The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

be?”
    “I’m afraid that’s too far north,” said Peter, “because they’re 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,” Peter sighed, “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 cried, “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 the 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.
    “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,” Diana said.
    “Maybe they came in from another direction,” volunteered Mart, going around to the other side of the smokehouse. “See here, where the vines are trampled 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 that had obviously been thrown down very recently. “Now I’m positive that our mysterious guest in the toolshed 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 coat. “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,”