The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

Trask?” Honey asked, looking troubled. “Older people do fall in love sometimes, you know, and she’s a wonderful person.”
    “Honey could be right,” Jim said. “When you think about it, what’s the man done to us? Merely saved Honey’s life, showed us around to all the best places, and given Miss Trask a good time—which she sure deserves.”
    “He’s going to break her heart,” Trixie insisted.
    “ ‘A pair of star-cross’d lovers,’ ” Mart quoted with a sigh.
    “Isn’t that from Romeo and Juliet?” asked Trixie. “They’re not exactly McDuff and Miss Trask!”
    Honey was looking more and more upset, and Jim tactfully changed the subject. “It must be hard on Gregory and Anne to run Hartfield House,” he said. “All that work, and not enough money for servants, and their father so bitter about the whole thing. Anne may have to give up her tennis, Gregory told me.”
    “But she’s really good,” said Trixie.
    “He didn’t say,” Jim went on, “but I suspect he may have to give up his acting career, too, if they can’t make a go of it.”
    “A lot of English families with big old homes have that problem,” Mart said. “The taxes—rates, I mean —are so high that they either have to sell their homes or take in tourists.”
    “The inflation makes it hard to maintain a large house, too,” Jim added.
    “I wonder what would happen if my father lost his money and had to rent out rooms in Manor House.” Honey’s big hazel eyes filled with sympathy.
    “We’d manage,” Jim said. “I’m sure Dad could take it, but....”
    “I know,” Honey sighed. “It would kill Mother.”
    “Well, anyhow, we cleaned up our rooms this morning,” Trixie said. “So maybe Anne and Gregory can meet us at the Cobweb for tea, like they were hoping.”
    “Yes, they simply must try the duck,” Mart said with a teasing look at Honey.
    Like every place in Stratford, the market square was within walking distance, even from the Harts’ country mansion. After passing the Post Office, the Bob-Whites found Wood Street, which led to the American Fountain. This statue, which Anne had directed them to, stood at the center of the open space where rows of booths had been set up. Not only farm products, but also tourist souvenirs and other colorful miscellanea were displayed.
    “Good chance to get some more pictures,” said Mart, putting a roll of self-developing film into his camera.
    “Jeepers, this is almost as crowded as Piccadilly Circus,” Trixie observed as they joined the throngs of shoppers.
    “Anne said we might want to check out the regular shops in town, too,” Honey said. “I want to look in that china store she told us about. I just have to get some of those cute cups and bowls with bunnies on them for Bobby and the Lynch twins, and some china flower baskets for Mother—”
    “Oh, my gosh!” Trixie cried. “Look at that!”
    Jim, Mart, and Honey craned their necks to see what she was pointing at.
    “There—over there! Oh, quick, Mart, give me your camera!” Trixie waved wildly at the statue in the center of the market square.
    “You want a picture of the American Fountain?” Mart handed his sister the camera with an indulgent grin. “I happen to know it was presented to Stratford-on-Avon in the year of Queen Victoria’s jubilee. A jubilee, in case you’re wondering, is the fiftieth year of the reign of an English monarch. That was in the nineteenth century, in the year—”
    Without waiting for him to finish, Trixie yanked the strap of the camera over her sandy curls. She didn’t hear what year, but she did remember to look in the viewfinder and aim carefully before clicking the shutter. “Oh, please, let me do it right,” she muttered. “Just this once.”
    “Here,” Mart chuckled. “Don’t waste too much film, Trixie. Just tell me what you want. I’ll take it.”
    “What’s up, Trix?” Jim asked more seriously.
    “I saw him!” Trixie insisted. “Right by the statue. And this time you’ll have to believe me.”
    “Saw whom?” Honey was used to Trixie’s sometimes indefinite way of talking and could often read her mind, but this time she was completely baffled.
    “You’ll see,” Trixie promised. “Here, Mart, take out the picture.”
    As Mart slid the developed photo out of the camera, Trixie could hardly wait to snatch it from him. Teasingly, he held it up, just out of her reach, and looked at it himself.
    “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at