The Mystery of the Emeralds (15 page)

Neil’s thanks were still ringing in her ears as she went back to the kitchen.

“Where have
you
been?” Honey and Di demanded as she came in. “You’re just in time to see the dishes all washed and put away.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help clean up,” Trixie said, “but believe it or not, I’ve been having a very interesting conversation with Neil.”

“Neil!” they cried in disbelief. “Where did you find Neil?”

“He found me!” Trixie laughed. “I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. Where are the boys?”

“Brian’s gone with the doctor, I guess,” Di said, “and Mart and Jim are in the study.”

“Let’s go in there,” Trixie suggested. “They’ll want to hear about Neil, too.”

They found Mart and Jim trying to figure out a way to fix Mr. Carver’s wheelchair.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Trixie said. “I’ve got news for all of you.” She proceeded to tell them of her encounter with Neil.

“Well, what do you know!” Mart cried when she had finished. “Another coup for the head of the Belden Detective Agency. Take a bow, Trixie!”

“Oh, cut it out, Mart,” Trixie snapped. “This isn’t the time for any of your brilliant comments. Neil is in trouble and needs help badly. We’ve got to think of something to do.”

“I somehow don’t think Neil’s going to be a problem long,” Jim commented. “Now that he realizes he was on the wrong track, he has half the battle won. A good job and a little guidance is what he needs now.”

“We’ll work out something,” Trixie said, “once we put our minds to it, but right now we’ve got to think about the cellar. I wish I’d thought to ask Mr. Carver how to get down there.”

“Oh, he told us before he left,” Mart said. “The door’s in the front hall.”

“Let’s get going then,” Trixie said eagerly, heading for the front of the house.

“That one under the stairs must be it,” Jim conjectured, pointing to a door fastened with a big brass lock.

Trixie pushed back the bolt, switched on the light inside, and started down the steps.

“I’d say that bulb must have been one of Mr. Edison’s originals,” Mart observed as he looked over Trixie’s shoulder at the one small bulb casting a dim glow down the stairs. “Why didn’t we bring flashlights?”

When Trixie got almost to the bottom of the stairs she let out a loud
eeeek
and turned and grabbed Jim, who was right behind her.

“What’s the matter, Trixie? The ghost?” he asked with a chuckle.

“I don’t know what it was!” Trixie answered. “Something brushed my forehead!”

Jim pushed ahead of her, holding his hand in front of his face. Almost immediately another light came on, and Trixie, realizing that what she had felt was only a pull cord, laughed with relief.

“You and your ghosts!” Mart scoffed. “What next?”

“Well, I notice you brought up the rear very bravely,” Trixie taunted.

“Only my natural good manners,” Mart countered. “Women and children first, you know.”

As the Bob-Whites edged their way farther into the shadows of the cellar, which still was not lighted well
enough to be clearly visible, Trixie suddenly snapped her fingers.

“I’ll bet there’s an outside hatch,” she said. “If we can find it and open it up, it would give us more light.”

“I’ll go and see,” Mart volunteered, eager to make up for the ribbing he had given his sister.

It wasn’t long before the Bob-Whites heard a rapping and saw a stream of light appear as Mart opened the double doors of the wide outside entrance to the basement.

“That’s more like it,” Di exclaimed with a shiver. “Isn’t it funny how our imagination works overtime in the dark? I could swear I heard a tapping sound a minute ago, but it’s gone now.”

“Well,” Honey said plaintively, “I certainly hope it wasn’t the ghost!”

“Nonsense,” Jim answered, trying to be reassuring. “There isn’t any such thing.”

The walls of the cellar were built of stone like the foundations they had seen at Rosewood Hall, and there were the same massive supporting pillars. The floor was dirt, but so hard-packed, it looked like concrete. It was quite evident that the room had been cleaned out fairly recently. Only a few large stone crocks remained, along
with an old wooden cabinet holding an assortment of bottles and jars.

“Well, someone has gone over this place with a fine-toothed comb,” Trixie said in an exasperated tone when they had finished a painstaking examination of the cellar. “There aren’t even any cobwebs left!”

She stood in the middle of the chamber, hands on hips and elbows akimbo, looking around to be sure they hadn’t overlooked anything.

“There’s just one more thing we’d better do,” she said slowly. “Let’s move that cabinet and see what’s behind it. It’s the only part of the wall we haven’t examined.”

“And it’s on the side nearest Rosewood Hall,” Jim observed, starting to take the contents from the shelves and placing them on the floor.

When the boys had moved the heavy oak case a few feet away from the wall, Trixie peered behind it.

“Gleeps!” she exclaimed. “I was right! This part of the wall isn’t stone at all. It’s brick! And I’ll bet the secret passage is behind it!”

“But why would anyone want to close up the entrance?” Honey asked.

“And
when
was it done?” Jim wondered. “This looks like a fairly recent job to me.”

Mart tapped the bricks with his knuckles, holding his ear close to the wall to see if it sounded hollow.

“Can’t tell a thing,” he said despondently. “Do you think we should knock a hole in it?”

“Oh, of course not!” Trixie cried. “At least not until we’ve asked Mr. Carver or—Jeepers! I’d forgotten all about Miss Bates! Maybe she’d know something about it. I wonder if Mr. Carver phoned her?”

Just as she asked the question the Bob-Whites heard the beep-beep of the station-wagon horn. They nearly fell over each other as they raced up the hatchway steps to the driveway.

Dr. Brandon and Brian were lifting Mr. Carver out of the station wagon as the girls, Jim, and Mart came up the driveway. Trixie sensed by the sound of their laughter that the doctor’s further examination had confirmed his earlier belief that his friend hadn’t been seriously injured.

“Come and see my new wheelchair,” Mr. Carver called out when he saw the Bob-Whites. “It has everything except a motor.”

“I’ll supply the horsepower,” Jim volunteered, starting to push the chair. “Wow! This makes your old chair look like a Model T Ford!”

“And it even folds up so it can be carried in a small car,” Brian said.

“It’s one I keep in the office for just such emergencies,” Dr. Brandon explained, “and Edgar is welcome to use it as long as he needs it.”

Everyone, feeling a sense of relief that Mr. Carver was all right, chattered gaily on the way to the house.

Trixie, of course, was dying to ask Mr. Carver about the bricked-up section they had found in the cellar,
but she waited until he had been made comfortable on the sofa in the study. Dr. Brandon put some pills on a nearby table before leaving and suggested that the injured man take it easy for a day or so.

“This thing has been quite a shock, but fortunately there has been no real damage, and knowing my friend’s strong constitution
and
stubborn disposition, I’d say he’ll be himself in no time.”

Mr. Carver must have been reading Trixie’s thoughts, for he had no sooner said good-by to the doctor than he turned to her.

“Now, Trixie,” he said, “give me a progress report. What did you find while I was away?”

“Well, there wasn’t anything in the cellar, really, to give us any leads,” Trixie began, “except one part of the wall which was built of brick instead of stone, and looked a lot newer than the rest of the foundation. Do you know anything about it?”

“You’re right,” Mr. Carver said. “It is new construction. It was put in only a year ago when that part of the wall started to crumble. I don’t know why they used bricks instead of stone, unless they found them easier to work with.”

“And there wasn’t anything on the other side?” Mart asked. “Are you sure of that?”

“Nothing but good old Virginia soil, I’m afraid,” Mr. Carver said with a laugh.

“Another dead end!” Trixie moaned, dropping into a chair.

“What about Miss Bates?” Di asked, looking from Trixie to Edgar Carver. “Didn’t you think she might help us?”

“Oh, I’d completely forgotten dear Miss Bates,” he said, glancing at his watch. “She said she’d drop by around three and it’s almost that now.”

“Well, that gives us one more chance,” Trixie said, forcing a smile. She strolled over to the French doors and, looking out, saw a woman, holding on to a floppy straw hat with one hand and carrying a basket of flowers in the other, making her way toward the terrace.

“Here comes someone now,” Trixie called out, turning to Mr. Carver. “Do you suppose it’s Miss Bates?”

“If she has a load of flowers, it’s sure to be.” Mr. Carver smiled. “She almost never comes without bringing something from her own garden to brighten up Green Trees.”

Miss Bates breezed into the room like a ship under full sail. She plunked the huge basket of flowers down on the floor, then stepped back to take a long look at Edgar Carver, seemingly unaware of the others in the room.

“Heavens to Betsy!” she exclaimed, bending over him to take a closer look at the bandage through her thick glasses. “Whatever in the world happened to you?”

“Oh, just a little accident,” he reassured her. “I fell out of my chair and cut my forehead this morning, but Alex says it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Pooh! That’s a man’s opinion,” Miss Bates pronounced firmly, settling her ample frame and voluminous skirts in the chair she had drawn up beside the couch. “What
you
need is some calf’s-foot jelly and custard to build up your strength and a good poultice of bread and milk to draw out the poison from that wound.”

Edgar Carver smiled indulgently at his friend, as though accustomed to her sometimes wild theories. He then beckoned to the Bob-Whites, who had been watching this little scene from a distance.

“I do declare,” Miss Bates chirped, drawing off a pair of white lace gloves, “it’s good to have young people in the house—that is, if they don’t go around breaking things and disturbing you with a lot of noise. Now you take those wild nieces of mine—”

“No, Carolyn,” Mr. Carver broke in with a chuckle, “we don’t want to take your nieces! These friends of mine are not in the least obstreperous. As a matter of
fact they are here because of a real interest in Green Trees. Trixie found a letter up north where she lives, that leads us to believe there is, or was, a secret passage between Green Trees and Rosewood Hall, and we hope you may be able to shed some light on it. That’s why I asked you to bring over the floor plans.”

“Well, of all things!” Miss Bates said. She seemed unable to say anything without prefacing her remarks with an exclamation. “It doesn’t seem possible. Not after all the work we’ve done around here. Nothing we found ever suggested such a thing. Are you sure?” She turned a dubious eye on Trixie for affirmation.

“No,” admitted Trixie hesitantly, “we can’t be sure, of course, but we thought we’d explore the possibilities as long as we were down here and Mr. Carver was willing for us to look around.”

Mr. Carver then told Miss Bates of Mr. Lynch’s interest in old estates and of his trip to Williamsburg.

“And that’s how Trixie and her friends happened to come to Green Trees,” Mr. Carver told her.

“You don’t say!” Miss Bates exclaimed. “Why, I was up to some of those meetings in Williamsburg myself. I thought I might get some tips from some of the other members, you know.”

“I guess you could give
them
some tips,” Edgar Carver said warmly. Then to the Bob-Whites, “I don’t know anyone who knows more about colonial houses than Miss Carolyn here.”

“Oh, Edgar, how you do run on!” the ample lady said, her pink cheeks growing several shades pinker.

She’s right out of colonial America herself
, Trixie thought as she watched and listened to this unusual woman. Mr. Carver’s compliment seemed to have had the effect of leaving Miss Bates speechless, for the moment at least, so Trixie asked, “Do you think it might help if we looked at the plans Mr. Carver said you had drawn up?”

“Why, of course, child,” she replied, “but
I
didn’t draw them up. One of the local contractors who did a lot of the reconstruction made the plans.”

She took up the basket and, summoning Honey and Di to her, thrust the mountain of blooms into their hands and suggested they put them in water. “You two look as though you might be used to caring for flowers,” she said as she waved them away and started to paw through a pile of papers in the bottom of the basket. Honey fled to the kitchen, followed by Di. Both were having difficulty suppressing their laughter.

“And
you
look like the one with a real head on your shoulders,” she added, handing Trixie a sheaf of
papers. Miss Bates completely ignored the boys who wisely stayed in the background for the time being.

Trixie took the plans over to the desk and spread them out. The first one showed the cellar, indicating the location of the new brickwork. There seemed to be nothing more of any significance in the drawing. The next showed part of the first floor, the drawing-room, dining-room, music salon, and solarium. Trixie traced the outlines of the rooms with a finger, picturing each one in her mind’s eye. Then, noticing that Miss Bates was deep in conversation with Mr. Carver, she motioned for Jim, Mart, and Brian to come over and look at the plans. They were soon joined by Honey and Di, who had disposed of the floral offering by plunging the flowers into a pail of water in the kitchen, to be arranged later.