The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t get to see the world until—until I’m old and stodgy!”
    “Brian has a point, though,” said Mrs. Belden. “You all do have responsibilities here at home.”
    “I know, Moms,” Trixie said quickly. “But Mrs. Wheeler really wants us to be with Honey and Jim while she and Mr. Wheeler tend to their business.
    Sure, they’ve taken us on trips before, but we took Honey and Jim to Uncle Andrew’s lodge in the Ozarks and the sheep farm in Iowa, and it was Di Lynch’s family that took us all to Washington, D.C., and Williamsburg and Arizona. And you know how the Bob-Whites always help a lot of people on our trips—”
    “Not to mention, Schoolgirl Shamus,” Mart interrupted her breathless recital, “how you always manage to fathom all those unfathomable mysteries.”
    “It isn’t just me,” Trixie said. “It’s me and Honey and all the Bob-Whites.” She didn’t add that she and Honey were going to establish their own detective agency when they got out of school, because everybody knew that.
    Mrs. Belden shook her head regretfully as she got up to take a batch of brownies out of the oven. Mr. Belden reached for the newspaper.
    “Wait!” Trixie protested. “I’m not finished yet!” Her war council was turning into a total fiasco. Apparently, her parents had never had any intention of changing their minds.
    Trixie looked ready to explode, and Brian nudged her under the table.
    “Douse the dynamite,” he said softly. “It won’t do any good to blow up.”
    “I’m afraid the subject is closed,” Mr. Belden said, and Trixie could almost hear the definite click of a vault door swinging shut in the First National Bank of Sleepyside, where her father worked.
    “I’m sure you’ll get to England sometime,” Mrs. Belden said, her blue eyes warm with sympathy. “But in the meantime, how about some brownies?”
    One whiff of the fudgy brownies was enough to make Mart forget everything else, and Brian was already cutting his first serving. But Trixie felt that what she needed at the moment was cool air, not hot brownies.
    “I’m going over to Honey’s for a while,” she mumbled. “Okay?”
    “I’ll be over in a few minutes,” promised Mart in between bites.
    “All right,” their mother said. “But be home early.”
    Trixie fairly flew up the footpath that led from Crabapple Farm to the Manor House, high on the hill. Every minute that she and Honey had left was precious. She had so many questions. When were they leaving? How long were they going to stay? Not all summer, she hoped. That would be awful!
    As Trixie neared the top of the hill, Honey came flying down to meet her. Her honey-blond hair streamed out behind her, and her hazel eyes were enormous.
    “Trixie!” she cried. “Just wait till you see what I’ve got!”
    “Why do I have to see it?” demanded Trixie breathlessly. “Just tell me!”
    “You’d never believe me, that’s why,” said Honey, leading the way up to the white mansion on the Hudson River hilltop.
    “I’ll die if you don’t tell me right this minute,” Trixie threatened as they hurried up the steps of the veranda that encircled the house.
    “Oh, Trixie, you’re always dying,” Honey laughed. “I’ll give you some clues, though. It’s all different colors, and it’s very, very old.”
    The girls rushed inside and almost bumped into Mrs. Wheeler, who was in the reception hall talking to one of the maids. Uh-oh , Trixie thought to herself. Slow down. Honey’s mother was very nice, but Trixie couldn’t help feeling a little in awe of her. She never had a hair out of place, it seemed, and she was always dressed up, even for riding. She came from a socially prominent family, and she always looked as perfect as she did in the oil portrait of her in the Wheeler living room.
    Trixie felt different toward Honey’s redheaded father. He was a millionaire in his own right and had built up a far-flung business empire, but somehow all the Bob-Whites felt as comfortable with him as they did with their own fathers. Or maybe more so, Trixie thought grumpily. She wasn’t too comfortable with her own father at the moment.
    “Good evening, Trixie,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “I suppose you have come to see Honey’s—”
    “Don’t tell,” Honey said. “I want to surprise her.”
    “Very well, dear.” Mrs. Wheeler smiled at them.
    “Why don’t you take her up to your room? The—that is, it—has come back from the