Talking of boats, the Ambassador and Ribena have hired their own: there isn’t enough room for everyone on The Jolly Jellyfish because Benjamin is so huge. They’ve called it The Toffly Treasure Hunter, which is a pretty good name, although I did joke with Ribena that – unlike Howard Toffly – we will have to give all the lost treasure to the Nicaraguan government if we find it instead of keeping it for ourselves. The poor woman started foaming at the mouth and had to go and have another lie-down. I really don’t think she should have come.
Lots of love,
Mrs Tucker
PS Thomas doesn’t seem to like Ribena or the Ambassador. He keeps sniffing them in a very peculiar way. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the smell of bird poo? They seem to carry it around with them.
Dear Callie, Michael and Atticus,
We are setting off into the jungle in an hour so this is the last postcard I’ll be able to send until we return. It seems like it’s not going to be just the four of us after all. Ribena told me this morning that she’d invited her mum and dad as well. I said I didn’t think that was a very good idea but she insisted. She said her dad is a very good shot, like Benjamin, so if we meet any crocodiles he can blast them. I said I didn’t think you were allowed to shoot crocodiles any more and Mr Tucker was just going to use a basher to give them a fright, whereupon Ribena had another one of her fits and had to go and lie down AGAIN. I’m really not sure she’s up to this! Hopefully her parents will look after her. I haven’t actually met them yet: so far they’ve been holed up in The Toffly Treasure Hunter.
Anyway, wish us luck! You’ll be pleased to know Mr Tucker isn’t taking any chances with the poisonous frogs. He’s already got his fart powder out. He offered to put some in Ribena’s pants, which is maybe another reason why she had a funny turn.
Lots of love,
Mrs Tucker
PS Thomas is behaving very strangely. This morning he brought me some magpie feathers. There aren’t any magpies in Nicaragua so I think he must have got them from Nellie’s shed. Goodness knows why he brought them on board The Jolly Jellyfish! Maybe it’s some kind of offering, like the ancient Maya? It’s a pity Atticus isn’t here – I’m sure he’d know what it meant!
‘I don’t think it’s an offering, I think it’s a clue,’ said Atticus.
It was Saturday. He and Mimi were sharing an ice cream by the beach huts while they discussed the postcards. Callie and Michael had gone for a swim with Mrs Cheddar. Inspector Cheddar was at the police station processing parking tickets. Luckily it was Atticus’s day off. He had other things he wanted to do.
‘What kind of a clue?’ said Mimi.
‘Well, the magpies aren’t here, are they?’ Atticus said meaningfully. He had checked the nest under the pier every day since their disappearance and there was still no sign of them.
‘You think they’re in Nicaragua?’ Mimi said in surprise.
‘Why not?’ Atticus argued. ‘They tried to steal Howard Toffly’s journal. They want that lost treasure as much as anyone.’
‘But how did they get to Nicaragua?’ Mimi said.
‘They must have gone with the Tofflys.’ Atticus had been thinking about it a lot. If he couldn’t actually be on the expedition, he was jolly well going to work out what was happening in his absence. He was still the world’s greatest cat detective, even if he was stuck in Littleton-on-Sea. ‘Don’t forget the Tofflys have disappeared too,’ he said.
‘Good point,’ said Mimi. She took a lick of ice cream.
‘No one knows where they’ve gone,’ Atticus continued. ‘The caravan’s closed up. They haven’t been seen since the night of the raid on Nellie’s shed.’
‘Has Inspector Cheddar checked the airports?’ Mimi asked, cleaning her whiskers with her paw.
‘Yes,’ said Atticus. ‘And the ports. That’s the funny thing. There’s no record of them leaving the country.’ He wanted to add, ‘He should just have arrested them when he had the chance,’ but stopped himself. There was no point in crying over spilt milk. Better to lap it up and get on with things.
‘They could have gone in disguise,’ Mimi suggested. ‘Weren’t they wearing disguises at the car boot sale?’
‘Well, yes,’ Atticus said, biting off a chunk of wafer, ‘but they were awful. I don’t think anyone except Inspector Cheddar would have fallen for them.’
‘So how did they get out of the country?’
Atticus shrugged. ‘I don’t know. They must have found some other way.’
‘And how did they find out that the lost treasure of the jaguar gods is in Nicaragua?’ Mimi said.
‘I don’t understand that, either,’ Atticus admitted. ‘I’ve just got this hunch.’ He frowned. ‘I’m sure Thomas is trying to tell Mrs Tucker something. I just don’t know what.’
‘Mrs Tucker says Thomas doesn’t like the Ambassador and his wife,’ Mimi said, looking at the second postcard again.
‘It also says they smell of bird poo,’ Atticus said thoughtfully.
‘So?’
‘Well, what if it’s magpie poo they smell of ?’
‘You think the Ambassador is mixed up in this?’ Mimi said in surprise.
‘Maybe,’ Atticus said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, Mimi. The Ambassador could have persuaded the Nicaraguan government to let me go on the expedition. Professor Verry-Clever didn’t seem to think there would be a problem.’
‘What about your criminal record?’ Mimi reminded him gently.
Atticus shook his head. ‘Callie was right. That was ages ago. And look at everything I’ve done since then. I’ve saved Inspector Cheddar’s life loads of times. And I rescued all that priceless art. I even stopped the Crown Jewels from being stolen’ – it was true: he had – ‘everyone knows that. The Queen would have stuck up for me to the Nicaraguan government if the Ambassador had asked her. So would the Prime Minister. I reckon the fact I was once a cat burglar is an excuse – I mean Mr Tucker was once a pirate but no one stopped him from going. The Ambassador doesn’t want me there. I just need to find out why.’ He got up. ‘Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To have a look round the Tofflys’ caravan,’ Atticus said. ‘Maybe they have left a clue.’
‘How will we get in?’ Mimi said.
‘Leave that to me,’ Atticus purred.
A little later the two cats stepped off the bus beside the caravan park. ‘This way.’ Atticus led Mimi to a seedy-looking caravan at the edge of the park. Some of the caravans were very smart and had pots of pretty flowers outside, but this one was a wreck.
‘Why is it in such a state?’ Mimi asked.
‘Because the Tofflys think someone else should do everything for them,’ Atticus replied. ‘They can’t be bothered to do anything themselves.’
Mimi tried the door. ‘It’s locked.’
‘There’s a window open here,’ Atticus said. ‘Give me a minute.’ He braced his back paws and sprang, grabbing on to the window ledge with his front claws. He hauled himself up and balanced on the ledge. Then he measured the gap with his whiskers. They just fitted. That meant the rest of him would too. He squeezed under the window and dropped down to the floor inside the caravan.
Quickly he unlocked the door for Mimi. The two cats looked around. The inside of the caravan was even more of a mess than the outside. Washing-up was piled high in the sink. Spoons littered the floor. A mug of tea, which had been left on the table, was growing a skin of mould. The Tofflys had obviously left in a hurry. There was no sign of Howard Toffly’s chest.
‘What exactly are we looking for?’ asked Mimi.
‘I’m not sure,’ Atticus said. ‘Anything that ties the Tofflys or the magpies to Nicaragua. And to Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel.’
‘Okay.’
The two cats started searching.
‘There’s some magpie feathers in the laundry basket,’ Mimi said. ‘So Jimmy and the gang were definitely here.’
‘That’s a start,’ Atticus said. ‘
Keep looking.’
The two cats searched through all the cupboards and drawers.
‘It looks like the Tofflys have taken their passports,’ Atticus said in frustration, when the search turned up nothing. ‘So how come they haven’t used them?’ He jumped on to the top of a cabinet and started rifling through some boxes of spoons.
‘I’m trying to think,’ said Mimi. ‘They must have got VIP passes or something. I’ll go and check in the bedroom.’
Atticus threw the spoons back into the last box. One of them missed, knocking over a silver photograph frame that had been turned towards the wall. Atticus picked it up and glanced at the photo. He blinked. The photo was of a very large man with very wide shoulders and a very big head getting married to a woman who looked like a cross between a warthog and a hippopotamus. Next to the bride was a beaming Lord Toffly. And at the bottom of the photo frame was an inscription:
TO DARLING DADDY
FROM RIBENA
So that was the connection! ‘Mimi!’ he called. ‘I’ve found something.’
Mimi raced over.
‘Ribena Posh-Scoundrel is Lord and Lady Toffly’s daughter!’ Atticus said.
‘Which makes Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel their son-in-law!’ Mimi whispered. ‘The Tofflys must have taken the magpies to Nicaragua.’ She clapped a delicate paw to her whiskers. ‘Didn’t the last postcard from Mrs Tucker say that Ribena’s parents had come along for the trip?’
Atticus gasped. ‘You’re right, Mimi! It all fits. That’s what Thomas was trying to tell Mrs Tucker. He must have found out that the Tofflys and the magpies were hiding on board The Toffly Treasure Hunter and taken her the magpie feathers as evidence.’
‘No wonder Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel didn’t want you there!’ Mimi said. ‘I guess it’s lucky that Thomas did stow away, otherwise you’d never have worked out the truth.’ Her golden eyes gleamed. ‘I think I know how the Ambassador got them all out of the country!’
‘How?’
‘The diplomatic bag.’
‘What’s that?’ Atticus asked.
‘It’s the way governments send things backwards and forwards from their embassies in different countries without anyone else seeing them,’ Mimi said. ‘It’s supposed to be for letters and parcels. Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel must have used it to smuggle his parents-in-law out.’
‘And the magpies,’ Atticus reminded her.
‘What are we going to do?’ Mimi said.
‘We’ll show Mrs Cheddar and the kids the photo,’ Atticus said. ‘The Tuckers could be in grave danger. My guess is the only reason they were allowed to go to Nicaragua is because the Tofflys want revenge on them for being booted out of Toffly Hall. They must be warned about Ribena and her revolting family before it’s too late.’
‘But you can’t reach them by phone.’
‘Then we’ll just have to go to the jungle!’
‘Do you think you’ll get there in time?’ Mimi asked anxiously. It was over a week since the Tuckers had left.
‘I don’t know, but we have to try,’ Atticus said. ‘Those villains are capable of anything.’ He snatched up the photo in his teeth and the two cats hurried out of the caravan and headed back to the beach.
Part Two
Nicaragua
Meanwhile, on board The Toffly Treasure Hunter, Thug was in a strop. ‘I hate Knicker-agua,’ he moaned. ‘I want to go home.’
The magpie gang had been smuggled on to The Toffly Treasure Hunter under cover of darkness, with Lord and Lady Toffly, just before the two vessels – The Toffly Treasure Hunter and The Jolly Jellyfish – set off upriver on their expedition to find the lost treasure of the jaguar gods.
The interior of The Toffly Treasure Hunter was, in fact, luxurious. There was a large seating area with fitted sofas, a coffee table laden with bowls of fruit and trays of nibbles, and a drinks cabinet stocked with the finest champagne. Beyond the seating area a decent-sized galley kitchen full of yummy-smelling grub led through to three en-suite cabins with extra-large beds (to accommodate the Ambassador’s extra-large body). The Toffly Treasure Hunter also boasted toughened glass, steel doors, a state-of-the-art radar system, automatic river creature defences and a gun safe stuffed with enough firearms to support a small army.
The only thing it didn’t have was a parachute.
The problem for the magpies was that they weren’t free to enjoy any of The Toffly Treasure Hunter’s considerable comforts. Instead they were confined to a small metal birdcage suspended from the ceiling by a large hook. The Tofflys, meanwhile, were taking an afternoon nap in their cabin, while the Ambassador and his wife were on deck, slowly navigating their way along the river behind The Jolly Jellyfish.
Thug scratched his wing-pit vigorously. ‘Those mini tarantula-bats are a pain in the bum,’ he announced.
Thug had had a difficult twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, despite all the Ambassador’s precautions, several hundred of the tiny beasts had got in overnight after Pam the parrot had drunk too much champagne and opened the window to be sick. The mini tarantula-bats had swarmed in and started nesting in Thug’s feathers. It had taken several squirts of Ribena’s best perfume to get rid of them.
‘I don’t see why we’re stuck in here while she gets to lord it with Benjamin Poshface,’ Thug continued peevishly. He cast a dirty look in Pam’s direction.
The parrot had assumed pride of place on the comfiest cushion next to the large dent in the sofa where the Ambassador habitually sat.
‘Cos Poshface thinks we’ll escape and steal the treasure,’ Slasher explained to his mate. ‘Whereas Pam’s so fat she can barely get airborne.’
‘Neither can I,’ said Thug gloomily. ‘Only not cos I’m fat,’ he added hastily. ‘Cos me tail’s still moulting.’ He scratched his bottom feverishly. A few more feathers fell out.
‘You sure Ribena got rid of all of them mini tarantula-bats?’ Slasher asked suspiciously.
‘Yeah,’ Thug said. ‘They all snuffed it when they sniffed it – Ribena’s perfume, I mean, not my bum.’
‘I’m not surprised they snuffed it,’ Jimmy Magpie said sourly from his position at the far end of the perch. ‘That perfume smells fruitier than one of Pam’s burps.’
‘Maybe you’re hallergic to it?’ Slasher suggested to Thug.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Thug agreed. ‘I’ve got very sensitive skin. Talking of fruit,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Me too,’ said Slasher.
The two magpies eyed Pam with envy. The parrot had just finished shovelling peanuts down her throat and was tucking into another mango. Thick, sticky, yellow juice dribbled down her beak on to her green chest feathers.
‘Can’t you ask her for some, Boss?’ Thug begged.
‘No,’ Jimmy said.
‘Please?’ wheedled Slasher. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Oh, all right.’ Jimmy was hungry too. He poked his beak through the bars of the cage and put on a charming voice. ‘Oh, Pam, er, honey, you’re looking particularly lovely today. That mango-juice stain really suits your colouring. Any chance of a bit of fruit for your loving husband and his pals?’
‘Get stuffed,’ Pam said.
Just then Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel and Ribena climbed down the stairs from the deck into the cabin. Ribena banged the door shut and locked it behind her. ‘I’m warning you, Benjamin, I can’t stand much more of those insufferable Tuckers and that disgustingly cute kitten of theirs,’ she said. ‘What’s its name?’
‘Thomas,’ replied her husband, sinking into the dent on the sofa next to Pam and wiping the juice dribble off her feathers tenderly with his handkerchief. ‘The ship’s cat is called Bones.’
‘It’s the kitten who’s the troublemaker,’ said Ribena. ‘I’ve a good mind to ask Daddy to shoot it, the nosy little beggar. I told you I found it trying to get into the cabin before we set off, didn’t I? I’ve got a nasty feeling it’s on to us.’
‘Stop worrying about Thomas, Ribena,’ said Be
njamin Posh-Scoundrel. ‘The important thing is that the Tuckers don’t suspect a thing.’
Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel felt even more pleased with himself than he usually did. He had successfully ditched almost everyone involved in the original trip, including Professor Verry-Clever. Now all he had to do was find Howard Toffly’s journal, lose the Tuckers, ‘borrow’ Mr Tucker’s parachute to get over the waterfall and find the treasure (without Lady Toffly getting her mitts on it). Then he would claim all the glory for himself and wait for the ‘Arise, Lord Posh’ tap on the shoulder from Her Majesty the Queen.
‘The sooner we arrange a nasty accident for the Tuckers and their rotten cats, the better …’ Ribena was saying.
‘I totally agree, Ribena,’ Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel said, dragging himself back to the present. ‘What did you have in mind?’ Being nearly a lord made him feel generous-spirited towards his wife.
‘Well, it’s not so much what I have in mind; it’s more what Mummy and Daddy want to do,’ said Ribena slyly.
‘And what would that be?’ her husband asked.
‘If you must know, they want us to raid The Jolly Jellyfish at dawn and chase the Tuckers into the jungle so the jaguars can eat them,’ Ribena said. ‘Either that or the Tuckers will be hopelessly lost forever and starve to death. Or caught up in an enormous spider’s web and have their blood sucked out by a giant tarantula. Or …’
‘Yes, yes, Ribena, I get it.’ Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘Can’t we just put a hole in The Jolly Jellyfish and leave them marooned for a bit until someone comes to rescue them?’ he suggested mildly.
‘Oh, come on, Benjamin,’ Ribena stormed. ‘Stop being such a spoilsport. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for us to raid them after what the Tuckers have done to Mummy and Daddy! Besides, we need to get Great-Uncle Howard’s book. The Tuckers aren’t just going to hand it over, are they?’
Atticus Claw Hears a Roar Page 7
