The Mystery of the Emeralds

as the tomb’!”
    “It’s eerie, all right,” Jim agreed, “but there’s really nothing to fear.”
    “You hope!” Trixie added, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
    As a flash of lightning momentarily lit up the room, she caught a glimpse of two benches along the wall.
    Her knees were shaking, and she was glad to sit down and pull herself together. Jim joined her, and for a few minutes they were silent, listening to the storm raging outside and trying to accustom their eyes to the darkness.
    “Sssssh,” Jim whispered suddenly. “Do you hear anything odd out there?”
    Trixie cocked her head and listened intently. “Nothing special, Jim,” she answered. “I think it’s the wind in the trees, but I must admit I have a strange feeling of danger.”
    “It’s probably just our imaginations. The atmosphere of this place makes us jumpy,” Jim said, getting up and walking toward the door to look out. “I hope it’s only the wind. I wouldn’t welcome any intruders, until we have a chance to see what’s here.”
    “Have you any idea about where we might start?” Trixie tried to keep her voice light, despite her uneasiness.
    “I can’t say I have,” Jim replied. “I was counting on you, as usual, for inspiration.”
    “Well, at the moment, I confess I haven’t a single idea,” Trixie said. “Suppose we try doing what the little boy did when he lost his horse.”
    “What was that?” Jim asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that.”
    “His father asked him how he’d found his pet horse, and the little boy said, ‘I just thought to myself, Where would I go if I was a horse? and I went, and he had !’ ”
    “Fair enough!” Jim chuckled. “Okay, then, if you were going to hide a secret message, where would you put it?”
    “Since we know it’s somewhere in the cemetery, I think I’d put it under a stone,” Trixie said.
    “There’s only one trouble with that theory,” Jim commented. “Those stones out there would be much too heavy for one person to lift. No, I’m afraid you’ll have to try again, old girl.”
    “I suppose you’re right.” Trixie sighed. “How about someplace in here? It would be more protected than outside in the weather.”
    “That makes sense,” Jim said. “By the way, the rain seems to be letting up. It’s getting lighter all of a sudden.”
    The fact that the little building had no windows added to the murkiness of the place, but the details of the room gradually emerged as the clouds began to break up. The rear wall was paneled with large marble slabs inscribed with the names and dates of burial of members of the Carver and Fields families. It was apparent that the smooth surface offered no possible hiding place for whatever Ruth had hidden. They turned their attention to the other parts of the room. With Jim’s help, Trixie lifted the stone benches to be sure there was nothing underneath. Next, they went over every inch of the floor, looking for loose stones. There were none. The floor was cold, smooth marble.
    “You know, Jim,” Trixie said, sitting down on one of the benches again and pushing the damp curls from her forehead, “I’d rather look for a needle in a haystack than try to find anything in this place. I’m ready to give up!”
    She threw up her hands in desperation, and, as she looked up at Jim, her eyes carried beyond him. She noticed for the first time two arched niches, high up in the wall—too high, in fact, for either of them to reach.
    “Look, Jim!” she cried, jumping to her feet. “Up in that little cubbyhole. See that vase?”
    “Sure, I see it. It’s as plain as my nose, now that you mention it,” he said. Then, pointing to the niche on the other side of the door, he added, “I wonder why that one is empty.”
    “It is queer,” Trixie replied. “Come to think of it, that urn is the only thing in here that isn’t balanced— two benches, two doors, two sconces for candles. I wonder why.”
    “Maybe the other vase got broken,” Jim suggested. “Mmmmm, could be,” Trixie mused, “but I don’t think so. I have a hunch that having only one may have been deliberate. I’ll bet Ruth put it up there, knowing that it would be conspicuous to anyone hunting for the message. Here, boost me up, Jim. I’ve got to take a look inside that urn!”
    Jim made a cradle of his hands, and Trixie, kicking off her loafers, stepped up and was just able to reach the niche and hold on to the edge with one hand. “Oh,