The Secret of the Unseen Treasure Read online

  Your TRIXIE BELDEN Library

  1

  The Secret of the Mansion

  2

  The Red Trailer Mystery

  3

  The Gatehouse Mystery

  4

  The Mysterious Visitor

  5

  The Mystery Off Glen Road

  6

  Mystery in Arizona

  7

  The Mysterious Code

  8

  The Black Jacket Mystery

  9

  The Happy Valley Mystery

  10

  The Marshland Mystery

  11

  The Mystery at Bob-White Cave

  12

  The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

  13

  The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island

  14

  The Mystery of the Emeralds

  15

  Mystery on the Mississippi

  16

  The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

  17

  The Mystery of the Uninvited Guest

  18

  The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper

  19

  The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

  20

  The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road (new)

  21

  The Mystery of the Castaway Children (new)

  22

  Mystery at Mead’s Mountain (new)

  © 1977 by Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Produced in U.S.A.

  GOLDEN, GOLDEN PRESS®, and TRIXIE BELDEN® are trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  0-307-21590-3

  All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.

  Stranger in the Garden • 1

  TRIXIE BELDEN bounced into the kitchen. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her sandy curls lifted as though they shared her excitement.

  “Oh, Moms, I feel so free!” she said to Mrs. Belden, who was carefully removing cake layers from the oven to cooling racks. “Just think! School is out. I’m free for the whole summer. Nothing to do except—”

  “Except,” her mother interposed, glancing over her shoulder, “to keep your room clean, do your chores around the house and in the garden, and take care of Bobby now and then. Unless, of course, you plan to give up your five dollars a week allowance.”

  “Oh, Moms.” Trixie tried to hide the dismay in her voice. “I didn’t mean I wouldn’t do all those things!”

  “Indubitably not,” scoffed Mart Belden. Eleven months older than Trixie, he detested being mistaken for her twin. He liked to use big words, especially to tease Trixie. “You were just wishing you could eschew those responsibilities during your summer hiatus.”

  “I was not!” Trixie retorted.

  In the doorway, seventeen-year-old Brian Belden combed fingers through his dark, wavy hair and winked at his mother. “I suggest they both be kept out of trouble by enrolling them in summer school.” He grinned at their mother’s suddenly thoughtful expression. “Meanwhile, I’ll convey their apologies to Honey for not coming over to help exercise the Wheelers’ horses.”

  Honey Wheeler was Trixie’s best friend. She lived at the Manor House on the gently sloping hillside just west of the Beldens’ modest Crab-apple Farm. The Wheelers were one of the wealthiest families in the town of Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, just north of New York City. They maintained a stable of fine horses that needed more exercise than the older members of the Wheeler household had time to give them. Hiding was a frequent pastime for the Bob-Whites of the Glen, the club formed by Trixie and her friends.

  The B.W.G.’s had planned to start off their school vacation with a horseback ride this afternoon. Now Trixie was worried about her mother’s reminder of chores.

  “Moms...,” she began, pleading.

  Six-year-old Bobby interrupted. “You promised to take me and Reddy for a walk.” He called to the Beldens’ big Irish setter, who was pawing at the screen door. “Trixie and me will be right out, Reddy.”

  “Bobby,” Mrs. Belden said kindly, “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t interfere with Trixie’s plans for this afternoon. Anyway, I’ll need your help to put the icing on the cake and lick the bowl clean.”

  “Moms!” Trixie exclaimed. “Do you really mean it? I can go? You won t be mad?”

  “I know you’ll attend to your chores sooner or later.”

  “Undoubtedly later,” Mart remarked.

  “Oh, go stick your head in a dictionary and close it hard,” Trixie retorted. She hugged her mother. “I promise I’ll do them real soon. Thanks, Moms, for being so kind and understanding.”

  “I remember how it feels when school lets out for the summer,” said Mrs. Belden, laughing. “Believe it or not, I was your age once upon a time.”

  Bobby looked bewildered. “Was Trixie your baby-sitter, too?”

  “No, Bobby. Mrs. Elliot was.”

  “Mrs. Elliot?” Trixie asked. “I always thought your sitter’s name was Ethel Rogers.”

  “That was her name,” Mrs. Belden said, “before she married Sam Elliot, a widower with a teen-age son.”

  Trixie frowned. “Is Max Elliot her stepson? He’s been working for her since early in the spring.”

  “Sure he is,” said Mart. “He ran away from home just before Mr. Elliot died five years ago. Now he’s back.”

  “Mart,” Mrs. Belden chided, “you don’t make that sound very nice.”

  “Well, he did run away,” Mart said. “He probably thought he couldn’t get anywhere by raising flowers and vegetables with his father. I wonder what made him decide to come back here now.”

  “Maybe he found out life’s not so easy in the city either,” Mrs. Belden said. “Anyway, it’s nice that Ethel Elliot has his help. She’s barely been able to hold on to the place with just Social Security payments and the produce she’s been able to raise and sell. Maybe now she’ll have time to attend garden club meetings again and start winning prizes with her flowers.” Mrs. Belden looked up at Trixie. “Have you changed your mind about going riding?”

  “Don’t count on it,” Brian said with a laugh.

  “Well, be careful,” their mother advised. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “You heard what she said,” Mart reminded Trixie as they walked the short distance to Manor House. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “That’s impossible with you around,” Trixie replied loftily.

  “You know what I mean,” Mart persisted. “Just don’t go looking for a mystery to keep everyone in a dither all summer.”

  Brian pushed in so he could walk between them. “Relax, you two,” he said diplomatically.

  “He’s just pretending,” Trixie declared to Brian. “He really enjoys helping when Honey and I find a mystery.”

  Trixie and Honey were always looking for a mystery that needed solving. In fact, they had hopes of someday running their own detective agency.

  “Simply a matter of predilection—or, rather, lack of choice,” Mart remarked.

  Their arrival at Manor House was announced noisily by Jim’s springer spaniel, Patch.

  “Hi, Patch,” said Trixie, stooping to scratch behind his ears. “Where’s Honey?”

  “Changing clothes,” replied a voice from somewhere behind Trixie.

  Trixie didn’t turn. She knelt and raised her voice in mock surprise. “Why, Patch! You sound just like Miss Trask.” Miss Trask was manager of the Wheeler household. “When did you learn to talk?”

  “Arf!Arf!” Miss Trask replied. “I taught him.”

  “Arf
!Arf!” Patch joined in.

  “Now he’s teaching you,” Trixie said, chuckling. Turning, she faced Miss Trask, as trim-looking as ever in a light blue summer suit and small straw hat with matching band. As usual, Miss Trask wore sensible, serviceable, sturdy-looking oxfords.

  “How nice you look!” Trixie exclaimed. Mart nodded, then glanced disparagingly at his sister. “Why don’t you try emulating her sometime? Look at you: scuffed shoes, faded jeans, a blouse that is—”

  Miss Trask interrupted: “—that is just right for a casual afternoon ride.” She sighed. “I wish

  I could go along, but I have to go into town instead.”

  “Oh, good!” Trixie said without thinking. “I mean, that’s awful. I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to sound like—”

  “No apologies needed.” Miss Trask smiled. “You won’t be interfering with my plans by riding Susie.”

  “That’s what I meant to say,” Trixie explained lamely.

  “Even if I didn’t have to go to town,” Miss Trask said understandingly, “I wouldn’t consider spoiling your plans for today. I know how it feels when school lets out for the summer. Believe me, it’s a relief for the teachers, tool” Miss Trask strolled with them toward the stable. As they passed the garage, Brian moved ahead eagerly. Earlier in the day, he had left his beat-up car to be timed by Tom Delanoy, the Wheelers’ chauffeur.

  “How’s it running, Tom?”

  Tom rolled his twinkling blue eyes. “It would have been simpler if you hadn’t messed around with it first.”

  “Sometimes engines are better off without my help,” Brian agreed.

  “And yet,” Tom said with a grin, “you plan to become a doctor and take care of human engines.”

  “You just lost a patient, doc.” It was Dan Mangan, coming out of the garage, who had spoken. A few years ago, Dan had been living in the city and headed for trouble. His uncle, Regan, the Wheelers’ horse trainer, had brought him to Sleepyside, and the B.W.G.’s had helped to get him back on the right track. Now he lived with Mr. Maypenny, the gamekeeper for the Wheeler estate.

  “Brian will be a fine doctor,” Tom corrected. “When I accidentally gashed my arm, he did a good job of first aid. There wasn’t anything left for Dr. Gregory to do except give me a tetanus shot.”

  “Hi, everybody!” Honey Wheeler came running from the house. She was the same age as Trixie, but taller and slimmer. She had hazel eyes and golden brown hair that earned her the nickname Honey. She waved an envelope.

  “Mother asked if we would ride to Mrs. Elliot’s and drop this off. It’s a thank-you note for the flowers she provided for Mother’s luncheon yesterday.”

  “And also a check for the flowers,” Miss Trask reminded her. “So be careful not to lose it. Mrs. Elliot needs any help she can get.”

  Another “Hi!” sounded, more subdued than Honey’s. Diana Lynch, the quietest member of the B.W.G.’s, always let her large violet eyes express what her voice didn’t. Her long, blue-black hair made a shining frame for her pretty face.

  “All ready and accounted for—except Jim,” said Trixie.

  “He’s already in the stable,” Dan told her. “But you’ll have to count me out for now. I’ve got to help Mr. Maypenny finish putting out salt blocks for the deer, and then I have to do some errands in town. I’ll see you guys and gals later!”

  “Let’s get going,” said Trixie, starting down the sloping drive bordered by pink and red hollyhocks.

  Honey hurried past her. “Last one to the stable can groom Lady for me!”

  Everyone ran, shouting and laughing.

  Bill Regan, the horse trainer, appeared in the wide stable doorway. He hunched his broad shoulders and raised his hands to his red head in mock dismay.

  “Oh, is this going to be an afternoon to survive!” he said. “Frisky horses getting out for the first time in days—and frisky kids just out of school.”

  “Regan,” Trixie apologized, “we haven’t had time to exercise the horses. We all had to study for final exams. If we hadn’t passed, we’d be in school all summer. Then you would have a problem getting the horses exercised!” f “All right, all right.” Regan grinned. “They’re all groomed and waiting.” He forced a stern expression on his pleasant face. “But from now on, through the summer, you kids do the grooming and take care of the tack. Now, get ’em out and saddle up. Honey, mind how Lady blows herself up when you take up the girth.”

  “I won’t forget,” Honey replied, recalling how the saddle had once slipped to the side, comically spilling her off the dapple-gray mare.

  Trixie entered the stable, savoring the smells of oats, bran, polished leather, and horses. As she opened a box stall, she reached into the pocket of her jeans for a carrot.

  “Hi, Susie. Remember me?” Trixie spoke softly to Miss Trask’s beautiful little black mare. The horse’s coat gleamed like dark satin after Regan’s currycombing and brushing. Velvety lips gently accepted the carrot from Trixie’s palm. Then, crunching away contentedly, the mare made no fuss about the bridle being slipped on.

  Out in the gangway, there was an excited tattoo of hooves. Trixie saw that it was Jupiter, Mr. Wheeler’s black stallion. No one but Mr. Wheeler, Regan, and Jim Frayne could manage him. Jim, who firmly held Jupiter now, had been rescued from a very cruel stepfather by Honey’s parents, who had adopted him. Jim had red hair like Mr. Wheeler and had become like a real son to his foster parents and a real brother to Honey.

  “All right, Jupe, take it easy,” Jim said soothingly, holding close to the bit. “Just a minute and we’ll be ready to go.”

  Regan spoke quietly. “Don’t let him have his head right off, Jim. Wait until he knows you’re the boss, not him. That goes for all of you. Don’t let your mounts take command.”

  The frisky horses wanted to run, but Trixie and the others held them to a walk for a quarter of a mile. Bees hummed, birds sang, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle and the tang of wild huckleberries filled the air.

  Jim, leading the way on Jupe, tinned off Glen Road onto a trail into the hills. “Anyone ready to canter?” he called back.

  “The horses are,” Trixie replied. “And so are we!”

  Jupe wanted to go all out on the trail, but Jim remained in control, setting the pace at a steady canter. Trixie’s mare Susie drummed after them, with Honey right alongside on the dapple-gray Lady. The others were close behind.

  When they reached the crest of a long, steady slope, Jim reined in his mount. “That ought to take some of the edge off them,” he said, breathing hard.

  “That was fun!” Trixie exclaimed.

  Di, the quiet one, nodded and smiled.

  “As soon as they get their wind back,” Mart suggested, “let’s do it again.”

  “Whoa,” Brian cautioned. “Regan won’t like it if we bring them back overheated.”

  While they gave the horses a breather, Trixie gazed down into a picturesque, secluded little valley. Mrs. Elliot’s cottage nestled there, a white bungalow surrounded by flowers of all colors, like a pearl amid bright gems. Beyond the flowers, neat rows of vegetables formed a small truck garden. A larger area toward the mouth of the valley was lush with com. In the dark green center of the cornfield, a man leaned on a hoe.

  “That must be Max,” said Honey.

  “Working hard, isn’t he?” Mart gibed.

  “Just like when you’re supposed to be helping me hoe the garden at home,” retorted Trixie quickly.

  “Maybe he is working,” Mart replied. “Testing out my theory.”

  “What theory?” Honey inquired.

  “Well,” Mart explained, “kind words are supposed to make flowers and other desirable verdure burgeon. So unkind words should make weeds atrophy and die. Right?”

  “There’s only one answer to that,” Brian commented. “Hoe-hoe-hoe!”

  “Oh!” Jim winced. “That’s awful.”

  Trixie was only half listening to the banter. Her eye had detected some movement near the hothouse
and potting shed behind the cottage. She couldn’t quite make out what it was—maybe Mrs. Elliot doing some gardening there. But then a man moved into Trixie’s view. He had a can in his hand and seemed to be watering plants close to the buildings. He was dressed in a suit and tie.

  “Who’s that man?” Trixie asked, pointing at the stranger.

  “Whoever he is,” Honey observed, “he certainly isn’t dressed for gardening!”

  “And he’s sure sloppy about watering,” Mart

  said. “He’s getting more on the building than on the plants.”

  “That’s strange,” Jim added. “He’s using a red can, like the kind you use to carry gas!” Those words were taken right out of Trixie’s mouth.

  “Honey! Mart! Di!” she shouted. “Quick! Ride down to the cornfield. Tell Max!” / The three horses lunged down the hill toward the cornfield. Jim was already charging Jupe toward the potting shed. Trixie urged Susie into pursuit. Brian galloped alongside. “Not too fast downhill,” he warned.

  “That man is going to set fire to Mrs. Elliot’s property!”

  “We’re not sure of that,” Brian shouted. “He could be an exterminator or something like that.”

  Trixie shook her head emphatically. “Not dressed like that!”

  Hooves drummed and clattered down the hill. Through an opening in the trees near the bottom, Trixie glimpsed the man looking over his shoulder at them. She yelled and pointed in his direction to let him know he'd been spotted.

  Then they were on the floor of the little valley. Jupe leaped over a small brook, and his hooves gouged the earth on the drive alongside Mrs. Elliot’s cottage. Brian swerved Starlight to the right in pursuit. Trixie followed on Susie. She didn’t rein in until she swung around a corner of the barn and almost collided with the other horses. Jim was already on foot, running toward the abandoned red can, lying on its side and gurgling pungent gasoline. He set the can upright and turned quickly to scan the area around the potting shed. There was no sign of fire.