The Mystery of the Velvet Gown

always count on luck to find clues. And,” Trixie added, “we’d better make sure our watches are right. We can’t exactly be running up the stairs of the museum at noon, when Miss Trask will be expecting to see us come down them.”
    Honey’s face clouded slightly, and she frowned. “I do feel guilty about deceiving Miss Trask. She’s so terrific and she trusts us....”
    “I feel guilty, too,” Trixie admitted, “but you know if we asked permission to follow Peter Ashbury, the fiancé of a friend of hers, because we suspected he was a criminal, she wouldn’t exactly smile and say, ‘Go ahead.’ ”
    “I know,” Honey sighed, “but I just feel... well, you know. I’m already worried that we’ll have to tell her something about the exhibits we saw.”
    “Gleeps, you’re right!” Trixie exclaimed. “We’d better be back here at eleven-thirty so we have time to take a quick look at something.” Honey agreed as they reached the bottom of the long flight of steps and were on the street again.
    “Now, we just have to walk east two blocks,” Trixie said, recalling the guard’s directions.
    As the girls crossed Fifth Avenue, Honey pointed out the Empire State Building.
    “This really is an exciting city,” Trixie said, “but I don’t think I could take the hustle-bustle, hustle-bustle all the time.”
    “I know what you mean,” Honey said seriously. She and her parents had lived in an apartment in New York before moving to Sleepyside. Then she laughed. “And besides, where would the horses get their exercise? Can you imagine Jupe, with all his wild energy, pulling one of those hansom cabs?” she asked. Jupiter—or Jupe, for short—was a large black gelding, one of the five horses in the Wheelers’ stable.
    “I certainly can’t,” Trixie laughed. “The passengers would be in for a wild ride through Central Park with Jupe in the lead.”
    Trixie stopped and pointed to a blue canopy with the numbers 268 emblazoned on the side. ‘That’s the address,” she said. “Come on!” The two girls hurried into the beautiful old apartment building and were met at the entrance by a neatly uniformed doorman.
    “May I help you, young ladies?” he asked in a formal tone.
    “I hope so.” Trixie smiled. “Does a Mr. Peter Ashbury live here?”
    “Yes, he does, miss. Would you like me to ring him?” he asked, heading for the house phone.
    “No, thank you,” Trixie said hurriedly. “I—I wanted to send him something, and I just needed to make sure I had the correct address.” The doorman looked puzzled, but he just shrugged his shoulders.
    “One more thing,” Trixie said hastily. “Could you please tell me—is Mr. Ashbury a costume dealer?”
    “Oh, no,” the doorman answered. “He’s—” Just then, one of the elevator doors slid open, and Peter Ashbury stepped out. Trixie slipped her arm through Honey’s, spun her around, and walked briskly through the revolving door. The doorman looked on, dumbfounded.
    “Run!” Trixie hissed, and the two girls raced to the corner.
    “What’s going on?” Honey demanded, gasping for breath as they turned the corner and stopped.
    Trixie glanced around the corner anxiously. “That was Peter Ashbury getting out of the elevator. I hope he didn’t see us,” she said worriedly. “I wish we’d had time to hear what the doorman had to say about Mr. Ashbury, but we can’t exactly go back and ask him now. At least we know he’s not a costume dealer.”
    Honey sighed. “Sorry I was wrong about that, but I still think I’ve seen him before.” Trixie kept poking her head around the corner, checking to see if Peter Ashbury had left the apartment building. Finally he appeared, neatly dressed in a tweed overcoat. A woman and two small children were with him.
    “Good,” Trixie said. “They’re going the other way. Now we can follow them at a safe distance. Let’s walk on the other side of the street, though, to avoid seeing that doorman again. I hope he didn’t tell Mr. Ashbury that two girls were asking about him.”
    Honey shot Trixie a worried glance.
    “Stop looking as if I’m making you walk the plank,” Trixie said impatiently.
    “Oh, Trixie,” Honey said forlornly, “I’m not worried about following Peter Ashbury. But who are the woman and children with him?”
    “I don’t know,” Trixie said, “but—”
    “I think you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking. Poor Miss Darcy.”
    “We’d better be quiet and