The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

Queen Elizabeth, and just look at her necklace. Isn’t it a lot like mine? Like my inheritance?” Honey was acting so excited that the other Bob-Whites hurried over to join her immediately.
    “Come now. Queue up, queue up,” a stout Englishman reminded them, flourishing his skinny black umbrella. A crowd of sightseers had just surged into the Hall of Kings, and the Bob-Whites were out of line. To the British, it seemed, this was a crime second only to first-degree murder.
    Honey didn’t budge. She couldn’t take her eyes off the red-haired queen, and Queen Elizabeth the First stared back at her disdainfully. She was wearing a glittering, bejeweled gown—and an ornate necklace of multicolored gems.
    “They’re not exactly like yours, though, Honey,” Trixie said.
    “No, but I think it proves what the appraiser told Mother,” Honey insisted.
    The Bob-Whites dropped behind to let the other tourists move ahead of them.
    “Honey, you may be right,” Jim said thoughtfully. “The appraiser said it dates back to about 1600, didn’t he? That would be about the end of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, wouldn’t it?”
    “Elizabeth the First, 1558 to 1603,” Mart recited glibly.
    “Elementary, my dear Watson,” Trixie scoffed. “You read it off the plaque.”
    “I promise this is the last time I’ll mention beheading,” said Mart, “but I just can’t resist mentioning that even Elizabeth was a decapitator. She was responsible for the beheading of Mary Queen of Scots—her own half sister!”
    Jim shook his head. “I’ve always heard Miss Trask say how soothing she finds the sound of the Scottish accent, and I think it’s neat, too. But I must say there’s a lot of blood in Scottish history.”
    “In English history, too,” said Honey with a shudder. “Come on, let’s go see the Sleeping Beauty upstairs.”
    Trixie was only too happy to follow. The sight of another figure near Elizabeth’s had slightly unnerved her. For some reason, she felt like getting as far away as possible from the bony, scar-faced figure, dressed all in gray from his battered golf cap to his dirty trousers.
    Upstairs, in the shadowy Chamber of the Tableaux, lay the famous fairy-tale princess. Her long golden hair, just the color of Honey’s, spilled over a white lace pillow, and her chest rose and fell as if she were alive.
    “She’s breathing, ” Honey whispered.
    The group was also impressed by the deafening Battle of Trafalgar, laid out on two levels below. It was like a real battle at sea, with cannons roaring, smoke billowing, flares bursting, and fifty wax sailors fighting across the pitching deck of the ship.
    “Wow!” said Mart. “Wonder how they build this.”
    “They do a lot with electronics,” Jim explained. “Strobe lights, magnetic tape—I guess it’s a lot noisier than it used to be when Madame Tussaud was around.”
    “Let’s not forget to see the Chamber of Horrors,” said Trixie. Eager to view some of history’s most notorious criminals and villains, she led the way down the winding stone steps to the dungeons.
    In the gloomy light, it was hard to see very well. Eerily highlighted were the faces of people like Jack the Ripper, Nazi war criminals, Lee Harvey Oswald, and a mob of French peasants gleefully watching the very guillotine that had been used in the French Revolution. Weird music drifted through the dark cells.
    “Brrr,” Honey shivered. “It’s cold down here,”
    Most of the archcriminals were behind bars. “Visitors have been known to break off wax fingers for souvenirs,” said Mart. “And speaking of wax fingers, I’m not leaving till I see how they put these things together. I bet we could get them to let us see the workshops.”
    “Go ahead,” Trixie said. “I’d rather see the rest of the Horrors. How about you, Honey?”
    “We-ell,” Honey said, “neither alternative sounds all that attractive to me. But I guess the workshops do sound even gorier than this, so I’ll stay down here.”
    “You go with Mart if you want to, Jim,” Trixie said. “We can meet at the exit.”
    “I don’t think we should split up,” Jim said doubtfully. He glanced at Trixie.
    “Oh, pish!” Trixie tossed her curls. “What could happen? All these figures are wax, remember? This must be one of the safest places in the whole world, as bloodcurdling as it looks!”
    Jim grinned and looked at his watch. “Well, okay,” he agreed. “But let’s meet at the main exit in ten minutes.