The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

the trees to the lane where they had heard the car roar off. There they found scuffed damp earth where tires had spun as the man had fled. Trixie moved slowly in the opposite direction. She followed the faint tire tracks to a spot of flattened grass and weeds.
    “He must have driven up the lane,” Trixie noted, “then turned the car around before going to Mrs. Elliot’s.”
    “That was probably so he could make a fast getaway after starting the fire,” Honey reasoned. “But he had to make it faster than planned, thanks to you.”
    “Thanks to the B.W.G.’s,” Trixie corrected her. She stepped farther off the lane to where the car had backed into the bushes and broken some of the branches and twigs. Trixie peered at the bruised bark of a maple sapling that had been scraped.
    “Honey,” she called. “Take a look at this.” Before Honey could join her, Sergeant Molinson spoke from behind them. “I thought I told you I didn’t need you anymore.”
    “We’ve found some more evidence for you,” said Trixie. She pointed to the bruised bark. “Some paint was scraped off the car. It looks like gray.”
    “That’s a big help,” Molinson grumbled. “There must be thousands of gray cars registered with the Department of Motor Vehicles. It might be a car from Connecticut, Rhode Island, New Jersey....”
    Trixie nodded, discouraged. “We may never find out who would try to do such a terrible thing to Mrs. Elliot. She’s such a sweet, kindly person—”
    “I know,” Molinson interrupted. “When one of my officers was hurt recently, she took flowers to the hospital every day and gave vegetables to his wife and children.” Molinson’s glance moved from Trixie to Honey and back again. “I’d like to get my hands on the creep, too.” He sighed. “But with the little I’ve got to go on, it doesn’t seem very likely.”
    His tone hardened as he looked at the weeds and grass flattened by tires and feet. “I hope you haven’t destroyed other possible evidence here, trying to play detective. I appreciate your concern, but, as I said before, you’d better be on your way.”
    As she and Honey walked toward the cottage, Trixie said wryly, “I knew that friendly tone of his was too good to last.”
    Back at the potting shed, most of the gasoline had evaporated. Just to be safe, Jim was watering down the area with a garden hose.
    Mrs. Elliot brought out a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” she said.
    “Me, too,” said Max, scowling at the building. “Not that the shed would have been much of a loss. But the idea of someone trying to destroy it—”
    “Is it insured?” Jim asked.
    Max shook his head. “Too old and rundown,” he replied.
    “I couldn’t afford any insurance anyway,” said Mrs. Elliot. “But there are tools stored in there. And I need the hothouse on the side for some of my plants, like hyacinths and lilies for Easter, and poinsettias for Christmas.”
    “Your flowers are beautiful, Mrs. Elliot,” said Trixie, looking around. “I wish I had a green thumb like you and Max.”
    Max snorted. “I can’t grow a thing. All I’m good for is knocking down weeds. And I’d better get after them if we’re going to have any com to sell.” He moved away toward the cornfield.
    Mrs. Elliot gazed after him. “Max still has too much of the city in him,” she murmured. “Everything happens so fast there. But with growing things, you have to learn to wait, to be patient.”
    “I guess I’m not very patient,” Trixie admitted. “I tried planting sweet peas this spring, but I gave up and quit watering them before they blossomed.”
    “Let me give you a bouquet of mine,” Mrs. Elliot said. Ignoring Trixie’s protests, she led the way through the garden. “You mustn’t wait until too late in the spring to plant sweet peas, Trixie. You should dig a deep trench in good loamy soil, well fertilized. Soak the seeds overnight before planting them, then keep the soil moist.”
    “I’ll remember what you said next time,” Trixie said. “But the plants kept falling down.
    “That’s natural for them,” Mrs. Elliot explained. “It’s called ‘stooping.’ They’ll grow more roots and climbers. Just be sure they have something to climb on. Chicken wire is fine, or a trellis, or string.”
    Trixie gasped at the sight of a huge pillar of colorful sweet peas. Then she spotted the opened frame of an old