“Brian, I wish you would take me seriously,” Trixie said in an exasperated voice. “I would never accuse someone if I didn’t feel I had good reason. You know that.”
“This time I think you’re wrong.”
“We’ll see,” Trixie said. “If you thought about it, you’d know I was right.”
Honey was surprised to see Brian and Trixie arguing like this. Usually the two were quite close. But neither of them would give an inch. Finally Trixie squared her shoulders and stomped off in a huff. Brian shrugged and went back to work.
Honey hurried after Trixie. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“You’ll soon see,” Trixie answered. “I’ve got a plan.”
Trixie pulled her bike from the bushes, and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’m going to the archive room.”
“But why?” Honey asked.
“I want to see if I can find what Charles Miller was really looking for,” Trixie said. “He may have my poor brother snowed, but not me. I bet he was looking for something specific—a map that shows where a treasure is buried. The guard will let me in because I’m Brian’s sister.”
“Aren’t you going to change first?” Honey asked. She looked Trixie up and down.
“No,” Trixie said wearily. “It’s so hot that by the time I get to town, I’ll just be all rumpled up again. Are you coming with me?”
“Of course,” Honey answered. “I have to go into town anyway. Miss Trask asked me to pick up a book for her at the library. I was supposed to get it on my way home from the hospital today, but I completely forgot. While you’re in the archives, I’ll stop at the library and get the book.”
The two girls pedaled along Glen Road, trying to keep close to the shaded edge of the road. The afternoon was uncomfortably hot. There was a gentle breeze, but it didn’t do much to cool things off.
They finally reached the library, which was very near the Historical Society. Both were among the oldest houses in Sleepyside. Surrounded by huge oak trees, the buildings were cool even on the hottest days.
“Whoever gets finished first can come and get the other one,” Trixie said as she and Honey parked their bikes near some shade trees.
“Will you be long?” Honey asked.
“Who knows?” Trixie answered grimly. “This could take hours.”
The two girls went their separate ways. Trixie headed up the front steps of the beautifully restored Historical Society. Inside, she quickly found Jake Hanson, the guard. He was delighted to take her down to the archive room.
“Lotta renewed interest in history these days,” he said as they went down the wooden staircase to the locked basement room. “Why, I think it’s terrific that young folks like yourself are willing to take time to study these things.”
Trixie nodded as she followed the stoopshouldered, frail little man. He’d been the guard at the Historical Society for as long as she could remember. When she was little, she’d always thought Mr. Hanson lived in these quiet, old rooms—just another antique like the rest of them.
“Yessiree,” he continued, opening the door for her. “It’s important to know your history. Now, you let me know when you leave, and I’ll lock up after you.”
Inside the archive room there were rows and rows of glassed-in bookshelves and display cases. A small, square wooden table with two matching chairs were in the center of the room. Lying open on the table was a small leatherbound book with a locking clasp.
Sliding into one of the chairs, Trixie pulled the book closer and took a look. It appeared to be someone’s diary, and it was open to an entry dated January 3, 1777. Trixie silently read the pale, spidery handwriting. It said:
Although I have worked with all zeal to establish false proof of my regard for this infamous uprising, I have reason to fear that I will soon be unmasked. The recent declaration, or resolve, by the new illegal government gives me cause for fear. Aid and comfort given to any person allied with the rightful King George will result in the pains and penalties of death.
I intend to bury a sum of gold in a certain cave known only to me. In this way, should I be taken, these selfstyled patriots shall not have my family’s fortune to aid and abet their grievous war against our sovereign. Should I survive, I will reclaim it. My only fear is that the privations of war will so change the landscape that my cache will forever be hidden from me as well. So be it.
Trixie felt her breath catch in her throat. Whoever wrote this was talking about buried treasure. And whoever had been reading this before she came into the room was therefore looking for buried treasure. Trixie quickly picked up the book and thumbed through the pages to see whose diary it was. As she did, the diary flopped open to a yellowed page with a picture on it. Bending down to get a better look, Trixie saw that it was a map.
“Holy cow!” Trixie whistled softly.
The crudely drawn map showed several roads, a forest, three hills, the name “Depew,” and a large X next to something that looked like a cave entrance.
“This is it!” Trixie gasped. “But I can’t take the book out of the archives. Oh, no. What am I going to do?”
Trixie tried to memorize the map, but it was no use. She realized she’d have to make a copy of it, but how? Desperately, she looked for a piece of paper. But there were no pads or pencils in the little room. Quickly turning the book over, she saw a name on the front: Edward Palmer.
Then she remembered who Edward Palmer was. She’d learned about him in history class. He was a Tory spy who’d been hung on Gallows Hill, right near Sleepyside, in 1777. Since the diary entry was dated January 3, 1777, Palmer had probably been caught and hanged some time after that. It was impossible to know if he had ever returned to the cave to get his gold. That meant the gold might still be buried—and someone besides Trixie Belden knew about it, too!
I’ll just run over to the library, Trixie thought. I’m sure the librarian will lend me some paper and a pencil. It’ll only take me a minute.
Pushing the chair back with a loud scrape, Trixie threw open the door to the archive room. She dashed up the dimly lit staircase that led to the main floor.
7 * The Stolen Clue
Trixie managed to get to the front door without being seen by Jake Hanson. She knew that if Mr. Hanson were to see her leaving, he’d lock the door, and she’d have to waste time trying to get him to let her back inside. Since it was almost closing time, he might not let her in at all. Then the map and the diary would have to wait until tomorrow afternoon —and that might be too late.
Trixie dashed out of the building and broke into a run. After the darkness of the archive room, her eyes needed to adjust to the sunlight. As they did, she saw a yellow Volkswagen parked at the curb in front of the building. Hearing the clatter of Trixie’s shoes on the pavement, the man in the car looked up. It was Harry!
Trixie gasped. What was Harry doing at the Historical Society? She’d thought that Charles was the one who was interested in the archives. Then she remembered something— both men were interested in historical materials. That was what their conversation in the woods was all about—a map! A treasure map, in all likelihood.
The afternoon sun glancing into the car window made it hard for the man inside to see her. He narrowed his eyes to a squint, then a shock of recognition flickered across his face. With a sharp scowl, Harry started the engine of the car, and swiftly drove around the corner and out of sight.
I wonder what his problem is, Trixie thought. Why is he upset to see me? The map —maybe he knows I found the map! Oh, brother. I’d better hurry and make a copy of that map. Then I’ll hide the book somewhere on the shelves.
Trixie ran the fifty yards to the library and practically dragged Honey from her chair.
“What are you doing?” Honey gasped, her voice a whispered protest.
“Quick,” Trixie panted, trying to get her breath, “do you have a pencil and a piece of paper?”
“No,” Honey said. “What’s the matter? Why are you p
ulling on me so hard?”
“You’ll see in a minute, but I haven’t got time to explain now. Please try to borrow a pencil and paper from the librarian. I have to get back to the archive room.”
Honey quickly did as Trixie asked, but she was confused. Trixie was already at the door when Honey caught up with her.
Out on the sidewalk, Trixie started running, and Honey had to run to keep up with her.
“This had better be good,” Honey gasped as the two girls went down the stairs to the archive room.
“It is,” Trixie answered with a sly smile. “I just want it to be a surprise.”
But what a surprise Trixie had waiting for her when she opened the door to the room. The table was bare, and the little leather-bound book was gone.
“It was right here!” Trixie cried. “I left it here not five minutes ago.”
“What was right here, Trixie?” Honey asked in an exasperated tone. “Now will you please tell me what’s going on?”
“The diary and the map,” Trixie moaned. “Wait! Maybe someone put it back on the shelves.”
“What diary? What map?” Honey asked, watching Trixie race madly around the room, running her fingers across the backs of all the books.
“Edward Palmer’s diary, of course,” Trixie answered, slightly distracted. “And the map showing where he buried his treasure.”
“Run that by me one more time, Trixie Belden,” Honey said. “You found a diary and a treasure map?”
“That’s exactly what I found,” Trixie said, turning to face her friend. “Hey, wait a minute. That yellow pad wasn’t on the chair when I was here before. Someone must have come down while I was at the library.”
Suddenly there was a loud banging in the room. Trixie and Honey both jumped, startled by the unexpected noise.
“It’s only the window,” Trixie whispered with a sigh of relief. “The wind must have rattled it.”
Sure enough, a small window located high up on the wall was swinging loose from its top hinges. The window lock was knocking against the metal mount that secured it when it was closed.
“That window wasn’t open before,” Trixie said suspiciously.
Suddenly Trixie noticed that one of the chairs had been pulled over to the window. She quickly stepped up on the seat. Gripping the bottom of the window jamb with both hands, she was able to pull herself up for a better look outside.
“Look!” she gasped. “Someone’s running across the lawn.” Honey quickly joined her on the chair.
Sure enough, a dark-haired man was running across the back lawn, heading for the thick underbrush that surrounded the old building. Trixie could see that he was carrying something small, rectangular, and brown in his hand.
“Hey, you!” Trixie yelled. “Come back with that!”
But the man didn’t stop or turn around.
“That’s it!” she screeched. “I bet that was Charles! He stole the diary. Harry was parked outside when I came out. He probably told
Charles I was gone for good so he could continue working with the book. When Charles heard us coming, the only escape was out the window. That’s why the chair was pulled over.”
“Let’s follow him,” Honey said quickly. The two girls raced up the stairs, out the door, and around to the back of the building. But the man had disappeared.
“I’m sure it was Charles Miller,” Trixie said, more calmly this time. “That diary was exactly what he was after. He probably found the map when he was in the archive room this morning with Brian. But he couldn’t steal it under Brian’s nose, so he had to come back for it.”
“Let’s double-check,” Honey said reasonably. “It’s possible that the diary or the map is still there. Maybe that wasn’t what he was carrying at all.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Trixie said.
They went back into the building, passing Jake Hanson on the way. He smiled happily at them and nodded.
“Just let me know when you’re through,” he called after them. “It’s almost closing time, but enjoy your history!”
Back in the room, faced with the rows and rows of books, Trixie realized the task might be impossible. She worried that Jake Hanson had perhaps put the book away, and that she’d lose time looking for it. Then, seeing the yellow pad on the chair, Trixie had an idea. I wonder... she thought.
Using her pencil, she began to rub the side of the lead lightly across the pad. As she covered the entire page with graphite, delicate white lines began to appear. It was a handmade copy of the map!
“Look at this, Honey,” Trixie said. “This is the map! Whoever was down here made a copy of it, just the way I was going to. I bet when he heard us coming back, he grabbed his copy of the map along with the book, so we wouldn’t be able to make a copy of our own.”
“That’s it?” Honey said, looking at the faint outlines Trixie had revealed with her pencil rubbing.
“That’s it!” Trixie replied proudly. “Charles didn’t know I could make a rubbing of the impression a pencil makes through a sheet of paper. An old detective trick!”
“What’s that word?” Honey asked as she studied the pale rubbing. “The X and the roads are clear, but those roads could be anywhere.”
Trixie thought hard for a moment, trying to remember.
“I’ve got it. The map had only one word on it—Depew. Now all we have to do is find out if that’s the name of someplace around here.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name,” Honey pondered. “The map may not be of this area.”
“No,” Trixie countered. “I think the map is of someplace nearby. That’s why Charles and Harry are interested in it.”
“Maybe we should go back to the library. The librarian might be able to help us.”
“Good idea,” Trixie said. “We’d better close and lock the window, though. It looks like it might rain.”
The girls locked the little window, and moved the chair back to the table where it belonged.
“I’m going to take this pad,” Trixie said as they closed the door behind them. “I need proof that I made a rubbing of the map.”
“Right. And we could also use it to make notes on,” Honey suggested.
Trixie and Honey slowly climbed the stairs. Jake Hanson was sitting at his desk near the entrance.
“Well, girls,” he said, “did you find anything interesting?”
“Yes, sir,” Trixie answered. “We certainly did. But we’re finished now, so you can lock the door.”
Mr. Hanson pulled himself slowly out of the chair and crossed the foyer.
“Yessiree,” he said with a laugh. “It sure is nice to see such enthusiastic young people. Lotta young people are getting interested in those archives, and it’s a good thing. I always have held with learning from the mistakes of history, hehheh. Most people wait until they’re too old to read history. By then, they’ve already made all their mistakes.”
“Thanks very much, Mr. Hanson,” Honey called after him.
“No problem, young lady,” he replied from the stairs. “Just drop by anytime, anytime.” Trixie and Honey walked back to the library. It was cool and quiet inside, and they were grateful for the water fountain. Trixie felt hot, and she let the cool stream of water run over her wrists for a while. Honey looked as neat and comfortable as always. When they felt a little more settled, they went over to the information desk.
“I don’t know,” mused Mrs. Field, the librarian. “Depew... that name doesn’t ring a bell. But I have a few books here that might help you. They’re in the reserve collection, so I’m afraid you can’t take them out of the library.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Field,” Trixie replied. “We’ll work at one of the tables.”
“You girls just wait here,” the pleasant older woman said. “I’ll be right back.”
Trixie and Honey sank down onto the comfortable old wooden chairs, and stuck their feet out under the table.
Soon Mrs. Field returned with a stack of old volumes.<
br />
“Now, I don’t know which of these will be most helpful,” she said, putting them down on the table. “I’d try History of the Province of New York first. It was written by William Smith in 1757, and it might have a listing of the old families. There is also Letters from an American Farmer by St. John de Crevecoeur. Oh, and this book on architecture might be helpful, because it describes various great houses of the Pre-Revolutionary period. Perhaps the family you’re thinking of is mentioned there.”
“Oh, thank you,” Trixie said. She tried to smile cheerfully, but the sight of all those fat books with their tiny print made her feel gloomy.
“You’re welcome, Trixie,” the woman said. “And if you need anything else, just ask. I’ll be at my desk.”
“Gleeps,” Trixie sighed after Mrs. Field was out of earshot. “Look at these books! It’s going to take us all week to find anything.”
“No, it won’t,” Honey said, opening one quickly. “We’ll check the indexes first. If we don’t find the name listed, we can just skim the pages. That’s easy enough.”
“Easy for you, maybe,” Trixie muttered. “You’re good at that sort of thing.”
“Stop grousing and read,” Honey replied with a laugh. “We’ll have our answer in no time.”
But two hours later, at closing time, the girls hadn’t found anything about a family called Depew. In fact, there was no mention at all of the name. They were very discouraged. “Now what?” Trixie muttered after they’d handed the books back to Mrs. Field and thanked her.
“Now we go home,” Honey said. “We need a rest.”
“I don’t feel like resting,” Trixie replied sadly. “Why don’t we take the horses out? It doesn’t look like it will rain anymore.”
“That’s a great idea,” Honey answered. “Regan has been after me to exercise the horses. I haven’t had a minute since we started working on the dig, though.”
“Maybe we can think while we ride,” Trixie said as she got on her bike.
The Indian Burial Ground Mystery Page 5