The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

tonight because I thought I’d accidentally locked Henry in the cellar. We weren’t sure when you’d be home, you see
    “And so you dear girls came all the way back here to rescue him,” Mrs. Crandall said quietly. “How very kind and thoughtful of you.”
    “You were very kind to us once,” Trixie reminded her shyly. “My brother’s car broke down, and you let us use your phone.”
    Mrs. Crandall chuckled. “My,” she said, “that was nothing. Neighbors should help each other.” Honey looked embarrassed. “It was all Trixie’s idea to come here tonight,” she said. “I didn’t want to come—even for Henry. I—I knew those woods were going to be spooky.”
    “Spooky?” Mrs. Crandall sounded startled. “Honey,” Trixie broke in quickly, “why don’t you tell Mrs. Crandall and Mrs. Ward about what happened here this afternoon. Tell them about how Henry scared me.”
    Honey did, and soon they were all laughing at the story of Trixie’s monster. After that, it was easy for the two girls to tell again what had happened that afternoon.
    As they talked, Trixie relaxed and looked around the now-familiar room.
    Yes, the Bob-Whites had done a good job of removing all signs of their presence. Even the odor of lavender perfume was not as strong as it had been that afternoon.
    Instead, the room now smelled pleasantly of wood smoke. Someone had started a fire in the wide fireplace, and it blazed and crackled cheerfully.
    Above it, on the mantelpiece, stood the greeting card, its secret code as tantalizing as ever. Trixie longed to ask about it, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so.
    She did tell Mrs. Crandall everything she knew about the state of Harrison’s health. Then she told her quietly about the cellar door.
    “And it was locked and bolted when Honey and I arrived,” she said. “I was wondering if you could think of any reason for someone to have locked Harrison in the cellar.”
    Mrs. Crandall shook her head in bewilderment. “Even now,” she said, “I can’t really believe it happened. As for the door being bolted from the outside—well, are you sure it was? I mean, dear, you had just had that scare with Henry. Maybe you were still feeling—forgive me—a little panicky. Maybe you just thought it was bolted.”
    “No,” Honey said slowly, “it was bolted, all right. I saw it, too, and I wasn’t panicky.”
    “Your spare key to the front door is missing, too,” Trixie said. “Honey looked for it everywhere.”
    Polly Ward said, “You know what I think, Rose? I think it was all done by that same dreadful person who played that stupid practical joke on you yesterday.”
    Trixie looked at her sharply. “What practical joke?”
    Rose Crandall sighed. “Someone—I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman—called me on the telephone early yesterday evening,” she said. “The message I received was not kind. It was not kind at all.”
    “What Rose is trying to say,” Polly Ward explained, “is that someone called her and said I had been taken seriously ill. They said I had been rushed to Croton Hospital. Can you believe it? Well, what would you do in a situation like that? Rose and I are very fond of each other.” She leaned forward and patted her sister’s hand. “So, of course, she came at once.”
    Trixie’s voice was low. “What happened next?”
    “I didn’t stop for anything,” Mrs. Crandall said. “I jumped into my car immediately and drove to Croton-on-Hudson just as fast as I could get there.” Her brown eyes filled with tears. “I arrived at the hospital and hurried inside. You can imagine how I felt!”
    “Of course,” Polly Ward continued with the story, “no one at the hospital knew anything about me or about any telephone call. If you ask me, Rose, I still think you should have reported the whole incident to the police.”
    “From the hospital,” Mrs. Crandall said, “I drove immediately to Polly’s house. And there she was, as fit and as well as ever.” She smiled fondly at her sister. “As for calling the police, I couldn’t see that it would solve anything. I can’t think who would have done such a deliberately cruel thing. I’d prefer to forget it. It’s just as I told Polly last night: It was someone’s idea of a joke.”
    While Rose Crandall was talking, Henry leaped onto Trixie’s lap and collapsed in a warm heap. Trixie stroked his soft head and tickled him under his chin. She was promptly rewarded by a very loud