The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

Trixie said, “just as soon as we collect the little boys and take the horses back to the stable.”
    “For pete’s sake, why do you think you have to write a letter?” Mart asked. “I’d say your detective parade went up an alley this time. You’ll have to find another mystery, Trix, you and Honey.”
    “Oh, no, I won’t,” Trixie said—with a smile that Mart knew only too well. “I’m going to write a letter to The Hague myself, because I know Jim wants as much information as he can get, don’t you, Jim?” ‘Yes, and it’s good of you to do it, Trixie. I’m no good at writing to strangers. I just hope there’s someone who knew my aunt and uncle and cousin. It was a long time ago.”
    You didn’t have that Cheshire cat look on your face just because you were going to write a letter,” Mart told Trixie. “I mean the look you had when I told you no more mystery.’ ”
    “No, I didn’t, Mart Belden,” Trixie said firmly. “You haven’t forgotten that mysterious voice that asked about Betje Maasden over the telephone. And you haven’t forgotten that mysterious man who was asking questions when we were down at the marsh, have you, hmmm?”
    “Oh, no!” Mart said and hid his face in his arms in mock agony. “I should have known. I should have known!”

Practice for the Turf Show • 4

    WHEN THE BOB-WHITES took the picture of Betje Maasden to the courthouse, the man in the office of deeds promised Trixie he would get a letter of inquiry off to Holland the next morning. Her own letter to The Hague also was mailed the next morning. Then the waiting period began for the impatient Trixie.
    Routine activity helped—work at the hospital with other Candy Stripers and helping with late-summer canning at home. There was swimming, too, in the big Wheeler lake, and tennis, riding, exercising the horses, and jumping, in preparation for the Turf Show. How Trixie loved the little black mare Susie!
    Regan had been more than ordinarily demanding about the Turf Show coming up in the fall. He wanted the Bob-Whites to be perfectly trained for every event they entered. He knew his horses had a fine chance of winning in the conformation competition and various walking contests. It was jumping that concerned him most. It took constant practice. So, when he found the Bob-Whites with a day free just for jumping practice, he was glad.
    “Some of you can use a lot of polishing,” he told the Bob-Whites assembled around him at the Wheeler stable.
    “He looked right at me,” Trixie whispered to Honey. “I don t really blame him. I’ve had so many things on my mind, I haven’t had time to try to jump. It s a wonder he hasn’t been after me before this. Heavens, do you realize we have a booth to get ready for that show, too-all those handmade articles to be sold?”
    “We still have plenty of time to work on the booth. It’s the show itself—riding—that’s the most important thing.”
    “I know that, and I’ll never be the jumper you are, no matter how I try. It scares me.”
    “It’s the only thing I’ve ever known that frightened you,” Jim said, laughing. “If you lived at Manor House, you’d soon jump over the moon. Regan sure keeps after Honey and me. You haven t done so badly on Susie, Trixie. Jupiter really takes tight handling. Hey-don’t you know any better than that?”
    Trixie had crossed back of the big black gelding and he had kicked out at her, startling her out of her wits.
    “I know, I know,” she said, her voice shaking. “I shouldn’t have walked back of him-just around him-and I should have kept talking to him all the time. I’ve heard Regan often enough on the subject. I’m glad Susie isn’t so temperamental.”
    “Any startled horse will kick—even gentle Susie; remember that, Trixie,” Regan said tersely.
    “Just so you don’t start the day off mad at me, Regan,” Trixie answered meekly. “Jupiter s such a big show-off.”
    “I hope he shows off at the Turf Club next month,” Jim said. “Don’t forget that Dad took a blue with him this summer at the International Show.”
    The stable was large, neat, and comfortable, and fragrant with well-soaped leather and good hay. Regan was justly proud of it and proud of the ribbons and the posted record of horse-handling. He would have liked it if the Wheeler horses could have entered every show in a four-county area around Sleepyside. He realized, however, that Mr. Wheeler’s first interest was in recreation for