The Mystery of the Emeralds (12 page)

“Since we know it’s somewhere in the cemetery, I think I’d put it under a stone,” Trixie said.

“There’s only one trouble with that theory,” Jim commented. “Those stones out there would be much too heavy for one person to lift. No, I’m afraid you’ll have to try again, old girl.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Trixie sighed. “How about some place in here? It would be more protected than outside in the weather.”

“That makes sense,” Jim said. “By the way, the rain seems to be letting up. It’s getting lighter all of a sudden.”

The fact that the little building had no windows added to the murkiness of the place, but the details of the room gradually emerged as the clouds began to break up. The rear wall was paneled with large marble slabs inscribed with the names and dates of burial of members of the Carver and Fields families. It was apparent the smooth surface offered no possible hiding place for whatever Ruth had hidden. They turned their attention to the other parts of the room. With Jim’s help, Trixie lifted the stone benches to be sure there was nothing underneath. Next, they went over every inch of the
floor, looking for loose stones. There were none. The floor was cold, smooth marble.

“You know, Jim,” Trixie said, sitting down on one of the benches again and pushing the damp curls from her forehead, “I’d rather look for a needle in a haystack than try to find anything in this place. I’m ready to give up!”

She threw up her hands in desperation, and as she looked up at Jim, her eyes carried beyond him. She noticed for the first time two arched niches, high up in the wall, too high, in fact, for either of them to reach.

“Look, Jim!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Up in that little cubbyhole. See that vase?”

“Sure I see it. It’s plain as my nose, now that you mention it,” he said. Then, pointing to the niche on the other side of the door, he added, “I wonder why that one is empty?”

“It
is
queer,” Trixie replied. “Come to think of it, that urn is the only thing in here that isn’t balanced, two benches, two doors, two sconces for candles. I wonder why.”

“Maybe the other vase got broken,” Jim suggested.

“Mmmmm, could be,” Trixie mused, “but I don’t think so. I have a hunch that having only one may have been deliberate. I’ll bet Ruth put it up there knowing that it would be conspicuous to anyone hunting for the message.
Here, boost me up, Jim. I’ve got to take a look inside that urn!”

Jim made a cradle of his hands, and Trixie, kicking off her loafers, stepped up and was just able to reach the niche and hold on to the edge with one hand.

“Oh, Jim—it’s just got to be in here!” she said breathlessly. She took careful hold of the vase and tucked it under her arm. “Easy, now. Let me down,” she said, almost in a whisper.

She put the beautiful little porcelain urn on the bench, reached inside, and drew out a small red velvet bag. She didn’t say a word as she untied the drawstring and took out a heavy gold locket in the shape of a heart.

“Jim,” she said urgently, “there’s something engraved on the face of it. Let’s go over by the door. It’s too dark back here to make it out.”

Quickly she stepped across the little room, then, catching the light over her shoulder, she read, slowly and distinctly, “
To RSF with love. Christmas, 1860.”

“Open it, Trix,” Jim whispered. “This is it—the clue Ruth left for Helen!”

“Oh, Jim,” Trixie moaned, “you try it. My fingers are all thumbs. I can’t manage it!”

Jim took the locket from her shaking hands, and in a moment he had discovered the secret—a little knob on
the side of the locket which, when pressed, released the hidden lock. It opened easily, and without saying anything, he handed it back to Trixie.

There were two sections in the locket, the one in front holding a picture of a young man and woman. In the middle frame was a delicately woven ring of hair, mingled dark brown and gold.

“That must be Ruth and her husband,” Trixie said, looking intently at the faded picture. “RSF stands for Ruth Sunderland Fields—and look, Jim! She’s wearing a necklace! I’ll bet it’s the emeralds!”

When she turned to the back part of the locket she saw in the space where ordinarily there would have been another picture, a small bit of folded paper. She was about to take it out when a shadow fell across the door and the silence was shattered!

“Okay, you grave robbers! Hand it over!”

“Jim! It’s Neil!” Trixie shouted. She clutched the locket tightly in her hand. “Get him out of here!”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” the boy cried, lunging toward Jim, and before Trixie knew what was happening, the two were grappling, each trying to push the other far enough away to land a blow. Neil was about the same height as Jim, and while he wasn’t quite as heavy, he was wiry and strong. Trixie watched spellbound for a minute or two, and then, fearing that Jim might be in trouble, she dashed outside. Running a few steps toward the house, she gave the Bob-White whistle loud and clear, repeating it several times in the hope it would bring help, and quickly.

When she got back to the mausoleum Jim and Neil were still fighting savagely. Neil freed himself just long enough to level a blow at Jim’s head, but Jim saw it coming and ducked in time to avoid it. Then, seeing Neil off-balance, Jim dealt him a thumping wallop on the shoulder that sent him spinning around and down. Too late, Trixie tried to get the urn on the bench. As Neil sprawled over the seat, the beautiful vase shattered.

“Now, get going!” Jim barked as Neil pulled himself slowly to his feet and sidled past them. Without a backward glance the boy ran through the cemetery, jumped the fence, and made off in the direction of Rosewood Hall. At the same time Trixie saw the Bob-Whites racing toward her. Seeing Neil, they were about to follow him, but Trixie signaled for them to come to her.

Turning her attention to Jim, she asked, “Are you all right?”

“I seem to be all in one piece,” he said, shaking his head and bending his legs. “Nothing hurts, but I’m sure winded!”

“What’s the idea, Trix?” Brian asked. “That was Neil, wasn’t it? We could easily have caught him.”

“I know you could,” Trixie answered, slipping into her loafers, “but I think he may be more valuable to us if we let him go this time. It’s Jenkins we have to worry about more than Neil.”

“How do you figure that?” Honey asked. “It seems to me Neil’s the one who has been acting suspiciously.”

“I know. I know,” Trixie said, an edge of impatience in her voice. “It looks as though he were up to no good, I’ll admit, but for the time being I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt.”

“But
why?
” Mart asked. “I don’t think you’re being your usual logical self, dear sister.”

“It’s not a matter of logic,” Trixie said, too engrossed in the analysis of her own feelings to resent Mart’s criticism. “It’s more a
feeling
I have about Neil.” She paused, trying to find words to express herself. “I don’t like him and yet—”

“You’ve obviously got ambivalent feelings about him,” Mart interrupted, and he nodded his head very knowingly.

“What kind of feelings?” Di asked. “Are you pulling another of your gags, Mart? Come on, be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious,” Mart answered with a
straight face. “Ambivalent feelings are when you feel two ways about something or someone at the same time. Am I right, Trix?”

“For once, dear brother, you’ve hit the nail on the head,” Trixie said. “Let’s start back to the house and I’ll tell you what I mean.”

As they started up the path toward the garden, Trixie continued, “I think Neil has a gentle side to his nature, and that’s why he took such good care of Miss Julie. On the other hand, he probably heard about the emeralds and figured he’d try to get to Rosewood Hall and take a chance on finding them.”

“Miss Julie may have told him the same thing she told us,” Honey said. “Remember the day we were there, Trix? She said she never had liked jewelry, and she obviously wasn’t interested in having the emeralds, no matter how valuable they are.”

“You’re right,” Trixie said, “and I’ll never forget how proud she looked when she told us she was ‘comfortably off.’ Neil probably felt he had just as much right to hunt for the treasure as we did.”

“Well, I follow you so far,” Jim said, “but what about his sneaking around Green Trees? How do you explain that?”

“I was just coming to that,” Trixie answered.

“Maybe when he found out about Mr. Carver being disabled he felt sympathetic toward him the way he did toward Miss Julie. And that day he saw the cars in the driveway he may have just been checking up to see if Mr. Carver was all right.”

“If that’s true, then what about today?” Mart asked impatiently. “What was he doing breaking in on you and Jim that way?”

“He could really have thought we were stealing something from the mausoleum,” Trixie replied. “He called us ‘grave robbers,’ you know.”

“Everything is ‘maybe,’ ” Brian cut in, “pure conjecture. I still don’t see why, if Neil is so interested in Mr. Carver, he didn’t go call on him and get to know him.”

“You’ve got a point there, all right,” Trixie mused. “I don’t see why, either, unless he felt he would have to give up the emeralds if he found them. I’m confused! Don’t think I’m not! Let’s get on back to the house and talk to Mr. Carver about it.”

As they approached Green Trees they saw Edgar Carver slowly propelling his wheelchair down the garden path toward them, a worried look on his handsome face. Trixie called out to him that they were all right.

“I began to be worried,” he said as the Bob-Whites
came up. “I decided I’d better get down there and have a look, but it’s rather slow going in this thing.”

“I’ll push you back to the house and Trixie can tell you all about it,” Jim said, carefully turning the wheelchair around and heading back toward the house.

“Well, I’ll admit we had kind of a close call,” Trixie said. “Just as we found the locket, Neil came in and, before I could read the paper in it, we almost lost it—but there I go again,” she laughed, “getting the cart before the horse as I always do!”

“Neil? A locket? This all sounds very mysterious,” Mr. Carver said. “Push me up that ramp at the end of the terrace, Jim.” He smiled. “Then we can all sit down and relax. In the meantime Trixie can collect her thoughts so she can tell me what happened.”

As soon as they had gathered in the study, Trixie gave the locket to Mr. Carver, telling him how she had found it in the urn.

“Have you ever seen it before?” she asked. “Do you think it was Ruth’s?” Her eyes were bright with excitement.

Mr. Carver cradled the locket in his hand, looking first at the initials on the front and then opening it and gazing at the picture of the two young people.

“I have no doubt it is Ruth and Lee. There is a striking
resemblance between her and my mother, the same deep-set eyes, and wide brow.”

“Now look in the back,” Trixie urged him. “There’s the paper I started to tell you about. We never had a chance to read it because Neil came in just at that moment and tried to get it away from us.”

“Who is this Neil anyway?” Mr. Carver asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever met him, and I know almost everyone around here.”

“Well, it’s a strange coincidence.” Jim took up the story. “But this boy who apparently is working at Rosewood Hall—well, he’s the same one Trixie and Honey met when they were talking with Miss Julie Sunderland in Croton.”

“It doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me,” Mr. Carver replied. “Don’t you think he might be down here for the same reason you are?”

“That’s what
I
think,” Trixie said, “but we can’t be sure, even though it looks awfully suspicious.”

“Trixie thinks we should sort of watch and wait, before we accuse him of having any ulterior motives,” Mart said.

“That’s probably wise,” Mr. Carver agreed, “but if he’s connected with Jenkins in any way, I’d be on my guard. Now, let’s take a look at this paper. I can see that
Trixie is more interested in it at the moment than she is in Jenkins.”

“Does my curiosity show that plainly?” Trixie asked.

“I’m afraid it does, my dear,” he replied with a warm smile, “so you read it right now and see if it’s what you’ve been looking for so diligently.”

He handed the heart back to Trixie, who carefully removed the little square of paper from under the glass of the locket. There wasn’t a sound in the library as she unfolded it and read aloud,
“Look in the secret passage between the Twin Houses behind a brick marked with an X. May the charm of the necklace bring only good luck.”

All eyes turned to Mr. Carver, who sat as though stunned. Finally, looking up, he said, “Oh, Trixie, I hate to tell you this, but
I’ve
never heard of any secret passage between Rosewood Hall and Green Trees!”

The color drained out of Trixie’s face and the only sound was the sharp intake of her breath and a low “Oh, no!” She walked slowly over to the sofa and sat down between Jim and Honey.

Edgar Carver, perceiving how crushed she was, rolled his chair over to her as her brothers and Di gathered close around the divan.