The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

happen. Strange rappings are heard in a house, for instance. Sometimes objects fly through the air without warning.”
    Trixie frowned. “Are you talking about polter —polter—oh, what’s the name of them?”
    “Poltergeists,” Mr. Hunter told her. “But I don’t believe we’re dealing with a poltergeist at Lisgard House. What we’re talking about is an entity who is seeking revenge. She cannot rest, you see. And to return to the scene of her death, she had to wait until she found the correct channel—the one person who could provide her with enough psychic energy to bring her to this plane from that other world we call death.”
    “And whom did she find?” Di asked, her eyes wide.
    “I suspect she found our young friend here,” Mr. Hunter said softly. “It is well known that spirits often search until they find a teen-ager. How old are you, Fay?” His voice was gentle.
    “Fourteen,” Fay whispered and collapsed onto the side of her bed as if her legs would no longer hold her.
    “Yes,” Mr. Hunter said, nodding his head. “That is a good age for our spirit friends. A child of fourteen or, let’s say, the teen-age years, is in a period of tremendous growth both physically and mentally. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s been happening here in the last few months?”
    “Good idea,” a voice said from the doorway, and they turned to see Mr. Gregory smiling at them. “I’d like to hear this story, too. Some of it I’ve already heard from your mother, Fay.”
    Fay looked startled. “ Mother? Mother knows what’s been going on?”
    “Of course.” Mr. Gregory looked surprised. “Do you mean to tell me the two of you haven’t discussed this between yourselves? Ah!” He clapped a hand to his head. “I forgot! Your mother didn’t want you to know. She had an idea that things happened only when she was here alone.” He smiled. “Don’t be afraid, Fay. Nothing can hurt you now. Let’s discuss this in another room—the living room, perhaps.”
    As if in a dream, Fay and her friends followed the two men until they were seated, if not comfortably, then at least spaciously, in the large room with its gloomy, massive furniture.
    Mr. Gregory began by saying that he’d learned of his housekeeper’s accident from Dr. Ferris only a short time before. He sounded concerned and said he would call the hospital as soon as his telephone was fixed.
    Then he and Mr. Hunter listened quietly as Fay repeated the story she had already told the Bob-Whites.
    Fay told them everything—even about Trixie’s fright over the “mouse.” Trixie didn’t correct her. For some strange reason, she decided not to mention the scary figure she’d seen in the kitchen hall. She still needed time to think quietly about this by herself.
    She supposed the ghost detective really knew what he was talking about. All the same, the information he’d given them was incredible. She wondered what her brothers would say about it when she told them.
    Soon Fay was at that point in her story where Trixie and Honey could confirm the previous night’s strange events.
    Mr. Hunter’s face grew stern and grim as he listened. At last he stirred, his fingers formed another steeple, and he leaned back in his wing chair by the empty, blackened fireplace and closed his eyes.
    “And you say you thought you heard the back door close?” he asked suddenly. He opened his eyes and directed a penetrating stare at Trixie.
    From her seat on the couch, Trixie gazed back at him and nodded firmly. “Yes,” she said. “The more I think about it, the more certain I am.”
    “Couldn’t have been what you thought it was,” Mr. Hunter said suddenly. “What I mean is, it couldn’t have been through any human agency. That door must have been closed by Sarah. There’s no doubt about it. This is a fine example of what we were talking about before. Spirits often open and close doors—”
    “That’s true, Trixie,” Fay interrupted eagerly. “I often heard them doing that when I was here by myself. I’m not sure I mentioned that before.”
    Mr. Hunter got to his feet and stroked his chin. “I think you’ve called me in just in time, Lew,” he said grimly. “It’s quite obvious what’s happening. Things are getting worse. I don’t yet know why. But I’ll find out—oh, yes, I’ll find out before I’m through.”
    He began prowling around the room, stopping every so often to lift his head as if he was listening to sounds—or