The Mystery of the Emeralds

there, looking like a thundercloud, stood Miss Bates!
    “Great day in the morning! Just what’s the meaning of this uproar?” she asked, looking at Trixie stormily. “What did Edgar mean when he said you weren’t the obstreperous kind? And him with that grievous head wound, too. You should be absolutely ashamed of yourselves!”
    She was talking so fast that no one had a chance to interrupt her until she ran out of breath and was forced to stop. Then Mr. Carver rolled his chair over to her and, motioning her to come in, said with a laugh, “Oh, Carolyn, you couldn’t be more wrong! Relax! We were just having a little celebration.”
    “Celebration!” she repeated angrily, looking around the room. “You call it a celebration, when these young hoodlums break this priceless paneling and make so much noise that you couldn’t even hear when I knocked on the door? Celebration, indeed!”
    She was so furious that she was shaking, and only when she noticed the bowl of custard starting to slip out of her basket did she stop her tirade. By this time, Edgar Carver was laughing uproariously. That only made Miss Bates more furious.
    “Please, Miss Bates,” Trixie said softly, “I’m sorry we were so noisy, but we were pretty excited. You see, we finally found the secret passage.”
    This was almost more than Carolyn Bates could stand. She looked from Trixie to Mr. Carver in complete disbelief, and then, seeing him nod his head, she sat down abruptly on a nearby love seat, not even noticing when Trixie rescued the custard by quietly taking the basket and setting it on the floor.
    “That hole in the wall isn’t broken paneling,” Mr. Carver explained. “It’s the entrance to the stairs leading down through the cellar.”
    “Well, I’ll have to see it to believe it,” Miss Bates answered, taking off her hat and gloves and getting up from the love seat.
    “Would you like to go down and have a look?” Trixie asked, a mischievous smile on her face as she thought of buxom Miss Bates trying to make her way down the narrow steps.
    “Good heavens, no!” Miss Bates replied, putting her head inside the open panel. “I can see it wasn’t built for the likes of me! I’ll have to be satisfied with having you tell me about it. Did you figure this out from the blueprints?”
    “Well, yes and no,” Trixie began cautiously, not yet knowing whether Miss Bates’s anger had really subsided. “You see, I was puzzled, just as you were, about those funny measurements between this room and Mr. Carver’s study, so I examined the walls in here and noticed that this particular panel wasn’t as solid as the others.”
    “Yes, yes, go on,” Miss Bates urged, leaning forward expectantly.
    “And then I felt along the moldings until I discovered this little depression.” Trixie pulled the panel down so she could show Miss Bates what she was talking about. “You see, it goes up and down just like a window.”
    Miss Bates moved the panel several times, as though to convince herself that it really worked as Trixie had said.
    “My dear,” she said, holding out her hand, “I apologize! You’re a smart girl. With all the work I’ve done on old houses, it would never have occurred to me that a staircase could be built in such a small area. Now, go on, and tell me more about what’s down below.”
    Trixie explained how the steps evidently had been built inside one of the huge piers that supported the house, going down below the cellar floor level and connecting with a subterranean tunnel.
    “Have you gone all the way through it?” Miss Bates asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
    “No, I had just come back to tell Mr. Carver what I’d found, when you came in,” Trixie said, “but I mean to go back and look for—” an almost imperceptible warning sign from Jim made her hesitate before she went on—‘look for the opening at the other end.”
    She was so excited that she had almost disclosed the secret of the emeralds, but she had caught herself in time.
    “I do wish I could stay and hear about what you find,” Miss Bates said, “but I have to meet the architect who is working on the old Bailey house, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling me I’m late. May I come back tomorrow, Edgar, or am I wearing out my welcome?”
    “You know you are always welcome, Carolyn,” he said warmly as he started to escort her into the hall.
    Miss Bates suddenly remembered her basket. Picking it up, she