“Nonsense!” Miss Trask said briskly as she sat down at the desk. “He must be here somewhere. Perhaps he’s in the wine cellar.”
“Maybe you’d like us to clear out of your way,” Brian told Miss Trask after Weasel had gone to make another search.
She wasn’t listening. She was gazing around the room as if she were remembering long-ago days when she was small. Had this once been her father’s office? Trixie wondered. Had she once been bounced on his knee at this very desk?
A few minutes later, Trixie’s thoughts were interrupted when Weasel tapped on the door and walked in once more.
“I’ve searched everywhere,” he said flatly. “He’s not in the wine cellar or the laundry room. I’ve been looking for him because we’ve got troubles in the kitchen.”
Miss Trask hesitated. Then she said, “Very well, I’ll come myself.”
“You do not need to depart anywhere, Miss Trask,” a loud voice said from the doorway, and Gaston marched into the room.
With a dramatic sweep of his hand, he whipped his chef’s hat from his head and flung it on the desk.
“I look for Monsieur Trask,” he announced, “but him I cannot find. So I tell his sister. It is this. I quit! This job is driving me oranges!” Weasel muffled a snicker. “I think you mean bananas.”
He was ignored. “My cherry tart,” Gaston said, “she is très bonne, trèsmagnifique—the best in all of the United States. On this everyone agrees. And what am I demanded to call it? The Cannonball Pie! Pah! My assistant chefs, they have to wear the oh-so-ugly pirate costume. Pah, again! And now this man, this clumsy Weasel, who calls himself a waiter, drops my beautiful cake on the carpet, plop! And so I say enough is too much! Tonight I leave! Give me please my wages. I wish to leave the Pirate Inn forever.”
“I told you we had troubles,” Weasel murmured, sounding almost glad that he had been proved right.
There was silence. Then Mart turned to Gaston. “Please, sir, surely matters can’t be that bad. Without you, the inn would not be the success it is. Your marvelous cooking brings everyone here.“
“This is true,” Gaston said simply. “I am, without the doubt, one of the world’s best chefs. For this, I am paid much money by Monsieur Trask, who is sometimes, though not always, a shrewd man. But even for him I will not stay. You will tell him, please, that Gaston Gabriel is packing his bags. My money I will have now!” Miss Trask did her best to persuade him to change his mind, but Gaston wouldn’t listen.
“Very well, then,” she said slowly at last. “We can’t, of course, force you to stay against your will. But as for your salary, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until my brother returns. The money is in the safe, and I don’t know its combination anymore.”
Gaston tried to argue with her, but Miss Trask merely continued to smile and shake her head.
When the chef had gone, Weasel Willis intoned, “Good, very good, Miss Trask. The boss couldn’t have handled that situation any better himself. Cookie’s temper never lasts long, you know. In fact, this is the third time this month he’s handed in his notice. But making him wait for his money was a good idea. Your brother never locks the safe these days, but Cookie doesn’t know that.” Miss Trask looked startled. “Doesn’t lock the safe? He has to lock it. There must be thousands of dollars in it!”
She rose to her feet and hurried aciross the room. The Bob-Whites saw her hesitate for one long moment as she knelt on the floor beside the safe. Then they saw that it opened at once to her touch. They also saw that its shelves were bare. The money, like its owner, was gone.
A Fruitless Search • 10
MISS TRASK’S FACE was white as she rose slowly to her feet. “I simply don’t understand it,” she exclaimed. “The money should be here.”
“I guess it still would be if we hadn’t had that attempted robbery last month,” Weasel remarked.
Trixie drew in her breath sharply. “What attempted robbery?”
“I told you we’d had troubles,” Weasel said. “This one started late one night when everyone had gone to bed. The boss’s bedroom is directly over this room, and around two o’clock in the morning, he thought he heard someone moving around down here.”
“Who was it?” Brian asked.
Weasel rasped a thoughtful thumb across the stubble of his beard. “He never did find out,” he said. “By the time he got down here, whoever it was had gone. But there had been a prowler, because when he looked in here, he found that someone had tried to jimmy open the safe. You can still see the scratch marks on the door. If the fool had just thought to try the handle, he could have saved himself lots of trouble.”
“Did my brother call the police?” Miss Trask asked sharply.
“Nope,” Weasel replied. “I told him that he should, but no one ever listens to me. He questioned the staff, o’ course, but”—he shrugged— “it coulda been one of the guests, too. And he couldn’t very well say much to them, could he?“
“So what did he do then?” Trixie asked.
Weasel shrugged again. “He didn’t do anything. He said nothing was taken, so there was no point in making a fuss. But after that, he was more careful. Don’t worry; he’s probably got his cash stashed somewhere else by now.” He moved toward the door. “Do you want me to keep looking for him? We probably won’t get too many more for dinner tonight, anyway.”
Miss Trask nodded, but she looked worried as Weasel left the room.
“I never know whether we ought to believe the stories he tells,” Jim remarked.
“All the same,” Brian said, “the attempted robbery story sounds genuine enough. It’s his looks that make us distrust him.”
“Maybe,” Di said slowly, “it wouldn’t hurt if we all searched for your brother, Miss Trask. I’m sure he’s okay, but it’s strange that no one can find him.”
Trixie noticed that Di was careful not to voice the thought now at the forefront of their minds: What if something had gone wrong with Mr. Trask’s disappearing trick? He could be lying hurt somewhere.
Or maybe, Trixie thought, he’s stuck at the bottom of a shaft, the way I was.
She couldn’t help shivering when she thought again about the story of the ghostly galleon. It appeared only when disaster was about to strike the Trasks, Weasel Willis had told them.
A cold hand seemed to clutch at the pit of her stomach. “Di’s right,” she said. “We all ought to search. And we mustn’t give up till we find him.”
Trixie and Honey were the only two Bob-Whites who had their jackets with them, so it was agreed that they would search the grounds around the inn immediately.
“Di and Dan will scout around inside,” Brian told Trixie as they stood in the hotel lobby. “Mart, Jim, and I will join you outside as soon as we’ve grabbed our coats.”
“Before you go,” Trixie said, “there’s something Honey and I want to tell you. We haven’t had a chance before.” Then she told them all about the ship they had seen and the story surrounding it.
Jim scratched his red head. “Maybe you only thought you saw a galleon,” he said.
“Yeah, sometimes the light plays funny tricks with your eyes,” Dan said.
“But we weren’t seeing things,” Trixie protested. “We could see the galleon as plainly as we can see you.”
“That’s right,” Honey confirmed quickly. “The only difference was that it was.—well, it was sort of gleaming all over.”
“And was it made out of candy and called The Good Ship Lollipop?” Mart asked, grinning. “If you ask me, it sounds like the bad plot of one of Lucy Snodgrass’s adventure stories.”
“Or one of Cosmo McNaught’s science-fiction yarns,” Brian drawled in warning.
Mart flushed. “Wait till we get outside,” he mumbled, “and we can see this spooky vessel for ourselves.”
“It’s not there anymore,” Trixie blurted. “It disappeared.”
Mart stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked gently on his heels. “I take it back,” he said, gazin
g innocently at the ceiling. “The girls didn’t get this idea from a book. They’ve merely had too many Maiden’s Delights!”
“I should have known they wouldn’t believe us!” Trixie said angrily as she and Honey hurried out the front door. “Maybe we shouldn’t have told them. All the same, I’ve got a funny feeling that we haven’t seen or heard the last of the ghostly galleon.”
“Oh, Trix,” Honey whispered, “I hope you’re wrong!”
It was still so foggy outside that it was difficult to see anything beyond the immediate vicinity of the inn. From somewhere upriver, they could hear the mournful groaning of a foghorn. It sounded the same two notes over and over at regular intervals. It reminded Trixie of a broken record. GER-umm! GER-umm! GER- umm!
By the time Mart, Brian, and Jim had joined them, the two girls had already peered behind bushes and tapped outside walls, looking for clues they never found.
“What about that picnic area?” Brian said, pointing to an area just visible a little way from the inn. “Did you look there? Mart, you search around the corner. Jim and I will explore the back of the place.”
“I wonder what luck Dan and Di are having,” Trixie muttered, feeling foolish as she peered under a redwood table.
“Have you lost something?” a man’s voice asked suddenly behind them. “Do you need any help?”
Trixie spun around and saw a tall, gray-haired man watching them. She knew he must be wearing a dark suit of some kind, because all she could see of it was his gleaming white shirt front. His shoes, too, seemed to glimmer with some strange kind of polish. Then he stepped forward into a misty strip of light cast by one of the inn’s windows, and she saw that his well-cut business suit was a very dark gray, and his shoes were just plain black ones, after all.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “It merely looked as if you could use a hand. Did you lose a kittycat?”
“No, we were looking for someone,” Honey said, before Trixie could stop her.
The man looked surprised. “Oh, I didn’t realize you kids were playing a game.”
“But it isn’t a game,” Honey cried. “You see, a friend of ours was showing us a disappearing trick. He was just about to say how it was done when he van—” She broke off as Trixie poked her sharply in the ribs.
“Vanished?” The man stepped closer to them. “Were you going to say your friend vanished?“
“Of course not,” Trixie said quickly. “You were right. We’re just playing a game.”
The man began to turn away. Then he said, “Are you by any chance part of the group who came with Marge Trask? Ah, I thought so. I’m an old friend of hers. Frank told me you were arriving today. My name’s Morgan. Nicholas Morgan. Well, goodnight, young ladies. I sure hope you win your game—whatever it is.”
When he had gone, Honey said, “Why didn’t you let me tell him what happened? He might have been able to help us.”
Trixie frowned. “I have a feeling that we shouldn’t tell anyone—at least, not yet.” She sat down suddenly on a picnic bench and looked up at her friend. “Have you stopped to think what will happen if neither Mr. Trask nor his money turns up?”
Honey shivered. “Come on, Trix. Let’s not think of things like that till we have to.”
Trixie sighed as she and Honey hurried toward the cliffs once more and stared down into the mist below.
“I still think we ought to climb down and see what’s there,” she said slowly. “I simply don’t believe a ship can just vanish the way that one did. Anyway, suppose there’s some sort of hidden tunnel that leads from the inn to whatever is down there.”
“But we could break our necks trying to climb down there in this fog,” Honey protested.
So, for the second time that evening, Trixie allowed herself to be drawn away toward the inn.
“All the same,” she said, “I still think my idea of a secret tunnel is a good one.” Then, as they reached the picnic area once more, her thoughts returned to the man they had met there. “You know, Honey, there was something funny about him, but I don’t know what it was. I wonder what he was doing here, anyway. I’m sure he’s the man who lent Mr. Trask all that money.” Honey couldn’t help smiling. “Maybe he’s here to get some dinner before the dining room closes for the night,” she replied. “Honestly, Trix, don’t find any more mysteries for us to solve. I don’t think I could stand it.”
It wasn’t long before Trixie reluctantly had to admit that she was ready to give up. “It’s so foggy out here that I wouldn’t be able to see a clue if one came up and bit me on the nose,” she complained.
Honey began giggling uncontrollably. “I c-can t imagine a c-clue with teeth,” she gasped, shaking with laughter. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard—”
“The funny thing is,” Mart said, coming up behind them, “that several of these trees around here have spotlights in them. I noticed them as soon as I got outside. And I even found the switches that are supposed to turn them on, but the dumb things don’t seem to be working.“
“What’s not working?” Brian asked as he and Jim came hurrying toward them.
Mart explained and then added, “I kept clicking the switch off and on a while ago, but nothing happened. If I’d been able to make them work, they might have thrown some light on a dark subject. Joke! Get it?”
Brian didn’t laugh. “I got it, but you can keep it, because Jim and I didn’t find anything, either.“
“Let’s hope Di and Dan have had more luck than we have,” Jim said.
When the Bob-Whites met at the dining room entrance and compared notes, however, they all had to admit they’d had no luck at all.
“You wouldn’t believe the places we looked,” said Di, who had a smudge of dust on her pretty nose, “but there isn’t a sign of Mr. Trask.”
“I even went to the garage at the back and checked to see if his car was there,” Dan said. “It is there, and the hood is stone cold, so he hasn’t used it recently.”
“Hey, that was using your old cerebrum,” Mart said. “I didn’t think of doing that.”
“Miss Trask came and helped us,” Di said. “She even took us up to the attic. But there was nothing there except the usual stuff—old lamps and things like that.”
“Where is Miss Trask now?” Trixie asked.
Di stepped out of the doorway. “She’s in the dining room, talking to that gray-haired man who seems to be a friend of hers. His name’s Nicholas Morgan.”
“Honey and I met him outside,” Trixie said slowly, watching as Smiley Jackson served coffee to the pair at the table. “Honey and I think he’s the man Mr. Trask owes all that money to.“
“Speaking of money,” Dan said, “it’s still missing. We helped Miss Trask search for it, too, but it didn’t turn up, either.”
“I’m afraid that’s not all,” Di said. “Some of the waiters have got the idea that there isn’t any money to find.”
“But there must be,” Trixie cried. “Mr. Trask said he was ready to pay back what he borrowed from Mr. Morgan. I heard him say he had the money, all in cash.”
“When did you hear that?” Brian asked her sharply.
Trixie flushed and told them about the conversation she had overheard while she was stuck in the dumbwaiter shaft.
“And that was when Mr. Trask told his sister he was ready to pay back the money tomorrow night,” she finished. “So it just has to be here somewhere. Even Miss Trask thought it had to be thousands of dollars.”
The Bob-Whites stared at her.
“Are you certain about this, Trix?” Jim asked at last.
“I’m certain,” Trixie answered.
All at once, however, she wasn’t certain at all.
Midnight Mission ● 11
IT WAS ALMOST MIDNIGHT when the Bob-Whites wearily decided there was nothing more they could do that night. Even Miss Trask urged them to go to bed.
“I’ve just been talking with Smiley, that nice young man who waited on us tonight,�
�� she told them as she sat in her brother’s office chair. “I admit it sounds strange, but Smiley is convinced that my brother is playing some kind of joke on us. He’s sure Frank will suddenly reappear tomorrow morning when we least expect it.”
But that doesn’t make sense,” Jim said, rubbing his freckled nose thoughtfully. “Why would
Mr. Trask do a thing like that?”
“Frank did say he had two surprises for us,” Miss Trask reminded him. “One was that he had discovered how the captain disappeared. The other must have been—”
“To show us how it was done?” Honey asked. Miss Trask sighed. “I confess I can’t think of any other explanation. So the only thing we can do now is wait to see what happens tomorrow.” Reluctantly, the Bob-Whites climbed the stairs to their rooms.
Jim stopped at Trixie’s door. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “It’s all going to work out okay.”
All the same, Trixie’s thoughts were in a turmoil as she watched Honey get ready for bed. So much had happened since their arrival at Pirate’s Inn. She had been trapped at the bottom of a dumbwaiter shaft. She had heard the legend of the ghostly galleon. Later, she had seen the mysterious ship with her own eyes.
As if that weren’t enough, a strange fire had been deliberately set in one of the guest rooms. Trixie had received a warning that she was being watched. Mr. Trask had disappeared as completely as if he had vanished from the face of the earth. And now a large sum of money was missing. Or was it?
Trixie had noticed that Miss Trask had not repeated the rumor that there was little money to find. Had she or hadn’t she believed it?
“Trix,” Honey asked her, emerging from the bathroom after brushing her teeth, “aren’t you going to turn in? I’m so tired that I don’t think I can keep my eyes open another second.”
Trixie, however, was still fully dressed in her blouse and skirt. She was staring out at the fog. “You know, Honey,” she said, “I sure wish my father were here.”
The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon Page 7
