The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

looked seriously at them both. “You will, I know, be glad to hear that the X rays showed that Mr. Harrison was not suffering from a concussion. I would, however, like to keep him quiet for another couple of days.”
    Jim nodded. “Oh, sure. I think that’s by far the best thing to do.”
    “But Mr. Harrison does not think that’s the best thing to do,” Dr. Ferris announced. “He seems to feel, you see, that he’s letting you down.
    He wants to be at his place of work for this afternoon’s activities. You say you’ve already found someone to take over for him. But he doesn’t know that, so he’s insisting that he should be released from the hospital at once. I want you two to talk him out of it.”
    He was so certain that they would do as he asked that, even as he was talking, he led the way across the grass and through the hospital’s main doors.
    Trixie had only enough time to wave at a candy-striper friend in the hospital gift shop before Dr. Ferris steered her firmly past it to the main desk.
    “It’s all right,” he said to the nurse there. “These young people have my permission to visit Mr. Harrison in room one-sixteen.” He turned to Trixie and Jim. “I knew I could count on you,” he said. He shook their hands briefly and was gone.
    “Whew!” Jim said. “I feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck!” He looked at Trixie. “And you know something else? Dr. Ferris hurried us along so fast that he made us forget what we came here to deliver.”
    “The derby hat!” Trixie exclaimed. “You’d better run and get it.” She remembered again. “On second thought, we’ll both run and get it, or you’ll say I’m being bossy again.”
    Jim only laughed and took her hand. Together they hurried back into the sunshine, then raced each other to the car.
    The station wagon appeared to be exactly the way they had left it.
    “Jeepers!” Trixie cried breathlessly. “I locked my door, but I forgot to roll up my window. I hope everything’s all right inside.”
    She stuck her curly head through the opening and glanced around. At once she realized that everything was not all right.
    She could see the bikes, the flowers, the cookies, and the carton of jams. But the top of the carton was bare.
    Someone had stolen Harrison’s hat!

Trixie Is Worried • 11

    TRIXIE STARED at the empty carton top. “I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “Who would want to steal an old hat like that?”
    “Maybe it fell on the floor,” Jim said. “Did you look?”
    “I looked,” Trixie answered, “and it’s not there. It isn’t anywhere in the station wagon! Oh, Jim! What are we going to tell Harrison?” She groaned. “Worse, what are we going to tell Di?”
    “There’s only one thing we can do,” Jim said. *’ “We’re going to have to tell the truth. We’ll explain how it happened—”
    Trixie was thinking hard; she interrupted, “But how did it happen, Jim? And when did it happen?”
    Jim frowned. “I don’t understand.”
    “When was the last time you saw the hat? I know when I did. It was at Sleepyside Hollow, when we loaded the bikes. I didn’t even bother to look at it after that. How about you?”
    Jim thought. “No, I didn’t look either. There really wasn’t any reason to. But what are you saying—that the hat has magical qualities and it simply vanished in a puff of smoke? Or do you think that Mrs. Ward stole it?”
    “Well, I suppose if you put it that way....” Trixie sounded uncertain.
    “Oh, come on, Trixie!” Jim said. “Mrs. Ward would hardly think that hat was the latest fashion from Paris and she simply had to have it. The trouble with you is that you’re beginning to get mystery-itis.”
    Trixie was startled. “Mystery-itis? What’s that?”
    Jim rolled up the window, locked the car, and steered her firmly back into the hospital.
    “Mystery-itis,” he said, “is something that can strike a detective at any time. Its symptoms appear when the detective in question suspects the presence of a deep, dark mystery. Really, there isn’t any mystery. The answer is always staring the detective in the face.”
    Trixie stopped in the middle of the hospital lobby. “What answer?” she demanded.
    Jim thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and grinned at her. “The answer, Miss Sherlock, is that some kids probably spotted the hat and took it as some kind of prank. It couldn’t really be anything else. After all, they didn’t take the other