The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

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    Because Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler had to be away much of the time, Regan kept Honey and Jim in line. He extended his advice to include the Belden young people, too, when they were around the Wheeler estate. None of them resented his discipline. It always was just.
    They didn’t resent it now when, as they were about to take off in their new car, Regan said soberly, “The car’s swell. I’m glad you have it—but it doesn’t have to be exercised. Inside the stable”— he gestured with his thumb—‘I have five riding horses begging to be taken out... pawing and restless. That’s the first order of business. Right, kids? Don’t forget the Turf Show next month!” Reluctantly but understandingly, they nodded their heads. Any other day, Trixie thought, just any other day ....
    “Okay, Regan,” she said aloud as they all walked toward the stable. “You win. But, jeepers, it’ll be forever before we get to try out our new car. When we come back, we’ll have to groom the horses, clean the tack—”
    “One thing at a time, Miss Fidget!” A smile curved around Regan’s mouth. “I just might help.”
    “You nearly always do,” Trixie said, ashamed. “Shall I ride Susie today?” She stroked the little black mare’s soft nose.
    “If you will, please, Trixie. You ride well enough now, though, that you could almost have your choice of horses.” Regan never was lavish with his praise, and Trixie colored.
    “You can’t ride Jupiter!” Jim warned as he saddled the mettlesome black gelding. “Brian’s the only one who rides him, except me.”
    “You forget Daddy,” Honey reminded him. “Jupiter’s really his horse.” She swept her hand around, indicating the walls of the tack room. “Look at the ribbons he’s taken for jumping! Oh, well, I’ll take Lady, any day.” At the sound of Honey’s voice, the beautiful gray mare raised her head.
    “That leaves Starlight for Brian and Strawberry for me,” Mart said. “Go back home, Reddy! Home!” He might as well have spoken to the wind. Reddy ran yapping into the shrubbery, only to come galumphing back, mouth drooling, brown eyes begging: You do want me, don't you?
    Honey laughed. “You may as well give in, Mart Patch always goes. He’s Jim's shadow.” The springer spaniel, hearing his name, upped his big ears and whimpered. Honey bent to stroke his wriggling body. “The dogs love the woods as much as we do.”
    “Shall we go past Di’s house first and tell her the news about the car, then pick up Dan at Mr. Maypenny’s cottage?”
    The woods, a huge game preserve, was only a small part of the Wheeler estate with its private lake for swimming, its fine stable, and its paddock. The preserve was the place the Bob-Whites liked best to ride. It was deep, dark, and mysterious, with trails crossing and recrossing. There were parts of it, still unexplored, where deer and foxes roamed. On rare occasions even a catamount found its way down from the Catskills. The west boundary ended only ten feet from the edge of the great bluffs that hung over the Hudson River.
    Jim rode ahead as they left Manor House. The others followed him down the path that would take them past Crabapple Farm, the Beldens’ clapboarded old home, which was wrapped cozily in orchards ripe with fruit. It was a modest home compared to the large estates which had grown up around it over the years. Three generations of Beldens had lived here, adding rooms as needed. Now it sprawled, gracious and hospitable, in the midst of rose and vegetable gardens, chicken runs, and berry patches.
    From inside the farm’s white picket fence, Bobby, the youngest Belden, a first grader, waved as the Bob-Whites passed. He whistled to Reddy, who ignored his little master to follow the horses.
    “I’ll be glad when Bobby is old enough to ride with us,” Trixie thought as she looked back at her small brother’s dejected form. “It doesn’t seem right....”
    In the driveway of Diana Lynch’s great stone home, they reined in their horses and whistled the clear club call: bob, bob-white!
    Around the comer of the exercise yard, a silver and gold palomino raised his head and whinnied. Diana, a beautiful girl with shining black shoulder-length hair, wearing tan jodhpurs, answered the whistle: bob-white! bob, bob-white! and ran out.
    “I knew you were coming. Miss Trask called me.”
    “She did?” Honey asked. “She fixed some sandwiches for us to take along. Isn't she a dear? Did she tell you