The Mystery of the Emeralds

know?”
    “He raved on about hidden jewels and was sure I knew something about them,” Lizzie explained. “I guess if I knew where there was any hidden treasure, I wouldn’t be in this miserable town.”
    “Have you ever heard any such stories?” Trixie asked.
    “Oh, yes,” Lizzie replied. “Everybody’s heard about the lost emeralds, but no one believes they’re still at Rosewood. I believe the Yankees stole them, before they burned the house down, along with everything else they could get their hands on.”
    “Was Jenkins alone when he came in?” Trixie pursued the subject of Jenkins.
    “Yes, all alone, and no knowing what he might have done if I hadn’t grabbed up a rolling pin from the shelf here and threatened to knock his brains out. You should have seen him run out of here then.” The old woman chortled, forgetting her injured arm for the moment as she thought of how she had bested Jenkins.
    “Well, I think you’re wise to keep the door locked,” Mart said. “I don’t suppose you have much of a constabulary around this town.”
    “Constabulary!” she hooted. “I should say not, and the troopers are miles away. Protection! Fiddle-dee-dee! It’s each man for himself.”
    As the Bob-Whites were picking out some cards from the rather limited display, Trixie told Lizzie how they had visited Green Trees and met Mr. Carver.
    “He’s a real gentleman, he is,” the old lady said with a shake of her head, “and never a complaint about being so lame and all. You know, he’s one person who hasn’t got an enemy in the whole world!”
    “Does he live all by himself?” Trixie asked.
    “All soul alone,” was the answer. “He has someone come in once a week or so to do the heavy cleaning, but he’s learned to manage for himself. I’m right pleased you had a chance to meet him.”
    “So are we,” Trixie said. “We’ll never forget Green Trees or Mr. Carver.”
    After they had made their purchases, they bade good-bye to Lizzie, promising they would stop again if they had time before going home.
    “Well, what do you think of that ?” Trixie asked when they were outside. “It looks as though our friend Jenkins is in on the secret, too!”
    “That’s probably why he chased us off when we were poking around the ruins,” Brian commented.
    “And I’ll bet he’s the one who had been digging around there before we arrived on the scene,” Trixie said.
    As they drove past Rosewood, they all craned their necks to see if there was any sign of Neil or Jenkins, but the place looked as deserted as it had before.
    “Let’s leave the station wagon on the far side of the house when we get to Green Trees,” Trixie suggested. “It won’t be as conspicuous there.”
    “Then you really think they’re spying on us?” Di asked.
    “Well, I certainly wouldn’t put it past them,” Mart replied.
    “I’m sure of it,” Trixie agreed, “and I wish the cemetery weren’t so close to Jenkins’s line. If they see us in there, they’ll certainly be suspicious that were on the trail of something.”
    After they had parked the car, they walked around the house toward Mr. Carver’s study. They found him outside on the terrace, with a sketch pad on his lap. He greeted them cordially and, after showing them the drawings he was working on, said, “The key to the family vault is on the desk inside. I only hope you’re not embarking on a wild-goose chase.”
    “I hope so, too,” Trixie sighed. “I’ll simply die if we don’t find the clue. Right now I must admit I can’t imagine where Ruth could have hidden it.” She started into the house to get the key, leaving the others to talk with Mr. Carver.
    “I wish I could offer you Bob-Whites some suggestions,” he said, “but I haven’t been inside the mausoleum for many years, and my memory of it is very foggy. I have only a vague impression of a somber, dimly lit room, nothing more.”
    “Well, knowing Trixie as I do,” Jim said, “if the message is there, she’ll find it.”
    “What’s that you’re saying behind my back?” Trixie asked with pretended petulance as she returned with the key.
    “Oh, you were just getting another compliment from your not-so-secret admirer,” Mart quipped.
    “Oh, skip it!” Trixie cried, red-faced, giving her brother a shove. Then, immediately feeling ashamed at her show of temper in front of Mr. Carver, she added, “I’m sorry, sir, but brothers can be such pests! But to get back to our project,