The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

hunch that he would have told her to be patient—to wait until she was sure of her facts, instead of rushing off impulsively on what could be the wrong track.
    On the other hand, Trixie suspected something that her father probably couldn’t know: Fay was at the breaking point. Actually, her sanity could be at stake.
    Trixie glanced up and found Honey watching her intently.
    “We haven’t any choice,” Trixie said at last. “We’ve got to get in touch with Mr. Gregory and tell him everything—right now.”

    The two friends found Miss Trask in the Wheelers’ large kitchen. She was helping Cook prepare enormous bowls of potato salad, chips and dips, and olives and pickles, to say nothing of the Wieners and buns. A big pot of fragrant soup bubbled gently on the range.
    “Has anyone else come yet?” Honey asked, her eyes fixed on the good things to eat.
    Miss Trask shook her gray head. “Not yet, dear, but they’ll be here soon.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. “Supper will be ready in an hour. Are you hungry?”
    “We’re very hungry,” Honey told her, “and everything smells so good. But Trix and I have to go out for a while. We won’t be long, honestly. We’re just going to grab our bikes and—”
    Miss Trask looked surprised as she turned to face them. “Good heavens,” she broke in, “it does sound important.”
    “It is important, Miss Trask,” Trixie said breathlessly, “otherwise we’d stay and help. But we—we need to tell someone something. His telephone’s supposed to be fixed, but it isn’t, so we’re just going to take a quick run over there.” Miss Trask never wasted time asking a lot of questions. That was only one of the many things all the Bob-Whites liked about her.
    She turned back to the counter where she’d been working and said over her shoulder, “All right, then. But, please, don’t be too long.”
    Trixie hesitated in the kitchen doorway. She noticed it was almost five-thirty. “Are you going to watch the news tonight?” she asked, thinking of Ed Gaffey and his probable report about the haunting of Lisgard House.
    Miss Trask didn’t even look up. She was busy slicing onions. “Gracious, Trixie,” she said, “I’m sure I’m much too busy to watch television right now. Why do you ask?”
    Trixie pretended she hadn’t heard the question and let the door close quietly behind her. She could tell from the look on Honey’s face that her friend was as relieved as she was.
    As soon as they were safely out of the house, Trixie said, “I wonder if Miss Trask would have let us go to Mr. Gregory’s if she’d known what happened last night?”
    Honey sighed. “I’ve got a better question, Trix,” she said. “I know the scary things that happened last night. So why am I going back there with you now?”
    “To save a friend,” Trixie answered softly, “and—oh, Honey!—I only hope we’re not too late.”

Strange Behavior! • 16

    TRIXIE RACED HOME across the wet grass to grab her bicycle from the garage, while Honey, already mounted on her bike, waited for her patiently at the end of the Beldens’ driveway.
    It was still drizzling as they sped once more toward Lisgard House, and by the time they reached the mansion’s tall front gates, both girls felt wet and uncomfortable.
    Trixie wouldn’t have been surprised if the reporters and cameramen had still been camped there, hoping to find an opportunity of yet another interview. But there was no one.
    It didn’t take Trixie long to discover something else: The gates, which had been so firmly locked before, now opened easily to her touch.
    Honey giggled nervously as they wheeled their bikes along the overgrown driveway toward the big front entrance. “What would you have done if we’d been locked out, Trix?” she asked.
    “I’d have found a way to get in,” Trixie answered confidently, though she had no idea how she would have accomplished it.
    It was Mr. Gregory himself who hurried to answer the door. He flung it wide and looked startled when he saw who had been pounding so insistently.
    “Why, it’s—umm—Trixie Belden and Honey Wheeler, isn’t, it?” he said. “Perhaps you misunderstood. Mr. Hunter said he’d call you when he was ready to conduct his experiment—”
    Trixie could feel her heart pounding with excitement. Now that she was at the point where she had to tell Mr. Gregory that his odd-job man was a crook, she wasn’t sure how to begin her story. She glanced desperately