The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon

suffering from a condition known as severe guilty conscience.”
    She knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She tried to think of some way to take them back, but it was too late.
    Di giggled. “Why, Mart! Do you have a guilty conscience?”
    “Yes, Mart,” Dan added, “tell us about it. What did you do?”
    “Hold it,” Mart said. “I do not have a guilty conscience. My little sister is just mad because she doesn’t know the answer to my bear riddle. I don’t know why she’s so upset—even her beloved Lucy Snodgrass couldn’t solve that mystery. But Trixie always gets a bit peevish when she’s frustrated.”
    In an instant, Trixie forgot all the promises she had made to herself. Furious, she turned and glared at her brother and tried desperately to think of a crushing reply.
    Before she could, however, Brian asked hastily, “Is there a ghost at the inn, Miss Trask?” There was a long pause. Then, to Trixie’s astonishment, Miss Trask answered slowly, “To be honest, Brian, I don’t really know. You see, my brother, Frank, has made so many changes....” Trixie promptly forgot everything she had been about to say to her almost-twin. She was too busy puzzling over this last remark.
    What a peculiar thing for Miss Trask to say! Trixie thought. Why couldn’t she answer Brian’s question? Surely it had been simple enough. Was there or wasn’t there a ghost at the inn? And what did Miss Trask’s brother have to do with it, anyway?
    Trixie sighed. “There are times,” she said softly to Honey, “when I don’t think there are nearly enough answers in the whole wide world to satisfy my curiosity.”
    “Be patient, Trix,” Honey told her.
    “I’ve never been any good at being patient,” Trixie confessed. “I hate having to sit and wait for things to happen.”
    “I know,” Honey answered, remembering how hard Trixie had worked to solve the many mysteries they had been involved in.
    “Oh, Honey!” Trixie exclaimed. “There are times when I wish I hadn’t been born with such an inquis—inquis—nosy mind. Why do you suppose I was?”
    But to that question, Honey was sure there was no answer at all.

    As the Bob-Whites neared their destination, they saw the beautiful Catskill Mountains loom before them. Trixie caught her breath as the station wagon turned into a graveled driveway. They had arrived at last at Pirate’s Inn.
    Set back from a cliff overlooking the wide Hudson River, the old two-story building was everything she’d hoped it would be.
    Its dark timbers looked warm and inviting. Tall trees reached toward its three-gabled roof. Leaded panes sparkled in the golden rays of the afternoon sun. And behind a large bay window on the ground floor, Trixie could see the vague outlines of people seated around tables. The area was—it had to be—the mysterious dining room.
    “Why, the inn is beautiful!” she exclaimed, opening the car door and jumping out.
    “Simply perfect!” Di agreed behind her.
    “Oh, Miss Trask,” Honey asked softly, “how could you ever bear to leave a place like this?”
    Miss Trask came and stood beside them. “It’s not always possible to live where one wants to,” she answered quietly. “And sometimes there are other things—and other people—who are more important. Sometimes, you see, there’s not enough money in a family to take care of—of certain responsibilities. And when that happens, why, someone in that family has to go out and earn a living.”
    Trixie guessed that Miss Trask was talking about her invalid sister, who needed such constant care and attention.
    “Do you ever wish you didn’t have to work for my family at the Manor House?” Honey asked in a small voice. She sounded as if she dreaded hearing the answer.
    At once, Miss Trask turned swiftly and gave her a quick hug. “Oh, my, no, Honey!” she said briskly. “I have never been one who wastes time thinking about what might have been. Besides, what on earth would I do without you and Jim to keep me on my toes?”
    Satisfied with the answer, Honey smiled and turned to help unload the luggage. At the same moment, Trixie gasped.
    The inn’s front doors had suddenly swung open, and a figure stood motionless on the top step.
    That he was a pirate, there was no doubt at all. A three-cornered hat sat squarely on his head. His rosy-cheeked face wore a black, bushy beard.
    From his brass-buttoned coat to his brown knee-length boots, he seemed to Trixie to