The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon

how?”
    “I hardly think,” Miss Trask remarked, still watching the scene on the other side of the room, “that my brother would choose to vanish at such an inconvenient time.”
    “But he has!” Di cried. “He really has!”
    Miss Trask glanced at her brother’s empty chair. She smiled at Di’s enthusiasm. “He’ll be back,” she said confidently. “I’m sure he’s merely gone to see what he can do to help over there.” Trixie was certain Miss Trask was wrong. She sat watching, her eyes bright, for their host to materialize suddenly from somewhere, like a genie out of a bottle. Where would he come from?
    She couldn’t resist bending down to look for him under the table, though she didn’t really expect to find him there. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of disappointment when all she saw was the bare floor. She turned her attention to the walls, but they, too, showed no sign of secret openings.
    Trixie tried to remember what Mr. Trask had said earlier. Was it something about his pirate chief’s costume that had helped him solve the mystery? If so, what could it have been?
    Trixie sighed and gave up.
    Gaston, the chef, was obviously still enraged at the accident to his creation. Trixie could hear him angrily directing the mopping-up operations until all signs of the catastrophe had been removed.
    He had looked twice in their direction as if he expected to see or hear some comment from his employer. In the end, however, he hurried back to his kitchen, and the door swung shut behind him.
    The group at the captain’s table continued to wait, but Mr. Trask didn’t return. Even Smiley Jackson seemed to have deserted them.
    Finally, it was the Weasel who dolefully picked his way around the crowded tables until he was standing at Miss Trask’s shoulder. “After all that’s happened tonight, I don’t suppose anyone’s got any appetite left. Not that I blame you. The chef says the chocolate éclairs are fairly good tonight, but he’s probably wrong.” He stood expectantly, his pencil poised once more over his pad.
    But this time, he received no orders, not even from Mart.
    “Our dinner was the last word in gastronomic delectability,” Mart announced loftily. “However, my unerring instincts for the proprieties tell me that we ought to wait for our host to complete his magnificent, but completely mystifying, feat of prestidigitation, He’s really pulled it off. He’s vanished—just like the captain.”
    If he hoped to impress Weasel, he was mistaken. “Oh, well,” the waiter said, “wherever he is, he won’t have gone far. In fact, I expect he’s in his office right now, waiting to bawl me out for dropping Gaston’s cake. I’ll go see.”
    “Thank you,” Miss Trask said, rising to her feet, “but I’ll go myself.”
    “Oh, Miss Trask,” Trixie said, “may I come with you? I’d really like to know how the trick was done.”
    “Me, too!” Mart cried.
    “And don’t forget me,” Honey added.
    In the end, their curiosity aroused, they all decided to go.
    Miss Trask smiled. “I don’t really believe that my brother has chosen to play hide-and-seek. But by all means, come and help me look.”
    Trixie noticed that Mr. Appleton seemed to be disappointed as she and the Bob-Whites hurried away. Moments later, however, she forgot him as Miss Trask pushed open a door in the tiny front lobby and switched on a light.
    Trixie saw a small room with the usual dark-paneled walls and red-carpeted floor. An old-fashioned safe stood next to two wooden filing cabinets, and a big oak desk was positioned under the leaded windows. Its chair, however, was as empty as the one in the dining room.
    In a far corner, Trixie saw a small closet. She gazed at it expectantly. She half expected Mr. Trask to fling open its door and yell, “Surprise!” Miss Trask must have had the same idea. Striding across the room, she opened it. To Trixie’s disappointment, all it contained was the pirate chief’s costume dangling from a hanger.
    Trixie stared at it, hoping it would give her a clue—but it didn’t.
    She turned away as Weasel Willis poked his head into the room. “Did you find the boss?” he asked. “No? That’s funny. He’s not in his room or in the kitchen, either. It would be just our luck if he’s really vanished.”
    “Nonsense!” Miss Trask said briskly as she sat down at the desk. “He must be here somewhere. Perhaps he’s in the wine cellar.”
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