The Mona Lisa Mystery

by Pat Hutchins

  ‘A very touching story,’ Miss Parker interrupted. ‘But I am afraid I will have to shut you all up for a little while. You have talked enough.’ She turned and spoke to the two men guarding the door.

  ‘I do not want that old fool of a lodgekeeper disturbed by any shouting,’ she added, as the two men entered the cellar carrying rope and bandages. Class 3 watched in dismay as the men bound and gagged Harry the Forger.

  ‘I would not resist if I were you,’ Miss Parker warned Mr Coatsworth, who was ready to spring at the men as they advanced towards the children. ‘Someone might get hurt!’

  ‘Better do as she says, kids,’ he sighed, realizing it was useless to struggle.

  It didn’t take the men long to finish their work, even though the children, ignoring Mr Coatsworth’s advice, kicked and punched their captors while they were being bound and gagged.

  ‘Good!’ said Miss Parker in satisfaction, looking at the row of trussed-up bodies. She turned to the doctor and smiled.

  ‘And now,’ she added softly, ‘for the airport.’

  20. The Rescue

  The children gazed silently at one another. They could hear the sound of the doctor’s car fading away in the distance.

  Some of the children tried to stand up, but with their wrists bound behind their backs it was difficult to balance, and the fact that their ankles were tied together didn’t help either.

  Then Matthew and Sacha started shuffling backwards on their bottoms until they reached a wall. They pushed their backs against it and, edging themselves up, managed to stand. Then they hopped over to the door and shoved their bodies against it in desperation even though they knew it was useless, as they’d heard the click of the key in the lock when the crooks departed.

  The rest of the children, having watched Matthew and Sacha, managed to get on their feet too, and started bobbing around the cellar looking for another way out. But there wasn’t one.

  Then Morgan, noticing a dark shape at the opposite end of the cellar, struggled over to it. It was a wine rack, and as he studied the bottles that were stacked in neat rows, he saw that the wine was champagne.

  Then he remembered Christmas Day, when his dad had opened a bottle of champagne, and how annoyed his mother had been when his dad shook the bottle and the cork shot out, knocking the fairy off the top of the Christmas tree. Jack and Charles from next door had come rushing in, thinking there’d been a gas explosion.

  Morgan twisted himself round so that his back was against the rack. Then, feeling the neck of a bottle, he edged it forward so that while the bottle was resting in the rack, his fingers could work at the wire that released the cork. He managed to untwist the wire and dropped it to the floor. He pushed at the cork with his thumbs, the way he’d seen his dad do, until he felt the cork loosen. Quickly he pulled the bottle out of the rack and shook it vigorously.

  Miss Barker, who had only just made it to her feet, screamed and slid slowly down the wall at the sudden explosion.

  Mr Coatsworth and the rest of the children saw Morgan jerking his head towards the wine rack.

  Several of the children, in their rush to get to the champagne, fell over Harry (who was lying like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the cellar) and had to back up against the wall again before they could stand up and hop to the others, who were already eagerly working at the bottles.

  The noise was so tremendous that Class 3 didn’t even hear the key turn in the lock. The bewildered face of the old lodgekeeper peered in at them. He gasped when he saw Miss Barker who, deciding it was the safest place to be, was still lying on the floor.

  He hurried over to her and quickly untied the bandage round her mouth.

  ‘Help! Police!’ shrieked Miss Barker, as the man freed her wrists and ankles. Then, realizing the man couldn’t understand her, repeated it in French. Miss Barker freed Mr Coatsworth as the man rushed to the door to telephone the police.

  ‘Tell him to tell the police that they’re heading for the airport,’ Mr Coatsworth gasped, working at Sacha’s gag.

  ‘Tell him to give them a description of the car!’ Sacha cried, pulling the bandage off Morgan’s mouth.

  ‘Tell him to tell them the registration number is MAL 1!’ Morgan shouted, glancing down at his hand.

  ‘And tell him not to forget to tell Detective Inspector Thoreau that Mr Jones didn’t steal the Mona Lisa!’ yelled Jessica, when Miss Barker had removed her bandage too. ‘And that those crooks have it!’

  The lodgekeeper ran out, repeating the instructions to himself so as not to forget them.

  By the time the lodgekeeper returned, everyone was free. The children waited impatiently for Miss Barker to translate what the lodgekeeper was saying to her.

  ‘Did he remember to tell them everything?’ Avril demanded, when the man stopped for breath.

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Barker. ‘They’ve set up a road block and alerted the airport …’

  ‘Let’s hope they’re not too late,’ Morgan muttered.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Mr Coatsworth. ‘If they make it to America, it will be practically impossible to find them.’

  ‘Did he get the message to Inspector Thoreau?’ Jessica asked.

  Miss Barker nodded. ‘Yes. He’s bringing Mr Jones here. Apparently he wants to question the lodgekeeper.’

  ‘I think I’ll just nip out for a breath of air,’ Harry murmured, as the lodgekeeper, who was getting more and more agitated, groaned and closed his eyes.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Akbar, as the man groaned again.

  ‘The poor man seems convinced that the police will put him in jail,’ Miss Barker replied, blowing a kiss to Harry as he slipped out of the door. ‘He says they won’t believe that he was only the lodgekeeper and had nothing to do with the crooks. He says,’ she continued, ‘that the château is normally closed at this time of the year, but he’d received a letter from the owner, a multimillionaire, saying a friend of his would be using it, but not to bother about hiring staff as he would only be here for a few days.’

  The man spoke quickly to her again.

  ‘Apparently,’ she added, ‘the owner only uses the château …’ her voice trailed off, ‘when he’s visiting Europe,’ she whispered, ‘looking for paintings to add to his collection!’

  ‘That’s it!’ yelled Morgan.

  ‘They’re taking it to him!’ screamed Avril.

  ‘Of course!’ breathed Mr Coatsworth, as the children danced around the cellar with excitement. ‘And he lives in America! That’s why she needed the visa!’

  ‘I wonder how they planned to smuggle it through customs,’ Morgan murmured. The noise of screaming sirens drowned his words.

  ‘Mr Jones!’ shrieked Jessica, running out of the cellar, followed by the rest of Class 3 and Mr Coatsworth. The lodgekeeper trailed after them with Miss Barker, who had selected two bottles of vintage champagne to take with her.

  ‘Golly!’ cried Jessica, dazzled by car lights as she reached the doorway of the château. ‘Look at all those police cars! There’s Mr Jones!’ she added as a car door opened.

  ‘Isn’t that the doctor and Miss Parker in the car behind?’ Morgan asked, squinting at the cars.

  ‘Why would they bring them back here?’ asked Matthew.

  ‘Let’s go and find out,’ said Sacha, as more car doors opened and gendarmes spilled out.

  ‘What’s happening?’ shouted Avril, as the children ran to Mr Jones and Inspector Thoreau.

  ‘They can’t find the Mona Lisa,’ Mr Jones replied. ‘They picked the crooks up on the way to the airport, but it wasn’t on them. They think they must have hidden it in the château.’

  Inspector Thoreau sighed. ‘They will not talk,’ he said grimly, nodding towards the police car with the doctor and Miss Parker in it.

  ‘They’ll talk when I’ve finished with them,’ said Miss Barker, her blue eyes flashing. The police driver and the gendarme sitting between the two crooks were so amazed at the suddenness of Miss Barker’s app
earance that they only gasped when Miss Barker dragged Miss Parker out of the door. She probably would have made her talk too if she hadn’t unfortunately slipped on the champagne bottles.

  Miss Parker, sensing freedom, made for a darkened corner of the garden. But Class 3 were too quick for her and dived at her legs.

  Avril was clinging to the bandage wrapped round Miss Parker’s leg as Miss Parker shook her leg, desperately trying to free herself. ‘Blimey!’ muttered Avril. ‘The bandage is coming off!’

  ‘Crikey!’ whispered Matthew, as Jessica and Akbar threw themselves at Miss Parker and, catching her off balance, knocked her to the ground.

  ‘Look!’ He pointed to the bandage slowly unravelling itself.

  ‘The Mona Lisa!’ screamed the rest of Class 3.

  21. Guests of Honour

  ‘Well!’ said Mr Jones later, as the children, dressed in their best clothes, stood in the lobby of the hotel. ‘It’s going to be a very late night for the kids.’ He smiled, looking at the children, who were noisily discussing the events of the day.

  ‘Mind you,’ he added, ‘I don’t think they would have got much sleep tonight anyway. They’re much too excited. Although I must say,’ he continued, ‘it’s awfully nice of the inspector to invite us all to the Moulin Rouge for dinner.’

  ‘And to insist that we were chauffeur-driven there,’ said Mr Coatsworth, looking through the glass doors at the line of immaculate black Citroëns waiting to take them to their destination.

  ‘The poor man was dreadfully upset about detaining you at the police station,’ said Miss Barker, patting Mr Jones’s arm. ‘Although he did tell me that the Leonardo expert was on his way from Italy to examine the painting. I’m sure they would have released you immediately once they’d discovered it wasn’t the original Mona Lisa!’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Mr Coatsworth, ‘but if the lodgekeeper hadn’t released us from the cellar, the crooks would have been safely in America by then. And if Morgan hadn’t smelled the perfume on the wrapping paper, they’d have almost certainly got away with it.’

  ‘She was a very clever woman,’ said Mr Jones. ‘Convincing us that she’d spilled boiling fat on her leg, when really the bandage was hiding the fake Mona Lisa.’

  ‘And then the real one,’ Mr Coatsworth added.

  ‘Well, at least the police have them under lock and key now,’ said Miss Barker with satisfaction. She sighed. ‘It’s a pity little Harry slipped away without saying goodbye,’ she murmured wistfully.

  ‘I think perhaps it’s as well he did,’ said Mr Jones, remembering the inspector’s interest in him.

  ‘What about that multimillionaire bloke?’ Mr Coatsworth asked. ‘Do you think they’ll get him?’

  ‘Almost certainly,’ Mr Jones replied. ‘I heard the inspector say they were sending a detective to America to interview him.’

  Mr Coatsworth shook his head again. ‘It’s been a rum couple of days,’ he remarked. ‘We haven’t seen much of Paris, but by gum there’s not been a dull moment.’

  Mr Jones looked at his watch. ‘It’s nine o’clock,’ he said. ‘We’d better be going.’

  ‘Come on, darling hearts!’ Miss Barker shouted as she hurried to the door where the rest of the children were admiring the row of sleek, elegant cars. ‘We don’t want to be late,’ she added, admiring the row of sleek, elegant chauffeurs who were standing next to the cars.

  One of the chauffeurs escorted Mr Jones and Matthew, Sacha and Morgan to the first car and, when they were seated, climbed into the driver’s seat to lead the stately procession to Montmartre.

  ‘I wonder what all that noise is?’ Morgan murmured, as they approached Place Blanche. The three boys craned forward to look out of the front window.

  They blinked at the glaring spotlights that were set up in front of the Moulin Rouge, illuminating the crowds who were shouting and waving Tricolours and Union Jacks. There were French TV cameras everywhere. Photographers started fighting for the best positions as the crowd, spotting the first car, cheered wildly.

  Berets were thrown high in the air as the crowd surged forward and the gendarmes had to link arms to make a pathway for the procession.

  When the children stepped out and waved at the crowds, a delighted roar went up. Cameras clicked and whirred as the children were hurriedly escorted into the famous Moulin Rouge.

  The applause was so thunderous as they entered that the orchestra, who had struck up with the tune ‘Mona Lisa’, were completely drowned.

  Detective Inspector Thoreau, who was waiting to greet them, beamed as all the other guests (some of the most famous people in Paris), climbed on to their chairs to get a glimpse of the children, shouting, ‘Vivat!’ and ‘Magnifique!’

  ‘Welcome, welcome!’ cried Inspector Thoreau, warmly embracing his guests as they lined up to greet him. The waiters cheered as he led the children to their table. The cancan girls peeped through the velvet curtains on the stage and cheered too, and the other guests left their tables and darted forward to shake the children’s hands.

  The mayor asked Mr Jones if they could possibly manage a private luncheon at the Palace of Versailles, and the keeper of the Louvre asked Mr Coatsworth if they would all join him on his luxury boat for a trip up the Seine. The manager of L’Opéra pleaded with Miss Barker for them to attend the first night of a new comic opera and then have supper with him at the Folies Bergère. When Miss Barker said it was a pity the Jess Conrad show was sold out, he said his brother-in-law was manager of that theatre and he would get them all seats for that show too.

  In fact, by the time they actually reached their table, they had so many invitations they were having to turn them down.

  Avril’s eyes lit up when she noticed the bottle of tomato ketchup that the chef had thoughtfully provided. Miss Barker’s eyes lit up when she noticed the silver ice buckets where enormous bottles of the world’s most expensive champagne nestled. (There were also several silver ice buckets where the world’s most expensive bottles of Coca-Cola nestled too.)

  The inspector held his hand up for silence.

  ‘I know,’ he said, speaking English for the children’s benefit, ‘that toasts and messages should come at the backside of dinner, but,’ he continued, patting the huge pile of telegrams on the table, ‘there is one very special message I have to read on the frontside.’ He lifted the top telegram off the pile. ‘I will read the others later,’ he added, ‘as I am sure that our young guests are as hungry as a horse.’ He smiled at the children again, who, noticing the trolleys of mouthwatering food that the waiters had started wheeling in, nodded vigorously.

  ‘This message,’ he said solemnly, holding the piece of paper up for everyone to see, ‘is from the President himself!’ He waited for the oohs! and ahs! to die down before lowering it again.

  ‘It says,’ he continued, as the TV cameras closed in on the table and the photographers held their cameras up expectantly, ‘that the President of France regrets that he cannot be with you on this momentous occasion, but sends his sincere and grateful thanks to the staff members and children of Class 3, Hampstead Primary School, for the great personal courage they have shown in recovering the nation’s most famous painting, the Mona Lisa. But –’ he held his hand up for silence again at the renewed cheering – ‘he would be most honoured,’ he shouted above the noise, ‘if along with the huge reward, you would return to Paris as his guest to receive the nation’s greatest award.’

  He paused. Everyone fell silent. ‘La Légion d’Honeur!’ he screamed ecstatically.

  The chandeliers shook at the frenzied cheering that followed. The reporters and cameramen were beside themselves with excitement, swarming round the table as the waiters piled food on to it, shouting questions and taking photographs of Class 3, who sat open-mouthed, too stunned to move.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from under the table. The man from the BBC, who had been knocked to the floor in the stampede, held a microphone up to Morgan’s face.

  ‘Wou
ld you mind awfully telling the viewers back home how it all happened?’

  ‘Well!’ said Morgan in a dazed voice. ‘It all happened when we noticed a French car following us in Hampstead.’

  ‘With a bearded stranger in it,’ said Jessica.

  ‘Only it wasn’t really following us,’ Matthew added. ‘It was following the taxi.’

  ‘And he wasn’t really a bearded stranger,’ said Avril. ‘He was Inspector Thoreau!’

  ‘And the taxi wasn’t really following us,’ interrupted Sacha. ‘It was following Miss Parker!’

  ‘Only she wasn’t really Miss Parker,’ said Akbar. ‘And she wasn’t on the bus, either.’

  ‘But I suppose,’ said Mr Jones thoughtfully, ‘that it really all started when Miss Barker bought a postcard of the Mona Lisa!’

  ‘Oh!’ said the man from the BBC weakly.

  1942 Born 18 June in North Yorkshire

  1958 Pat wins a scholarship to study at Darlington School of Art

  1960 Pat studies illustration at Leeds College of Art

  1962 Pat graduates and gets a job as a junior art director at a London advertising agency. It is here that she meets her future husband, Laurence Hutchins

  1966 Marries Laurence and moves with him to New York, USA

  1968 Her first picture book, Rosie’s Walk, is published by The Bodley Head and Macmillan US. It is named a 1968 ALA Notable Book and is a runner up for the Boston Globe-Horn Book Award

  1975 Pat’s book The Wind Blew wins the Kate Greenaway Medal for Best Children’s Book Illustration by a British Subject

  1976 Her first novel, The House That Sailed Away, is published by The Bodley Head and illustrated by Laurence

  1979 Her book One-Eyed Jack is a runner-up for the Kate Greenaway Medal for Best Children’s Book Illustration by a British Subject