The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

By two o’clock, the stream had slowed to a trickle. By three, it had stopped completely.
    At first the Bob-Whites were not aware of it. For most of the afternoon, Trixie and her friends were busy. They assisted in the booths wherever they were needed. They sold tickets to the sideshows, and, with Miss Trask’s help, they saw to it that everything was running smoothly.
    The people at the bazaar seemed to be enjoying it all immensely. Their arms were laden with items they had bought and prizes they had won. They watched Mart’s astounding feats of magic. They were serenaded by a talented group of strolling musicians from the Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School orchestra.
    By midafternoon, everyone was both hungry and thirsty. They crowded into the huge red-and-white-striped refreshment tent, where the boys were kept busy waiting on tables and the girls hurried to fill the orders.
    “Everything’s copacetic,” Mart told Miss Trask, “including me!”
    But it was Trixie who discovered the sad truth. She stepped outside for a quick breath of fresh air and could hardly believe what she saw. The bazaar grounds, which should have been filled to overflowing, were almost empty. Most of the people were inside the refreshment tent!
    Dismayed, Trixie hurried back inside to tell the others. “What are we going to do?” she cried. “Oh, I guessed this was going to happen! Why did the circus have to come to Tarrytown today of all days?”
    “Let’s face it, Trix,” Brian answered, “there’s not much we can do.”
    “We’ll just have to pertinaciously persevere as if we were unapprised regarding the incident,” Mart added, skillfully balancing a loaded tray of soft drinks on his shoulder.
    Di’s violet eyes were filled with tears. “Well, I think it’s too bad, after all our hard work,” she said, not looking at Trixie. “Maybe someone should stand outside in the road—”
    “And do what?” Dan asked. “Hold up a sign or something? Honestly, Di, I don’t think that would work. There’s not that much traffic along Glen Road, you know.”
    “And I think,” Honey said, glancing at the crowd of people still waiting to be served, “that we’re going to lose what customers we’ve already got if we don’t get back to work.”
    Most of the Bob-Whites hurried away.
    Jim stood with Trixie a moment longer. “Cheer up,” he said. “Things aren’t that bad. The people who are here have been very generous. We’ve sold all the flowers Mrs. Elliott donated, and all Mrs. Crandall’s jams and jellies. Your mom’s pies and Mrs. Vanderpoel’s cookies found willing buyers ages ago. And Di wasn’t angry with us for losing that hat, was she?”
    “I—I don’t know,” Trixie answered. “Di hasn’t said much to me since I told her about it.”
    “Just the same, I think everything’s going well,” Jim said. “Maybe we’ve collected more money for UNICEF than you realize. Trixie? What is it?”
    Trixie was staring at a man seated at one of the little tables. Then she laughed. “For a moment, I thought that was Harrison. Now I can see it isn’t. But I have seen that man somewhere before. Where was it?”
    Jim followed her gaze. “You saw him outside the art museum this morning. That, Trix, is Mr. Alfred Dunham, the acting curator. He took over, so I’m told, when Mr. Crandall died. The white-haired, jolly-looking man beside him is a friend of Di’s father. His name is Richard Parkinson, and he, Trix, is the owner of your famous missing Ming vase.” Jim hurried away.
    Trixie watched the two men. She could see now that Mr. Dunham didn’t look a bit like Di’s butler. For one thing, he was smiling. For another, he didn’t look like the sort of person who would disapprove of girl detectives.
    Pink-cheeked Mr. Parkinson was smiling, too. He was also shaking his head while Mr. Dunham talked. Trixie wished she knew what he was talking about.
    “Wake up, Trixie!” The sound of Mart’s voice made her jump. “The recipients of your relentless regard rapidly require repeat refreshments.”
    “I’ll take it to them,” Trixie said eagerly, loading a tray.
    Mart was instantly suspicious. “What are you up to now, squaw? I know that look in your eye. Listen, if you’ve got some idea about trying to find out what happened to Harrison, I’d advise you to forget it. Di doesn’t like it.”
    Trixie glared at him. “Oh, Mart! You didn’t tell her my suspicion that something’s going on that we don’t