The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

and contented purr.
    “Poor old Henry,” Mrs. Ward said, watching him. “He must have wondered what was going on. Rose left the house so fast yesterday that she forgot to leave him any supper.”
    Trixie’s fingers stopped tickling. “So she called Harrison from Croton last night?”
    Honey gasped. “Harrison’s mysterious phone call!”
    Mrs. Crandall laughed.
    “Yes,” she said, “I called him. Polly invited me to spend the night. Her husband’s away for a few days on a business trip. I was still very upset, so I was glad to accept. But I had to make some arrangement about Henry, you see—even if he is sometimes a bad cat.”
    “Bad cat?” Honey said, laughing. “He doesn’t look bad to me.”
    Henry purred louder than ever.
    “Ah,” Mrs. Crandall said, “but sometimes looks are deceiving. You see, he knocked over a large bottle of lavender cologne upstairs in my bedroom.”
    “So that was it!” Trixie leaned down to Henry’s ear and said, “You rascal!”
    Henry merely settled himself more comfortably on her lap.
    “Because I wasn’t here last night,” went on
    Mrs. Crandall, “I think Henry made himself at home on my bed.”
    “While Harrison had to make do with a cold cellar,” Honey added.
    Mrs. Crandall looked down at her hands. “Yes,” she said, “and I am very sorry indeed to have caused him so much trouble. He has been a very good friend to me this past year. There have been times when I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”
    Suddenly, Polly Ward laughed. “Rose, will you please put this poor child out of her misery?” She shot an amused glance at Trixie. “She keeps on staring up at your card on the mantelpiece. You don’t have to be a mind reader to figure out that she’s dying to find out what it says.” Embarrassed at having been caught, Trixie began to protest. Then she laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “we couldn’t help noticing it this afternoon. I know we shouldn’t have looked at it, but—”
    Rose Crandall stood up and took the card down from the mantelpiece. She appeared delighted to explain.
    “This was the last card I received from my husband before he died,” she said simply. She handed it to Trixie. “That’s why I treasure it. He often sent me cards just like that one. Oh, the message was different each time. But it always had puzzle pictures on it.”
    Polly Ward chuckled. “Jonathan was a great one for puzzles,” she said. “He loved them.”
    Rose Crandall waved a hand at the bookshelves. “He loved mystery stories, too, as you can see. Sometimes I think he must have read every mystery and detective book that was ever written. One of his favorite authors was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He wrote the Sherlock Holmes adventures, you know.”
    “Jonathan liked to make up puzzles of his own, too,” Polly Ward added. “The card you’re holding, Trixie, is a good example of it.”
    “You must look at the pictures,” Mrs. Crandall said, her eyes twinkling, “and read aloud what you see.”
    Trixie frowned. “I can see Hoppy, the Town Hall weather vane,” she said slowly. “I can see a drawing of Sleepyside Hollow. I can see a hot dog. I can see a flower. And I still can’t see that it means anything.”
    The two sisters looked at each other and laughed aloud.
    “You’ve almost got it,” Mrs. Crandall said, “but not quite.” She pointed. “This is Hoppy. This is a hollow. This is a wienie, and this is a rose. My name is Rose. Put it all together.”
    Suddenly, Trixie shouted with laughter, too. “And did you receive this card last October?” Rose Crandall smiled and nodded.
    “What is it, Trixie?” Honey asked, taking the card from her hand. “What does it mean?”
    “Oh, don’t you see?” Trixie cried. “It says: Hoppy. Hollow. Wienie. Rose. If you say it quickly, you’ll get the message: ‘Happy Halloween, Rose.’ Oh, what a terrible pun!”
    They were still laughing when Trixie realized that they had been at the little house far longer than she had intended.
    “I promised Honey we would zip here and back home again in nothing flat,” she confessed. “We must go. It’s dark, and our folks will be getting worried.”
    “Then why not phone them?” Mrs. Crandall suggested. “I could make some hot chocolate for all of us. Then, if you’d like, you could leave your bicycles here. I’d be glad to drive you home.” From the expression on Honey’s face, Trixie could tell that she was thinking of