The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

said as she started up the rope, “I’m glad I learned
rope-climbing in gym last year. Who knew it was going to come in handy like
this?”
    As her head poked out through the hole by the tree stump, she took a
deep and grateful breath of fresh air. Then she dusted herself off and called
down to Charles.
    “Now tie the rope around yourself and see if you can pick up Reddy.”
Reddy was jumping up and down excitedly, getting muddy paw prints all over
Charles’s shirt. Trixie knew the dog was worried they were going to leave him
behind. “Don’t worry, boy,” Trixie called down to Reddy. “We’re going to get
you out, too.”
    Charles tied the rope firmly around his waist, then he bent down and
gathered the squirming dog in his arms. Draping Reddy awkwardly over his
shoulder, he held onto the dog with one arm, and the rope with the other.
    Meanwhile, Trixie had checked to see that the rope was knotted firmly
around the tree stump. Then both girls got tight grips on the knotted rope.
They began to pull with all their might. It wasn’t easy. Charles probably
weighed one hundred and forty pounds, at least. Reddy was a sixty-pound Irish
setter. Two hundred pounds all together!
    But taking it slowly, and moving their hands carefully from one knot to
the next, the girls were finally able to pull Charles and Reddy up the wall.
    As his front paws cleared the opening, Reddy leapt ahead. Charles
managed to pull himself the rest of the way out. Trixie and Honey fell backward
onto the ground, their arms aching from exertion.
    “Whew!” Trixie finally said. “That was hard.”
    Charles dusted himself off, and said to Trixie, “Now, tell me why you
think I’m a burglar.”
    Trixie, startled for a moment by the young man’s worried expression,
straightened her back slowly and then stood up. “I appreciate your help, I
really do. But I’m still suspicious. There are too many things about you that
don’t add up.”
    “Like what?”
    Trixie took a deep breath. “First of all, there has been a rash of
burglaries in this area—all mansions and all in the last few weeks. So far,
none of the burglars have been caught. Just last night, someone tried to rob
the Manor House. But they got away with only the small Renoir. Maybe you
remember it?”
    Trixie saw that Charles looked upset, but she went right on. “The first
time we met, you were very interested in that painting. You asked if it was
real.”
    “I was merely surprised that anyone would have a real Renoir in their
house,” Charles began quietly. “I thought paintings like that were only in
museums.” Then he became more defensive. “Besides, I could not have been in
Sleepyside committing a burglary when I was in New York City . I work nights, you know.”
    “That’s what you say,” Trixie said, “but maybe that’s just
an alibi. The burglars were interrupted in the middle of the burglary by Miss
Trask. They accidentally banged the fender of their car on the oak tree at the
curve in the driveway when they made their getaway. Miss Trask heard the noise.
When I looked at the tree, there was yellow paint on it. That little yellow
Volkswagen your friend Harry drives has a dented front fender. We saw it parked
in the woods when we came here today. How do you explain that?” Charles looked
surprised. “There were no dents in the car that I know of,” he said.
    “Right,” said Trixie. “But today there are, so the scrape is new. Harry
is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
    “Harry Kemp? Yes and no.”
    “And another thing,” Trixie went on, feeling more confident in her
accusations, “Professor Conroy was knocked unconscious soon after he’d spoken
with you about letting us work at the village site. He thinks he banged his
head on a low-hanging branch. But I think you hit him.
    “In order to get him out of the way until you found your hidden gold,
you made sure he’d be in the hospital for at least ten days. That way, as
student head of the dig, you would have complete freedom to look for the
treasure. And you knew where it was hidden because you found the map at the
Historical Society.”
    “How did you know about that map?” Charles gasped.
    “The same way you did—by looking in the archive room at the Historical
Society. It was in Edward Palmer’s diary.” Now Trixie was starting to get
angry. “How can you claim you’re above stealing if you stole the diary? I even
saw Harry waiting outside the Historical Society for you!”
    “You mean