The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

said his hobby was wrestling, and that’s what he used Clarence for. Well, Mr. Appleton didn’t look a thing like a wrestler, so we got suspicious. Then, one night, we saw Mr. Appleton having what looked like an argument with someone, and that someone suddenly plunged over a cliff!”
    “Oh, my!” The woman gasped.
    “He said it was Clarence, but we wondered if that was the truth.” Trixie shrugged, realizing that the ending of her story was anticlimactic. “It was.”
    Mrs. Maurer clucked as she paid for her purchases and put her change in her handbag. “Imagine, two young people like you meeting the author of the Lucy Radcliffe books! That must have been so exciting for you!”
    “It was,” Trixie said again.
    The woman said good-bye and left, and Trixie turned to her honey-haired friend. “Imagine what that woman would say if she knew about the real excitement that went on at the Pirate’s Inn—about the ghostly galleon that appeared only after dark, with the figurehead of a woman who seemed to have tears running down her face!”
    “Imagine what she’d say if she knew that just two nights ago we had both been held hostage in the back of a van by a dangerous criminal!” Honey retorted. “Sometimes I think we lead more exciting lives than Lucy Radcliffe ever dreamed of!”
    “Lucy Radcliffe can have my share of the excitement for a while,” Trixie said. “Once this sale is over, I want to spend a long, leisurely summer not doing a thing.”
    “That attitude will last until the next time you see something that looks a teeny, tiny bit suspicious. Then you’ll yell, ‘Mystery!’ and off we’ll go again,” Honey said.
    Trixie laughed. “I confess,” she said. “I don’t really believe I’ve sworn off mysteries, even for the rest of the summer. But speaking of ‘off we go,’ I think our hour is about up. It’s our turn to supervise the car display and take bids on the Model A.” Trixie beckoned across the auditorium to Dan and Di, who were to take their places behind the table.
    “We’ll send two of the boys inside,” Honey promised as the girls gave up their chairs to their friends. Outside, a crowd had gathered in the parking lot, but most of the antique cars were standing deserted. Instead, people were clustered at the far end of the lot.
    “What’s going on?” Trixie asked nobody in particular as they reached the crowd.
    “I hope nothing’s wrong,” Honey said.
    The girls worked their way through the throng and soon discovered what it was that had attracted everyone’s attention.
    “Mr. Burnside started up the Stanley Steamer! Mart and Dan and Di will get their rides after all!” Trixie exclaimed delightedly. “But that isn’t Mr. Burnside driving it! Why, it looks like—”
    “Mr. Meiser!” Honey shouted.
    The inventor turned when he heard Honey’s voice. He waved, stopped the car, and climbed down. Mr. Burnside took his place behind the wheel.
    “Just the young ladies I came to see,” Mr. Meiser said. “I got waylaid, though. I haven’t seen a Stanley in years, and I couldn’t resist taking her for a short spin.”
    “Are you— Did the police—” Trixie hesitated, unsure how to finish her question. The appearance of Sergeant Molinson at Henry Meiser’s side answered her question.
    “I’m not a free man,” Mr. Meiser said. “Not yet, anyway. I’ve been back in the Sleepyside Hospital for the past two days. Now the doctor has said I’m well enough to travel, and the sergeant, here, is taking me back to face the music.”
    Trixie felt her eyes brimming with tears. This was the man who had saved her life, and now, partly because of that, he was on his way back to jail.
    “Say, now, why so glum?” Mr. Meiser asked.
    “I—I’m just sorry we got you into so much trouble,” Trixie stammered.
    “The way I look at it, you girls got me out of the trouble I’d been making for myself for a long, long time. Thanks to you, I had no trouble making the police listen to my story. They know, now, that Kowalski was trying to steal my invention that night at the shop. They know I hit him in self-defense. Those charges will surely be dropped.”
    “There’s not much chance he’ll have to do any more time for the escape, either,” Molinson added. “It will take a while to get things straightened out, but Henry Meiser will be back on the street before you know it.”
    “Back to my senses, too,” Meiser added. “That’s even more important. The business