The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

around her, as though trying to get some sort of inspiration. But all she saw were the drab walls and the animal heads staring down at her.
    She drew a deep breath. “Your furniture’s been stolen,” she blurted.
    Mr. Gregory stared at her. “What? What in the world are you talking about, little girl?”
    “Oh, I don’t blame you for looking so surprised,” Trixie rushed on breathlessly. “I—that is, Honey and I—were surprised ourselves when we figured it out.”
    A sudden movement from the stairs made her stop. She glanced up, and her heart skipped a beat when she noticed a still figure standing there. In the hallway’s dim light, the figure looked almost like a ghost. But it was only Mr. Hunter. “What’s going on?” he asked.
    Mr. Gregory seemed bewildered. Puzzled, he ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m blessed if I know,” he said. “Maybe we’d better talk about it. This way, girls.”
    He led the way into the living room. This time, Trixie was glad to see, a small fire flickered in the hearth. It did little to warm the room, though neither Mr. Gregory nor Mr. Hunter seemed to notice. Trixie shivered in her damp clothes.
    Even while she was trying to marshal her thoughts, Mr. Gregory hurried around the room, turning on lights here and there, as if trying to banish the gloom. Outside, dusk had fallen, and Trixie had a weird idea that someone was watching them through the window.
    She turned her head but saw no one.
    At last she began to talk, telling Mr. Gregory all that she had discovered—all that she had guessed—and when she had finished, she looked at the men’s serious faces and wondered what they were thinking.
    Mr. Gregory stirred. “And you say your friend thinks my furniture isn’t genuine?” he asked.
    Honey brushed her hair back from her face. “We can’t be sure, of course,” she said hurriedly, “but our friend, Di, usually knows an awful lot about stuff like that, Mr. Gregory.”
    Trixie leaned toward him. “In any case, you could easily check it out.” She hesitated, then added, “My father’s a banker. He’d know whom you could get in touch with to make sure. He’d be glad to help you, I know. Or Honey’s father would be glad to come and take a look.”
    Mr. Hunter said heartily, “It seems to me, Lew, that these young ladies should be congratulated on being so neighborly. It’s not everyone who’d have the courage to come and tell the story we’ve just heard.”
    Mr. Gregory was silent. It was as if he hadn’t quite managed to get over the shock of Trixie’s news. “I just can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Zeke Collins! After all these years of working for my uncle! It seems incredible!”
    “Not only that,” Trixie declared impulsively, “but it means this house isn’t haunted, after all.
    Don’t you see? Fay Franklin wasn’t a channel for any old witch’s ghost. It was Zeke Collins who was trying to scare the Franklins away.”
    Mr. Hunter’s fingers formed their steeple once more, and he nodded slowly. “It’s possible,” he muttered, as if to himself. “Yes, it’s possible that I could have been mistaken.”
    “Would you, please, tell Fay that you could have made a mistake?” Trixie asked eagerly. “She’s been so worried about this whole thing, you see.”
    Mr. Hunter looked up suddenly, as if he’d just come to a decision. “Of course I’ll tell her,” he said. “Bring her here tonight. About nine o’clock, I think. Is that all right with you, Lew?” He glanced quickly at Mr. Gregory.
    “Yes, of course,” Mr. Gregory answered, but he sounded as if he were thinking about something else. Then, suddenly, he seemed to realize it. “I just can’t get over it,” he explained. “But, of course, you bring young Fay here at nine. I’ll be glad to see you, and we can talk some more. In the meantime, I’m going to have a long talk with Zeke. That man’s got a lot of explaining to do. You leave it to me, okay?”
    Trixie felt so relieved, once she and Honey were standing outside again, that she didn’t even notice the gray sky or feel the rain beating harder and harder now against her bare head.
    She didn’t notice the raindrops trickling down the back of her neck until she and Honey were almost to the front gate. Then she shook her head vigorously, just the way Reddy shook himself when he was wet.
    “Jeepers!” she exclaimed. “Am I hungry! I can’t wait to get at those yummy hot dogs. And wait till I tell