“I feel like a thief!” she gasped. “Isn’t it horrid to find a thing so long after?”
“As if you had been waiting for an offered reward?” laughed Trixy. “We aren’t likely to be suspected of anything like that, so don’t worry, lamb. I’m just all a-quiver of anticipation.”
But after lunch the little note was missing from its hook on the bulletin and in its place was found a message sealed and addressed to “Finder.” The girls read it in their own room behind closed doors.
The note read: “Please drop into old brass vase on teakwood stand in alcove of west sitting room.” That was all.
“Oh,” moaned Gloria, in disappointment. “Not even to say drop what.”
“How perfectly mean,” growled Trixy.
“Suppose we don’t. We might say that it ‘must be called for,’” suggested Gloria.
“But then,” mused Trixy, “there may be a real reason.”
“Again, noble Portia, I salute thee,” mocked Gloria. “In other words, just as you say. But I’d hate to be fooled again. That old trunk seems destined to add to my misery. Not that there’s much more room for addition,” (another groan and wild, agonizing rolling of eyes) “but I suppose we may as well drop the ‘jool’ in the vaase.”
“May as better,” amended Trixy.