The Mystery of the Emeralds

they would understand her decision.
    “Honestly, Mr. Lynch,” she said, “I couldn’t eat a thing right now. Would you think I was terribly impolite if I just stayed here and went on hunting?”
    “Not at all. Not at all,” he replied, “if Jim will stay with you. You may need some help, you know.”
    “Of course I’ll stay,” Jim was quick to reply. “Come on, Trix, let’s get going!”
    “Just a minute, me hearties,” Mart interrupted, in his best imitation of an English accent. “What about the rest of us? If you coves think you’re going to pull this caper without me, you’re dotty!” He turned
    to the other Bob-Whites. “Right, chaps?”
    It was Brian, the eldest, who made the decision. “Look, Mart,” he said understandingly. “I know how you feel, and Honey and Di, too, for that matter. We’d all like to go to the end of the trail, but there’s just so much space below stairs to work in, so what could we really do to help?” He looked around for confirmation. “I move we appoint Trixie and Jim to go on with the hunt, while the rest of us go to lunch. What do you say?”
    For a moment there was silence. Then Mart broke it with a groan.
    “Why did you have to mention food, dear brother of mine? You knew what I’d say.” Turning to the girls he went on cheerily, “No adventurer I, when the dinner bell rings. Let’s go eat!”
    Mart’s humor and good nature were infectious. As the group broke up and started for the door, they were all laughing.
    “Good luckl” Mr. Carver called back to Trixie and Jim as he left with the others for Williamsburg and the Tun.
    Jim and Trixie, alone now, descended into the familiar depths of the stairwell.
    “I don’t think Ruth would pick a spot that was too hard to find, do you?” Trixie asked as they approached the tunnel. “Or is that just wishful thinking?”
    “No, she probably worked out the intricate plan for hiding the directions in the urn so no one except her sister would find them,” Jim said, “and then she would have chosen a brick in plain sight. There’d have been no reason to make it too difficult once Ruth had got into the secret passage.”
    “Well, I hope you’re right,” Trixie sighed. “Suppose we start going down the right-hand side. You hold the flashlight over my shoulder.”
    Trixie began running her hands over the bricks, one by one, occasionally stopping to scratch the moss away when she thought she felt an indentation. She tried not to let her growing feeling of frustration get the better of her, but, as time wore on, she became more and more discouraged.
    “I’ll simply die if it’s hidden in the part that’s caved in, or on the other side,” she whispered to Jim as they neared the blocked-up end of the tunnel.
    “It could be, of course,” Jim answered, “but don’t give up yet, Trixie. We still have the opposite wall to examine.”
    As they turned and started to look at the left-hand side of the tunnel, the light suddenly flashed on a brick different in texture and color from the others. It looked as though it had been waxed, and there was no moss on it. Trixie let out a gasp when she looked closely and saw a distinct X cut quite deeply into the center of the soft clay brick. It was all she could do to suppress a scream. She stuck her fingernails into the crack and tried to pry the brick loose. When it refused to budge, she turned to Jim, a desperate look on her face. Jim handed her the flashlight and, taking a small jackknife from his pocket, started
    to probe around the edges of the brick.
    “Thank goodness it isn’t set in mortar,” he whispered, “but in dirt and sand. It should come out without too much trouble.”
    All this time, sounds of activity on the other side of the pile could be heard. The sounds became more and more distinct, and Trixie was sure Jenkins was shoveling away the rubble faster to get to their side.
    “Hurry, Jim, please!” she urged. “He’s coming right through here, I know!”
    Jim worked desperately to force the brick out, but the blade was so short it didn’t penetrate much.
    “Do you want me to get a knife from the kitchen?” Trixie asked.
    “No, thanks, I’ve almost got it,” Jim answered, twisting the knife this way and that. “Hold the flash closer, Trix. I can’t see what I’m doing.”
    “I’ve got it as close as I can, Jim,” Trixie whispered. They had been so preoccupied that neither of them noticed the light growing dimmer and dimmer. Then