The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

into even more hot water.”
    “Come on, you two,” Honey said peaceably. “We can go in now.”
    Once inside, the Bob-Whites grew quiet as they gazed at the wax figures, which wore real clothes and seemed human right down to their hair, eyelashes, and bright, sparkling eyes. The figures looked so incredibly real and so familiar that the Bob-Whites didn’t even have to read their names.
    “It’s like seeing everybody you ever heard of, all in one place,” Honey marveled. “Napoleon and the Beatles, Abraham Lincoln and Liza Minnelli, all standing around together, big as life!”
    “And Shakespeare,” Mart said, going over for a closer look. He consulted his guidebook. “It says here that they make an impression of the skull in wax-using the actual head, if possible. If not, an artist sculpts it. Then they stick the hairs in the warm wax, one by one. The eyes are hand-blown glass, each one perfectly color-matched to the victim—that is, uh, the subject. There’s a collection of eyes in the storeroom drawers—that I have to see!”
    “I’ve heard that many world leaders—even kings and queens—come right here to Madame Tussaud’s to be measured and photographed,” Jim said.
    “There’s Madame Tussaud in the flesh—I mean, in the wax.” Trixie pointed to the famous old lady in the entrance hall. “Is she still alive?”
    “Not quite.” Mart grinned. “According to the guidebook, she started making wax figures way back before the French Revolution, when she was only eighteen, and she died in 1850, at the age of eighty-nine.”
    “It says here she modeled old Ben Franklin when he was in Paris in 1783,” Jim read from the guidebook. “He was the first American statesman ever to be done in wax.”
    “She also did Marie Antoinette—fresh from the guillotine,” Mart said. “They brought her the head in a basket.” He drew a grisly line across his throat.
    “Yipes,” Trixie said, and she saw Honey shiver. Trixie was reminded of how Honey used to faint at the sight of blood when she first came to Sleepyside. Now she's as determined as I am to become a detective , Trixie thought. Of course, she still does get scared sometimes , but that’s because she tends to have more sense than I do.
    Trixie wasn’t really careless. On second thought, she was always the first to agree that she had been too impulsive. The trouble was, she didn’t always have her second thoughts until too late.
    Thinking about Honey’s early days in Sleepyside made Trixie think of the absent Bob-Whites and how much she wished they could have come. “Especially Dan—he really deserves a trip like this,” Trixie said out loud, without realizing that nobody would know what she’d been thinking about. “Because he works so hard all the time!” Embarrassed, she blushed.
    Honey smiled understandingly. “I wish Dan could have come, too,” she said. “And Brian. They’re just so serious about earning money.”
    “And Di’s always having to go someplace with her parents,” Mart said grumpily. He kind of liked Di. Unlike Trixie, she always appreciated him.
    “It’s probably just as well everybody couldn’t come,” Jim pointed out. “That would be three more people to confuse waiters and museum guards!”
    Mart unslung his camera and called the others over to pose in front of a group of American presidents.
    “You should be in this one,” Trixie told him. “Here—let me take it.”
    Everybody groaned.
    “Trix, you always jiggle the camera while you’re taking the picture,” protested Mart.
    “Or else you chop off everyone’s head,” teased Honey. “And I’ve already had enough head-chopping for one day!”
    Finally Jim volunteered to take the picture.
    “Boy, will our history teachers be impressed,” exulted Trixie. “Here we are in a picture with George Washington and Teddy Roosevelt—isn’t he neat? And look—President Kennedy and Jimmy Carter. Gleeps!”
    “Here’s Henry the Eighth,” Jim said as they walked into another hall. The bulky king was surrounded by all six of his wives.
    “Talk about head-chopping!” said Mart. “That’s how a few of his wives met their end, you know.”
    “ ’E was a ’olv terror, ’e was,” their mother told the little redheaded twins, who were still close behind the Bob-Whites. “A naughty man, indeed!”
    Fortunately, Honey wasn’t around to hear this bloodthirsty conversation. “Trixie!” she shrieked from across the room. “Come here! Here’s