The Gatehouse Mystery

might have been she who listened in the thicket and heard you say that you had put it in your jewelry box. She could have come back last night and sneaked into the house. It's only a two-mile walk from the village."
    Honey stared at him. "You don't really suspect Helen, do you, Jim? She could have stolen the diamond in the daytime when she cleaned the bedrooms."
    Jim grinned. "I don't really suspect anybody. I'm just trying to show you two girl-detectives that a lot of people besides Dick and Nailor may know that you found the diamond in the cottage. Gallagher, for instance. Don't you think it's suspicious that he quit the very day you found it? Why should he get mad just because you walked off with his pruning saws and shovels? There's no pruning to be done at this time of the year."
    "He was doing a lot of transplanting," Honey said. "Maybe he needed the shovels."
    "Normal people," Jim told her, "use spades when they dig holes in the ground. And they use shovels when they want to clear away coal or dirt and things like that. Next time you decide to look for buried treasure, take spades."
    "Thanks for the information," Trixie said. "And stop trying to make us suspect Gallagher. If he snooped around the cottage Wednesday and heard that we'd found a valuable diamond, the last thing he would have done was quit. He would have stayed on, hoping for a chance to get into the house, so he could swipe it." She got down on her hands and knees and began to peer into the long grass by the chicken coop. "Let's crawl while we look for it, instead of walking," she said. "If we walk on it, we might trample it so deeply into the ground that it never can be found."
    "That's right," Honey agreed. "If we crawl on it, we'll feel it with our knees like Bobby did."
    They searched in silence for a while, and then Jim said, "A perfectly ordinary tramp, who had nothing to do with the theft of the diamond, might have been strolling along Glen Road Wednesday morning. When he passed the cottage, he might have heard you talking and decided to eavesdrop just out of curiosity."
    "Oh, stop it, Jim," Trixie begged. "No ordinary tramp tried to sneak into Honey's room last night. How could he have possibly known which room was hers?"
    '"You've got me there," Jim admitted, "but here's another idea. Maybe Brian tucked the diamond in the pocket of his swimming trunks—or Mart."
    "Don't even say such a thing," Honey wailed. "If we' have to comb the bottom of the lake, I'll drown myself right now."
    "You're a good enough diver to find it," Jim said, "but what I'm trying to say is that the diamond may still be in the pocket."
    "We wouldn't have any such luck," Trixie moaned. "Even if Brian put it in his pocket and buttoned the flap, a snapping turtle got it out, somehow."
    Honey giggled. "Go on into the house and ask your brothers, Trixie. One of them may know where it is."
    "Here they come now," Trixie said. "All three of them. Be careful what you say in front of Bobby unless you want the whole Sleepyside police force out here asking us embarrassing questions."
    "What cooks, gang?" Mart asked when he came closer to the rock where Trixie had perched that morning. "Haven't you got anything more exciting to do than look for four-leaf clovers?"
    Trixie coughed loudly. "That's just what were looking for. A clover with facets. Facets. Have you got it, Mart?"
    Mart stared at her, and Bobby promptly said, "I know what a facet is. I washed my hands under the kitchen facet when I got through making mud pies."
    "Fine," Trixie said. "Now go back and wash them again. Your fingernails are dirty."
    "Are not!" Bobby yelled. "Yours are."
    "So they are," Trixie admitted. "Run in the house and get me a nail file, will you, please, Bobby darling?"
    "No," Bobby said firmly. "You can go get it your own self."
    Trixie turned to Brian with a hopeless expression on her face. "Have you by any chance got you-know-what?"
    For answer, Brian turned the pockets of his jeans inside out and Mart followed suit.
    "This is the end," Trixie gasped, sinking down on the rock.
    "It would help," Mart said, "if we knew what you were looking for."
    Then Jim got an idea. "A famous, very rich man, with the same first name as mine, collected jewels and got himself a nickname. Guess who?"
    "James Buchanan Brady," Brian said promptly, "more commonly known as Di—"
    Trixie was seized with a violent fit of coughing then; Honey hummed loudly, and Jim whistled shrilly through his fingers.
    "Gleeps," Mart