The Mystery of the Emeralds (11 page)

“Don’t let it worry you, Trix,” Brian assured her. “We can cope with him if we have to.”

With the prospect of their exploration getting under way, everyone was in a gay mood as they
returned to the cottage. Mr. and Mrs. Lynch were already there and suggested they all go on the Lanthorn Tour that evening.

“Oh, that will be fun!” Trixie exclaimed. “It will keep our minds off—” She stopped, her face reddening as she realized she had almost divulged their secret.

“I have a sneaking suspicion you Bob-Whites are on the trail of another mystery,” Mr. Lynch said. “Am I right?”

“Well, maybe,” Trixie replied evasively. “They say old houses always have ghosts in them, you know. So who can tell what we might turn up?”

“Then I’ll be patient,” Di’s father said with a laugh. “I’ve seen how you all work too often to try to get any information out of you. Just be careful you don’t get into any trouble.”

“Oh, we won’t!” Jim reassured him. “Nothing could possibly happen to the Bob-Whites.”

As they were approaching Cliveden the next day, Trixie suggested they stop and see Lizzie.

“We can buy some stamps or candy or postcards,” she said, “and tell her we saw her old friend.”

“From what you and Mr. Carver said, I guess she’d welcome any business,” Honey commented, “and
besides, I’d love to have a look at her. She sounds a little weird.”

“Well, I’ll admit if she had a black cat and a broomstick she could easily pass for a witch,” Trixie replied, “but she’s really only kind of pathetic.”

Brian, who today was taking his turn driving the station wagon, pulled up in front of the sagging stoop.

“All out and make it snappy,” Mart urged them. “I want to get to Green Trees.”

There was no sign of life around the place and as Trixie neared the door she saw a sign which she was quite sure had not been there the other day. On a large piece of cardboard, in crude letters, were the words:
KNOCK ON THE DOOR FOR SERVICE
. Trixie tried the door and found it locked tight.

“Jeepers! That’s funny,” she said. “I just walked in before. I wonder what’s up?”

“Maybe she’s afraid of shoplifters.” Mart chuckled. “Although from your description of her merchandise I can’t imagine who would want to lift anything.”

“Go ahead and knock, Trix,” Di urged impatiently. “We’ll never get to see Lizzie just standing here.”

Trixie gave a loud rap on the door. There was no response, so she knocked again as hard as she could. Then she pressed her nose against one of the small windows
in the top of the door. Finally she made out the figure of Lizzie coming around the counter toward the door. The old woman peered out and Trixie waved her hand, hoping Lizzie would remember her. She apparently did, for she unlocked the door. Poking her head out, she asked suspiciously, “Are all them friends of yours?”

“Yes, Miss James, all friends,” Trixie answered. “We need some stamps and postcards and things, so we thought we’d stop by and get them from you. We found the door locked. I hope we didn’t disturb you?”

Lizzie didn’t answer, but she opened the door wide and they all went in. It was then Trixie noticed that the old woman was carrying a short length of lead pipe.

“Gleeps!” she exclaimed, pretending to draw back in alarm. “What’s the matter, Miss James? You look as though you expected a burglar.”

“It’s worse than that,” the old woman replied, locking the door behind her. “It’s that Jenkins man. He came around here yesterday with fire in his eyes, asking me all sorts of questions about Rosewood Hall, and when I couldn’t tell him anything he got madder and madder—and did this.” She pushed up the sleeve of her dress and revealed an ugly black-and-blue mark on her arm where he had grabbed her.

“Oh, what a horrid thing to do!” Trixie exclaimed as the others gathered around. “Whatever did he want to know?”

“He raved on about hidden jewels and was sure I knew something about them,” Lizzie explained. “I guess if I knew where there was any hidden treasure I wouldn’t be in
this
miserable town.”

“Have you ever heard any such stories?” Trixie asked.

“Oh, yes,” Lizzie replied. “Everybody’s heard about the lost emeralds, but no one believes they’re still at Rosewood. I believe the Yankees stole them before they burned the house down, along with everything else they could get their hands on.”

“Was Jenkins alone when he came in?” Trixie pursued.

“Yes, all alone, and no knowing what he might have done if I hadn’t grabbed up a rolling pin from the shelf here and threatened to knock his brains out. You should have seen him run out of here then.” The old woman chortled, forgetting her injured arm for the moment as she thought of how she had bested Jenkins.

“Well, I think you’re wise to keep the door locked,” Mart said. “I don’t suppose you have much of a constabulary around this town?”

“Constabulary!” she hooted. “I should say not, and the troopers are miles away. Protection! Fiddle-dee-dee! It’s each man for himself.”

As the Bob-Whites were picking out some cards from the rather limited display, Trixie told Lizzie how they had visited Green Trees and met Mr. Carver.

“He’s a real gentleman, he is,” the old lady said with a shake of her head, “and never a complaint about being so lame and all. You know, he’s one person who hasn’t got an enemy in the whole world!”

“Does he live all by himself?” Trixie asked.

“All soul alone” was the answer. “He has someone come in once a week or so to do the heavy cleaning, but he’s learned to manage for himself. I’m right pleased you had a chance to meet him.”

“So are we,” Trixie said. “We’ll never forget Green Trees or Mr. Carver.”

After they had made their purchases, they bade good-by to Lizzie, promising they would stop again if they had time before going home.

“Well, what do you think of
that?
” Trixie asked when they were outside. “It looks as though our friend Jenkins is in on the secret, too!”

“That’s probably why he chased us off when we were poking around the ruins,” Brian commented.

“And I’ll bet he’s the one who had been digging around there before we arrived on the scene,” Trixie said.

As they drove past Rosewood they all craned their necks to see if there was any sign of Neil or Jenkins, but the place looked as deserted as it had before.

“Let’s leave the station wagon on the far side of the house when we get to Green Trees,” Trixie suggested. “It won’t be as conspicuous there.”

“Then you really think they are spying on us?” Di asked.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t put it past them,” Mart replied.

“I’m sure of it,” Trixie agreed, “and I wish the cemetery weren’t so close to Jenkins’s line. If they see us in there, they’ll certainly be suspicious that we’re on the trail of something.”

After they had parked the car they walked around the house toward Mr. Carver’s study. They found him outside on the terrace, with a sketch pad on his lap. He greeted them cordially and, after showing them the drawings he was working on, said, “The key to the family vault is on the desk inside. I only hope you’re not embarking on a wild-goose chase.”

“I hope so, too,” Trixie sighed. “I’ll simply die if we
don’t find the clue. Right now I must admit I can’t imagine where Ruth could have hidden it.” She started into the house to get the key, leaving the others to talk with Mr. Carver.

“I wish I could offer you Bob-Whites some suggestions,” he said, “but I haven’t been inside the mausoleum for many years, and my memory of it is very dim. I have only a vague impression of a somber, dimly lit room, nothing more.”

“Well, knowing Trixie as I do,” Jim said, “if the message is there she’ll find it.”

“What’s that you’re saying behind my back?” Trixie asked with pretended petulance as she returned with the key.

“Oh, you were just getting another compliment from your not-so-secret admirer,” Mart quipped.

“Oh, skip it!” Trixie cried, red-faced, giving her brother a shove. Then immediately feeling ashamed at her show of temper in front of Mr. Carver, she added, “I’m sorry, sir, but brothers can be
such
pests! But to get back to our project, don’t you think it would be a good idea for us to go around the back way through the gardens, instead of across the lawn? We wouldn’t be nearly as conspicuous.”

“I may have an even better idea,” Brian said. “I think
you and Jim ought to go by yourselves, Trixie. Two won’t be as noticeable as six of us, if anyone
is
on the lookout for us. Here’s the ‘open sesame.’ ” He took the can of penetrating oil from his pocket and tossed it to Jim.

“You mean you think you’re being spied on?” Mr. Carver asked in surprise.

When Trixie told him about Neil and how she had seen him the previous day, and about Lizzie’s encounter with Jenkins, Mr. Carver whistled softly.

“I had no idea this thing was assuming such proportions,” he said. “I wonder, really, whether you ought to go on with your search. I would never forgive myself if anything should happen to you.”

“Oh, nothing is going to happen,” Trixie said with forced cheerfulness. “Jenkins is obviously a cowardly character or he wouldn’t have run away from Lizzie and her rolling pin.”

“And we can certainly cope with Neil if we have to,” Jim added. “We’ve handled his kind before, haven’t we, Trixie?”

“We certainly have. Remember Slim at Cobbett’s Island?”

“How could I ever forget!” Jim laughed as he told Mr. Carver of their encounter in the stable of the Oldest House.

“Well, you and Jim see what luck you have,” Mr. Carver said to Trixie, “and if you run into any kind of trouble, you call out.”

“Oh, we have our own danger signal,” Trixie assured him. “Listen!” She gave the Bob-White whistle which Jim had taught them when the club was first organized.

“That’s the best imitation of the quail’s call I’ve ever heard.” Mr. Carver laughed. “It would fool anyone. Now, I think you’d better get started. From the looks of those clouds we may be in for a storm.”

Jim and Trixie started around the rear of the house and down a long alley of boxwood which had grown so high through the years that it hid them completely. This path ended in a formal garden, much like those they had seen in Williamsburg. Beyond it was the grove of cryptomerias. They skirted the side of the garden, bending low so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, and finally came to the burying ground. It was a small plot, enclosed by an ornate iron fence. The gate was ajar and, going through it, Trixie and Jim saw rows of moss-covered head stones. In the rear was a small but impressive marble mausoleum. Climbing the wide steps of the structure, Trixie approached the great double door and inserted the key in the lock.

“Keep your fingers crossed,” she said as she tried to turn it. Despite her best efforts, it wouldn’t budge, even when Jim attempted to turn it.

“I guess we’d better try Brian’s suggestion, and not waste any more time,” he said, taking the can of oil from his pocket. He squirted a generous amount into the keyhole and stood back. “We’ll let this work for a few minutes and see if it’s as good as he claims.”

“While we’re waiting, let’s look at some of those stones out there,” Trixie said as she led the way down one of the narrow paths. They stopped to read the old inscriptions. “Look, Jim, here’s one with the dates 1746–1749 on it. A child’s grave. Ooooh! Cemeteries give me the shivers!”

The sky was growing steadily darker and soon large drops of rain began to fall. A sudden clap of thunder made them both jump, and they hurried back to the vault.

“Let’s hope we can get inside or we’ll be soaked,” Jim said as he tried the lock again. Fortunately the oil had done the job and the heavy bolt slid back as the key turned, allowing them to push open the massive door. By now the rain was teeming, and the inside of the mausoleum was pitch black, but at least, they consoled themselves, they were out of the storm.

“The rain will soon let up,” Jim assured her once they were inside the vault. “You know what Shakespeare said, ‘Small show’rs last long, but sudden storms are short.’ ”

“I hope old Will was right!” Trixie exclaimed. She felt a shiver run up her spine as she took a few wary steps into the dark. She was thankful Jim had left the door ajar and was close by to bolster her courage.

“Jeepers! This place gives me the creeps,” she said. “Now I know what they mean when they say ‘cold as the tomb’!”

“It’s eerie, all right,” Jim agreed, “but there’s really nothing to fear.”

“You hope!” Trixie added, hugging her arms tightly around her.

As a flash of lightning momentarily lit up the room, she caught a glimpse of two benches along the wall. Her knees were shaking and she was glad to sit down and pull herself together. Jim joined her and for a few minutes they were silent, listening to the storm
raging outside and trying to accustom their eyes to the darkness.

“Shh,” Jim whispered suddenly. “Do you hear anything odd out there?”

Trixie cocked her head and listened intently.

“Nothing special, Jim,” she answered. “I think it’s the wind in the trees, but I must admit I have a strange feeling of danger.”

“It’s probably just our imagination. The atmosphere of this place makes us jumpy,” Jim said, getting up and walking toward the door to look out. “I
hope
it’s only the wind. I wouldn’t welcome any intruders until we have a chance to see what’s here.”

“Have you any idea about where we might start?” Trixie tried to keep her voice light, despite her uneasiness.

“I can’t say I have,” Jim replied. “I was counting on you, as usual, for inspiration.”

“Well, at the moment I confess I haven’t a single idea,” Trixie said. “Suppose we try doing what the little boy did when he lost his horse.”

“What was that?” Jim asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that.”

“His father asked him how he’d found his pet horse, and the little boy said, ‘I just thought to myself,
Where would I go if I was a horse?
and I went, and he
had!
’ ”

“Fair enough!” Jim chuckled. “Okay then, if you were going to hide a secret message where would you put it?”