The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

stolen!”
    Trixie stared at him. “That can only mean one thing,” she declared. “The thief didn’t get beyond Charles Hartman’s box.”
    “Or,” Brian suggested, “maybe he did get as far as Mrs. Elliot’s. Maybe you are right—she saw him and scared him off. That might explain yesterday’s arson attempt!”
    “Let’s go back to Mrs. Elliot’s,” Trixie urged.
    Brian was already turning the station wagon around. At Mrs. Elliot’s cottage, Max Elliot came to the door in response to Trixie’s knock.
    “She isn’t here,” he said, when Trixie asked for Mrs. Elliot. “She drove into town.”
    Trixie hesitated. “Maybe you can tell me what I wanted to know.”
    Max waited. Trixie took a deep breath and continued. “Did anything... uh, unusual happen ten days ago? June third? It might have been in the early afternoon, right after the mail was delivered. Did Mrs. Elliot—”
    “She wasn’t here,” Max interrupted. “She was down in White Plains, delivering an order of flowers.”
    “Oh.” Trixie paused. Max eyed her curiously. “Max, did you go down to the box to get the mail that day? Maybe you saw—”
    Max shook his head. “I wasn’t here either. I drove her to White Plains.”
    “Oh,” Trixie repeated.
    Max looked puzzled. “What are you trying to find out?”
    Trixie sighed. “The Social Security checks were stolen on Glen Road only as far as Charles Hartman’s box, the one before yours. We thought that maybe Mrs. Elliot, or you, had seen the thief and scared him into getting rid of the evidence. We found the checks today.” Max blinked at her. “You found the checks?” Trixie nodded.
    Max pursed his lips. “Guess you’re on the right track, then. Someone must have scared him into getting rid of them. But it couldn’t have been here. Maybe someone hasn’t told the police what they saw.”
    “Maybe,” Trixie murmured.
    Max eyed her. “Why are you interested in the stolen checks?”
    Trixie wasn’t so sure anymore. She didn’t want to mention her suspicion about the arson attempt. “Honey Wheeler and I are going to have our own detective agency someday,” she said. “Well, thanks for your help.”
    Max shrugged. “What help?”
    “You pointed me in a new direction,” Trixie said. “Thanks again.”
    Brian looked at her, curious, as they went back to the station wagon.
    “Let’s go see Charles Hartman,” Trixie said. “Are you sure you want to?” Brian asked. “If Sergeant Molinson finds out that you’ve been—”
    “I just want to meet Mr. Hartman,” Trixie said unconvincingly. “After all, his was the first check we found.”
    Brian shook his head. “Okay. But be careful what you say.”
    Minutes later, Trixie and Brian were standing on the Hartmans’ porch. A cheerful-looking white-haired lady, leaning on a cane, answered the door. The Beldens introduced themselves.
    “How nice to have someone calling,” Mrs. Hartman said. “Do come in.”
    “I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Trixie said. “Not at all, not at all. I was just watching television. I can’t do much of anything else these days. One of those soap operas, where they suffer and suffer—makes me thankful for how blessed I am.” She made her way across the neat living room to turn off the TV.
    “Oh, don’t,” Trixie protested. “You’ll miss some of the story.”
    “It’ll be easy to pick up tomorrow or the next day.” Mrs. Hartman chuckled. “It’ll drag out for weeks. They never solve their problems quickly.”
    A step sounded on the porch. Mrs. Hartman turned toward the door. “Charley, come in. We’ve got visitors. Wipe your feet first.”
    “Do I dare forget?” Charles Hartman came into the room with a smile. Unlike his wife, he stood erect and was lean and catlike. Only his white hair betrayed his age.
    “I was out back chopping wood,” he said. “Heard you drive up, so I thought I’d be nosy.” He winked. “I have to check up on who might be calling on my beautiful bride.”
    “Charley!” Mrs. Hartman blushed. She spoke happily to Trixie and Brian. “Nearly fifty years we’ve been married. He still acts like it was yesterday.”
    “That’s beautiful,” Trixie said.
    “She’s beautiful,” Hartman corrected, looking at his wife.
    Trixie felt guilty. The Hartmans were a cheerful, charming couple. They weren’t the type to withhold information from the police. Still, though, Mr. Hartman s check had been the last one stolen....
    “Well,”