The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon

down and picked it up, then gasped as she smoothed it out and read:

    BEWARE!
    YOUR EVERY MOVE
    IS BEING WATCHED!

    “But what does it mean?” Honey cried moments later, when she and Trixie were sitting on her bed. “Is the note really meant for you, Trix? Or does it belong to Mr. Appleton?”
    Trixie stared once more at the slip of paper in her hand. “I don’t know, Honey,” she replied. “And I don’t know what to do about it, either.“
    “Maybe,” Honey said slowly, “the best thing to do is just to keep our eyes and ears open. Surely we’ll soon know if anyone is watching.”
    Trixie shivered and glanced quickly around the room. For the first time, she wondered if there was a secret passage somewhere in these walls, too.
    She still hadn’t made up her mind about it when, showered and changed once more, she stood in front of the small mirror that hung over the dressing table. Her attention slowly shifted to the unfamiliar clothes reflected in the mirror.
    At the urging of Di and Honey, she had been persuaded to wear a crisp white blouse and a pretty blue skirt for the coming celebration.
    “Gleeps, Honey!” she exclaimed, dragging a comb through her unruly damp curls. “You know how I hate wearing stuff like this. If Moms hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t even have packed these things.”
    She twirled around in the center of the room until her skirt stood straight out from her waist.
    “I think you always look very nice in whatever you wear,” Honey said loyally. She looked very attractive herself in her pale green dress.
    Trixie made one last face at her reflection. “Is Di ready?” she asked. “If so, we can go straight to the dining room and be there before the boys. They’re always complaining that they have to wait for us.”
    But when they poked their heads into Di’s room, she was not ready at all. “You go on,” she said, “and I’ll be with you before you know it.” She paused. “You know, you two are the only ones who haven’t even been outside since we arrived. You’ve still got time to take a quick look around. You should take your jackets, though. I think the fog’s really starting to roll in now.“
    “That’s a great idea,” Trixie told Honey. “That way we can see if anyone follows us.”
    All the way down the stairs, Trixie had the feeling that someone’s gaze was boring into her back. Twice she turned sharply, but there was no one in sight.
    “I’m sure it’s your imagination working overtime,” Honey said.
    Suddenly her grip tightened on Trixie’s arm as a man’s dim figure, dressed in a pirate costume, seemed to materialize in the front lobby. Quietly, almost surreptitiously, he closed a dark door behind him. Then he walked swiftly on the balls of his feet toward the dining room.
    Trixie thought it was their long-faced waiter, Weasel Willis, though she couldn’t be sure. And in another moment, she had forgotten the incident; she and Honey had stepped outside the front door.
    Di had been right. The fog was beginning to roll in. Already it had blotted out the long stretch of grass between the inn and the cliff’s edge.
    Trixie shivered and pulled her Bob-White jacket tightly around her shoulders. Honey had made and embroidered jackets for all of them. Cross-stitched across the back of each were the letters B.W.G., which,.of course, stood for Bob-Whites of the Glen.
    “You stay right here and watch, Honey,” Trixie whispered. “I’m going to walk to the clifftop and back. In that way, we’ll soon know if anyone’s following me.”
    Honey nodded as Trixie disappeared into the fog. “Trix?” she called at last. “Are you still there? I can’t see a thing.”
    There was no answer.
    “Trixie?” Honey’s voice faltered. “Where are you?”
    Timidly, she began walking toward the point where she had last seen her friend. All at once, she caught her breath. Trixie was standing on the edge of the cliff. She was staring down at something that lay beneath it.
    Momentarily speechless, Trixie pointed with a trembling hand. Honey stared.
    Bathed in an eerie glow, its masts reaching high through the mist, was a ship. It floated silently at anchor, its sails furled. Flying from its stern was a flag that Honey strained to see.
    Suddenly she clutched Trixie’s arm. “Why,” she cried, “the ship is a galleon, and it’s flying the skull and crossbones! Oh, Trixie! Where did it come from, and why is it gleaming all over with that funny light?”
    Then