The Mona Lisa Mystery

by Pat Hutchins

  ‘It’s full,’ said Matthew. ‘Let’s walk.’

  ‘Look!’ hissed Morgan, pointing at the swaying lift.

  ‘Crikey!’ whispered Matthew, as it creaked slowly past them.

  ‘Blimey!’ murmured Sacha.

  ‘The doctor!’ Morgan breathed.

  8. The New Waiter

  ‘Do you think we should tell Mr Jones that the doctor’s following us?’ Sacha asked breathlessly, as they raced down the stairs.

  ‘No,’ said Morgan, seeing the doctor step out of the lift into the lobby, ‘we’ve got to find out why first.’

  ‘I expect we’ll find out soon,’ said Matthew, watching the doctor enter the restaurant. ‘Come on.’

  Mr Jones was already sitting at a table with half the class. Mr Coatsworth and Miss Parker sat at the next table with the rest of the children.

  ‘Look who’s here!’ Matthew hissed.

  ‘Good heavens!’ cried Mr Jones, jumping up and holding his hand out in greeting when he recognized the doctor. ‘What an amazing coincidence!’ He winced, as the grinning doctor crushed his hand and nodded to Miss Parker and Mr Coatsworth.

  ‘Are you staying at the hotel?’ Mr Jones added, rubbing his knuckles, but the doctor only frowned and looked enquiringly at Miss Parker who spoke rapidly in French. The doctor grinned again, holding up three stubby fingers.

  ‘He’s staying for three days,’ said Miss Parker.

  ‘Would you care to join us for dinner?’ Mr Jones asked politely, as the children stared at the doctor. Miss Parker spoke to him again, and the doctor nodded.

  ‘Jolly good,’ said Mr Jones, waving to the manager.

  The manager seemed even more excited than usual as he ran over to them with an extra chair. ‘I have a new waiter tonight,’ he hissed in Mr Jones’s ear. He winced at the sound of crashing dishes from the kitchen. ‘Very new,’ he added, handing the elaborate menus around the two tables.

  The new waiter, a strange-looking fellow with a long droopy moustache, hovered by them, knocking over Avril’s bottle of ketchup every time he darted forward to brush crumbs off the tablecloth where the doctor was sitting.

  Avril and Jessica decided to have fish and chips, but it took the rest of the children a long time to decide what to eat, there were so many things to choose from.

  ‘It’s an incredible menu for such a small hotel,’ said Mr Jones.

  ‘Incredible,’ he repeated as the waiter charged towards them, clutching two plates of fish and chips.

  The manager, who was following the waiter, stooped to pick up the sprigs of parsley that fell to the floor as the waiter dropped the hot plates on to the table.

  ‘I was just saying,’ said Mr Jones, as the waiter mopped up the glass of water he’d knocked over and the manager arranged the parsley on the plates, ‘what an incredible menu you have!’ He looked around at the other, empty tables. ‘I’m surprised the restaurant isn’t crowded.’

  The manager beamed, and clasped his hands together. ‘Ah yes.’ He sighed, taking the menu from Mr Jones and gazing at it with misty eyes. ‘This is the same menu as in my five-star Mayfair hotel.’ He kissed his fingers.

  ‘Très bon!’ He handed the menu back to Mr Jones. ‘Unfortunately, though, the suckling pig in cherry sauce, which you so wisely chose, is off!’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Mr Jones cheerfully. ‘I’ll have the same as Mr Coatsworth and Miss Parker, the rack of lamb with rosemary and button mushrooms.’

  ‘Ah!’ cried the manager. ‘Lamb with rosemary and button mushrooms. Beautiful. But sadly, that is off too.’

  ‘How about the chicken breasts stuffed with garlic butter?’ said Mr Coatsworth.

  ‘With tiny baby marrows?’ exclaimed the manager, as Mr Coatsworth nodded enthusiastically. ‘Wonderful, wonderful! But,’ he added regretfully, ‘I don’t have it today.’

  Mr Jones glanced at the menu again. ‘Steak in red wine?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Veal in cream with truffles?’ he added, as the manager shook his head. ‘Pike in lobster sauce? Trout with almonds?’ he asked in desperation.

  ‘You have wonderful taste,’ said the manager gravely. ‘You would have liked my five-star hotel. There I had the pike and trouts in almonds.’

  ‘What have you got?’ asked Mr Coatsworth.

  ‘Fish and chips,’ said the manager.

  ‘That will do,’ said Mr Jones wearily, handing the menu back to him. ‘It’s the best meal I’ve ever listened to,’ he added.

  ‘I think,’ said Miss Parker, who was watching Avril in dismay as she poured half a bottle of ketchup over her fish and chips, ‘I will have only a piece of cheese and a glass of red wine.’

  ‘I thought you liked fish and chips,’ said Mr Coatsworth in surprise.

  ‘Oh I do!’ she cried. ‘I adore chips and fish.’ She looked at Avril’s plate again and shuddered. ‘But I don’t feel too hungry right now.’

  Jessica, who had finished her fish and chips and was still starving, picked up a menu to see what the puddings were. ‘I don’t see fish anywhere,’ she said, showing the menu to Mr Jones.

  ‘There,’ said Mr Jones, pointing.

  The waiter, with the manager following anxiously behind, was on his third trip from the kitchen when Jessica screamed.

  ‘I’ve been poisoned!’ she cried, sliding down her seat and clutching her stomach.

  The bottle of wine the waiter was carrying slipped through his fingers and crashed to the floor as he gazed at her in horror.

  ‘The fish.’ Jessica’s faint voice wafted up from under the table. ‘It’s poisoned!’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Avril, stepping over her body to get to the bottle of ketchup.

  ‘It said so!’ Jessica continued indignantly, pulling herself up to show Avril. ‘On the menu – look! And we’ve all eaten it!’ Jessica shrieked, pointing dramatically to Miss Parker. ‘Except for her. I bet he’s still after her,’ she continued wildly. ‘I bet the kidnapper followed her from the boat. I bet he knows she likes fish and chips. That’s why he poisoned the fish! He thought he’d get her! But he got us instead!’

  ‘Poisson,’ said Mr Jones gently, as the rest of the children looked at one another in alarm, ‘means fish in French.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jessica, ‘are you sure?’

  ‘Quite,’ said Mr Jones.

  ‘Well, at least he didn’t get us this time,’ she added darkly.

  Miss Parker’s eyes narrowed as she gazed at Jessica.

  ‘You have a very vivid imagination, child,’ she said.

  Morgan, Matthew and Sacha watched every movement as the doctor (with the waiter hovering at his side, mopping up spilled wine and dropping crumbs into the glass as he offered more bread) finished his meal.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Jones, as the doctor glanced at his watch and stood up, ‘it was very nice seeing you. I expect we’ll bump into you again.’

  The doctor handed a bundle of francs to the waiter, grinned at everyone then, pulling a gold toothpick from his pocket, sauntered out of the restaurant.

  Matthew, Morgan and Sacha looked at one another in dismay.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Morgan shouted, jumping up and running out of the restaurant. ‘I need to go to the toilet,’ he called over his shoulder to the startled children. The waiter, having glanced at the money in his hand, hesitated, and ran out after him.

  The doctor was pushing open the glass doors when Morgan saw him, but by the time he had followed him outside, he was already stepping into a taxi. He heard the word ‘château’ being shouted at the driver, but the noise of the traffic drowned the rest of the words. Morgan turned to go back into the hotel when the taxi disappeared round a corner, and collided with the waiter, who was on his way out.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Morgan, but the waiter didn’t seem to hear him – he was gazing up and down the road, frowning. Morgan frowned too. Something about the waiter’s expression seemed vaguely familiar to him.

  ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’ he asked.
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  The waiter looked startled. ‘Me? Non! I have many brothers,’ he said, turning abruptly and going back into the hotel. Morgan followed, still frowning, into the restaurant.

  Miss Parker had already gone to bed and Mr Jones told the children that as it was nearly ten o’clock, they should go to bed too.

  ‘Did you see where he went?’ Matthew asked, when all the children, having said good night to one another, were making their way to their rooms.

  ‘He got into a taxi,’ Morgan replied. ‘I heard the word château, but that was all.’

  ‘There must be hundreds of châteaux around Paris,’ said Sacha, as the three boys stepped into the lift.

  ‘That waiter,’ said Morgan, unlocking their door. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen him before.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘There’s so many strange things going on. I’m beginning to be suspicious of everyone.’

  The boys talked until midnight then, exhausted, they fell asleep.

  It was Jessica’s piercing scream that woke them up.

  9. Ghosts!

  The door of Jessica and Avril’s room was thrown open and Jessica, looking like Lady Macbeth in her white nightie, was framed in the doorway. She was shrieking at the top of her voice. One by one the doors in the corridor were cautiously opened and pale, anxious faces peered from behind them.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ shouted Morgan, running from his room, followed by Sacha and Matthew.

  ‘I’ve just seen a ghost!’ screeched Jessica.

  ‘Rhubarb!’ Avril’s muffled voice drifted from the darkened room where she was lying with a pillow pressed over her head, trying to get back to sleep.

  ‘It was horrible!’ Jessica continued wildly, ignoring Avril, as the rest of Class 3, realizing it was Jessica making all the noise, gathered round her.

  She clutched her forehead and shuddered. ‘Horrible!’ she repeated.

  The screams had woken Mr Jones, whose room was above Jessica’s. Jessica, seeing Mr Jones running down the stairs, shrieked again, waking the manager and his wife, whose rooms were above Mr Jones’s.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Mr Jones demanded.

  ‘Jessica says she’s seen a ghost,’ said Matthew, as Morgan bent down to pick up something from the floor.

  ‘I didn’t see no ghost,’ Avril retorted.

  ‘You might not have, but I did,’ Jessica shouted back. ‘And I heard it coming too.

  ‘First I heard the rattle of chains,’ she whispered. ‘Then I heard unearthly moans as it dragged itself along the corridor, then the door creaked open ever so slowly.’ She paused, looking at the wide-eyed children.

  ‘Then,’ she hissed, ‘this white thing, simply covered in bloodstains, started floating round the room.’

  Mr Jones sighed wearily. ‘Jessica,’ he said, ‘it was just a bad dream. It was probably the noise of the lift that caused it,’ he added, as the lift, creaking and groaning, clanged to a standstill and the manager leaped out.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ he asked, wringing his hands.

  ‘No,’ said Mr Jones firmly, patting Jessica on the head as she opened her mouth to speak. ‘Jessica has just had a bad dream. She’s had a lot of excitement today,’ he added, frowning.

  ‘Oui, oui,’ the manager muttered. ‘We all have. Too much. Too much,’ he repeated, sighing deeply.

  ‘Perhaps it was the noise from the lift,’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps the young lady would rather move to Room 6? It’s not so noisy there. Ah non!’ He shook his head. ‘Stupid me! I forgot. Room 6 is taken.’

  ‘She’s already in Room 6,’ said Akbar, pointing at the number on the door.

  ‘No I’m not,’ said Jessica, ‘I’m in Room 9.’

  ‘Then why does it say 6?’ Akbar demanded.

  ‘The room number must have slipped when you slammed the door at supper time,’ said Matthew.

  ‘I didn’t slam the door,’ said Jessica. ‘It was Avril going back for her tomato ketchup.’

  The manager looked at the door in alarm.

  ‘I’ll have the number screwed back properly,’ he said, glancing down the corridor. ‘In the morning.’

  ‘And now,’ said Mr Jones briskly when Jessica, having decided she wanted to stay in Room 9 anyway, had calmed down sufficiently to go back to bed, ‘everyone back to their own room.’

  Matthew yawned as he, Morgan and Sacha returned to their room.

  ‘Jessica’s always imagining things,’ he said.

  ‘A ghost, covered in bloodstains, floating round the room,’ said Sacha in a quavering voice, dipping his shoulders and pretending to fly.

  ‘Bloodstains,’ Morgan murmured, unclenching his fist and gazing at the silver button in his hand. ‘Bloodstains!’ he shouted, waving the button at Matthew and Sacha.

  ‘Y-you don’t think she really saw a ghost?’ Matthew stuttered in surprise, gazing blankly at the button.

  ‘Not a ghost,’ said Morgan grimly. ‘But a wine-stained waiter! And this,’ he added excitedly, as Matthew and Sacha stared at him in disbelief, ‘is one of his jacket buttons!’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Sacha slowly, ‘that with his black trousers in a dark room, his white jacket would seem to be floating.’

  ‘And the noise,’ whispered Matthew, ‘was the noise of the lift when he came up!’

  Sacha frowned. ‘But what would he want in Jessica and Avril’s room?’ he asked. Morgan, who had sat down on his bed to think, jumped up.

  ‘The room number!’ he cried. ‘That’s it! He didn’t mean to go into their room at all! He meant to go into Room 6!’

  ‘Do you think we ought to tell Mr Jones?’ Sacha asked.

  ‘No,’ said Morgan, climbing into bed. ‘Not yet. First we have to find out who’s in Room 6. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ he added, switching off his bedside lamp, ‘if it happened to be the doctor’s room! But what I really wish I knew,’ he said, closing his eyes, ‘is why that waiter looked so familiar.’

  10. The Waiter’s Trip

  Morgan, Matthew and Sacha woke up early the next morning. They dressed quickly, then, using the stairs as the lift was so noisy, crept down to the lobby to try to find out the doctor’s room number.

  ‘Perhaps it’s in the guest book,’ whispered Morgan, nodding towards the reception desk. ‘Oh crikey!’ he added, as the telephone on the desk rang. The manager came out of the kitchen to answer it.

  ‘Monsieur!’ he shouted, holding it up. ‘Téléphone. Angleterre!’ The waiter ran from the restaurant and took the receiver.

  ‘Allô! Standardiste? Angleterre? Merci!’ he nodded at the manager, who was hovering by him. ‘Merci!’ The manager shrugged his shoulders and returned to the kitchen.

  ‘Angleterre!’ hissed Sacha, as the three boys pressed against the side of the stairs, hidden from the waiter. ‘That’s England!’

  The waiter was speaking in halting English. ‘Good!’ he said. ‘Nine o’clock?’ He glanced at his watch.

  ‘Arriving Calais ten thirty? Excellent. I should just make it. Merci, Monsieur.’ He smiled as he replaced the receiver. Then, picking it up again, he dialled a number.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Morgan asked Sacha, as the waiter spoke rapidly in French. Sacha frowned, concentrating. ‘I can’t understand much of it,’ he replied, ‘but it’s something about the doctor. It sounds like “Forget about the doctor, the other one has turned up.” ’ He frowned again. ‘ “I think the doctor is clean,” ’ he finished, as the waiter put the receiver back.

  ‘ “I think the doctor is clean,” ’ Morgan repeated, as the manager reappeared. ‘What can that mean?’

  ‘Sssh!’ said Sacha, craning his head forward.

  The manager and the waiter were talking quietly together.

  ‘What did they say?’ Matthew asked, as the boy Henri appeared, carrying a coat which he handed to the waiter before slipping into the white jacket the waiter had taken off.

  ‘He just thanked him a lot,’ said Sacha, bewildered. ‘And something about his service
s not being needed any more!’

  ‘He must have fired him,’ said Morgan.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ muttered Matthew.

  ‘No,’ said Sacha, shaking his head. ‘The manager didn’t say that to the waiter. The waiter said that to the manager.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Morgan asked, perplexed.

  ‘That’s what it sounded like to me,’ said Sacha.

  ‘Things are getting weirder and weirder.’ Morgan sighed.

  ‘They’ve gone now,’ said Matthew, watching the waiter leaving through the glass doors and the manager and Henri returning to the kitchen again. ‘Now to find out if the doctor’s room number is in the book.’

  ‘Wait!’ said Morgan, pulling Matthew back as the lift started rumbling. ‘Someone’s coming!’

  ‘Talk of the devil!’ Sacha murmured as the lift door clanged open and the doctor stepped out.

  The boys looked at one another as the doctor tossed his key on the reception desk and strolled into the restaurant.

  ‘We’ll find out for certain now!’ cried Morgan, darting down the few remaining stairs, followed by Matthew and Sacha. ‘It’s 6 all right,’ he said, glancing at the number on the key.

  ‘That means,’ said Matthew, ‘that he’s being followed by two people. The bearded man in the Citroën and the waiter.’

  ‘Except the bearded man seems to have disappeared,’ said Sacha.

  ‘And now the waiter’s gone too,’ added Morgan. ‘To Calais. I wonder why?’

  ‘Perhaps we ought to tell Mr Jones,’ suggested Sacha.

  ‘Tell him what?’ demanded Matthew. ‘That the doctor followed us to the ferry in a taxi? That the bearded man in the Citroën was following the doctor who was following us? That the bearded man has disappeared and the waiter has started following the doctor instead?’ He paused for breath. ‘And that the waiter broke into the doctor’s room in the middle of the night, only it wasn’t the doctor’s room after all, it was Avril and Jessica’s? And anyway he isn’t following the doctor any more because he’s gone to Calais.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. He’d never believe us!’