The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

know about?”
    “I didn’t know it was supposed to be some kind of secret,” he answered gruffly. “Anyway, I only said that you thought Harrison was lying in his teeth about his accident.”
    “Did you tell her about the cellar door and the pebbles, too?”
    “I told her everything. So what?”
    “So I wasn’t going to tell her any of that stuff!” Mart glared back. “For pete’s sake, why not?” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? You’re making it sound as if Di’s some kind of stranger. She isn’t. She’s a Bob-White, remember?”
    Trixie picked up the tray and walked away without answering. How could she explain to Mart how she felt when she didn’t know how to explain it to herself? Instinctively, she had guessed that Di wouldn’t like the news they had to tell. But then, Trixie didn’t like keeping secrets from Di, either.
    She glanced across at her friend, who was busy serving punch on the far side of the tent. Today Di was wearing a cool-looking green linen dress. Her Bob-White jacket was draped casually around her slim shoulders. For a brief moment, Di’s violet eyes met Trixie’s blue ones. Then, unsmiling, Di tossed her long dark hair and looked away.
    Trixie stood frozen. She wished the ground would open and swallow her up. Di had cut her dead!
    Trixie swallowed hard and became aware of someone talking close by.
    “No, Dunham,” Mr. Parkinson was saying. “I simply can’t see lending another thing to the museum. After what happened to the Ming, I’d be a fool to let you have the Gainsborough.”
    “But the painting would be quite all right,” Mr. Dunham was urging. “I guarantee it. Think of the townspeople. Think of the museum.”
    “I have thought about it,” Mr. Parkinson said shortly, “many times. I’ve also thought about Jonathan Crandall. I trusted him, and he let me down. I never would have believed he would turn out to be a thief. If it hadn’t been for the witness who testified that he saw the vase arrive at the museum that Friday, I might have thought the delivery people had taken it.”
    Mr. Dunham looked uncomfortable. “I was extremely sorry about the whole thing,” he said slowly. “Even now I don’t believe for a moment that Jonathan stole it.”
    “What other explanation can there possibly be?”
    “Well,” said Mr. Dunham, “if you remember, the museum had ordered a special glass display case to hold the vase, but it simply didn’t arrive in time.”
    “Then Jonathan should have put the vase in his office safe. I’ve said that all along.”
    “Ah,” said Mr. Dunham, “but the police discovered that he couldn’t do so on that particular Friday. The safe’s lock was broken. The locksmith came the next day to fix it, but by that time, it was too late. The vase was gone, and Jonathan was in the hospital.”
    Mr. Parkinson’s chair creaked as he leaned against the back of it. “All right. So what do you think happened?”
    Mr. Dunham lowered his voice. “I think that your Ming vase is still at the museum. I think Jonathan put it in with some of the other artifacts for safekeeping.”
    “Nonsense!” Mr. Parkinson boomed. “I think you’re just trying to find excuses for your friend. You’re a loyal man, Dunham, and I like that, but you’re talking complete nonsense! We searched that museum from attic to cellar. The Ming isn’t there!”
    “Maybe we just didn’t look in the right places,” Mr. Dunham said. “But the point I’m trying to make is that if you let us have the Gainsborough painting, nothing will happen to it.”
    “I’ll think about it,” Mr. Parkinson promised. > He looked up and saw Trixie. He smiled. “Why, here’s our food at last. My word, these kids have worked hard this afternoon! If the police had only worked as hard searching for my vase, it would have been found long ago. I’d have been glad to give ’em the reward, too.”

    Later, as everyone gathered up their purchases and got ready to go home, a frowning Trixie stood lost in thought. I wish I could think of something to say that would put everything right between Di and me, she reflected silently.
    Honey came and squeezed Trixie’s arm. “I know the attendance this afternoon was disappointing, but things could have been worse, you know.”
    “It isn’t only the bazaar I’m worrying about,” Trixie said miserably. “It’s Di.” And she told Honey all about it. “And Jim was wrong,” she