A Trail of Trickery

by Adam Frost

  Wily fished out a pair of glasses and a fake moustache from his inside pocket. “Certainly not. Just trying out a new look.”

  He put on his disguise and went over to a trampoline in the corner of Albert’s lab.

  He climbed on to it and bounced once, twice, three times. On the third bounce, the elastic achieved optimum springiness and shot Wily directly upwards like a rocket. He hurtled up a dark shaft at lightning speed. When he reached the top of it, he clapped his paws and a manhole cover flipped open above his head. He sprang out into the air, emerging into a deserted side alley and landing on a carefully positioned pile of cardboard boxes.

  Stepping down on to the ground, he said, “Better jump to it.”

  He looked up “Hapgood Hotels, Head Office” on his spyphone and a red dot appeared next to a large building about a mile away. The guest database would be in that building somewhere. And perhaps it would contain the name of Wily’s ghost.

  Wily arrived at the office of Hapgood Hotels at nine o’clock – fifteen minutes later. It was closed. He took off his disguise and rapped on the door. Nobody appeared.

  Then he noticed a sign on the window.

  Of course, Wily thought, the hotels are aimed at nocturnal animals. So their office opens in the evening and closes in the morning.

  Then a smile crossed Wily’s face. That means everyone who works here is at home.

  He looked up and down the street. A couple of animals were chatting on the other side of the road, but otherwise it was empty. He pulled out his spyphone and held it against the door handle. Albert had built him an app that could unlock any door – it had something to do with magnets and photons. Wily heard the levers and tumblers clicking, then the door swung open.

  Wily ducked in and closed the blinds so nobody could see him. Then he got to work.

  First, the filing cabinet. It was full of financial documents, but he couldn’t see anything obviously suspicious.

  Then he inspected the noticeboard. At the top, there was a banner saying “Meet the Team” with photos of various animals below it. The boss was called Bartholomew Bat – he was a cheerful-looking fruit bat wearing a shiny cape. His secretary was called Bruno Badger – he wore large tinted glasses – and the chief accountant was called Arlene Aardvark – she had an eye patch and a deep scar on her chin. There were also two sales assistants – Oscar Ocelot and Paulo Possum.

  All nocturnal animals, of course. And Wily was sure he’d seen Arlene Aardvark before. Wily took photos of the noticeboard and moved across to the desk.

  In the top drawer, there was a photo with a Post-it note stuck to it.

  Wily took a picture of this, too.

  Then he got to work on the computer. He tried all of his usual techniques to bypass the password screen, but none of them worked. Albert was right. Their security system was top of the range. This was common on military bases and in government offices, but unusual for a hotel chain.

  But Wily wasn’t about to give up. “Everyone – EVERYONE – writes their password down somewhere,” he mumbled.

  He glanced around the rest of the office and saw another picture. It was an oil painting of the owner, Bartholomew Bat, standing with one of his wings resting on a giant globe.

  Only one reason for a painting like that, Wily thought. He slid it sideways and, sure enough, there was a small wall-safe behind it. There you are! Wily thought to himself. He held up his spyphone against the combination lock. It spun left, then right and then popped open. Inside there was a bundle of banknotes and a large black book. On the first page of the book was a list of symbols.

  Wily smiled. It was a pretty basic code. In The Case of the Cunning Vixen, he’d had to crack one hundred and nine different codes in less than five minutes while being suspended over a bath full of piranhas. So this one was child’s play.

  In fifteen seconds, he had all the computer passwords. He typed in one password to unlock the computer, then another to access the guest database.

  Hundreds of names filled the screen. Ferrets, cats, lorises, hedgehogs, hamsters – every nocturnal animal in the world.

  “Albert,” Wily said into his spyphone, “I’m sending you the London guest list. Start with the animals that are in London right now. Then move on to the animals that stayed last week. Then look at other hotels in Europe.”

  A few names leaped out at Wily – Otto Owl, Patsy Pangolin, Casper Kite.

  “Start with the animals who have wings, talons or both,” said Wily.

  “Will do,” Albert said. “Now get out of there. You’ve broken about fifty laws in the past ten minutes.”

  “It’s OK,” said Wily, “nobody will ever…”

  His voice trailed off. He was looking straight ahead. How had he been so foolish? He’d been so focused on taking photos with HIS camera that he’d forgotten about THEIR camera. There it was, above the door. Pointing directly at him.

  Wily stepped to the left. The camera moved slightly to the left. Wily stepped to the right. The camera swivelled right. It had a motion sensor.

  It must have recorded every move he’d made.

  “Albert,” said Wily, “we may have the smallest smidgen of a problem.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Albert.

  Wily tapped frantically into the computer. Could he find the security camera files? He tried all the obvious folders, but they were empty.

  “It’s just that…” Wily mumbled.

  “It’s just that … what?” Albert replied.

  Wily ran a search for any file that had been created today. At last! Video files with today’s date. But when he tried to delete them, a message popped up. “This will only delete local versions.” What did that mean? Wily tapped the “info” button and discovered that the security files were all backed up on to remote servers in California and Mumbai. Blast! There were copies everywhere – all of them impossible to delete.

  “Er, well,” Wily continued, “when the staff come back to the office at 6 p.m. tonight, they MIGHT find out I’ve been here.”

  “How?” Albert asked, panic in his voice.

  “I kind of … got caught on camera.”

  “Wily! I told you to be careful. This is a catastrophe!”

  “I know, I know,” Wily said, “but it just adds to the fun. It means we’ve got to solve the case by 6 p.m. this evening. Piece of cake!”

  “But … but…” Albert stammered, “it’ll take me a while to check these names against the criminal database. There’s not enough TIME!”

  Wily walked round the desk, the camera following him as he moved.

  “You can do it, Albert,” said Wily. “Someone on that guest list may well be our ghost. I’m coming back to the lab.”

  Suddenly Wily heard a click and the office door opened. He instantly dived behind the desk. Peering out from underneath it, he saw the feet of two animals – a bat and an aardvark.

  “Thanks for coming in early, Arlene,” the bat said. “I need your help with the new catalogue.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr Bat, sir,” Arlene replied.

  It appeared to be the owner – Bartholomew Bat – and his assistant, Arlene Aardvark.

  Wily had to think fast. He looked around and spotted a red button under the desk: Intruder Alarm.

  He pressed it. A loud wailing tore through the air and a light on the ceiling started to flash.

  “Oh no, we must have tripped the alarm!” Bartholomew exclaimed.

  While the two animals were fiddling with a control panel in the corner of the room, Wily slipped out.

  “Daylight robbery,” he murmured, stepping out on to the street.

  Wily was heading across London on his hang-glider, talking to Albert on his headset.

  “So now we have even LESS time to solve the case,” Albert said, sounding more stressed than ever.

  “Afraid so,” said Wily. “Once they’ve looked through those security tapes, they’ll send them straight to the police. I wouldn’t be surprised if Julius and Sybil were on their
way to our office now. That’s why I’m not coming back to HQ.”

  Detective Julius Hound and Sergeant Sybil Squirrel worked for PSSST – the Police Spy, Sleuth and Snoop Taskforce. Julius and Wily didn’t exactly get on – they often ended up investigating the same cases, and Wily usually solved them first.

  “Where are you going?” Albert asked.

  “That depends on what you’ve found out,” Wily said. “Have you discovered anything suspicious about the hotel’s guests?”

  “Not yet,” said Albert, “but I’ve only checked the birds of prey so far.”

  “OK,” said Wily, looking down at central London. “What about the villain’s friend – Catalina Covasna?”

  “I’ve been looking for her, too,” said Albert. “She didn’t show up in the criminal records database.”

  “Hmm,” Wily muttered.

  Wily steered his hang-glider right across Soho. He passed Warren Street and then Russell Square. A thought dropped into his head. Don’t places sometimes sound like people? A foreigner might not know whether Warren Street was a person or a place.

  Then he thought about what Pete had said: the villain was going to “call Catalina Covasna”. When Wily was on cases abroad, he often talked about calling London.

  “Albert,” Wily said aloud. “What if Catalina Covasna is a place?”

  Wily heard Albert tapping at his computer.

  “You’ve cracked it!” Albert said. “I’ve sent you a picture.”

  Wily looked at his phone. Catalina was a small village in Romania in the region of Covasna.

  “And look at this news report,” Albert said.

  One of Romania’s oldest buildings – Catalina Castle – has been sold following the appearance of a ghastly ghoul. The ghost was seen by Baron Berbatov and his wife, Olga, while they were sleeping in the castle’s master bedroom last month.

  Olga Berbatov described “a white shrouded figure with red eyes that seemed to float above the ground”. The Baron described the piercing shriek the ghost made.

  “It looks like our villain might have done this before,” Wily said. “And I wonder who he was calling there? Time for a trip to Romania, I think. After what happened at the Hapgood office, I need to leave town anyway.”

  “Sure thing, Wily,” said Albert.

  “In the meantime, keep looking through those hotel records,” said Wily. “I’ll call when I get to Romania.”

  “Oh yes, about that,” Albert said. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but…”

  “What is it?” Wily asked.

  Albert sighed. “The control bar of your hang-glider has a purple button underneath it. Press that twice and you’ll go at the speed of sound. I haven’t tested it properly yet, but—”

  “Bravo, Albert!” Wily said. “If Roderick calls while I’m away, tell him to start selling tickets for Saturday. And save me a seat in the front row.”

  Wily felt for the button under the control bar and pressed it twice. He zipped forwards at the speed of sound, the wind blowing his ears flat.

  As Wily flew, he went through the case in his head. There was some connection he wasn’t making. The glowing paint. The claw. The way the ghost could open all doors. The fact it was a nocturnal animal. Above all, what did it have against Roderick Rabbit? Wily hoped he’d find answers in Catalina Castle.

  As he glided towards Catalina, he saw three of the castle’s turrets poking through the clouds. He swooped down, expecting to see a beautiful Gothic building, but as he emerged from the clouds he saw that all four walls were covered with scaffolding. He flew closer and saw a giant “DANGER – KEEP OUT” sign tied to a pole.

  He landed on the scaffolding and a rabbit’s head immediately appeared at the top of a ladder.

  “I’m sorry, mate,” the rabbit said, “but you can’t park your contraption here – this is a building site.”

  Wily put on an exaggerated American accent. “I sure am sorry, sir. The name’s Arnold J. Dingleberry III. I’m in Romania on vacation. I was hoping to mosey on into this here castle.”

  “Well, you can’t,” said the rabbit. “The owners sold it.”

  “And why is that, sir?”

  The rabbit swallowed and looked over his shoulder. “On account of the ghost. They had to sell it for next to nothing, too – nobody wanted to buy a haunted castle.”

  At that moment, another rabbit’s head appeared at the top of the ladder. He was older, and he had grey fur and a chipped front tooth.

  “Who are you talking to, Ricky? What have you said?” the old rabbit barked.

  “He’s just a tourist,” Ricky gibbered.

  “How many times? We’ve promised not to say anything about why we’re here.”

  The old rabbit looked up at Wily.

  “You need to get out of here and never come back.”

  “Why, certainly,” Wily said with a small bow. He took off and landed on the other side of the castle.

  OK, Wily thought to himself, how am I going to get inside? I need to find out what’s been going on here.

  It was around four in the afternoon. The builders would probably start to go home shortly. He decided to wait until they headed off, then break in.

  He looked up at the castle. What was the connection between this and the Griffin Theatre in London? Had the same ghost haunted both buildings? And why?

  Within half an hour, the coast was clear and Wily was scaling the scaffolding. He found an open window and climbed inside.

  He remembered the news article: “The ghost was seen by Baron Berbatov and his wife, Olga, while they were sleeping in the castle’s master bedroom.”

  He needed to find the master bedroom and look for clues.

  Tricky, Wily said to himself, when half the castle is a building site.

  He walked through the old dining room. There was a cloth thrown over the long dining table and one of the walls had been knocked down.

  Wily opened the double doors at the end of the room and found himself in what used to be a study. It had been converted into the foreman’s office – it was full of tools and overalls and documents.

  Wily noticed several large sheets of paper laid out on a desk in the centre of the office. They were architectural plans showing the castle before and after the building works.

  I’ll ask Albert to decipher all these numbers and measurements, Wily said to himself, taking photographs of each plan.

  Then he moved out of the office and into the hall. He climbed up a large staircase and opened the door directly in front of him. It was a bedroom. It still had a four-poster bed at one end and a chest of drawers at the other.

  The master bedroom, Wily thought.

  He got down on all fours and looked for clues, sniffing the air and inspecting the carpet. Then he saw something glinting in the corner of the room. He dashed over and saw a twist of fabric under the chest of drawers. In the darkness, he could see it glowing faintly. When he pulled it out, the fabric turned black. It looked identical to the material that he’d found at the Griffin Theatre. Glo-fix 7, Albert had called it.

  Wily smiled. “What a spooky coincidence,” he said.

  The next second, his smile vanished.

  “Hands up!” said a stern voice behind him.

  Quick as a flash, Wily reached into his pocket for the particle freezer and shot it between his legs.

  Then he spun round.

  Detective Julius Hound of PSSST was standing in the doorway, frozen solid.

  His deputy, Sybil Squirrel, was standing in front of him. She broke into a smile.

  “Wily!” she exclaimed. “What are YOU doing in Romania?”

  “Sybil!” Wily exclaimed. “I could ask you the same question.”

  “We were in Bucharest,” Sybil said, “investigating a lead that went nowhere. Then we got a call saying that Mad Vlad the Killer Gorilla was holed up in Catalina Castle. He’s Romania’s most wanted criminal. We were close by, so we decided to come in person.”

  “That’s
strange,” said Wily. “One of the builders must have seen me breaking in. But why did they lie and tell you I was a murderer? They must be desperate to get rid of me. Perhaps they’re worried I’ll find the link to the ghost.”

  “Ghost?” Sybil said. “What ghost?”

  Wily gave Sybil a brief description of his case. When he’d finished, he said, “I found glowing fabric under that chest of drawers. Now I’m going to look for more clues. I need to find out who’s behind these fake hauntings.”

  Wily glanced behind Sybil and asked, “Do you want me to unfreeze your boss?”

  Sybil looked over her shoulder and leaped in surprise.

  “Crikey, I thought he was being a bit quiet. Assumed he was having a sulk. What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing serious,” said Wily. “I just froze every particle in his body.”

  He pressed the “thaw” button.

  As Julius started to unfreeze, Wily said, “By the way, Sybil, did Hapgood Hotels contact PSSST?”

  Sybil looked blank. “Not that I heard of.”

  “They didn’t report an office break-in?”

  Sybil pulled out her phone and typed something into it. “Nope. Not to us or any other police agency. Why?”

  “Because I broke into their office,” said Wily, “and I’m wondering why they didn’t tell anyone.”

  There were so many strands to this case. Wily knew everything was linked, but he couldn’t see how – yet.

  His train of thought was interrupted when Julius exclaimed, “Blasted fox!” and threw an empty paint pot at Wily.

  Wily blocked it and the paint pot rebounded, hitting Julius on the head and knocking him backwards. Julius grabbed one of the posts of the four-poster bed and, trying to regain his balance, twisted it.

  Something creaked in the wall behind them.