The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon

Honey told their friends how they, too, had made the same mistake earlier.
    At last, they turned to leave. They paused for one final look around them. Now that they had solved the secret of the mysterious cave, they found themselves wondering how they had ever been fooled.
    “Even the tree, the plants, and the skeleton were made of plastic,” Mart said sadly as they made their way back to the beach.
    “And don’t forget the fake moss and squishy fungus on the walls,” Trixie said, helping Mart rearrange Clarence across his shoulders.
    It was fortunate that the fog had almost gone as the Bob-Whites made their way slowly back up the wooden steps.
    When they reached the top of the cliff, Honey yawned. “I’m going straight to bed,” she announced, “and this time nothing—not even the ghost of Captain Trask—is going to stop me.”
    Suddenly, Trixie felt very tired, too. So much had happened since they arrived at Pirate’s Inn.
    “Still, I’m glad we took the time to fit Clarence back together again,” she told Honey later, as they climbed into bed. “I thought he looked terrific when we propped him up outside Mr. Appleton’s door. He was almost as good as new.”
    “It still seems strange that a grown man should travel around with a manikin,” Honey said sleepily as she snuggled under the covers. “Why does he, do you suppose?”
    Trixie was thinking about something else. She stared up at the ceiling and said, “Tomorrow, Mr. Trask will tell us all about his disappearing trick. I can hardly wait to hear how he did it. Can you, Honey?”
    But her friend was already fast asleep.

The Vanishing Trick ● 16

    IN THE MORNING, however, it took Trixie no time at all to learn that Mr. Trask was still missing.
    “But what can have happened to him?” she asked as the Bob-Whites sat eating their breakfast.
    Jim’s fork, with its load of delicious blueberry pancake, dripping with maple syrup, paused on its way to his mouth. “I wish I knew, Trix,” he said. “There’ve been so many conflicting stories to account for his disappearance. The Weasel thinks he’s made a quick unexpected trip to New York to order supplies of some sort. Smiley Jackson is certain that Mr. Trask’s gone off somewhere to try to borrow money to pay off the loan—”
    “The cash still hasn’t turned up,” Dan interrupted, “and it’s supposed to be paid to Mr. Morgan tonight.”
    Trixie stared out of the dining room window. Although the last faint traces of fog still remained, she could tell that the sun was about to break through.
    Di passed her the tray containing the mouthwatering assortment of pancake syrups. They were neatly labeled maple, raspberry, strawberry, blueberry, and honey. Trixie gazed at the sparkling glass containers without seeing them. She was thinking hard.
    “What about Miss Trask?” she asked at last. “What does she think has happened to her brother?”
    Mart sighed and pushed his empty plate away from him. “I think she’s called the police,” he said. “She thinks there may be dirty work at the crossroads.”
    Trixie looked up quickly. “What kind of dirty work?”
    “That’s just it, Trix,” Honey replied. “She’s not sure. In fact, no one’s sure about anything except that a lot of money that should be here isn’t, and that—”
    “And that Mr. Trask shouldn’t have disappeared, but he did,” Brian added.
    “While the rest of you sack artists were still snoring,” Jim announced, grinning, “we men got up early and really made a thorough search for the missing cash.” He frowned. “I wish I knew what we ought to do next.”
    “We told Miss Trask about the cave and the ship,” Dan put in. “We even took her down to the beach to take a look around.”
    “Why didn’t you wait for us?” Trixie asked. Jim smiled at her. “You didn’t miss anything, Trix. As you know, we couldn’t go on board the galleon. We didn’t even walk along the jetty. Remember those signs? They told us to keep off, in no uncertain terms.”
    Trixie stared up at the villainous-looking portrait of the fake Captain Trask. He seemed to leer back at her.
    “I hate that picture,” she said suddenly. “I wish we could see what the real captain looked like. Do you think Miss Trask would let us see the original painting?”
    After breakfast, when they went to ask her, they discovered her sitting in the little office that belonged to her brother, staring out at the pale sunshine.
    Although she