The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

low voice sang plaintively:

“In Camelot, where Arthur died,
The mist hangs low and cold.
In fading light, Round Table Knights
Are ghosts, who once were bold.
For nothing’s left of that dear age
Of grace and chivalry,
Save wild wind racing through the crags
In mournful threnody.
Alas!
The wild wind races through the crags
In mournful threnody.”

    “Ugh! That’s not only sad; it’s grisly, too,” Juliana said, shuddering.
    “Most English ballads are sad. They run to minor chords. They’re neat!” Mart said.
    “Maybe English ballads have to be sad,” Juliana insisted, “but for a ‘cheer-up’ party....”
    “She has a point there,” Jim agreed. “Mart, how about that Catskill song we sang on the towboat on the Mississippi?”
    “Okay, if you’ll all sing along.” Mart ran through a verse of chords, then sang out lustily:

“We’ll sing you a song of the Catskills, oh,
A song of the mountain men, oh.

“Rip Van Winkle, on a stormy night,
Left his wife and went up to the height
Of the Catskill range, where Hudson’s men
Played ninepins merrily, but when
They gave him a drink, he drank so deep
It sent him into a twenty-year sleep.

“We’ll sing you a song of the Catskills, oh,
A song of the mountain men, oh.

“When Rip awakened, he yawned and said, ‘Twenty years?’ then rubbed his head,
Took up his stick and called his dog,
Set off for town in the morning fog,

Singing:

“ “Now, many a man’s been twenty years wed, And many a man’s been twenty years dead,
I’ll take the second, you take the first,
Of all man’s troubles, a wife’s the worst.’

“We’ve sung you a song of the Catskills, oh,
A song of the mountain men, oh.”

    “All together, now,” Brian said, clapping and laughing, “another chorus!”

“We’ve sung you a song of the Catskills, oh,
A song of the mountain men, oh.”

    Trixie, swinging her arms in rhythm, noticed suddenly that Janie wasn’t singing with them, not even humming the tune. A strange expression had crept over her face.
    “Play it again, please!” Janie begged Mart when the singing had stopped. “It almost seemed... it was when I was in college....”
    Juliana jumped to her feet. “It’s all too utterly morbid! Gruesome! I’m going home. I had no idea of the time. Cousin Jim, will you take me to Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house?”
    She’s done it again, Trixie thought. She’s broken the spell. Why does she always interrupt when Janie is about to remember? Does she do it on purpose? That’s too fantastic! But—
    Jim left with Juliana.
    Mart put some dance records on the player.
    “Dibs on dancing with Janie!” Brian shouted and swung her out into the center of the patio.
    Soon Mart and Diana and Trixie and Dan followed, arms and legs flying, shouting to the beat and melody as the disk whirled. Reddy, yipping joyfully, ran in and out among the dancers, Bobby in close pursuit.
    The frenzy and tempo increased as record followed record.
    Where can Jim be? Trixie thought. What’s keeping him so long?
    As though in answer to her question, the lights of the station wagon shone across the patio.
    Jim came running across the lawn, and the dancing stopped.
    “A car was parked at Mrs. Vanderpoels when I got there,” he burst out. “A green Buick.”
    “That was the growly man who told me where did Mrs. Vanderpoel live,” Bobby said.
    “Who was it?” Trixie asked.
    “You can search me. I was going to walk to the house with Juliana, but she closed the car door before I could get out and told me not to bother. I watched through the window. All I could see was a man sitting in the car. I couldn’t tell who he was—probably wouldn’t know, anyway. Then—get this—Juliana didn’t go into Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house at all. She got in that car! She drove off with that guy. The whole thing seemed kooky to me.”
    “Aha!” Mart said, twirling an imaginary moustache. “So you are seeing mysteries, too!”
    Jim didn’t answer Mart. “All I can say,” he said, “is that I wish Spider Webster still lived at Mrs. Vanderpoels house. He’d know if something funny was going on.”
    “Yeah,” Brian said, “Sergeant Molinson wasn’t thinking straight when he let Spider leave the Sleepyside police force... even if he would have had to raise his salary.”
    “He was a friend to the Bob-Whites, all right, when we were in the jam with the thieves who tried to steal our antiques at the show.” Trixie sighed. “We could use him