

  Trixie was thinking hard; she interrupted, “But how did it happen, Jim? And when did it happen?”

  Jim frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “When was the last time you saw the hat? I know when I did. It was at Sleepyside Hollow, when we loaded the bikes. I didn’t even bother to look at it after that. How about you?”

  Jim thought. “No, I didn’t look either. There really wasn’t any reason to. But what are you saying—that the hat has magical qualities and it simply vanished in a puff of smoke? Or do you think that Mrs. Ward stole it?”

  “Well, I suppose if you put it that way....” Trixie sounded uncertain.

  “Oh, come on, Trixie!” Jim said. “Mrs. Ward would hardly think that hat was the latest fashion from Paris and she simply had to have it. The trouble with you is that you’re beginning to get mystery-itis.”

  Trixie was startled. “Mystery-itis? What’s that?”

  Jim rolled up the window, locked the car, and steered her firmly back into the hospital.

  “Mystery-itis,” he said, “is something that can strike a detective at any time. Its symptoms appear when the detective in question suspects the presence of a deep, dark mystery. Really, there isn’t any mystery. The answer is always staring the detective in the face.”

  Trixie stopped in the middle of the hospital lobby. “What answer?” she demanded.

  Jim thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and grinned at her. “The answer, Miss Sherlock, is that some kids probably spotted the hat and took it as some kind of prank. It couldn’t really be anything else. After all, they didn’t take the other stuff.”

  Trixie sighed. “You may be right. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have such a suspicious mind. I also regret that I was so careless. I still don’t know what I’m going to tell Harrison—or Di, either, for that matter.”

  “Why all this concern about what Di will say?” Jim asked. “Why should she say anything? It’s Harrison’s hat. I’m sorry, too, that we lost it, but it was an old hat, and I’m sure he’s got another one. Besides, you never know. We might find that someone’s donated a derby to the bazaar. If so, you can buy it, present it to Harrison, and your problem’s solved.”

  Trixie didn’t answer. She still had an apprehensive feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was sure that things were not going to turn out to be that easy.

  She was still deep in thought when Jim stopped at the nurses’ station to ask the way to room 116.

  He should have asked Trixie. She was a candy striper and had often brought books to all the rooms on this floor.

  Absently, she walked on, turned a corner, and entered a long corridor. She was just in time to catch sight of a uniformed man and a smartly dressed young woman leave the room at the end of the hall—Harrison’s room.

  Trixie knew she had seen the man before. It was the same policeman she had seen through the window of the station wagon.

  I've seen that lady before, too, Trixie thought, but where?

  Both the man and the woman seemed to hesitate when they saw her. Then they turned quickly and hurried away in the opposite direction down the hall.

  “Did you see that, Jim?” Trixie said. “Harrison’s already had two visitors this morning. I’m glad. Maybe they were able to talk him into staying in bed a while longer. Jim?”

  “What did you say, Trix?” Jim hurried around the corner to join her.

  “Never mind,” Trixie answered, laughing. “I guess I was talking to myself. Harrison’s room is down here. Come on.”

  She led the way and tapped softly on the door. “Harrison?” She poked her head around into the room. “It’s Trixie Belden and Jim Frayne. May we come in?”

  Harrison seemed surprised to see them. For a moment, Trixie thought he was none too pleased about it, either.

  He looked much better this morning. The color had returned to his cheeks, and he was sitting up in bed. The only sign of his accident was an adhesive bandage slanted across his forehead. He also had the beginning of a dark bruise around one eye.

  “Ah, Miss Trixie,” Harrison said at last, “and Mr. Jim. Please come in and sit down. You must forgive my appearance.” He pulled the bedclothes firmly up to his chest.

  Jim said, “We came to see how you are. We came, too, to return your hat—but I’m afraid we have a small confession to make about that.”

  “It was all my fault,” Trixie said in a rush. “You see, Dr. Ferris wanted to talk to us. We hurried off with him, and I forgot to roll the car window up.”

  Harrison frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “When we got back to the car,” Jim explained, “y
our hat was gone.”

  “Gone?” Harrison looked astonished. “You mean someone stole it?”

  Trixie nodded miserably. “I’m really very sorry,” she said. “It happened just now—” she waved a hand in the general direction of the parking lot—“out there.”

  Harrison’s hands tightened on the bedclothes. “But who would want to do a thing like that?” Trixie sighed. “Jim thinks that some children might have taken it as a prank. In fact, just lately this town seems to be overrun with practical jokers.”

  “In what way, miss?”

  “Well,” Trixie said, “take the other night, for instance. Brian thinks someone was playing a bad trick on you when whoever it was locked you in that cellar.”

  Instantly Harrison’s face froze. “In that case, Miss Trixie,” he said icily, “I would be greatly obliged if you would promptly tell Mr. Brian that his theory is incorrect. I told you what happened. I locked myself in the cellar.”

  “There were pebbles, too,” Trixie said. “Pebbles?”

  “Outside one of the cellar windows. You said you heard a noise down there, you see. When I looked, I could tell that someone had thrown some pebbles against the cellar window to attract your attention.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jim said admiringly. “Nor I.” Harrison’s voice was still cold. “In fact, I have no idea what Miss Trixie is talking about. The noise I heard was made by the cat, as I discovered when I went to investigate. I know nothing about any pebbles and even less about a practical joker. As for my hat, I am sorry to have lost it, but please don’t worry about it.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Jim shifted on his chair. “We don’t want you to worry, either—about the bazaar, I mean. Miss Trask has very kindly offered to help us, and Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Lynch said it’s okay with them.”

  Harrison relaxed against his pillow. “Ah,” he said, “that’s very good news. Miss Trask is always most efficient. I confess I had been very concerned about this afternoon’s activities.” Trixie leaned toward him. “So we all want you to stay here until you’re really well again,” she said. “I expect your other friends who were here just now told you the same thing.”

  “Friends who were just here?”Harrison stared at her. “I fear you’ve made another mistake, miss. There was no one here this morning. No one at all.”

  Trixie felt bewildered. “But there was a policeman—no, he couldn’t have been a policeman. His uniform was the wrong color. A guard, then. There was a bald-headed guard and a lady wearing a navy blue suit with a white blouse. You remember, Jim?”

  Jim shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Harrison said smoothly, “the people you saw—if, indeed, you saw anyone at all—must have been visiting my neighbor in the room next door.”

  Ten minutes later, Trixie was quiet as she and Jim left the hospital and hurried back to the parking lot.

  Jim nudged her. “Hey, they say that silence is golden, but this is ridiculous! What’s up?”

  “I just don’t understand it!” Trixie strode toward the car. “Harrison was lying to us! Why? And someone did lock him in the cellar, so why does he keep on denying it?”

  Jim shrugged. “I’m sure he’s got some very good reason of his own for not telling us, Trix. And, by the way, he says that the yellow bike is his. I asked him about it when you went to get him a magazine to read.”

  “And I suppose there’s some good explanation for him lying about the bike, too?”

  They had reached the station wagon. Trixie stood and glared at Jim across its shiny top.

  “Now, Trixie,” Jim said, “maybe Harrison isn’t lying about it. He could have bought that bike very recently. Maybe he just hasn’t gotten around to telling anyone about it yet.”

  “Then what about those two visitors who were there this morning? I know they were there. I saw them myself.”

  “But Harrison said they’d been visiting a neighbor in the next room.”

  “Aha!” Trixie shouted triumphantly. “I knew you’d say that. So you know what? I went next door especially to look.”

  “And?”

  “There isn’t any neighbor for anyone to visit. The room next door is empty!”

  They were just pulling out of the hospital parking lot, when Trixie saw a small white Volkswagen turning into it.

  Its driver didn’t stop. Instead, she waved a cheery hand and called, “Good luck with the bazaar, Trixie!”

  “Thank you,” Trixie called back, “and thank you for all your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” Jim said absently, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

  “Not you, Jim—Mrs. Crandall. We just passed her.”

  “Oh? I didn’t see her.”

  All at once, Trixie felt angry. “Oh, Jim!’’ she cried. “Don’t you ever notice anything?”

  Jim glanced at her quickly. “I notice more than you think, Trix. I’ve noticed that you’re upset because you suspect that an adult you trust is lying. You’re upset because you suspect that Di, for some reason, will be angry with you. And you’re also upset because you’ve just caught sight of that poster advertising the presence of a circus not ten miles away.”

  Trixie stared at him. “What circus? What poster? Jim, what are you talking about?”

  Jim pulled to the side of the road and pointed. “That circus, there,” he said. “Oh, Trixie, don’t you ever notice anything?”

  Stunned, Trixie stared up at the biggest billboard she had ever seen. In huge letters, it screamed its message to the residents of Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson:

  CIRCUS TODAY IN TARRYTOWN!

  FIRST PERFORMANCE—2:00 P.M.

  LIONS! TIGERS! ELEPHANTS!

  COME ONE, COME ALL!

  “Oh, Jim,” Trixie whispered, “what will this do to our bazaar?”

  Disappointment! • 12

  TRIXIE’S QUESTION was answered only too soon. At one o’clock, there was a steady stream of cars driving up the sunny hill to the bazaar grounds. By two o’clock, the stream had slowed to a trickle. By three, it had stopped completely.

  At first the Bob-Whites were not aware of it. For most of the afternoon, Trixie and her friends were busy. They assisted in the booths wherever they were needed. They sold tickets to the sideshows, and, with Miss Trask’s help, they saw to it that everything was running smoothly.

  The people at the bazaar seemed to be enjoying it all immensely. Their arms were laden with items they had bought and prizes they had won. They watched Mart’s astounding feats of magic. They were serenaded by a talented group of strolling musicians from the Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School orchestra.

  By midafternoon, everyone was both hungry and thirsty. They crowded into the huge red-and-white-striped refreshment tent, where the boys were kept busy waiting on tables and the girls hurried to fill the orders.

  “Everything’s copacetic,” Mart told Miss Trask, “including me!”

  But it was Trixie who discovered the sad truth. She stepped outside for a quick breath of fresh air and could hardly believe what she saw. The bazaar grounds, which should have been filled to overflowing, were almost empty. Most of the people were inside the refreshment tent!

  Dismayed, Trixie hurried back inside to tell the others. “What are we going to do?” she cried. “Oh, I guessed this was going to happen! Why did the circus have to come to Tarrytown today of all days?”

  “Let’s face it, Trix,” Brian answered, “there’s not much we can do.”

  “We’ll just have to pertinaciously persevere as if we were unapprised regarding the incident,” Mart added, skillfully balancing a loaded tray of soft drinks on his shoulder.

  Di’s violet eyes were filled with tears. “Well, I think it’s too bad, after all our hard work,” she said, not looking at Trixie. “Maybe someone should stand outside in the road—”

  “And do what?” Dan asked. “Hold up a sign or something? Honestly, Di, I don’t think that would work. There’s
not that much traffic along Glen Road, you know.”

  “And I think,” Honey said, glancing at the crowd of people still waiting to be served, “that we’re going to lose what customers we’ve already got if we don’t get back to work.”

  Most of the Bob-Whites hurried away.

  Jim stood with Trixie a moment longer. “Cheer up,” he said. “Things aren’t that bad. The people who are here have been very generous. We’ve sold all the flowers Mrs. Elliott donated, and all Mrs. Crandall’s jams and jellies. Your mom’s pies and Mrs. Vanderpoel’s cookies found willing buyers ages ago. And Di wasn’t angry with us for losing that hat, was she?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Trixie answered. “Di hasn’t said much to me since I told her about it.”

  “Just the same, I think everything’s going well,” Jim said. “Maybe we’ve collected more money for UNICEF than you realize. Trixie? What is it?”

  Trixie was staring at a man seated at one of the little tables. Then she laughed. “For a moment, I thought that was Harrison. Now I can see it isn’t. But I have seen that man somewhere before. Where was it?”

  Jim followed her gaze. “You saw him outside the art museum this morning. That, Trix, is Mr. Alfred Dunham, the acting curator. He took over, so I’m told, when Mr. Crandall died. The white-haired, jolly-looking man beside him is a friend of Di’s father. His name is Richard Parkinson, and he, Trix, is the owner of your famous missing Ming vase.” Jim hurried away.

  Trixie watched the two men. She could see now that Mr. Dunham didn’t look a bit like Di’s butler. For one thing, he was smiling. For another, he didn’t look like the sort of person who would disapprove of girl detectives.

  Pink-cheeked Mr. Parkinson was smiling, too. He was also shaking his head while Mr. Dunham talked. Trixie wished she knew what he was talking about.

  “Wake up, Trixie!” The sound of Mart’s voice made her jump. “The recipients of your relentless regard rapidly require repeat refreshments.”

  “I’ll take it to them,” Trixie said eagerly, loading a tray.

  Mart was instantly suspicious. “What are you up to now, squaw? I know that look in your eye. Listen, if you’ve got some idea about trying to find out what happened to Harrison, I’d advise you to forget it. Di doesn’t like it.”