The Mystery at Saratoga

as ever as he escorted them to the workouts, bought them lunch, and then settled down with them in his private box to watch the races.
    Honey, always tactful, managed to enter into the stream of small talk that Mr. Worthington and Mr. Wheeler exchanged. Trixie knew that she was being ungracious and risking hurting Mr. Wheeler’s feelings with her silence, but her resentment of Worthington’s attitude, coupled with her resolve to keep her eyes open for clues, made it almost impossible for her to think of anything to say. She pretended to concentrate on the races, cheering when the crowd cheered, but her mind was busy working over the mystery. She constantly scanned the crowd for a glimpse of the scar-faced man.
    She had no luck in finding him, however, until after the last race, when she and the Wheelers accompanied Mr. Worthington back to the Worthington Farms stalls. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the scar-faced man lurking near Gadbox’s stall. She nudged Honey, her mind searching frantically for an excuse to leave Mr. Worthington’s side in pursuit of the man.
    Her mind went blank, and even Honey’s usual diplomacy failed her. The two girls stood in desperate silence as the man disappeared into the crowd.
    For the next several hours, the girls faced the same frustrating situation they’d found themselves in the first time they’d gone to the track: Unable to find any time alone, they couldn’t discuss the scarfaced man’s appearance and disappearance.
    It was not until after dinner, when the girls were alone in their room, that they were able to talk. Then, it was hard for them to know what to say. They both agreed that the bad feeling between Worthington and his trainer was building to the breaking point. They agreed, too, that the appearance of the scar-faced man near Gadbox’s stall the day before the claiming race was certainly a cause for suspicion. But what could they do about their worries?
    “The claiming race is tomorrow, Honey,” Trixie pointed out. “That means, if something is going to happen, it will happen tonight. And it will happen at the track, which is exactly where I think we should be.”
    “Oh, Trixie, I don’t know,” Honey responded. “That sounds awfully dangerous to me. Besides, if we go to the track because we think the scar-faced man might be there, we’ll be breaking our promise to Regan.”
    “No, we won’t,” Trixie said. “I told you, Honey, I have no desire to get involved with that man. If we do see him, we’ll go get the police. We might not see him, anyway. For my money, the culprit in this case is just as likely to be Carl Stinson or even J. T. Worthington himself.”
    Honey sighed, unable to refute her friend’s usual evasive logic. “Okay, Trixie,” she said. “Let’s say we won’t be in the slightest bit of danger and we won’t even be bending our promise to Regan, let alone breaking it—although I don’t know if I really believe either of those statements. How do you suggest we get out of this hotel, past the front desk, and out to the track without being stopped and returned to my parents, who would lock us in our hotel room or return us to Sleepyside in handcuffs
    to keep us out of further mischief?”
    In spite' of her tension, Trixie giggled. “They might even ask Sergeant Molinson to lock us up in jail for disturbing the peace. Knowing Sergeant Molinson, I think he’d probably do it, too!”
    Honey’s mouth curved upward in a smile, but she forced herself to sound stern. “Don’t change the subject, Trixie. How will we get to the track without being seen?”
    “I have that all figured out,” Trixie replied eagerly. “We’ll wait a couple of hours, until your parents think we’re asleep. Then we’ll go down the back stairs, which come out in back of the hotel.” Trixie grinned sheepishly. “I checked that out when you were showering before dinner. We’ll walk a block or two from the hotel, so no one will know where we came from, and then we’ll catch a taxi to the track.”
    “And what if the cabdriver asks us why we want to go to the track hours after it’s closed?”
    Trixie shrugged. “We’ll tell him we’re going there to meet someone. That’s true, in a way.”
    “You win, Trixie,” Honey said, “if only because it would be a shame to let all that careful planning go to waste.”

    Two hours later, Honey and Trixie, both dressed in blue jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts, walked quickly down the