The Mystery of the Emeralds

the next morning, but she didn’t waken Di or Honey right away. She lay in bed, her head cradled in her arms, mulling over die events of the last few days to see if there were any loose threads she had overlooked. She recalled what Mart had said the previous day about the possibility of Jenkins and Neil stumbling on the passage on the Rosewood side, and the idea made her almost sick with apprehension.
    “I’ve got to find out what’s going on over there,” she thought to herself, “but how ?”
    She could think of no way to revisit Rosewood without being accused of trespassing. And Jenkins was no one she wanted to risk angering again. “At least,” she consoled herself, “even though he and
    Neil may know about the necklace, they don’t know where it’s hidden. They must still be searching in the dark, if they’re searching at all—”
    Her reflections were interrupted by Honey calling softly to her from her bed.
    “Di never seems to let anything interfere with her beauty sleep, does she? I’ll bet she’d sleep till eleven, if we didn’t get her up. How long have you been awake, Trix?”
    “Practically the whole night!” Trixie said wryly. “My mind has been spinning like a top.”
    “Mine, too,” Honey said, “but I can’t say I came to any earthshaking conclusions! How about you?”
    “I didn’t, either,” Trixie answered. “Let’s start to wake Di up. You know how long it takes her to get going in the morning”
    By the time the girls had showered and dressed, they heard the boys outside and went to join them.
    “Do you think it’s too early to start out?” Jim asked Trixie.
    “Oh, by the time we have breakfast and pick up the box lunches and drive out there, it’ll be close to nine o’clock,” Trixie replied. “I think that’s okay, don’t you?” She looked at the others to see how they felt.
    “Sure, it’s okay,” Mart agreed. “Let’s not waste time talking about it. We’ve got work to do!”
    They all shared Mart’s sense of excitement and expectancy as they drove toward Cliveden. Because of the early hour, they decided against stopping to see Lizzie James this trip.
    As they drove into the Green Trees driveway, Trixie suddenly seized Jim’s arm. “Look!” she cried. “Over there beyond the terrace! That man on horseback—isn’t it Jenkins?”
    “It sure is, Trix,” Brian agreed. “And look at him beating that poor animal! Why on earth is he in such a hurry to get back to Rosewood?”
    Jim slammed on the brakes, and they all piled out of the car and started around the house toward Mr. Carver’s study. Trixie, who had been in the front seat, got a head start and was the first to reach the French doors. Sensing something was wrong, she raced inside. What she saw made her heart miss a beat. On the floor, beside the large mahogany desk, lay Mr. Carver, his forehead covered with blood. His legs were thrust out at an unnatural angle from the wheelchair, which was lying on its side, the back completely broken away from the seat.
    Jim and Brian, who were close behind Trixie, rushed around the desk and knelt beside the fallen man. From the looks on their faces, Trixie knew the situation was serious. She motioned the others to stay back until Brian had had a chance to examine the injured man.
    “Trix, bring me some clean cloths and water. Quick!” Brian ordered tensely. “And you, Mart, come and help Jim get this broken chair out of the way.” At first Trixie couldn’t think where to look for water and cloths, but suddenly she remembered seeing a small sink in Mr. Carver’s studio. She ran into the solarium, washed out a small pitcher she found on a shelf near the sink, filled it, and quickly grabbed up some cloths he apparently kept for cleaning his brushes.
    “Good girl,” Brian said when she returned. “These aren’t sterile, but they’ll do to get the worst of the blood cleaned up, so we can see how much damage has been done.”
    By this time, Mart and Jim had succeeded in extricating the wheelchair, and after Brian had assured himself that none of Mr. Carver’s bones were broken, they lifted the unconscious man onto the sofa and covered him gently with his lap robe.
    “He got a bad blow when he fell, but his pulse is pretty good, and so is his respiration. We want to keep his head elevated a little, in case he may have a concussion.” Brian adjusted the pillows on the sofa with professional skill.
    “Do you think it was the fall that hurt