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car, must have spent Tuesday night in the cottage."
    Trixie nodded. She walked north along the road a yard or so and then stopped. "Here are more tire marks but only rubber-heeled footprints."
    Honey joined her. "What do you deduce, Sherlock?" Trixie grinned. "I deduce that Mr. Rubber Heels came back later and parked the car at this spot. But Mr. Leather Heels wasn't with him, or else he stayed in the car."
    "Or else he has wings," Honey agreed, "or seven-league boots. If he walked anywhere along the shoulder, he would have left footprints."
    "Mr. Rubber Heels," Trixie said thoughtfully, "walked straight into the woods from the car. Then he came out of the woods and got into his car. The way the footprints point shows that."
    "They certainly do," Honey said. "I'll tell you what I think happened. Gallagher mowed the lawns early Wednesday morning. The men saw him and were afraid he might come into the cottage. So they drove away in such a hurry they didn't realize one of them had dropped the diamond."
    "That's what I think," Trixie said. "Later they drove back and parked here. Mr. Leather Heels stayed in the car, and Mr. Rubber Heels sneaked through the woods to make sure the coast was clear before he dared search the cottage. When he arrived, we were cutting away the vines from the window, so he hid in the thicket. When he heard the dogs barking, he hurried back to the car, and they both drove away."
    Honey laughed. "Thank goodness, the mystery is solved. When we turn the diamond over to the police, all they'll have to look for is a man with rubber heels who also has a bad case of poison ivy. When the detectives see these tire tracks, they can probably tell what kind of car to look for." She turned around. "I've got to dash back to the house and say good-bye to Mother and Daddy. If I hurry, there'll just be time for Daddy to call the Sleepyside police station and—" Trixie grabbed her arm. "Don't you dare tell your father anything, Honey Wheeler. If you do, we'll probably both end up in jail."
    Honey gasped. "Wh-what on earth for?"
    Trixie shook her head sadly. "Don't you realize that the men who stole the diamond and dropped it in the cottage must be in another state by now? They may never be caught, all because we didn't turn the diamond over to the police the minute we found it. It's all my fault," she admitted ruefully. "And there's some awful law about withholding information which might lead to the capture of criminals."
    Honey gasped again. "Well, let's not withhold it another minute."
    "Please," Trixie begged. "Listen a minute, Honey. I think we may be able to capture the criminals ourselves. Then nobody'll be mad at us for keeping the diamond a secret."
    "I think you're crazy," Honey said, pulling away from her. "You just said the police might not be able to catch the diamond thieves. What makes you think we can?"
    "If you'd only listen," Trixie moaned. "I think the two men will come back later on. But they won't if there's even a suspicion that police are on their trail. As long as they feel sure they have only you and me to worry about, they may try to get it from us. We'll set some sort of trap, and they'll walk right into it." She tightened her grip on Honey's slender arm. "Then we'll be heroines." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "That new gardener of yours who hasn't got very good references— he may be one of the gang."
    Honey's hazel eyes were wide with admiration. "How smart you are, Trixie! I didn't like his looks at all. He's sort of shriveled and bent and, well—he made me think of a giant peanut, with no eyes to speak of."
    "Is he going to sleep in?" Trixie asked.
    Honey nodded. "He arrived C.O.D. in a taxi and said he wouldn't take the job unless he could sleep in. There are only three bedrooms on the third floor, you know. The cook and Celia have two of them, so Miss Trask had to plead with Regan to let the new chauffeur share his suite over the garage." She sighed. "You're so right about the