by Sam Hay
“Don’t be long,” wailed Frankie. “There’s not much time left – they’re bound to strike soon!”
Joe hadn’t realized quite how tired he was. As soon as his head hit the pillow he felt a wave of sleep wash over him. Just a five-minute snooze while Toby drops off, he told himself. Then I’ll creep back downstairs…
“JOE! JOE! WAKE UP!” Frankie was on his bed, licking his face. “You’ve been gone for ages! It’s nearly midnight. Everyone’s in the ballroom and the bad waiters are creeping about. Come on!”
Joe stumbled out of bed and pulled on his shoes.
They crept downstairs into the deserted lobby and sneaked to their hiding place behind the pot plant…
After ten minutes or so they heard footsteps and singing, but it was only Marion and Bob going upstairs to bed.
Joe sighed. The hallway was cold and he was fed up with Frankie, who was constantly scratching at his stitches. But suddenly Frankie stopped scratching.
“That’s weird,” Frankie whispered.
“What?”
“The clock in the dining room!” said Frankie. “Look – that wall clock over there says it’s five past twelve. But I didn’t hear Sylvia’s clock in the dining room chime!”
Joe was about to shrug when suddenly he froze. The clock! THE CLOCK! Of course! “Frankie,” he gasped. “It’s not the money they’re after. It’s the clock!”
Frankie looked at him blankly.
“I heard Uncle Len say it was very valuable,” explained Joe. “That’s what they’re going to steal – Mrs Stanway’s special clock in the dining room! Quick, we’re in the wrong place. We’ve got to stop them!”
They dashed across the hallway. The dining-room lights were off, but Joe could just make out two shadowy figures standing by the mantelpiece. One of them was carrying a sports bag…
“It’s them!” Joe shouted.
The men stopped. Then one of them turned and raced towards the kitchens.
The other one – the man carrying the bag – ran towards them, barging Joe out of the way.
“After him!” barked Frankie.
The thief was already through the door Frankie raced ahead of him and headbutted an umbrella stand, knocking it straight into the robber’s path. But the man just stepped over it – and then into the revolving doors…
Joe snatched up an umbrella from the stand and tried to jam the doors with it. For a moment it worked. But then the thief rattled the door angrily and the umbrella snapped in two.
“He’s getting away!” Joe yelled.
But just then a figure appeared on the other side of the revolving doors.
He spotted Joe. He looked at the thief.
Then he jammed a battered suitcase in the revolving door.
“Uncle Charlie!” Joe cried.
The police arrived soon after. They freed Dale the thieving waiter from the revolving doors and immediately arrested him. His accomplice had taken a wrong turn in the kitchens and got stuck in the walk-in fridge. The clock was returned undamaged to Mrs Stanway’s mantelpiece in the dining room.
The hotel was buzzing with excitement. Joe and Uncle Charlie were heroes! Mrs Stanway ordered drinks and snacks for everyone in the lounge and Joe had to tell and retell his story over and over again.
At last he managed to slip away to the lobby where Frankie was waiting for him. His tail was wagging and his green eyes were shining. “I’m going now, Joe…”
Frankie leaped up and licked Joe’s face, smothering him in sticky zombie drool.
By the time Joe had wiped it off, Frankie had gone.
“There you are, Joe!”
He spun round to find Uncle Charlie standing in the shadows watching him.
“Hi, Uncle Charlie. I can’t wait to hear about your adventures,” said Joe.
Uncle Charlie grinned. “I think perhaps I should hear all about your adventures first…” He winked at Joe. “They sound much more exciting!”
Copyright
STRIPES PUBLISHING
An imprint of Little Tiger Press
1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,
London SW6 6AW
Text copyright © Sam Hay, 2014
Illustrations copyright © Simon Cooper, 2014
First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2014.
eISBN: 978–1–84715–497–2
The right of Sam Hay and Simon Cooper to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
www.littletiger.co.uk
