“Do come back again,” she said, and then, calling to Brian, she added, “By the way, if you want to know more about medical school, drop in and talk to Eddie. He’s coming home tomorrow for a few days between exams.”
“Thanks a lot, Mrs. Hall,” Brian replied. “I’d like nothing better.”
“And bring all your friends,” she added cordially.
Trixie could hardly wait to get into the car before her excitement broke forth. “That’s Ed’s wife all right, and she couldn’t be nicer! We’ve just got to find the money, or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what, Trix?” Diana asked with a smile.
“Oh, you know, Di,” Trixie answered, “I’d simply die!”
“In addition to being the means of saving Trixie’s life, can you imagine what a thousand dollars would mean to Ethel and Eddie?” Mart commented.
“It couldn’t come at a better time,” Peter added. “Let’s hope we’re lucky.”
“We’ll need more than luck, I’m afraid,” Trixie sighed. “We’ll need the brains of every B.W.G. member, and you, too, Peter. Tomorrow’s our last chance!”
As they were leaving Easthampton, Peter pointed out an old, weathered, shingle salt-box house overlooking the village green and pond, saying “That’s the boyhood home of John Payne who wrote ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ and the house next to it was built by old Fishhook Mulford. They say that when he went to England to protest the tax on whale oil, he heard there were a lot of pickpockets in London. So what did he do but line his pockets with fishhooks! No one seems to know how he got his own money out, but it makes a good story, anyway!”
When they got to Sag Harbor, Trixie checked her wrist watch and found it was only four thirty, so there was time to stop at the Whaling Museum before going back to Cobbett’s Island.
The large, square white building had been designed originally as a private home, and like so many residences built in the mid-1800’s, it showed the influence of Greek architecture in the two-storied great Corinthian columns and the decorative moldings. The enormous jawbones of a whale had been set up to arch the main doorway when the building was converted to a museum. Once inside, the Bob-Whites scattered through the various rooms, the girls more interested in the collection of antique dolls, household utensils, and clothes than the boys who spent more time examining the harpoons, scrimshaw work, ship models, and pictures of the whaling trade. There was so much to see that they were all surprised when the custodian told them it was closing time.
“Jeepers!” Trixie exclaimed as they were heading home. “We’ve got enough material for sixty school papers, just from what we’ve seen today.”
“Maybe next year you can manage to improve your English marks without running to me for help, dear sister,” Mart quipped.
“Oh, I could never do without my walking encyclopedia,” Trixie chuckled. “Please don’t desert me now!”
Chapter 16
The Chart and the Compass
When Trixie awoke the next morning, it was quite dark in her room. She looked at the little clock on the bedside table and was surprised to see it was already eight thirty. Di was still sleeping soundly, so Trixie tiptoed to the window and quietly pulled back the curtains. Then she understood why the room had seemed so shadowy and dim. A thick fog hung over the harbor and enveloped the house. It was so dense she couldn’t see the dock across the road or even the hedge in front of the house.
“Jeepers!” she said to herself. “This is fine weather for trying to follow a chart on land or sea.”
When she heard Honey stirring in the adjoining room, she went in to tell her the sad news about the weather. “And do you realize that tomorrow is the day we’re supposed to leave for home?” Trixie reminded her. “So it’s now or never, no matter what the weather. Come on, lazybones, get a move on!”
Honey sat up in bed and stretched her arms high above her head, muttering through a yawn, “Who was it said this was going to be a quiet vacation?”
Trixie laughingly threw a pillow at her and went to wake Diana and the boys.
“Well, as the plot thickens, so does the fog,” Mart chuckled as they met for breakfast. “Do you intend to pursue your will-o’-the-wisp in this weather, dear leader?” he asked his sister.
“It’s not the least bit will-o’-the-wispish, Mart Belden,” snapped Trixie angrily, “and if you don’t want to help, you don’t have to. You can drop out right now!”
“Oh, you know he won’t quit,” said Diana, quickly coming to Mart’s defense. “You ought to be used to his teasing by now, Trix.”
“Oh, I’m used to it all right, and you know—” she paused, thought a minute, and then continued, “the reason I get mad is probably because sometimes his remarks have a grain of truth in them which I’ve refused to face up to.”
As she said this, she smiled fondly at her brother. Mart was so surprised at this unaccustomed response that he dropped his fork and was glad of an excuse to dive under the table to retrieve it.
“You don’t mean you think we’re foolish to keep looking, do you, Trix?” Jim asked apprehensively.
“No, of course not. It’s just that—well, we mustn’t let ourselves expect too much or we’ll be awfully disappointed if we don’t find the money. You know today is our last day,” Trixie pointed out.
“Well, then let’s get on with it and hope our efforts pay off,” suggested Brian.
After breakfast, as Honey was phoning Peter that they were on their way, Trixie called out, “Tell him to bring a compass, if he has one. We may need it.”
“We’d better take a flashlight so we won’t get run down, if anyone is foolish enough to drive in this pea soup,” added Jim.
“Well, I can see my hand in front of my face, but that’s about all,” said Honey as they went outside.
“Just follow along the hedge, and we’ll soon come to Pete’s gate,” said Jim, taking the lead.
“Right-o, old chap,” Mart said in his best imitation of an English accent. “This is just like jolly old England. Chin up. Pip, pip!”
Peter was waiting for them near the entrance to the garden, and together they slowly made their way to the gazebo. “This fog will probably burn off in a couple of hours,” he said hopefully. “It’s a good thing we haven’t got a race scheduled today.”
“It doesn’t help us any either, but it certainly lends a ghostly atmosphere,” Honey said with a shiver. “Where do we go from here?”
“The next mark after the spire is the rock, and it’s southwest from here,” Trixie noted, “but it doesn’t say how far.”
“Maybe it’s one of the stones in the slave cemetery,” Diana suggested. “What direction would that be?”
“I’m afraid that’s too far north,” said Peter, “because they are over near the gate back of us.”
“Let’s follow the compass southwest, and we may bump into something,” suggested Trixie, impatient to get started.
They had gone only a short distance when Brian, who was in the lead, almost fell over the same stone on which they had broken the bottle a few days before. “Oh, no! How stupid can we get?” cried Trixie. “Why didn’t someone think of this? It’s so obvious!”
“That’s probably why,” Mart said. “We were all looking for something more elusive.”
“You can be sure the black buoy will be more elusive,” chuckled Peter, “because I’m dead sure there aren’t any black buoys to stumble over anywhere around here.” He consulted the chart which Trixie was carrying and then started out due south.
“Jeepers! This is taking us right back into the jungle,” Trixie said as they slowly worked their way through the tangle of vines. “Is there anything back in there, Pete?”
“Nothing but an old smokehouse where they used to cure hams and bacon,” Peter answered. “I found it when we first came here, but I haven’t been near it since. It’s pretty ramshackle.”
“A smokehouse, smoke, soot, black, black buoy,” Trixie muttered to herself. Then suddenly she c
ried, “I’ll bet you anything the smokehouse is our next mark. Keep going!”
“It’s lucky we wore our foul-weather gear, or we’d never get through these brambles,” Brian said as he pushed aside the clinging canes from some old raspberry bushes.
They had penetrated the thicket for about two hundred feet when they came to the little shanty which was in line with the compass marking, South.
“How long did you say it’s been since you were here, Pete?” asked Trixie, her brows furrowing, as she started to look around.
“About two years, I’d say. Why?” he answered.
“Well, someone’s been here not more than two days ago,” Trixie rejoined. “Look at the vines around the door. They’ve all been pulled down, and recently, too. See where these new shoots have been pulled off the main stem?”
“And look here, Trix,” Honey cried. “There’s a fresh semicircle on the ground where the door was pulled open.”
“But they couldn’t have come the way we did or we would have seen their trail, wouldn’t we?” Diana queried.
“Maybe they came in from another direction,” volunteered Mart, going around to the other side of the smokehouse. “See, here where the vines are tramped down,” he called out as he pointed to an opening in the underbrush.
“I think you’re right, Mart, but why do you say ‘they’?” Trixie inquired as she went back and poked her head inside the door. She had taken the flashlight from Jim and was shining it on the floor. “It was only one person, or I miss my guess. Look at these footprints!”
“Golly, you’re right, Trix,” said Jim, looking over her shoulder. “Only one pair shows up in the dust, and they look as though they were made by worn-out sneakers.”
In a corner, Trixie caught sight of a black jacket which had obviously been thrown down very recently. “Now I’m positive that our mysterious guest in the tool shed is the same one we saw from the attic. He probably helped himself to Peter’s chart and has beat us to this mark. If we don’t hurry,” she said, “this is one race we may not win!”
By now, the sun was beginning to break through the fog, making their progress somewhat easier. After they came out into the open, they headed southeast across an open field, on the far side of which was the lily pool. Honey, wiping her damp forehead, suggested they stop there for a breather before going on.
“And let’s get out of these slickers,” Diana added, stripping off her jacket. “I’m simply dying of the heat!”
“Where, oh, where are you, red nun?” Trixie wailed as she sat down on one of the stone benches, shading her eyes with her hand and looking all around.
“The only red thing I see around here is that rambler rose over by the statue,” said Mart, “and there’s nothing southeast of here except the vegetable gardens and the wall.”
“Gleeps!” cried Trixie, jumping to her feet. “The statue! Doesn’t she look something like a nun with that veil on her head? I’ll bet she’s the gal we’re looking for!”
“Or the buoy,” punned Mart, elated at having provided a clue to the course.
“That climbing rose is years old,” commented Peter, “so it could have been here when Ed and Mr. C were alive. Good work, Trixie; let’s get going.”
Everyone soon forgot the uncomfortable humidity and eagerly started out again behind the lily pool.
“This is the longest leg of the course if the distances between marks on the chart mean anything,” Trixie commented.
“And it’s the last one, thank goodness,” Honey added, “but there aren’t any clues to help us this time; just the word Finish.”
“Any ideas, Pete?” Jim asked. “What are those buildings way down at the far end of the field, near the woods?”
“The big gray one is the stable. The funny-shaped one on the right is the corncrib, and that one over there is the base of the old windmill. The wings got blown off before we came,” Peter said as he pointed out the various structures.
“Well, the stable is right plumb in our path if this compass is right, so we’ll have to look through it. But where do you start in a big old ark like that?” said Trixie, throwing up her hands in despair.
“It’s like hunting for a needle in a haystack,” said Mart, scratching his head in perplexity as they approached the stable.
They pushed open the wide double doors to get as much light as possible and stepped into the murky interior of the old building. As their eyes got used to the half light, they saw harnesses and halters still hanging on their pegs along one side, and in the back of the stable Honey discovered an old sleigh.
“Look at this adorable old sleigh,” she called to the others as she climbed in.
Brian jumped in beside her and, pretending to take the reins, started to sing. “ ‘Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh!’ ” The others joined in lustily.
On the other side of the main room of the stable were the stalls, three for regular sized horses, and another smaller one which Jim guessed was for a pony or a colt. The names of the long-ago occupants were painted in quaint letters above the stalls: “GALLANT BOY,” “DIAMOND,” “POP-CORN,” and over the fourth, “NOEL.”
“I’ll bet Noel was a Christmas present for one of your great-aunts or uncles,” mused Trixie. “I wonder what color she was?”
“Look at this cute little food box in here, just high enough for a little pony to feed from,” called Diana who had been looking around inside the smallest stall.
“That’s called a manger, not a food box, silly.” Mart laughed. “It comes from the French verb manger, ‘to eat.’ ”
“Okay, ‘manger,’ ” Diana answered good-naturedly. “Away in a manger, Noel ate her hay,” she sang, parodying the old Christmas carol.
Just then, Trixie let out a shriek, and repeated the first bar. “Da-dum-da-da-dum-dum. Honey, wasn’t that the tune on the chart?” she asked breathlessly.
When Honey and Mart whistled the melody again, it was obvious that Trixie was right. Dashing into the stall, she flashed the light into the manger and started pulling out the hay which still remained in it. She noticed that one of the boards on the bottom had two holes bored in it, and sticking her fingers in them, she was able to lift it out easily. Underneath was a small black tin box!
Everyone was so tense with expectancy that it was not until Trixie had gingerly carried the box over to the light and lifted the cover that anyone made a sound. But when they saw a neatly tied bundle of bills, their excitement erupted and they whooped and hollered as they danced around the box on the floor.
Their elation was abruptly cut short when they heard a loud thud and a voice yelling at them from the rear of the stable. “Okay, wise guys, pipe down. Do you want the whole island to get wise?”
Whirling around in the direction of the voice, they saw a sullen-looking boy advancing toward them, a gun in his hand. His face was distorted. His T-shirt was torn and filthy, and Trixie noticed, as her eyes swept from his head to his feet, that his arms and legs were badly scratched, and that he was wearing dirty white sneakers.
“Now just line up there along the wall, sailors, and we’ll talk this whole thing over, like one big, happy family,” he continued with sarcastic politeness.
Mart started toward him, fists doubled, but Peter, yelling, “Get back, all of you!” pushed him back before he had time to protest. The others silently lined up as they had been commanded. There seemed no alternative, not with a revolver covering them!
“Attaboy, Pete,” snarled the stranger, “you’ve got sense enough to know I ain’t foolin’, and the rest of you better get wise, too.” He spun the revolver around on his index finger a couple of times, then deftly brought it back into shooting position.
“Now, like I was sayin’,” he continued, striding up and down in front of them, “I seen you steal that box from the stall. I was up in the loft and had a good view right through that there hole in the ceiling where they pitch the hay down for the horses. Looks like there’s quite a nice little bu
ndle here,” he said as he took the money out of the box with his left hand, “and, man, that’s what I need. I’m gonna make a deal with ya!” His eyes narrowed, and he looked from one to the other. “What d’ya say, chums?”
“Let’s hear your offer, pal,” Trixie quickly answered, tossing her head and trying to look tough.
“I ain’t gonna spill nothin’ unless I know your buddies here’ll go along,” he snarled.
Jim took a swaggering half-step forward, hitched his thumbs in his belt, and in a voice which he desperately hoped sounded as tough as the other boy’s, he cracked, “We’ll go along with anything Trix says. She’s the boss of this pack.”
“Yeh, I thought that phony Bob-White stuff was just a cover-up for your gang. Real high class, ain’t ya? Living rich, and trying to steal a lousy grand from a poor widow,” he sneered.
“Cut the moralizing,” Trixie snarled at him, “and get on with your big deal.”
“Okay, sis. It happens I need dough real bad. So you count out half of that loot for me and half for you, and we’ll both forget all about our little treasure hunt. I won’t squeal on you for stealing the dough or breaking the buoy lights, and you won’t squeal on me. Ain’t that fair enough?”
“Breaking the buoy lights!” Trixie cried. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, knock off the innocent act, sister. Don’t think I ain’t heard about you and the Coast Guard. You can take the rap for that as well as me. I’ve got plenty of pals who’d swear they saw you busting them lights. See?” he leered.
“Yeh, I see what you mean,” Trixie said slowly, smiling beguilingly at him. “Okay, let’s count the dough. Here, sit down on the floor so we can divvy it up easier,” she suggested as she plopped down right in front of Jim and Brian. “You count it first, and then I’ll check it. Not that I don’t trust you, you understand,” she said. “And now that we’re all such good pals, and you seem to know us, how about telling us who you are?”
The Mystery on Cobbett's Island Page 14