The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

along to clear Mr. Crandall’s name. Charlie Burnside and Janet Gray from the museum were helping him.”
    “Just so, miss,” Harrison agreed. “Several months ago, I was at the museum, and I saw my friend Jonathan take delivery of the Ming vase. I had to tell the police when I was asked, of course. I have felt bad ever since. Because of my testimony, many people thought my friend was a thief. I simply had to find that vase to help clear his name.”
    “Why didn’t you call the police when you knew this house was searched that Thursday?” Jim said.
    “He was just telling us about it,” Polly Ward answered. “He was afraid Rose would be frightened if she knew there’d been a prowler here. That’s why he lied about how he got locked in the cellar. Besides, he made sure as soon as he could that nothing had been taken.”
    Trixie nodded. “I remember. He came back the next day. And he lied about the yellow bicycle because he didn’t want us to find out he was friends with Charlie Burnside or Janet Gray.”
    “Quite so, miss.” Harrison placed a frosted glass at her elbow. “I felt we were very close to a solution. I thought it would be best to work undercover, so to speak.”
    “Besides, you didn’t want a bunch of kids butting in, did you?” Mart asked bluntly.
    Harrison said nothing. He merely refilled Mart’s glass and offered him more cookies.
    Dan was still thinking. “Did Miss Gray tell you about the nursery rhyme clue?” he asked.
    “She did indeed,” Harrison said. “I knew the correct clue, of course. But I thought maybe Miss Trixie had hit on a better solution. I fear it was Miss Gray who accidentally told Mr. Dunham the real clue this afternoon. She telephoned and advised me to hurry here at once. We thought he might try to search again before he had to leave town. He had already tried and failed to purchase this house. We have had our suspicions about him all along, you see. Charlie has even been keeping his eye on the abandoned barn.”
    “We know,” Trixie said, remembering.
    “What’s going to happen to Alfred Dunham’s horse?” asked kindhearted Honey. “It’s not his fault his owner turned out to be a crook.”
    “I already talked to Sergeant Molinson about that,” Brian said. “You don’t need to worry. The sergeant remembered that Dunham has a brother who raises horses and who will be glad to get him. The police will look after the whole matter.”
    “Oh!” Di exclaimed. “I almost forgot to tell you. We’re going to get our real Lien-Ting back. The police say that Dunham has confessed everything. He didn’t have time to sell the original statue. It’s still in his house.”
    “If Mr. Parkinson had sent his Gainsborough painting to the museum,” Trixie said, “Alfred Dunham would have stolen that, too.”
    Honey sighed happily. “So everything has worked itself out beautifully. We’ll collect the reward for finding the vase, and we’ll donate it to UNICEF.”
    “My husband’s name will be cleared at last,” Mrs. Crandall said softly.
    “I’ve learned that friends are more important than puzzles,” Trixie added, looking across at Di. Di smiled at her.
    “My hat has been returned to me,” Harrison said. To their astonishment, one corner of his mouth lifted a fraction of an inch. Prim-and-proper Harrison was actually smiling!
    “Young Trixie even found the birthday present,” Polly Ward said, chuckling. “Why, Rose, in all the excitement, you forgot to open it!” Everyone was silent as the small box was slowly unwrapped. Inside was a charming locket on a golden chain. A tiny handmade greeting card was tucked in with it.
    Rose Crandall’s eyes misted with happy tears. She read aloud, “Hoppy the grasshopper, a baby’s bootie, a picture of a deer, and a rose.” Trixie laughed. “Hoppy. Bootie. Deer. Rose. ‘Happy birthday, dear Rose!’ Oh, how Mr. Crandall loved plays on words! That’s almost as bad a pun as his clue for the present’s hiding place.”
    “Hey, yes,” Brian said, “how did you know where to look?”
    “I worked it out,” Trixie confessed. “Mr. Crandall loved puzzles and puns and Sherlock Holmes. He must have got the idea when he found the hole in the trunk of the apple tree. He marked it LMN, but it had no grafts on it, remember? How he must have enjoyed the joke! He told his wife the solution was elementary. And that’s what it was—the L-M-N tree, get it?”
    “Congratulations, Trix,” Jim said. “That was a