The secret of the Mansion

around here that if anyone dropped a lighted match on a leaf we’d have a regular forest fire."
    "I know," Honey said as they trudged down to the garden. "Jim was talking about that this morning when he was being very careful to put out every spark of the fire he built outside. He was also kind of worried that someone might see the smoke and investigate."
    "Well, he needn’t worry about that," Trixie panted as she sloshed water on the pepper plants. "There’s not another place around here except yours and ours for acres and acres. But he’d better be careful inside that crumbling old house with all that paper lying around. If a fire ever started there, no one would ever be able to stop it."
    They walked slowly back and refilled their watering cans. "The cisterns "almost empty," Trixie said. "It went dry one summer when a fire started down in our field below the garden. There aren’t any hydrants around here, you know, so, although they sent out the whole fire department, the chemical truck was the only one they could use. They got the fire under control pretty quickly," she went on, "but the chief told Dad that if the wind had been blowing in the other direction our house would have caught fire before they could have stopped it. We’ve been awfully careful about matches ever since then, and Dad won’t even let Brian bum the trash now."
    Honey glanced up at the old house on the hill. "Gosh," she murmured, "if the Mansion caught fire, it might spread through the woods to our house and yours, mightn’t it?"
    "That’s right," Trixie answered. "And in this dry weather all three of them would probably bum to the ground."
    When the last row of plants had been watered, the girls put the cans and garden tools in the garage and started up the hill.
    Tm so tired I can hardly move," Honey said as she trailed farther and farther behind. "I guess I’m just not used to so much exercise. I’ve simply got to rest a minute or I’ll drop in my tracks."
    "Okay," Trixie said, "but come on just as soon as you can."
    She whistled as she pushed through the thicket, and in a minute or two Jim appeared at the window. "Hi," he called out. "Didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow."
    "I've got bad news," Trixie panted. "Your uncle’s dying, Jim. It was in the afternoon paper."
    Jim looked serious. "That’s too bad. I wish I dared risk going in to see him. I’m his only living relative, you know."
    "You mustn’t," Trixie objected. "The police or somebody would want to know where you’re living and all about you. They’d be sure to notify Jonesy then, wouldn’t they?"
    Jim nodded thoughtfully. "Just the same, I hate to think of Uncle James dying in a hospital all alone."
    "I think we ought to search some more for that money," Trixie insisted. "He may die without telling anyone where it is."
    "I have searched." Jim reached inside for the shotgun he had been cleaning and, dangling his long legs over the sill, began polishing the barrel with a piece of oily rag. "I’ve given all the downstairs a thorough going-over," he went on. "I’ve even rapped the living-room panels from floor to ceiling looking for a secret hiding place." He grinned. "And don’t ask me, because I looked: There’s not a single sign of a trapdoor in the cellar."
    Trixie sat down on the sparse grass beneath the window. She suddenly felt as exhausted as Honey had a few minutes before. "There must be a will, or at least a letter, around somewhere which would tell where the money’s hidden," she said crossly. "How about that desk?"
    Jim shook his head. "I found the key to the desk. It was hanging on a ring with a bunch of others on a nail behind the cellar door. There was nothing in the desk but some passbooks to several New York savings banks."
    "Well, my goodness," Trixie exclaimed excitedly. "That’s something, anyway. You’re the heir, so all the money in those banks will belong to you when your uncle dies."
    Jim loaded the gun before he replied. "All those accounts had been closed out years ago, Trixie," he said quietly. "I’m afraid that proves more than ever that Uncle James spent or lost all his money."
    Trixie sighed. "I think we really ought to search the top floor, Jim. Right away. If your uncle dies, the story may be written up in the New York papers, and then there’ll be a lot of reporters snooping around here, and we may never have another chance."
    Jim looked startled. "If it gets in the papers, Jonesy will come snooping around," he said