The Mystery of the Emeralds

hadn’t been seriously injured.
    “Come and see my new wheelchair,” he called out when he saw the Bob-Whites. “It has everything except a motor.”
    “I’ll supply the horsepower,” Jim volunteered, starting to push the chair. “Wow! This makes your old chair look like a Model T Ford!”
    “And it even folds up so it can be carried in a small car,” Brian said.
    “It’s one I keep in the office for just such emergencies,” Dr. Brandon explained, “and Edgar is welcome to use it as long as he needs it.”
    Everyone, feeling a sense of relief that Mr. Carver was all right, chattered gaily on their way to the house.
    Trixie, of course, was dying to ask Mr. Carver about the bricked-up section they had found in the cellar, but she waited until he had been made comfortable on the sofa in the study. Dr. Brandon put some pills on a nearby table before leaving and suggested that the injured man take it easy for a day or so.
    “This thing has been quite a shock, but fortunately there has been no real damage. Knowing my friend’s strong constitution and stubborn disposition, I’d say he’ll be himself in no time.”
    Mr. Carver must have been reading Trixie’s thoughts, for he had no sooner said good-bye to the doctor than he turned to her.
    “Now, Trixie,” he said, “give me a progress report. What did you find while I was away?”
    “Well, there isn’t anything in the cellar, really, to give us any leads,” Trixie began, “except one part of the wall. It’s built of brick instead of stone and looks a lot newer than the rest of the foundation. Do you know anything about it?”
    “You’re right,” Mr. Carver said. “It is new construction. It was put in only a year ago, when that part of the wall started to crumble. I don’t know why they used bricks instead of stone, unless they found them easier to work with.”
    “And there wasn’t anything on the other side?”
    Mart asked. “Are you sure of that?”
    “Nothing but good old Virginia soil, I’m afraid,” Mr. Carver said with a laugh.
    “Another dead end!” Trixie moaned, dropping into a chair.
    “What about Miss Bates?” Di asked, looking from Trixie to Edgar Carver. “Didn’t you think she might help us?”
    “Oh, I’d completely forgotten dear Miss Bates,” he said, glancing at his watch. “She said she’d drop by around three, and it’s almost that now.”
    “Well, that gives us one more chance,” Trixie said, forcing a smile. She strolled over to the French doors. Looking out, she saw a woman, holding on to a floppy straw hat with one hand and carrying a basket of flowers with the other, making her way toward the terrace.
    “Here comes someone now,” Trixie called out, turning to Mr. Carver. “Do you suppose it’s Miss Bates?”
    “If she has a load of flowers, it’s sure to be.” Mr. Carver smiled. “She almost never comes without bringing something from her own garden to brighten up Green Trees.”
    Miss Bates breezed into the room like a ship under full sail. She plunked the huge basket of flowers down on the floor, then stepped back to take a long look at Edgar Carver, seemingly unaware of the others in the room.
    “Heavens to Betsy!” she exclaimed, bending over him to take a closer look at the bandage through her thick glasses. “Whatever in the world happened to you?”
    “Oh, just a little accident,” he reassured her. “I fell out of my chair and cut my forehead this morning, but Alex says it’s nothing to worry about.”
    “Pooh! That’s a man’s opinion,” Miss Bates pronounced firmly, settling her ample frame and voluminous skirts in the chair she had drawn up near the couch. “What you need is some calfs-foot jelly and custard to build up your strength and a good poultice of bread and milk to draw out the poison from that wound.”
    Edgar Carver smiled indulgently at his friend, as though accustomed to her sometimes wild theories. He then beckoned to the Bob-Whites, who had been watching this little scene from a distance.
    “I do declare,” Miss Bates chirped, drawing off a pair of long white lace gloves, “it’s good to have young people in the house—that is, if they don’t go around breaking things and disturbing you with a lot of noise. Now, you take those wild nieces of mine—”
    “No, Carolyn,” Mr. Carver broke in with a chuckle, “we don’t want to take your nieces! These friends of mine are not in the least obstreperous. As a matter of fact, they are here because