The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

mother advised. “Stay out of trouble.”
    “You heard what she said,” Mart reminded Trixie as they walked the short distance to Manor House. “Stay out of trouble.”
    “That’s impossible with you around,” Trixie replied loftily.
    “You know what I mean,” Mart persisted. “Just don’t go looking for a mystery to keep everyone in a dither all summer.”
    Brian pushed in so he could walk between them. “Relax, you two,” he said diplomatically.
    “He’s just pretending,” Trixie declared to Brian. “He really enjoys helping when Honey and I find a mystery.”
    Trixie and Honey were always looking for a mystery that needed solving. In fact, they had hopes of someday running their own detective agency.
    “Simply a matter of predilection—or, rather, lack of choice,” Mart remarked.
    Their arrival at Manor House was announced noisily by Jim’s springer spaniel, Patch.
    “Hi, Patch,” said Trixie, stooping to scratch behind his ears. “Where’s Honey?”
    “Changing clothes,” replied a voice from somewhere behind Trixie.
    Trixie didn’t turn. She knelt and raised her voice in mock surprise. “Why, Patch! You sound just like Miss Trask.” Miss Trask was manager of the Wheeler household. “When did you learn to talk?”
    “Arf!Arf!” Miss Trask replied. “I taught him.”
    “Arf!Arf!” Patch joined in.
    “Now he’s teaching you,” Trixie said, chuckling. Turning, she faced Miss Trask, as trim-looking as ever in a light blue summer suit and small straw hat with matching band. As usual, Miss Trask wore sensible, serviceable, sturdy-looking oxfords.
    “How nice you look!” Trixie exclaimed. Mart nodded, then glanced disparagingly at his sister. “Why don’t you try emulating her sometime? Look at you: scuffed shoes, faded jeans, a blouse that is—”
    Miss Trask interrupted: “—that is just right for a casual afternoon ride.” She sighed. “I wish
    I could go along, but I have to go into town instead.”
    “Oh, good!” Trixie said without thinking. “I mean, that’s awful. I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to sound like—”
    “No apologies needed.” Miss Trask smiled. “You won’t be interfering with my plans by riding Susie.”
    “That’s what I meant to say,” Trixie explained lamely.
    “Even if I didn’t have to go to town,” Miss Trask said understandingly, “I wouldn’t consider spoiling your plans for today. I know how it feels when school lets out for the summer. Believe me, it’s a relief for the teachers, tool” Miss Trask strolled with them toward the stable. As they passed the garage, Brian moved ahead eagerly. Earlier in the day, he had left his beat-up car to be timed by Tom Delanoy, the Wheelers’ chauffeur.
    “How’s it running, Tom?”
    Tom rolled his twinkling blue eyes. “It would have been simpler if you hadn’t messed around with it first.”
    “Sometimes engines are better off without my help,” Brian agreed.
    “And yet,” Tom said with a grin, “you plan to become a doctor and take care of human engines.”
    “You just lost a patient, doc.” It was Dan Mangan, coming out of the garage, who had spoken. A few years ago, Dan had been living in the city and headed for trouble. His uncle, Regan, the Wheelers’ horse trainer, had brought him to Sleepyside, and the B.W.G.’s had helped to get him back on the right track. Now he lived with Mr. Maypenny, the gamekeeper for the Wheeler estate.
    “Brian will be a fine doctor,” Tom corrected. “When I accidentally gashed my arm, he did a good job of first aid. There wasn’t anything left for Dr. Gregory to do except give me a tetanus shot.”
    “Hi, everybody!” Honey Wheeler came running from the house. She was the same age as Trixie, but taller and slimmer. She had hazel eyes and golden brown hair that earned her the nickname Honey. She waved an envelope.
    “Mother asked if we would ride to Mrs. Elliot’s and drop this off. It’s a thank-you note for the flowers she provided for Mother’s luncheon yesterday.”
    “And also a check for the flowers,” Miss Trask reminded her. “So be careful not to lose it. Mrs. Elliot needs any help she can get.”
    Another “Hi!” sounded, more subdued than Honey’s. Diana Lynch, the quietest member of the B.W.G.’s, always let her large violet eyes express what her voice didn’t. Her long, blue-black hair made a shining frame for her pretty face.
    “All ready and accounted for—except Jim,” said Trixie.
    “He’s