The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

“real” as American dollars. “These don’t seem to be worth the same amount for two days in a row,” he said.
    Trixie fidgeted restlessly. “Could that man be keeping us waiting intentionally?” she wondered aloud.
    “Ssshhh,” Honey whispered as the doors finally swung open and the waiter came over to plunk their bill down on the table.
    “As Winnie-the-Pooh might say, what do we owe in pounds, shillings, and ounces?” Mart asked lightly.
    Pooh was a favorite of Bobby, their little brother, and Trixie felt a twinge of homesickness. Back home, everybody liked the Bob-Whites!
    “Mine comes to roughly a pound, with the tip,” Jim figured.
    Honey unhitched the leather handbag that hung from her shoulder and stared at its contents, totally baffled by the unfamiliar money.
    “Mine is ninety-five pennies,” Trixie said with a sigh, rummaging around in her change purse. “Oh, woe! How am I going to come up with that many pennies?”
    “That’s pence,” Mart told her. “Pence aren’t the same thing as cents. They’re worth about twice as much, and there’s a hundred pence to the pound, which fluctuates around two dollars. So give the man a quid, and let him keep the change. Here, Honey, I’ll pay the rest, and we can figure out how much you owe me when we get back to the hotel.”
    Trixie was all mixed-up, and she didn’t like it. “What’s a quid?” she asked.
    “A quid is British slang for a pound,” Mart explained patiently.
    All this time, the waiter was standing there, waiting to take their money. To Trixie’s mind, the face behind that moustache was scowling. Well, she didn’t want to tip him too much. But maybe it wasn’t enough—was that why he was glaring at her? It seemed she couldn’t do anything right here.
    Trixie placed her money on the table and stormed out the door, every blond curl bristling. The only possible reason that waiter could have for not liking them was that they were Americans! They hadn’t done anything wrong, she was sure.
    She hadn’t gone far when she found Jim walking beside her. “I get that Yankee-go-home feeling, too,”
    he admitted with a sympathetic sigh.
    Trixie felt better, with Jim at her side. Maybe things would be different at the Wax Museum. Maybe they’d even start finding clues to the whole reason they were in England—the origin of Honey’s necklace.

In the Chamber of Horrors • 3

    AS THE BOB-WHITES were waiting in line for admittance to the Wax Museum, an English family strolled over to stand right behind them. The small boy and girl appeared to be twins, with red hair like Jim’s and blue eyes like Bobby’s. They bore a closer resemblance to her little brother, Trixie thought, the way they were staring at her. She did feel a bit self-conscious, suddenly, about the fact that the four Americans were dressed in identical red jackets, the ones Honey had expertly sewn for each of the Bob-Whites.
    Trixie bent down to the children and gave them her friendliest smile. “I’ll bet you’re wondering why we’re all wearing these red jackets,” she said. “You see, we belong to a club called the Bob-Whites of the Glen. That’s what the initials on the back of our jackets stand for. We have to earn our own money for club dues, and we have a lot of fun together. Sometimes we even get to solve exciting mysteries. Do you belong to a club?”
    Instead of answering, the children merely giggled and retreated behind their mother’s skirt.
    “The twins’re a bit shy, they are,” said the rosy-faced Englishwoman. “That is, with stryngers they are.”
    Strangers! Trixie’s jaw tightened. Why, I’ve always been able to make friends with little kids, she thought stubbornly.
    “And we have this special club whistle,” she persisted, still bending down, “for when we get into trouble.” Without stopping to think, she let out her most ear-piercing bob, bob-white!
    With a delighted grin, the children peeked out from behind their mother. The rest of the crowd, however, backed off, and a man in uniform appeared from inside the museum.
    “ ‘Ere now,” the man said sternly. “None of that!”
    Trixie hastily stood up, an uncomfortable redness spreading across her face. “I was only—” she began.
    Without waiting for her to finish, the museum guard shook a warning finger at her and hurried back into the building.
    “That’s lucky for you,” Mart murmured in Trixie’s ear. “I have a feeling your explanation would have got you