SUSPECTS: Who did it? Could have been anyone! We were all milling about, looking at the ground. Anybody could have placed that camera there!
MOTIVE: Why take the card? Why steal a load of photos of Paris? Unless…could there have been something dodgy in one of the photos? Did Izzy photograph something suspicious by mistake? Hmm, that seems unlikely.
WAIT! Izzy said her passcode program was on the card too. WAIT AGAIN! That low-down rat Harry Lovecraft was listening in! Is he up to his old tricks? Why would he want that passcode program? What sneaky plots could he hatch if he had access to it? Must ask Izzy more about that.
* * *
Chapter Three
After lunch, Mrs. Penzler let us all go souvenir hunting for half an hour. Most of the students—and most of the adults, come to think of it—headed straight back to the line of stands in the courtyard near the hotel.
Muddy, Izzy, and I headed for the stand Muddy had knocked over. He still felt very embarrassed and thought he ought to buy something from the vendor by way of another apology.
The man appeared to have cheered up a bit, and greeted us with a hearty couple of sentences which I think translated as, “Hello again, young friends. Have you come to encase watering cans in jam?”
As you can tell, my command of the French language isn’t exactly great. What we’d done so far at school was fine if you wanted to point out a tree, or eat a carrot, but not so good for buying souvenirs from Parisian salesmen. We smiled politely at him and took a look at the items on his stall. In all, there were half a dozen scale models of the Louvre, a whole load of Mona Lisa posters, four Eiffel-Tower-shaped piggy banks, a vast array of Eiffel Tower key rings, various heavily packaged snow globes containing Parisian landmarks, and lots of scarves in different colors with the word “Paris!” sewn across them in huge letters.
In the end, all three of us bought Eiffel Tower piggy banks. They were about eight inches tall and brilliantly detailed. We handed over a disturbingly large number of Euros and went on our way.
“I’m sure he doubled the price, because it was us,” said Izzy quietly.
“Still, they’re brilliantly detailed,” said Muddy. He was so busy admiring his piggy bank that a couple of steps later he collided with that low-down rat Harry Lovecraft.
“Dear me,” said Harry, theatrically dusting himself off. “You seem to be making a habit of bumping into things today, Whitehouse. What’s that you’ve got there?”
Muddy proudly displayed his piggy bank, and Harry took a close look at it. “Oh, I see,” said Harry, “you put the coins in at the top. Yes, that’s rather nice, actually. Beautifully detailed.”
Muddy held the piggy bank close to his chest, as if worried that Harry might snatch it at any moment. Izzy pointed to the paper bag Harry was carrying.
“And what have you been buying?” she said.
Out of the paper bag, Harry produced a large plastic lunchbox, with pictures of Notre Dame Cathedral printed on it. Just the sort of junk you’d expect a cheapskate like Harry Lovecraft to buy.
“Nice,” I said.
Harry walked—or should I say slithered?—away, but not before he’d taken another good look at the piggy bank.
“Seeing that low-down rat reminds me,” I said to Izzy. “I need to ask you about the password program you had on that missing memory card.”
“Do we have to talk about that?” she said. “I feel terrible about losing it. We’ve lost every single picture I took!”
“If someone stole that password program,” I said, “would they be able to use it to get into other people’s Internet files?”
Izzy frowned. “Hmm. Not easily. The program itself is password protected, but if you knew exactly what sites to log on to and whose information you were after, then, yes. In theory.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That’s veeeeeery interesting.”
So here was a possible motive for stealing the memory card! I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that now it was my turn to collide with someone. In this case, Danielle.
Or rather, she collided with me. She was hurrying across the courtyard toward the souvenir stands.
“Sorry!” she smiled. “I was miles away, I was just…” She suddenly stared at Muddy’s piggy bank. “Did you get that at one of these stands?”
“Yes,” said Izzy brightly, “all three of us bought one.”
Danielle’s smile had vanished. “They’re…really nice…aren’t they…”
“Beautifully detailed,” agreed Muddy.
Suddenly, the sound of Mrs. Penzler’s rapidly clapping hands pulled us to attention. She was advancing across the courtyard, umbrella tucked under her arm.
“Come along, everyone! No more time for idle chatter! Form a line, we’re now heading back toward the Champs Elysées. At the northern end of this stands the Arc de Triomphe, and at the other end is…”
Blah blah blah, and we were on the road again. It was an uneventful afternoon full of geography and history, followed by an uneventful evening full of worksheets and pizza.
It was the following morning when everything went ka-blam.
Chapter Four
The rooms at the Hotel Marseilles were assigned so that there were four boys or four girls to each one. I was in with Muddy and two boys from the other class in our year group.
It was two minutes to breakfast time. Muddy and I had our suitcases opened up on our hastily made beds, while we sorted through the jumble of clothes inside. Muddy had come up with the excellent idea of keeping those piggy banks of ours wrapped up inside a couple of socks, so they wouldn’t get damaged on the return journey. We sat our sock bundles on top of our clothes.
“Honestly, Muddy,” I tutted, “you should keep your clean clothes separate. How are you going to know which ones you’ve already worn?”
“Well, the worn ones are all crumpled up,” said Muddy.
“Yes, but you’ve got your clean ones all crumpled up too.”
“Oh yeah. I’ll just have to sniff them or something.”
“You really are a walking pigsty,” I muttered.
“Quick!” cried Muddy, looking at his watch. “Breakfast!”
Leaving everything as it was, we dashed out of the room and took the stairs four at a time, joining the stampede for breakfast. There was no way I was going to be late for those really tasty little bread rolls with the chocolate bits inside! The other guests at the hotel flinched as the entire St. Egbert’s gang flooded into the dining room.
“What do they call those things?” I said, three minutes later, as I bit into my third really tasty little bread roll with the chocolate bits inside.
“Aren’t they pain au chocolat?” mumbled Muddy through a mouthful of freshly baked croissant.
“No,” I said, “I think those are the pastry things with chocolate bits inside.”
Izzy appeared, a worried expression on her face.
“Hi,” I said. “Is Danielle not with you?”
“No,” said Izzy, “I’ve not seen her. Saxby, my suitcase has been searched.”
I stopped in mid-chew. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I came back from the bathroom and my case had definitely been gone through.”
“What about the others in your room?” said Muddy.
“The room was empty for about ten minutes before I returned,” said Izzy. “I’ve asked the others, but nobody saw anything and none of their stuff has been touched.”
“Was anything taken?” I said.
“No,” said Izzy. “Nothing. I don’t understand it.”
I was about to ask Izzy if she was sure she hadn’t simply made a mistake, when Mrs. Penzler scooted into view.
“Attention, St. Egbert’s! Has anyone seen my wristwatch? I thought I’d left it on my bedside cabinet last night, but as it wasn’t there this morning I think I must have lost it while I was timing you doing your worksheets last night. Anyone? Anyone?”
Everyone shrugged and shook their head.
&nbs
p; “Honestly,” she grumbled, “first we lose all our photos and now I lose my watch.”
The look of annoyance-but-not-distress on Mrs. Penzler’s face told me that she was assuming it was lost rather than stolen. Mind you, she still thought the memory card was lost rather than stolen. And now there was also the question of what was going on with Izzy’s suitcase. I looked around the room. A certain low-down rat was noticeable by his absence.
After breakfast, we all went back to our rooms to collect anything we’d need to take with us on today’s outing (by train, to the Palais de Versailles, a few miles outside the city). As Muddy and I sat on our beds, everything appeared normal: beds hastily made, bags on beds, clothes in bags, piggy banks poking out from under clothes, coats on hooks by the door, Muddy’s gadgets in a heap beside his bed…
But I knew that something had happened in here while we’d been having breakfast. Have you spotted it too?
“Somebody’s searched through our stuff as well,” I said.
“How do you know that?” said Muddy, picking a pair of underpants out of the pile in his bag.
“We left those piggy banks sitting on top of our clothes,” I said. “And we left them wrapped up in socks, too. Now they’re poking out from underneath the clothes. Someone’s been looking through our luggage, just like they’ve looked through Izzy’s.”
“Why unwrap our piggy banks?” said Muddy. “They’re only souvenirs.”
I lifted my Eiffel Tower-shaped piggy bank from my suitcase and turned it over in my hands. Nothing odd about it. Nothing unusual. Slot at the top, plastic plug at the base, nothing inside, no distinguishing markings on it.
I frowned. Some odd things were happening, and so far I had no idea what might link them all together. However, there was one thought that kept going around and around in my head.
“Stealing things if the chance presents itself,” I muttered. “Searching through people’s bags. Doesn’t that remind you of someone?”
“It’s exactly the sort of thing Harry Lovecraft’s got up to in the past,” said Muddy.
“And he wasn’t at breakfast.” I stood up. “Let’s go and have a word with him.”
We only had a few minutes before we had to be in the hotel lobby, ready to leave for the day. Right on cue, as we approached Harry’s room at the other end of the corridor, Harry came sauntering toward us.
“Where were you during breakfast?” I said.
“None of your business, Smart,” sneered Harry.
“Things are going missing,” I said. “Bags are being searched.”
“And you assume it’s my doing?” said Harry. “How nice. How very fair-minded of you.”
“Why did you miss breakfast?” said Muddy. “What were you up to?”
“I didn’t miss breakfast,” said Harry. “I went down early.”
“Why?” I said.
Harry looked at me as if I was giving off a terrible smell. “Not that it’s anything to do with you, Smart, but I wanted to leave time to mail two souvenirs I’ve bought. If you give parcels in at the reception desk, they’ll take them to the post office for you.”
“Why mail souvenirs back home?” I said.
“Because it’s more interesting than sending a postcard, that’s why!” sneered Harry. “If you must know, it’s my stepmother’s birthday tomorrow and I’d forgotten to get her anything.”
“How many stepmothers have you had now?” I said. “Two?”
“Three,” said Harry, with a smile like a python. “This one I really like, actually.”
“Don’t believe you,” said Muddy.
Harry tutted and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. He handed it to me. It was a receipt, for one parcel, addressed to a Mrs. P. Lovecraft, written on Hotel Marseilles notepaper, stamped, and signed by the hotel receptionist.
“Oh,” I said feebly.
“Oh dear,” smarmed Harry. “Looks like you’ve got it wrong again, Smart. All this playing at detectives you do, and you still can’t tell the guilty from the innocent. Oh dear.”
He skipped away down the stairs.
If I’d been one of those American tough-guy detectives from the 1940s, I’d probably have given him a thump in the face. But I wasn’t. So I didn’t.
Instead, I immediately came to an uncomfortable conclusion. There was only one other person who hadn’t been at breakfast, which meant that there was only one other person who could have had the opportunity to search those three suitcases…
At breakfast, I’d asked Izzy where Danielle was, and Izzy said she hadn’t seen her. But why would Danielle be searching our bags? Had she stolen the memory card? Had she stolen Mrs. Penzler’s watch? And why? My brain suddenly contained more questions than one of Mrs. Penzler’s math tests!
I hoped I was wrong. Well, okay, wrong again. I hoped I’d discover that Danielle had an alibi, as Harry did, and that she could prove she was doing something during breakfast that hadn’t involved rifling through other people’s luggage.
When everyone assembed in the hotel’s reception area a few minutes later, Danielle finally appeared. Izzy went over to her, and I crept closer to them to accidentally-on-purpose overhear what they were saying.
“Hi,” said Izzy. “You okay? You weren’t at breakfast.”
“Fine,” said Danielle hurriedly. “I, er, wasn’t hungry…”
What? When there were those really tasty little bread rolls with the chocolate bits inside on the menu?
I didn’t believe her for even a fraction of a split nanosecond. So much for having an alibi! But what could Danielle possibly be up to? Stealing was totally out of character for her. Or, so it seemed.
Danielle appeared even more quiet than usual. I got the distinct impression that something was bothering her. I also got the distinct impression she’d been crying.
* * *
There’s a strange mismatch here: Danielle appears to be acting just like Harry Lovecraft (apart from the tears) and Harry Lovecraft appears to be acting like someone who’s got nothing to hide.
Assuming for a moment that Danielle took the watch, etc. The big question is why? What could be her motive?
Assuming for a moment that Harry took the watch, etc. (there’s no real need to ask why—this is that lowdown rat Harry Lovecraft we’re talking about) Why get up to his old tricks here? If he’s out to steal stuff, where’s he hiding it?
BAM! KAPOW! I’ve got it! That lunchbox he bought—the one with pictures of Notre Dame cathedral on it! He’s just posted a parcel back home and that lunchbox would be ideal for hiding things in! What a brilliant way to dispose of stolen loot—post it home!
No, wait. What about his alibi covering the time when those bags were searched? What about the fact that Danielle has no alibi? Why was nothing taken from those bags? I am very confused. Must get to sleep now. I’m writing these notes by flashlight.
* * *
Chapter Five
My eyes flashed open. It was still very early in the morning, and everything in the room around me was a series of pale outlines and dark shadows. A few feet away, Muddy suddenly grunt-snored and turned over in his sleep.
The problem of the stolen items and searched bags had haunted my mind all night, but a thought had now occurred to me that at least gave me a firm theory to work on.
Readers of my earlier case file The Mark of the Purple Homework will remember that Harry Lovecraft had bullied a classmate into doing his dirty work for him. It struck me that the same thing might be happening here. That low-down rat had some sort of hold over Danielle! He’d made her steal the memory card and the watch, and he’d made her search through that luggage for valuables. Meanwhile, he could stand back and give himself an alibi whenever he needed it.
Yes, that theory fitted the facts! It certainly accounted for why Danielle had been looking so upset. It didn’t answer the question of why nothing had been taken from the bags, but perhaps it was simply a case of nothing being found that was worth lifting?
&n
bsp; At breakfast, I quietly alerted Izzy and Muddy. I told them to keep a close watch on both Danielle and Harry.
“I need more evidence,” I whispered. “At the moment, it’s only a theory.”
“Sounds like a pretty convincing one,” whispered Muddy.
“Poor Danielle,” whispered Izzy. “What could that low-down rat be threatening her with?”
“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” I whispered, as Danielle appeared and headed for our table. Izzy waved and beckoned her over. She was still looking distinctly unhappy, and the dark patches under her eyes told me she’d had even less sleep than me.
After another fruitless nose around the hotel looking for her wristwatch, Mrs. Penzler announced that we’d have a free morning—the teachers would be available to take small groups out and about, wherever they wanted to go. And no, she said firmly, that did not include Disneyland.
Once all the “awww”s had died down, everyone organized themselves into batches. Muddy volunteered to stick with whatever group Harry Lovecraft was in: a group going back up the Eiffel Tower, as it turned out, which pleased Muddy enormously. I stuck with Danielle: a whole bunch of girls going shopping, as it turned out. Which did not please me enormously.
Never mind, there were more important issues at stake here. When the opportunity arose, I planned to take Danielle to one side, tell her about my suspicions, and assure her that whatever trouble she was having with Harry, I was here to help.
An opportunity arose sooner than I expected. And this opportunity involved the first of three eye-popping shocks that blew the whole case wide open!
Eye-popping shock number one:
Only moments after leaving the hotel, my group crossed that courtyard containing all those souvenir stands. The girls immediately scattered, to descend on the stands like a swarm of T-shirt-buying locusts.
The Pirate's Blood and Other Case Files Page 10
