The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

all, Trix. Hey, guys, this is the best picture Trixie has ever taken!”
    “I didn’t jiggle it,” she agreed. “And I know I didn’t cut off his head—come on, Mart, please give it to me!”
    Mart handed her the snapshot.
    She took a quick look and groaned. “It was Gray Cap!” Trixie fought back tears of frustration. “He must have slipped behind the statue just after I focused. I held my breath for a second to make sure I wouldn’t blur it—that must have been when he got away. Oh, dinglebuckles.”
    Jim, Honey, and Mart were silent. Trixie almost wished they’d tease her about her overactive imagination, but they were being strangely tactful. Oh, she knew she’d have to have proof before they’d ever believe she’d seen that London pickpocket way out here in the country. And she had taken a perfect picture, too, not the least bit jiggled—only it was of a statue!
    “Better luck next time,” Mart said after a while. He actually sounded almost sympathetic.
    For Trixie, the shopping trip was spoiled. She bought some things for the folks back home, but she hardly noticed what. She was still keeping her eyes peeled for that dirty gray golf cap.
    The Bob-Whites were back at Hartfield House by six. Gregory had shown up for tea at The Cobweb, but Anne hadn’t been able to make it. She met them in the garden, where she was picking some flowers for the dining room.
    “Mariellen, the cook, had a spot of trouble with the joint,” she explained. “I had to lend a hand.”
    “A joint,” Gregory added, “is a roast. Well, I’m off to the theater now. See you all later.”
    Trixie and Honey walked along the rose-lined path to their room, to freshen up before dinner. “Honest, Honey, I did see him,” insisted Trixie. “I’d know him anywhere.”
    “I suppose they do have pickpockets in the country,” Honey admitted. “In places like Stratford-on-Avon, with all these sightseers. But I don’t see how it could be the same one, Trix. We’re ninety miles from London! One piece of jewelry wouldn’t be worth following us all this way.”
    “Unless it was a crown jewel,” Trixie said.
    “But it isn’t. It’s only glass, the appraiser said.” Honey stood on tiptoe to pick a pink rose from the trellis that arched the Rose Room door.
    “I wonder if Miss Trask and McDuff will be back in time for dinner,” Trixie said as she pushed open their door. “Hey—that’s funny. It isn’t locked.”
    “Oh, Trixie!” Honey’s voice quavered as they looked around their room, once beautiful but now in a shambles. Their suitcases were in the middle of the beds, wide open. Clothes were strewn around the flowered carpet. The bedcovers were even ripped off the beds. Their things were spilling out of the bureau drawers.
    The girls stared at each other with tears in their eyes.
    “How awful, ” Trixie whispered.
    Honey was rummaging in a drawer. When she turned to face Trixie, her face was drained of color.
    “My necklace,” she squeaked. “We were so tired last night, and I meant to ask Anne to put it back in the safe this morning. But oh, Trixie, I forgot, and now it’s gone!”

Family Tree • 13

    EVERYBODY FORGETS sometimes,” Trixie said as comfortingly as she could.
    “But n-not s-such an important thing.” Honey couldn’t stop crying as they rushed up the stairs to Mart and Jim’s room.
    Trixie pounded on the door, but nobody answered. Had they gone down to dinner already? Just as Trixie was about to give up, Jim opened the door. He had just finished washing his hair. It was dripping wet, and he had a towel around his shoulders. Mart, they saw, still had his head in the washbowl.
    “Come see our room!” Trixie cried. “It’s all messed up, and Honey’s necklace is gone.”
    “Have you called the police?” Jim asked quickly. “When did it happen?”
    “We don’t know. Sometime when we were gone,” Trixie said. “Anybody could have got in through the rose garden, because the door was unlocked, and—”
    “I know I locked the door,” Honey said positively. “I remember that.”
    “It had to be Gray Cap,” Trixie said. “I told you I saw him in the market square—”
    “Come on,” Mart interrupted. “Let’s go! Wait— no, wait a minute. Where’s my wallet?” Mart’s head was still plastered with curly white lather, but Trixie had never seen her brother so excited. Mart, the unflappable!
    “It’s right there on the bureau,” Jim said.
    “Yeah—well, look!” Mart