The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

their way through the crowd to Trixie.
    “Where’s Honey?” they asked anxiously.
    “She’s—she—” Trixie couldn’t get the words out. Her hands shook, and she felt sick with dread. She pointed at the back of the bus. It was still moving.
    A crowd of curious sightseers had gathered.
    “I saw ’er. She went right under the bus, she did!”
    “Och, the poor lass!”
    A ripple of horror ran through the onlookers.
    “But where is she?” Jim demanded, starting to head back across the street.
    A second bus was passing, close behind the first, but still there was no sign of Honey.
    “There!” Mart cried. “There she is!”
    A tall man with grizzled black hair was pushing his way toward them, with Honey in his arms. Her long blond hair hung over his shoulder. When he reached the Bob-Whites, he set her down—limp and pale, but all in one piece.
    “Oh, Honey!” Trixie burst into tears.
    “I’m okay,” Honey said shakily. “This m-man saved my life.”
    The big man reddened at their chorus of thank-you’s. “My pleasure,” he said gruffly. Then he introduced himself as Gordie McDuff. He was about Miss Trask’s age, Trixie thought, and very good-look-ing, with his dark wavy hair and graying sideburns. He looked to be over six feet tall.
    The Bob-Whites invited him to have dinner with them at The Carvery. “We just have to thank you for saving Honey’s life,” they insisted.
    “Then ye have returned the favor already,” he laughed. “For now ye have saved my life.”
    What does he mean by that? Trixie wondered, but before she could ask, they were heading into the restaurant and prowling around the horseshoeshaped buffet. When it came time to carve mouthwatering slices of the sizzling-hot roast meats, McDuff proved to be an expert carver. Honey had recovered enough to show her own skill at carving, and Trixie did nearly as well.
    After they returned to their table with heaped plates, the Scotsman explained his earlier remark.
    “I’m in something of a predicament,” he said. “I wouldna have dreamed I’d be eating a fine dinner this night—with nary a quid in me pocket.” He went on to tell how he had just arrived from Canada that afternoon, after the Exchanges had closed, and he had been unable to get his money changed. It was fortunate that he had met such kind people.
    “But where will you sleep?” Honey asked worriedly. “What will you do tomorrow? It’s Sunday! Here—”
    She unslung her handbag and was about to open it, when Trixie stopped her with a look that said, Your necklace is in there.
    “Here’s five pounds,” Trixie said quickly, opening her own wallet. “Would that be enough to tide you over?” She hoped so; it was all she had.
    Honey read the warning flash in Trixie’s eyes and was silent. She looked bewildered, though. Could Trixie be suspicious of the man who had saved her life?
    “That’s very kind of ye.” McDuff didn’t hesitate about taking the money. “Ye may be sure I will return it,” he promised with a dramatic roll of his r s. “As soon as the Exchanges open on Monday. Now, if ye would just give me the name of yer hotel?” He drew out paper and pencil and waited expectantly.
    Trixie was about to tell him that he didn’t have to bother repaying her, when Honey spoke up.
    “We’re staying at a small bed-and-breakfast place—the Garden Hotel—near the British Museum, but we’re leaving on Monday,” she confided. “You really don’t have to return the money. My parents will be glad to give it to Trixie. But we’d just love to have you meet Miss Trask—our chaperon—and have lunch with us tomorrow.” She finished her speech in a rush, breathless and a little pink.
    McDuff’s black eyes twinkled. “Happen I could. If ye’re certain this Miss Trask wouldna object?”
    Honey gave a glowing account of her former governess, and then she and the boys told the Scotsman something about their trip. By unspoken consent, no one mentioned the necklace, although Honey seemed on the verge of it several times.
    Trixie was unusually quiet. She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t as crazy about McDuff as the rest of them were. Even Jim seemed to be under his spell. What’s the matter with me? she thought. Honey wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. She’d be in some London hospital , or maybe even —She couldn’t bear to finish the thought.
    “We’re on a genealogical binge,” Mart was explaining as he finished up his third helping,