Mr. Carver, she added, “I’m sorry, sir, but brothers can be
such
pests! But to get back to our project, don’t you think it would be a good idea for us to go around the back way through the gardens, instead of across the lawn? We wouldn’t be nearly as conspicuous.”
“I may have an even better idea,” Brian said. “I thinkyou and Jim ought to go by yourselves, Trixie. Two won’t be as noticeable as six of us, if anyone
is
on the lookout for us. Here’s the ‘open sesame.’ ” He took the can of penetrating oil from his pocket and tossed it to Jim.
“You mean you think you’re being spied on?” Mr. Carver asked in surprise.
When Trixie told him about Neil and how she had seen him the previous day, and about Lizzie’s encounter with Jenkins, Mr. Carver whistled softly.
“I had no idea this thing was assuming such proportions,” he said. “I wonder, really, whether you ought to go on with your search. I would never forgive myself if anything should happen to you.”
“Oh, nothing is going to happen,” Trixie said with forced cheerfulness. “Jenkins is obviously a cowardly character or he wouldn’t have run away from Lizzie and her rolling pin.”
“And we can certainly cope with Neil if we have to,” Jim added. “We’ve handled his kind before, haven’t we, Trixie?”
“We certainly have. Remember Slim at Cobbett’s Island?”
“How could I ever forget!” Jim laughed as he told Mr. Carver of their encounter in the stable of the Oldest House.
“Well, you and Jim see what luck you have,” Mr. Carver said to Trixie, “and if you run into any kind of trouble, you call out.”
“Oh, we have our own danger signal,” Trixie assured him. “Listen!” She gave the Bob-White whistle which Jim had taught them when the club was first organized.
“That’s the best imitation of the quail’s call I’ve ever heard.” Mr. Carver laughed. “It would fool anyone. Now, I think you’d better get started. From the looks of those clouds we may be in for a storm.”
Jim and Trixie started around the rear of the house and down a long alley of boxwood which had grown so high through the years that it hid them completely. This path ended in a formal garden, much like those they had seen in Williamsburg. Beyond it was the grove of cryptomerias. They skirted the side of the garden, bending low so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, and finally came to the burying ground. It was a small plot, enclosed by an ornate iron fence. The gate was ajar and, going through it, Trixie and Jim saw rows of moss-covered head stones. In the rear was a small but impressive marble mausoleum. Climbing the wide steps of the structure, Trixie approached the great double door and inserted the key in the lock.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” she said as she tried to turn it. Despite her best efforts, it wouldn’t budge, even when Jim attempted to turn it.
“I guess we’d better try Brian’s suggestion, and not waste any more time,” he said, taking the can of oil from his pocket. He squirted a generous amount into the keyhole and stood back. “We’ll let this work for a few minutes and see if it’s as good as he claims.”
“While we’re waiting, let’s look at some of those stones out there,” Trixie said as she led the way down one of the narrow paths. They stopped to read the old inscriptions. “Look, Jim, here’s one with the dates 1746–1749 on it. A child’s grave. Ooooh! Cemeteries give me the shivers!”
The sky was growing steadily darker and soon large drops of rain began to fall. A sudden clap of thunder made them both jump, and they hurried back to the vault.
“Let’s hope we can get inside or we’ll be soaked,” Jim said as he tried the lock again. Fortunately the oil had done the job and the heavy bolt slid back as the key turned, allowing them to push open the massive door. By now the rain was teeming, and the inside of the mausoleum was pitch black, but at least, they consoled
such
pests! But to get back to our project, don’t you think it would be a good idea for us to go around the back way through the gardens, instead of across the lawn? We wouldn’t be nearly as conspicuous.”
“I may have an even better idea,” Brian said. “I thinkyou and Jim ought to go by yourselves, Trixie. Two won’t be as noticeable as six of us, if anyone
is
on the lookout for us. Here’s the ‘open sesame.’ ” He took the can of penetrating oil from his pocket and tossed it to Jim.
“You mean you think you’re being spied on?” Mr. Carver asked in surprise.
When Trixie told him about Neil and how she had seen him the previous day, and about Lizzie’s encounter with Jenkins, Mr. Carver whistled softly.
“I had no idea this thing was assuming such proportions,” he said. “I wonder, really, whether you ought to go on with your search. I would never forgive myself if anything should happen to you.”
“Oh, nothing is going to happen,” Trixie said with forced cheerfulness. “Jenkins is obviously a cowardly character or he wouldn’t have run away from Lizzie and her rolling pin.”
“And we can certainly cope with Neil if we have to,” Jim added. “We’ve handled his kind before, haven’t we, Trixie?”
“We certainly have. Remember Slim at Cobbett’s Island?”
“How could I ever forget!” Jim laughed as he told Mr. Carver of their encounter in the stable of the Oldest House.
“Well, you and Jim see what luck you have,” Mr. Carver said to Trixie, “and if you run into any kind of trouble, you call out.”
“Oh, we have our own danger signal,” Trixie assured him. “Listen!” She gave the Bob-White whistle which Jim had taught them when the club was first organized.
“That’s the best imitation of the quail’s call I’ve ever heard.” Mr. Carver laughed. “It would fool anyone. Now, I think you’d better get started. From the looks of those clouds we may be in for a storm.”
Jim and Trixie started around the rear of the house and down a long alley of boxwood which had grown so high through the years that it hid them completely. This path ended in a formal garden, much like those they had seen in Williamsburg. Beyond it was the grove of cryptomerias. They skirted the side of the garden, bending low so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, and finally came to the burying ground. It was a small plot, enclosed by an ornate iron fence. The gate was ajar and, going through it, Trixie and Jim saw rows of moss-covered head stones. In the rear was a small but impressive marble mausoleum. Climbing the wide steps of the structure, Trixie approached the great double door and inserted the key in the lock.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” she said as she tried to turn it. Despite her best efforts, it wouldn’t budge, even when Jim attempted to turn it.
“I guess we’d better try Brian’s suggestion, and not waste any more time,” he said, taking the can of oil from his pocket. He squirted a generous amount into the keyhole and stood back. “We’ll let this work for a few minutes and see if it’s as good as he claims.”
“While we’re waiting, let’s look at some of those stones out there,” Trixie said as she led the way down one of the narrow paths. They stopped to read the old inscriptions. “Look, Jim, here’s one with the dates 1746–1749 on it. A child’s grave. Ooooh! Cemeteries give me the shivers!”
The sky was growing steadily darker and soon large drops of rain began to fall. A sudden clap of thunder made them both jump, and they hurried back to the vault.
“Let’s hope we can get inside or we’ll be soaked,” Jim said as he tried the lock again. Fortunately the oil had done the job and the heavy bolt slid back as the key turned, allowing them to push open the massive door. By now the rain was teeming, and the inside of the mausoleum was pitch black, but at least, they consoled
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