The secret of the Mansion

picking lettuce, and it looked to me as though the plane missed the Wheelers’ chimney by inches." She tied a napkin under Bobby’s chin. "Is Honey going to stay with you, Trixie? If not, you’d better start packing. I’m not at all sure we ought to leave you girls here alone, but your father seems to think you’ll be perfectly all right."
    "Of course we will," Trixie said quickly. "And it’s only for one night."
    Her mother snapped the lock on a small suitcase. "Bobby and I will probably stay for a week or ten days. The doctor said he could play quietly on the beach tomorrow and go in swimming by the weekend." She pinched Bobby’s pale cheek. "You’ve got to get back those big red apples, you know."
    "Don’t worry about anything while you’re gone,"
    Trixie said. "I’ll take good care of Dad. It’ll be fun cooking for him."
    She waved good-bye to the family from the terrace, and in a little while she heard a bobwhite call from the woods behind the garage. She whistled back, and in a moment Jim darted out and ran down the driveway with Reddy barking at his heels.
    "Saw the car leaving," he said. "I don’t even feel safe here. Mind if I go in?"
    "Of course not." Trixie led him into the living room. "You don’t have to worry. Nobody’ll arrive without warning. Reddy barks his head off at everybody who comes."
    "That’s pretty good." Jim stared around the low-ceilinged room admiringly. "This is a nice place. It reminds me of the house we had in the country before Dad got sick. We had to sell it then and move to a small apartment in Rochester." His eye fell on a loving cup on the mantel. "Golly, I left in such a hurry I forgot to bring down my cup and the will."
    "Honey and I’ll bring them down this afternoon, after we search. Can I fix you some lunch now?" Trixie asked.
    Jim shook his head. "I’ve already eaten, but I would like a hot shower. It was awfully hard keeping clean up there. I washed my shirt and pants a couple of times, but I couldn’t really get the dirt out in that cold water."
    "You can have all the hot water and soap you want," Trixie said. "And I’ll find you some of Brian’s clothes. While you’re in the shower, I’ll wash the ones you have on. They’ll dry in no time in this hot sun."
    Honey came down around four o’clock, and the girls bicycled to the store for the New York evening papers.
    "They just arrived," Mr. Lytell told them, pointing to the first page.
    PILOT BAILS OUT AT MISER’S MANSION the headline read, and in the bank under it was written, in smaller type, MISSING HEIRESS SOUGHT IN ROCHESTER.
    "Isn’t that just like a newspaper?" Honey giggled. "They would make it a girl!" She clapped her hand over her mouth as Trixie’s elbow dug into her ribs. But it was too late.
    Mr. Lytell glanced at her with quick suspicion. "Eh, what’s that?" he started to say.
    Trixie grabbed the paper. On page two were pictures of the Mansion and the debris-filled living room. Trixie read the caption out loud: " ‘In this house and perhaps in this very room a fortune may be hidden.’ "
    "I doubt that." Mr. Lytell walked with the girls as far as the door. "In my opinion, Mr. Frayne died a pauper. What was that you were saying about a girl?"
    "Nothing," Trixie said hastily. They got on their bikes and pedaled away from the store. "Oh," she moaned, "Jim isn’t going to like this at all. I wish we didn’t have to show him the papers." Then she added, "You must be more careful, Honey!"
    "I know it," Honey said shamefacedly. "I almost let the cat out of the bag, and that man’s suspicious enough, anyway."
     

Treasure • 17
     
    THE FRECKLES STOOD out in the whiteness of Jim’s face as he read the newspaper account of the plane crash. The first two paragraphs covered the pilot’s story, but the rest of the report was concerned with Mr. Frayne’s recent death and the fact that there was no way of tracing the niece-in-law who would inherit the estate. The story ended:
     
A reply to a query in Albany, just received, revealed a birth certificate for a boy, James Winthrop Frayne II, who, if he is still alive, would be fifteen years old this month. Authorities are making every effort to locate this boy and his mother, who seem to have vanished into thin air after the death of the boy’s father, five years ago.
     
    "We didn’t vanish," Jim said, staring at the newsprint. "We stayed right on in Rochester until Mother married Jonesy. Then we went to live on his farm outside of