The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon

she read the glowing name painted on its bow—and it answered all her questions.
    It was the Sea Fox!

A Second Disappearance ● 8

    REMEMBER THE LEGEND, Honey?” Trixie said at last. “The ghostly galleon is supposed to appear when disaster is about to strike the Trasks.“
    “B-But you didn’t believe the story was t-true,” Honey wailed, her teeth chattering.
    “I know,” Trixie answered, “and I still think there must be a logical explanation.”
    “Then what is it?” Honey cried. “Oh, Trix! Let’s go inside. Perhaps we ought to warn Miss Trask that something awful is about to happen.” Trixie wasn’t listening. Her gaze was fixed on the ship below, as if she would imprint its image on her mind forever.
    She was beginning to wonder if she would see the ghastly specters of its crew come racing on deck in answer to a shouted order. Would the men then leap to the rigging and swarm up it like surefooted monkeys in a jungle’s treetops?
    She waited, her heart hammering against her ribs, but nothing happened. The ship appeared to be deserted.
    Slowly her eyes were becoming accustomed to the ghostly light that seemed to surround the galleon. Now she could see the closed ports. She imagined the row of cannons that were probably battened down behind them.
    She saw the shapely figurehead that adorned the ship’s bow. The woman’s graceful form appeared to be standing almost upright against the bow and was positioned just below the level of the deck.
    Trixie strained to see her face and was somehow pleased when she noticed that the lady was smiling. She turned to remark on it to Honey, but the words died in her throat.
    Honey was smothering a scream. In the next instant, she had clutched her friend with both hands.
    Trixie turned to look. The galleon had vanished!
    “But that’s impossible!” she cried. “What happened, Honey?”
    “I don’t know!” Honey moaned. “One moment it was there, and the next it was gone. It didn’t fade away or anything.”
    Trixie’s mouth was set in a stubborn line. “I’m going down there,” she said, “and I’m going to see for myself. A ship can’t just vanish without leaving some sort of clue. It’s impossible!”
    “Oh, Trixie, please don’t,” Honey cried frantically. “I’m scared, and we did promise the boys we wouldn’t wander off without them.”
    Trixie didn’t remember promising anything of the sort, but she could feel Honey trembling.
    “Oh, all right,” she said reluctantly, allowing herself to be drawn away from the cliff’s edge. “Just the same, I wish I had a flashlight—”
    “The boys will never believe what we saw,” Honey broke in. “In fact, no one will believe us. And what should we tell Miss Trask?”
    “For the moment,” Trixie said, as she hurried toward the front door, “let’s not tell her anything. Our story would only worry her. Besides, nothing is going to happen tonight. I’m sure of it.”
    But she wouldn’t have been quite so certain if she had seen a pirate’s dim figure detach itself from the shadows behind them.
    For a long moment, it stared after them. Then it chuckled softly.
    By the time the boys arrived downstairs, the girls were already seated at the captain’s table, their eyes sparkling.
    In spite of her recent fright, even Honey was feeling excited. For once, the dark oak surface in front of them had been covered with a snowy white tablecloth. Polished silver had been set at each place, and, in a low bowl in the table’s center, bronze chrysanthemums nodded their shaggy heads as the boys slipped into their chairs.
    “Gleeps, you guys,” Trixie said, pretending to smother a yawn, “we’d just about given you up. We’ve been waiting here for simply ages. What took you so long?”
    Secretly she thought all of them looked handsome in their dark trousers and white shirts. A moment later, when Miss Trask arrived, it was obvious she thought so, too.
    “Am I late?” she asked, her bright blue eyes twinkling at them. “I must say, I feel very honored to be surrounded by such a well-dressed group of young people.”
    “You look very nice yourself,” Honey said softly as she looked at Miss Trask’s plain but well-cut gray dress. “And, oh, you simply must take a sip from my glass! It’s the most delicious drink you can imagine.”
    “Don’t tell me,” Mart said promptly. “Let me guess. Its name is Good-for-Your-Gullet Grog.“
    “Wrong!” Di chortled. “It’s called Maiden’s