The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

I—”
    “You’re right; we wouldn’t!” Jim grinned at her from his seat on Jupiter’s back. “As it is, Regan will be wondering what’s kept us.”
    “Besides,” Mart drawled over his shoulder, “I, for one, want to hasten to weave our enticing enchantments around Miss Trask.”
    “Knowing you, my dear brother,” Trixie retorted, urging Susie on once more, “I’m sure it wouldn’t be long before you put your foot in your mouth. Maybe you’d better leave the talking to us.”
    Mart was still trying to think of something sufficiently scathing to say in reply when the horses trotted into the Wheelers’ stable yard.
    He slid from Strawberry’s back and said at last, “Introducing one’s foot into one’s oral cavity may be a reprehensible habit, O squaw! But it is not, methinks, as bad as having a pronounced predilection for unraveling murky mysteries.”
    “What murky mysteries have you been unraveling now?” asked a cool voice.
    Gray-haired Miss Trask, who managed the Wheeler estate for Honey’s millionaire father, emerged from the stable’s fragrant interior. She looked as trim as ever in a neat tweed suit.
    Patch, Jim’s black and white springer spaniel, followed close at her heels. Patch hurried to each of the dismounting Bob-Whites in turn and received an absentminded pat on the head from each of them.
    He didn’t seem to mind the lack of attention. He sat watching everyone, his head to one side, as all the Bob-Whites began talking at once.
    It wasn’t long before Miss Trask, her bright blue eyes twinkling, held up a protesting hand. “Stop!” she cried, laughing. “I can’t hear myself think! I gather something has happened, but what can it be?”
    She listened quietly while the Bob-Whites, one by one, related the events of the afternoon. When the entire story was told, she was silent for a long moment.
    “I’m very sorry to hear that Harrison has been hurt,” she said quietly at last. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
    “Oh, yes, Miss Trask—dear Miss Trask,” Mart said promptly. “Could you—would you—?”
    “Supervise the arrangements for the bazaar tomorrow?” Miss Trask finished for him.
    The Bob-Whites held their breath.
    Slowly, Miss Trask nodded. “I don’t see why not. You must get Mr. Lynch’s permission, of course—”
    “Oh, we will! We will!” Di’s violet eyes were shining.
    “And,” Miss Trask continued smoothly, “I’ll have to ask Honey’s parents if they would mind if I—”
    “I’m sure they won’t,” Honey said quickly.
    “Very well, then.” Miss Trask smiled. “The cause is such a worthy one that, yes, I’ll be glad to do what I can.”
    After that wonderful announcement, Miss Trask could not hear herself think again for another five minutes. She was surrounded by noisy Bob-Whites, each trying to outdo the other in expressing fervent thanks.
    When some of the excitement had died down, Miss Trask said, “I hope you left everything just as you found it in Mrs. Crandall’s home.”
    “We did,” Brian answered, “and we also wrote a note explaining everything.”
    “I’m very glad to hear it,” Miss Trask said. “That poor lady has had many worries in these last few months. I wouldn’t want to think that any of you had added to them.”
    Trixie picked up Susie’s brush and turned to the little mare’s smooth black flank. “What kind of worries?” she asked.
    Miss Trask sighed. “I’m afraid it all began when Rose Crandall’s husband died,” she answered. “He used to be the curator of Sleepy-side’s Fine Arts Museum, you know.”
    “Of course!” Honey exclaimed. “Jonathan Crandall! Why didn’t I recognize the name before?” She looked across Lady’s broad back at her adopted brother. “Remember, Jim? He came to the house a couple of times to see Dad. We thought he was such a nice man.”
    “Now I remember,” Jim said thoughtfully. “Mr. Crandall died quite unexpectedly, if I recall the circumstances correctly.”
    Brian had been busy brushing Starlight. He paused to ask, “What did he die of?”
    “I think it was a heart attack,” Jim said.
    Miss Trask nodded agreement.
    “Anyway,” Jim continued, “the notice of his death was in all the newspapers at the time. In fact, I think The Sleepyside Sun had quite an article about him. And there was something else, too. Now, what on earth was it?”
    “Immediately after he died,” Miss Trask said reluctantly, “the museum discovered that a