The Marshland Mystery

Late in summer, I suppose. I hope that I can stay here until my pennyroyal and the bergamot are ready to gather—what those men have left alive, I mean.”
    “Pennyroyal. Isn’t that a kind of mint? I think Miss Bennett mentioned it. For fever, isn’t it?” Trixie said.
    “Oh, yes! There’s nothing quite so good for reducing a fever,” Miss Rachel told them. “I have some left in my herb cabinet, but I like to gather it fresh every fall.”
    “I hope you can stay all fall and winter and just as long as you want to, Miss Rachel,” Trixie said earnestly.
    “Why, thank you both,” Miss Rachel told them gratefully, but she sighed afterward. “Of course, the bank people seem to feel that the sooner I am away from here and settled in—” she paused a long moment, then went on bravely—“in some other place, the better it will be.” Both girls knew without asking that she meant the city’s Home, and for a minute there was silence, except for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. It boomed out the hour of four and made Honey start with such surprise that it brought a giggle from Trixie.
    “He’s a noisy old fellow,” Miss Rachel said lightly, “but he’s company, even if he did get scorched in the fire.”
    Trixie went over to look more closely at the painted face of the old clock. “Goodness—1714! He is an old one,” she exclaimed. She noticed the small drawer at the foot of the clock. “What’s in there?”
    “I’m sure I don’t know. I never thought to open it,” Miss Rachel said. “You may look if you wish.”
    Trixie squatted down and pulled gently on the small porcelain knob. It resisted her effort to open the drawer.
    “Hey, it’s locked! Here’s a keyhole, a little round one. What kind of a key would open that?”
    Miss Rachel and Honey both went over to look, and Miss Rachel said quickly, “My father’s gold watch was wound with a key of the same kind. I’ll get it and see if it will fit this lock. I’m getting curious myself now.” She hurried to her bedroom to look for the key.
    “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she found that little drawer all filled with gold pieces! Wouldn’t that be something to throw at Paul Trent!” Trixie chortled.
    But when Miss Rachel had located the small key with its straight shaft and had tried it, there were three disappointed faces as the key turned loosely in the lock.
    “I guess that’s that,” Trixie sighed. “I don’t suppose you have a thicker key of the same kind.”
    “I’m afraid not,” Miss Rachel said regretfully.
    Trixie’s blue eyes sparkled suddenly, and she reached over and pulled a bobby pin from one of Honey’s long golden-brown tresses. “Let’s turn burglar! I saw a girl in a TV show use one of these to open a door. Cross your fingers, everybody!”
    And as both the elderly spinster and Honey solemnly watched, Trixie inserted the bobby pin in the small lock and wiggled it a couple of times. There was a tiny click as the drawer sprang open.
    Three pairs of eyes stared into an empty space. There was silence for a long moment; then Trixie said glumly, “Empty!” Honey only groaned.
    “Don’t be disappointed, my dears. It would have been wonderful if we had found the drawer full of gold pieces, but it was asking too much. Those things only happen in fairy tales,” Miss Rachel told them, with an attempt at a laugh. But the laugh sounded anything but real to Trixie and Honey, and they exchanged unhappy glances.
    Almost at once, Trixie brightened. She faced Miss Rachel impulsively and asked, “Miss Rachel, when you leave here—I mean, when you go wherever you’re planning to go—will you have room for all this furniture?”
    “Why, I—I hadn’t thought about it. I don’t suppose I will have too much room there—I mean, where I’m going. Would you like the clock? I’d be happy to give it to you if you can use it,” Miss Rachel said with a smile. “I’d like the old fellow to have a good home.”
    “Oh, no, I wasn’t thinking of your giving it to me— or anybody,” Trixie said eagerly. “I was thinking that, if you won’t have room for these pieces, you could probably get a lot of money for them.”
    “Sell them?” Miss Rachel stared at her in surprise. “Why, I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I could.”
    “My mother paid two hundred dollars for a rosewood desk not half as pretty as this one you have,” Honey said quickly. “I know if you wanted to sell any of these