The Mysterious Code

by Kathryn Kenny

“We hunted through that before, Trixie,” Diana said.

  “Let’s hunt again,” Honey cried and she and Trixie drew out armload after armload of clothes long packed in moth balls.

  When she reached the bottom of the chest Trixie was so exasperated and disappointed she felt like crying. She slammed down the lid of the old chest and kicked it so hard it banged against the chimney, loosening several bricks that fell to the floor.

  “Jeepers, I’m sorry, Honey,” Trixie said. “Your mother will think this is terrible.” She picked up a brick, started to replace it in the chimney, then stopped. Her eyes grew as round as robins’ eggs. “Will you look at this?” she asked Honey and Diana. They put their heads close to hers.

  Back of where the bricks had been there was an open space, and tucked cozily inside it was an old doll’s trunk.

  Dazed, Trixie pulled it out, put it on the floor, inserted the key in the lock, turned it, and all three girls fell to their knees to look.

  Chapter 6

  A Musical Mystery

  “It’s fantastic!” Trixie said.

  “Yes,” Diana echoed. “But what is it?”

  “Since this is your house,” Trixie said to Honey, “you lift it out and we’ll see what it is.”

  Gently Honey lifted the treasure out and set it on the floor. It settled with a delicate tinkle.

  “A music box!” they cried in unison.

  The intricately carved and fashioned gold box showed no trace of tarnish. The gold was as bright as new. On the lid, under a garland of vines and arched trees, a little man and woman stood, dressed in court clothes of the time of Louis XVI.

  “See if you can wind it,” Honey said.

  When Trixie turned the key on the bottom of the box the little figures danced daintily round and round to the tune of a Viennese waltz.

  Completely charmed, the three girls sat and watched and listened, until the flute-like tune fluttered to a close.

  “It’s the most beautiful music box!” Honey said.

  “And a jewel box, too,” Trixie cried. “It opens!” She lifted the lid and little drawers popped out all around the inside edges.

  “There’s something in one of the drawers!” Diana cried. “It’s a ring!”

  “Two rings!” Trixie announced. “Two exquisite rings,” she added, awed.

  “This one is an emerald,” Honey said and slipped it on her finger.

  “This one is a ruby,” Diana said. “But it’s a man’s ring!”

  “I think we had better take the jewel box downstairs and show it to your mother,” Trixie declared solemnly.

  Mrs. Wheeler was sitting at the piano in the music room, lightly strumming the keys. She looked up as the three excited girls burst into the room. Honey held the box in her hands and extended it to her mother.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve found a treasure in the attic,” Mrs. Wheeler said, smiling. “In all mystery stories they always find treasures in the attic … why you did!” she exclaimed. “What is that lovely thing?”

  Honey wound the box, set it tinkling, and put it on the piano. The dancing figures circled, their tiny feet moving in exact time to the music.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mrs. Wheeler said. “It is lovely enough to have been made by Cellini! You never found that in the attic!”

  “We did!” Honey said. “Yesterday we found the key. It fits an old doll trunk. See the key and the tag? The little figures were so mysterious Trixie couldn’t be satisfied until she investigated it. Then we found that page in St. Nicholas with the alphabet.”

  “I don’t believe Scotland Yard could have done a better piece of detective work,” Honey’s mother said.

  “Then the bricks fell down and we found the doll trunk,” Honey went on.

  “I’m sorry about the bricks,” Trixie said. “Not only the doll trunk, but … Honey, open the music box and show her what we found on the inside.”

  “This is serious,” Mrs. Wheeler said when she saw the rings. “The box itself is priceless—and now the rings! I don’t know what to think. Who could have put them in that doll trunk?”

  “Could it have been the people who lived here before we came?” Honey asked.

  “That’s possible,” her mother said. “That’s it, of course. I have the family’s number someplace. Their name was Spencer. When their two daughters grew up and married, they went to live in New York and we bought Manor House. I’ll go and look for the phone number in my desk.”

  When Mrs. Wheeler came back with her address book, the girls, Honey holding the jewel box, went to the telephone room off the hall to listen to the conversation.

  It seemed hard to make Mrs. Spencer understand. Mrs. Wheeler took the musical jewel box from Honey’s hands and described it in detail.

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Wheeler said. “But you built the house. No one lived here but you until we bought it. It doesn’t belong in our family.”

  “That’s a mystery for your detective agency,” she said to Honey and Trixie as she hung up the receiver. “Mrs. Spencer never even heard of the musical jewel box. She said neither she nor her husband ever had ruby or emerald rings. She doesn’t even like emeralds!”

  “Maybe the police have a record of the jewel box having been stolen,” Trixie suggested. “You could call Sergeant Molinson and ask him.”

  “You call him if you know him,” Mrs. Wheeler said.

  “If I did he’d hang up before he’d listen to me,” Trixie said, smiling. “He doesn’t like amateur detectives.”

  “Then I’ll call him,” Mrs. Wheeler said.

  She held the receiver a short distance from her ear so the girls could hear the conversation.

  “Don’t tell me those kids are mixed up in another mystery,” the sergeant said. “What did you say about jewels?”

  Mrs. Wheeler described the jewel box and the rings. “The emerald ring is valuable, I know. No one in our family ever saw the jewel box.”

  “Why don’t you call the people who owned the place before you?” Sergeant Molinson asked.

  Patiently Mrs. Wheeler told him she had done this, and that Mrs. Spencer never had heard of the jewel box either.

  “I called you to see if it had ever been reported stolen,” she went on.

  “Hold the line, please. I’ll look it up,” Sergeant Molinson said. “I don’t remember anything about it. Just a minute.”

  “He isn’t very co-operative,” Mrs. Wheeler said, aside, to the girls, as she waited while the sergeant searched the records.

  “Hmmm—let me see,” he said. “Yes, here it is … Spencer, Manor House … no, this is a report of a horse stolen, then recovered. That’s all, Mrs. Wheeler. There’s nothing else under Spencer. Try The Sleepyside Sun. The editor may remember something about it. He’s owned the newspaper for thirty years.”

  Mrs. Wheeler thanked the sergeant and hung up the receiver.

  “Are you going to call the Sun?” Trixie asked. “Here’s the number,” she said, “Sleepyside nine-six-eight-0.”

  Mrs. Wheeler dialed. Again the girls listened. The editor never had heard a report of any jewels missing.

  “It sounds like a good feature story for the newspaper, however,” he said. “Do you mind if I send a photographer and a reporter out to see the jewel box? Maybe we could get a picture of the Bob-White club members.”

  “I’ll have to ask the girls about it first,” Mrs. Wheeler told him. “I’ll turn the receiver over to Trixie Belden. She’s co-president of the club.”

  Trixie held a quick conference with the other girls.

  “It’ll be good publicity for the antique show,” she whispered. “Let’s tell him he may go ahead, shall we?”

  The girls gave quick consent, and Trixie ended the conversation.

  “Well, now, what shall we do with the musical jewel box?” Trixie asked.

  “After the story is printed in the newspaper,” Mrs. Wheeler said, “someone may claim it, though how it got in our attic I’ll never know.”

&nbs
p; “And if someone doesn’t claim it?” Trixie asked.

  “I should think it would belong to the Bob-Whites,” Mrs. Wheeler said, smiling. “Remember, I said you might have anything you found in that room in the attic. Let’s just wait and see what happens. Yes, what is it, Celia?”

  “A woman who says she is Mrs. Spencer wants to speak to you on the telephone,” the maid said.

  “Jeepers, what now?” Trixie asked.

  “Come with me and I’ll let you listen,” Mrs. Wheeler said.

  “I’ve been trying to call you for half an hour,” Mrs. Spencer said, “but the line has been busy. Did the girls possibly find that jewel box in an old doll trunk?”

  “Yes! Yes!” Trixie shouted excitedly into the receiver.

  “That was Trixie Belden,” Mrs. Wheeler explained. “The girls were so excited when they knew it was you calling that I’m letting them listen. Yes, they did find the jewel box in a doll’s trunk. Why?”

  “You’ll never believe it,” Mrs. Spencer said. “It’s the strangest thing. One of my daughters is visiting me. She lives in Canada now. When I told her about my telephone conversation with you, she remembered something that happened when she and my other daughter were little girls.”

  “Why doesn’t she go ahead and tell it?” Trixie said in a loud whisper.

  Mrs. Spencer laughed. “Tell her I’m trying to tell the story,” she said. “You know Mr. and Mrs. Frayne used to live in Ten Acres, near us. They didn’t have any children and often invited my little girls to come over to their house to play. Margaret, my older daughter, who is here with me now, said Mrs. Frayne used to let them play with the musical jewel box.

  “One day, when Mrs. Frayne was packing to go to Europe with Mr. Frayne, the girls were there. As usual, Mrs. Frayne gave them the musical jewel box to play with. When I sent for them to come home, they brought it with them. I hate to tell you the rest.…”

  “Go on! Go on!” Trixie begged.

  “Margaret says she is sure they had no idea of the value of the box—they were only about ten and eight years old at the time. Well, Mrs. Frayne went to Europe and the girls forgot to return the box. They were afraid I’d scold them if I found it in their room, so they decided to hide it in the attic. They had been using that old alphabet for some time to write notes to one another. That is why they put the message on the key tag. I guess all little girls like mysteries.

  “That’s the story. I don’t believe Mrs. Frayne ever mentioned the jewel box; certainly not in connection with my daughters. It’s all very strange.”

  “Then, Mother,” Honey said, when the conversation ended, “if the jewel box and rings belonged to Mrs. Frayne, they belong to Jim now, don’t they?”

  “I suppose they do,” Mrs. Wheeler agreed, “since his uncle, James Frayne, left all the Frayne property to Jim.”

  “Whoops! Let’s go and tell Jim!” Trixie shouted.

  Dramatically Trixie told the story to the boys, as Honey exhibited the box. “What do you think of that?” she demanded when she had finished.

  Brian and Mart stopped their work on the oil heater and exclaimed over the jewel box. Jim was strangely silent.

  Alarmed, Trixie questioned him. “Why don’t you say something, Jim? The jewel box and rings belong to you, now, of course. What’s the matter?”

  “It’s just something my mother told me a long time ago,” Jim said. “And because for once Jonesy, my stepfather, was blamed for something he didn’t do.”

  “You mean someone thought he stole the music box?” Trixie asked.

  “Yes,” Jim said. “My mother thought he did, too. My Aunt Nell and Uncle Jim Frayne never liked him. They loved my mother, and they couldn’t understand why she ever married Jonesy. Nobody could.”

  “What about the jewel box?” Trixie urged him. “What did you know about it?”

  “I’m trying to tell you, Trixie,” Jim said sadly. “My mother told me that when Aunt Nell came back from Europe she couldn’t find the box anyplace, or the rings. She didn’t mind the loss of the rings so very much, but Uncle Jim had given her the jewel box one time when they were in Paris. She loved it more than anything she owned. Jonesy used to ask my aunt and uncle for money, and, when my mother wouldn’t let them give him any more, I guess Aunt Nell thought he stole the jewel box. When my mother accused him of it he denied it.”

  “That time he was right, wasn’t he?” Trixie asked.

  “Yes,” Jim agreed. “I’d like to be able to tell him it’s been found.”

  Trixie and Honey, who, when Ten Acres burned, had seen how cruel Jonesy could be, didn’t waste much pity on him now. “Will you let us exhibit the jewel box at the show?” Trixie asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Jim answered. “The Bob-Whites can sell it and the rings, too, and add the money to the Fund.”

  “I’ll bet your mother will buy it, Honey,” Trixie said. “She thinks it’s just beautiful,” she added to Jim.

  “Then she shall have it,” Jim said at once. “I know Aunt Nell would have liked that. Mother’s been so wonderful since she and Dad adopted me. The club can sell the rings. We’ll just exhibit the jewel box.”

  The next day The Sleepyside Sun had a long story about the treasure found in the Manor House attic. The Bob-Whites spread the newspaper on the table in the school cafeteria. Nothing was said, of course, about the part Jim’s stepfather played in the drama. There was a picture of Jim, however, of the jewel box, of all the Bob-Whites and their clubhouse, and a picture of Ten Acres before it burned.

  “You made a lot of fuss about that jewel box,” Mart said, “and you overlooked the keenest part of Trixie’s discovery.”

  “What was that?” Trixie asked, all ears.

  “The acrobatic alphabet, of course,” Mart said. “We can use it for a secret code. If anyone gets into trouble, he sends a message in code, and we fly to the rescue!”

  “You’re right, Mart!” Trixie said. “Why didn’t I think of using it for a club code? I’ll go back and hunt it up again in that old magazine tonight.”

  “I did copy it from the magazine,” Honey said. “I have it here in my notebook. I’ll make copies for all the Bob-Whites. We’ll all have to learn it.”

  “We’ll have to concentrate on learning the letters SOS at least,” Mart said. “I’m afraid there are brains in this gathering incapable of assimilating the alphabet in its entirety.”

  “Skip it, Mart,” Brian told his brother. “Don’t forget that Trixie found the alphabet, that Trixie translated the message on the key tag, and that Trixie discovered the musical jewel box.” He spread a paper napkin on the table, looked in Honey’s notebook, and copied the three letters of the code.

  “Maybe,” he said, “if we all try hard enough we can get it through our heads that this means SOS and is a frantic call for help. And now let’s get going to our classes.”

  Chapter 7

  Thieves!

  Every night after school the Bob-Whites worked. Jim and Brian polished the swords till they shone.

  Then they gilded the frame of the old mirror. It was about forty-two inches square, and they had found an old gilt iron base to hold it. Refinished, it was beautiful.

  Trixie washed and polished the two brown cooky jars. Inside one of them she found a pair of captain’s epaulets from the Civil War. Since Honey’s mother had no idea to whom they may have belonged, she told Honey the B.W.G.’s could keep them to sell at the show.

  Diana, Trixie, and Honey helped Mart sand the two gate-leg tables.

  Wednesday, at school, a bulletin announced a special teachers’ meeting to be held at White Plains. This meant that the schools would not be open Thursday or Friday.

  After they had left the clubhouse on Wednesday evening Trixie remembered that she had left her math notebook there. Brian had promised to help her finish her assignment that night, so the weekend would be free for club work.

  “I’ll go back and get the notebook,” she said, “then I’ll catch up with you.”r />
  All the Bob-Whites carried flashlights, because the path to the clubhouse led through the woods. Trixie threw the light ahead of her as she neared the clearing where the clubhouse stood. Snow covered the ground and her footsteps were silent.

  A rabbit darted across her path. Startled, Trixie dropped her flashlight, and in the arc of light it made as it fell, two dark figures loomed. They were leaving the clubhouse area and climbing into a waiting car. With a growl from the exhaust, the car was off down the byway to Glen Road.

  Terrified, Trixie gave the quick emergency call of the club, a double whistle, “Bob—Bob-White! Bob-White!”

  Jim, Brian, and Mart came running. When she could get her breath Trixie told them what had happened.

  “You’re seeing things again,” Mart said. “We only left here a second ago. Where were they then?”

  “It wasn’t a second. It was more than five minutes, and, anyway, Martin Belden, I know what I saw.”

  Brian had gone ahead to see if he could discover anything. He ran his flashlight around the door, then under the window.

  “Someone was here,” he said. “There are footprints, two sets of them. What on earth would anyone want to be snooping around here for? They must have kept watch on us and waited for us to go. Let’s get Regan and come back. Mart, you take Trixie home.”

  “Nobody is going to take me home, Brian Belden,” Trixie said. “I’m going right along with you. Why do we have to get Regan? We’re not sissies. Let’s go on through the woods down to Glen Road. Where are Diana and Honey?”

  “They were so far ahead they didn’t hear you whistle,” Brian said. “They’re probably at home by now. All right, Trixie, if you say you’re going with us, you will. Some girls just never seem to know their place.”

  “And some boys think they know everything,” Trixie said and strode off through the woods, the boys close after her.

  There was definite evidence that someone had gone over the path recently. Their steps were fresh in the banked snow. The boys followed the path till it opened onto Glen Road. Then, dejected, they turned back home.