The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

the others about this!”
    “Not so fast!” a rough voice said. “First, you’re going to tell me!” A large hand reached out and grabbed Trixie’s arm.
    Trixie gasped. Her bicycle, suddenly released from her nerveless hand, crashed sideways to the ground, its wheels spinning. The relentless grip on her arm tightened.
    She caught one glimpse of Honey’s white face as she stared over Trixie’s shoulder.
    “Oh, Trixie!” Honey breathed, one hand over her horrified mouth. “It’s Zeke Collins!”

    Afterward, Trixie was never proud of what she did next, even though her reaction was instinctive.
    She wrenched her arm free, turned on her heel, and ran madly for the front gate, leaving her bike on the wet grass behind her.
    In another moment, she was racing homeward as fast as she could go, her heart pounding, her breath sobbing in her throat, and her legs pumping as fast as if she were in a race.
    Then soon—too soon—she heard the sound of bicycle wheels singing toward her along the wet road.
    Trixie wished with all her heart that she hadn’t left her bike behind for her pursuer to use. But it was too late! Those singing tires were gaining on her—there wasn’t any doubt of it.
    She tried to summon an extra burst of speed, but by now her tired legs refused to obey her terrified brain. Suddenly she knew she was defeated.
    She stopped, trembling, bending double, her hand pressed to the pain in her side, and struggling for breath. She waited to feel the rough hand grab her arm. She waited to hear the rough voice demanding an explanation, even though an explanation wasn’t necessary. She knew without question that Zeke Collins had stood outside that living room window, had eavesdropped, and had heard her accusations.
    She closed her eyes.
    “Brother!” Honey’s voice said behind her. “I thought I’d never catch up with you, Trix! I’ve never seen anyone run so fast in my life! I had to pedal like crazy even to get close. Didn’t you hear me calling you? Are you all right? I’ll bet you’ve broken the record for running the mile in two seconds flat. You aren’t hurt, are you?”
    Trixie opened her eyes and was relieved to see Honey’s concerned face bending toward her. “Where’s Zeke Collins?” Trixie said in a croaking voice.
    “Is that who you thought was chasing you?” Honey gasped. “Oh, Trix! I’m sorry I scared you.” She waved a hand in the direction of Lisgard House. “He’s back there somewhere. I’ve never seen anyone look as surprised as he did when you took off like that.”
    Trixie still struggled to catch her breath. “Where—where’s my bike?” she panted.
    Honey’s face was rueful. “I’m afraid it’s still where you left it,” she answered. “I was so busy getting out of there myself that I didn’t stop for anything.”
    It took Trixie a few more moments before she was ready to continue on the journey home with Honey. “I expect he’ll sell it,” she said gloomily. “He’s already sold just about everything else.”
    “You mean Zeke?” Honey asked thoughtfully. “Oh, I don’t know, Trix. Somehow I don’t think he’d be interested in an old bike. But I wonder what’s going to happen now? Will Mr. Gregory call the police?”
    With Honey content to pedal her bike at Trixie’s side, they turned into the Wheelers’ driveway.
    “I hope Zeke Collins gets everything that’s coming to him,” Trixie muttered, watching Honey store her bike back in its proper place in the spacious garage.
    “I hope so, too,” Honey said. “And, oh, Trix, don’t you feel glad? Once Mr. Hunter explains everything to Fay tonight, the case will be closed at last.”
    Trixie didn’t answer. As she followed her friend into Manor House, she had a sudden feeling that maybe Fay wasn’t going to be as easy to convince as Honey thought she was.

    An hour later, Trixie had managed to throw off her feelings of gloom and doom as she sat with Fay and the rest of the Bob-Whites in the Wheelers’ large and formal dining room.
    Her eyes twinkled as she looked across the gleaming table at Honey and Mart, who had been arguing the merits of the school’s Thanksgiving play.
    “With my brains and Brian and Jim’s colossal talents,” Mart was saying, “the entire affair will, without a doubt, establish us as thespians forever-more. In fact—” he paused and tried to look modest—“we are momentarily expecting a call from Tinsel Town—that’s Hollywood, Trix—begging us to