“What is it, Xander? You’ve got to tell me!” Xena couldn’t stand the suspense.
“The address that Andrew gave me is the Borogovian mansion.”
Xena felt suddenly deflated. “So that means Alice left it behind when she was kidnapped, after all.”
“Wait a second,” Xander said slowly. “Something’s been bothering me. It seems like an awfully big coincidence for the security cameras to be knocked out by the thunderstorm just at the moment Alice ‘ran away,’ don’t you think?”
“Maybe the kidnappers turned off the cameras before the storm, and they were just lucky that a storm came up to give them an alibi. If there hadn’t been a storm, they would have had to come up with some other reason the cameras were turned off—maintenance or an accident or something,” Xena said.
“Or maybe they planned the kidnapping for a night when a storm was predicted,” Xander suggested.
“It’s also possible that someone in the security team was in on the kidnapping and blocked the cameras somehow,” Xena added. “There are lots of explanations.”
“And there’s one more,” Xander said. “Maybe Alice never left.”
They stood frozen in thought, trying to figure out what that meant, and if it was true, how the police could have missed her.
“When you have eliminated the impossible—” Xander reminded Xena, starting one of their ancestor’s most famous sayings.
“—whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” she finished for him. It was not exactly impossible that the security system had been accidentally disabled at just the moment when Alice left—or was taken from the mansion—but the odds against it were astronomical.
Xander’s phone beeped, signaling a text message. Probably Andrew. But no, the phone showed that the message came from Xena’s phone. Xena leaned over Xander’s shoulder and together they read: “Hello, Xena! Sorry I wasn’t here when you came looking for me. I had to go away for a little while, but everything’s just fine. Don’t bother trying to find me! Sincerely, Alice.”
“Yeah, right,” Xander said with contempt.
“There’s no way Alice wrote that.” Xena nearly laughed. “Nobody would write a text with capital letters and punctuation. And ‘Sincerely, Alice.’ Oh, sure! Someone else wrote it, someone who has no idea how to text. There must have been a signal on my phone that showed we’d turned on the GPS, and whoever has Alice saw it and got nervous, and sent us this to get us off the trail.”
“As if!” Xander said.
They were both immensely cheered by the knowledge that they were getting close enough to frighten the kidnapper, though Xena tried not to think how dangerous this might be for Alice. The sooner they found her, the better.
“Let me have your phone,” she said to Xander. She punched in Andrew’s number. “Hello, Andrew? Can you tell where my phone was when the earlier message was sent—the one that really looks like Alice wrote it, the one we showed to the police?”
“When was that?”
She told him. She heard computer keys clicking, and then Andrew said, “That one came from the same address.”
“Thanks.” Xena shut the phone. “So that means Alice is still in the mansion—or at least she was when the first message was sent. But where could she be? And who put her there?”
“We haven’t really thought about the prime minister,” Xander said.
“No good.” Xena shook her head. “He wasn’t even in London when Alice was kidnapped.” She stopped at the knowing smile on her brother’s face. “Or maybe he was! We have only his word for it that he arrived after she disappeared.”
“Let’s find out when he checked into his hotel,” Xander suggested.
“We don’t know what hotel he’s staying in,” Xena said.
“We can figure it out. Remember he said there was construction outside? Let’s find out which hotels are near construction sites.”
In a short time, Xena had identified all of London’s best hotels, ones that looked like places an important foreigner would stay. Then she found a traffic site that warned of construction in the city. It was easy to put the two together and figure out that the prime minister was most likely staying at the Hotel Bertrand. Two different Tube lines ran near it, so it should be easy to get to, she thought.
They set out for the Tube station in silence, Xena holding an umbrella over both of them. As they stopped and waited for a light to change, Xander’s eye caught a figure standing under a lamppost. Why would someone just stand there in the rain? If he—or she—was waiting for someone, why didn’t he go into a store or at least stand under an awning? “Xena, look over there,” he said in a low voice and jerked his head the slightest bit toward the unmoving person.
Xena pretended the wind had caught her umbrella, and she glanced at it and behind her shoulder as she pulled it closer overhead. She instantly saw the person Xander was referring to, wrapped in a dark raincoat with a hood pulled down tight, casting a shadow on the face. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Although the person appeared to be staring at nothing, Xena could tell that he—or she—was really keeping an eye on her and her brother.
Hardly moving her lips, Xena said, “We’ll have to separate. I’ll try to get him to follow me, and then I’ll lose him. Meet me at that church, Saint Bartholomew the Great, in twenty minutes. If I’m not there, call Mom and tell her what happened. If we shake him, we can go to the hotel, each of us on a different Tube line just in case.”
Xander nodded, and the instant the light changed, he sprinted across the street and dodged pedestrians. Although he wasn’t as fast a runner as Xena, he was a good soccer player who was used to weaving around opponents, and he soon disappeared.
Just as Xena had hoped, their follower hesitated when the two of them split up. Xena took a moment to close her umbrella and then ran around the corner, hoping the stranger would follow her. It was hard to tell in the rain, but it did sound like running footsteps were behind her. She didn’t stop to look around until the road curved, and then she was able to see that although the person was still there, the distance between them was increasing with every stride of her well-trained legs.
Around another corner, through an alley, and then over a small brick wall, and Xena was sure she had shaken her pursuer. She took a roundabout route to the old church, which had a tiny open square in front of it. She pushed open the heavy door and entered the gloom.
“What took you so long?” Xander stepped out from behind a gray stone column. “I was just about to call Mom!”
Xena shook her head without answering, as she was working hard to get her breath back. She gestured toward the back of the church, where she remembered there was a door leading to a small garden. Few churches had exits in that part of the building, so if, despite all her efforts, she had been followed, the person would probably assume they were still inside and wouldn’t be able to leave except through the front door. Their pursuer would be waiting there, ready to pounce.
They took separate Tube lines and met up, as planned, in the park in front of the Hotel Bertrand. They had seen the hotel from a distance—it was close to the British Museum—but now they stood and stared before going in, not minding the rain that fell on their faces as they looked up. It was huge and ornate, built of reddish brown stone, with lots of windows, balconies, complicated architecture, doors, stairways, and other details that were almost overwhelming.
The lobby was small but gleaming with marble, and the clerks behind the desk looked as though they had been polished. A young Asian woman smiled at them as they came in.
Xander turned on all his charm, but the clerk wouldn’t budge. “We can’t give out our guests’ room numbers or any information on their stay with us. If you like, I can call the party you’re here to visit, and he can give us permission to send you up.” She poised her hand over the house phone.
“Thank you,” Xena said hastily. “But we want it to be a surprise. We’ll figure out something.”
“I thought there was supposed to be construction going on around here,” Xander said, surveying the cars moving by, unimpeded by anything except the traffic lights.
A voice behind them said, “They do it only at night, so as not to mess up traffic too badly.” They turned, and the hotel doorman said, “Why, it’s the Holmes kids!”
It was their old friend, a member of the SPFD who had worked as the doorman at the hotel where they stayed when they first moved to London. They chatted for a few minutes, and found out that he now worked at the Hotel Bertrand.
“So what are you two doing here? Working on a case?”
“We were hoping to speak with the prime minister from Borogovia,” Xander told him. “The princess who disappeared is a friend of ours.”
The doorman shook his head. “The prime minister isn’t here. You just missed him. He came back for a nap and went out again only a few minutes ago. Last night, he reported another attempted burglary in his room. Security didn’t find anything, but it disturbed his sleep. The construction is annoying him too. The front desk warned him about it when he checked in, but evidently he didn’t realize how serious it was. Look at how much work they’re doing!”
He gestured to a drawing on the chain-link fence over a hole in the ground. The architect’s rendition showed a complex mass of lines and squiggles. Xander stared at it, and Xena asked, “Couldn’t he tell for himself how much work they were doing?”
“No, I told you, the construction only goes on at night. The prime minister was here hours before it started, and then the rain delayed it even more. They didn’t get going until the wee, small hours.”
Xander objected, “But he checked in—” He was about to blurt out “at night” when Xena dug her elbow in his ribs. She didn’t want their friend to get in trouble for revealing so much about a guest. They hurriedly said good-bye, promised to send his regards to their parents, and withdrew into the park across the street for a quick consultation.
“So the prime minister arrived in the afternoon, not at night! He was here when Alice disappeared. Why would he lie about—” Xena stopped. Xander had that absorbed look on his face again, so she waited.
She didn’t have to wait long. “Something’s been bugging me ever since we saw those papers from the SPFD,” he said. “I couldn’t figure out what it was, but I think it was something about the blueprints for the addition to the Borogovian mansion. I didn’t read all of them, and they were pretty complicated. Let’s go back to the SPFD and look at them.”
It took them only a few minutes on the Tube. Even that seemed long, and they ran up the escalator to the street, saying “Excuse me, excuse me” as they brushed past commuters and tourists. They slowed down as they entered the pub, not wanting to draw attention to themselves, then crawled through the hidden door and burst into the SPFD headquarters.
“No time to explain,” Xander said to Mr. Brown. “Can we see those Borogovian papers again?”
Mr. Brown pointed at the box, still sitting on the table. Xander pulled out paper after paper and lined up the blueprints, one next to the other. “What are you—” Mr. Brown started, but Xena put her finger on her lips.
What seemed like a long time went by while Xander moved the papers around. He put one drawing over another and held them up to the light, measuring things with his thumb. Finally, he looked up and beamed. “Got it!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Got it? Got what?” Xena felt ready to explode.
“Look at this.” Xander put a finger of his right hand on one blueprint and a finger of his left hand on another one.
Xena looked. “I don’t see it. What exactly are you trying to show me?”
“There’s a space that’s unaccounted for in these drawings that the architects made, the ones who built this addition for Queen Charlotte. See? This wall”—he pointed to a solid line at the left-hand edge of one piece of paper—“is supposed to be the same wall as this one.” He ran his finger along the right-hand side of another sheet. “But if you add up the measurements of how long all the walls are, they’re not the same. There’s a gap, about ten feet. It could be nothing—a mistake in the drawings, an error where the architects left a blank space, even something to support the addition, but I don’t think so. I think it’s a—”
“A hidden room!” Xena finished for him.
Mr. Brown didn’t wait for an explanation. In a flash he was on the phone, calling the police. “Meet us at the Borogovian mansion. I’ll explain once we’re there. And be sure to come with a search warrant.” He turned to Xena and Xander. “Out you go. My car is around the corner.”
They had just fastened their seat belts when Mr. Brown punched a button on his dashboard and a siren started wailing. “There’s a light flashing on the roof too,” he said.
Traffic parted in front of them as they sped through the streets and pulled up in front of the Borogovian mansion. They leaped out onto the sidewalk, where four police officers were waiting for them. One was the man who had ignored the evidence of the handwriting and the text message, and he was as red as the light flashing on Mr. Brown’s car. Another man, evidently his superior, was saying in an incredulous tone, “And on your own authority, you ignored it? Don’t you know who these kids are? If they say they have information, you can wager that they do! You’re relieved of duty as soon as we finish up here, pending an investigation into your actions.” Xena knew she should feel sorry for the man, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit smug too.
They stood in front of the big iron gate, and once again a cold voice demanded to know who they were. “Metropolitan Police,” barked the police officer who appeared to be in charge. “I’m Inspector Sayers.” He held the search warrant up to the camera, and the gate swung open.
“This way!” Xander ran ahead of the police. A servant opened the door and stood back as first Xander, then Xena, and then the police and Mr. Brown ran in.
They tore down one corridor after another. Xena, as always, marveled that Xander remembered exactly which way to go.
Xander threw open a door and revealed Alice’s aunt Penelope with the Borogovian prime minister sitting in front of a fireplace. Both stood up, Aunt Penelope with her hand to her throat.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” she demanded, addressing the adults as though Xena and Xander were of no consequence.
Xena stepped forward. “We think you kidnapped Alice. We also think that she’s somewhere here, in this mansion.”
“Why on earth would I kidnap my own niece? It wouldn’t even be kidnapping; I’m her legal guardian and she’s underage!”
“There’s such a thing as false imprisonment,” the inspector said grimly. “We are going to search the premises again.” He dispatched the three officers in different directions. Occasionally Xena and Xander heard a deep voice calling, “Princess Alice! Your Highness! It’s the police!”
Xander approached the prime minister. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, sir.”
“Of course, of course. Anything that we can do. Although I don’t know any more than you do. I arrived in London after Her Highness had disappeared.”
“Er—” Xena didn’t want to tell him to his face that he was lying, but she knew he was. She looked at Xander.
“Sir,” he began, “are you sure of when you arrived? Because”—he had to speak hastily before the prime minister could get a word in—“because someone told us that you got in a little earlier than that.”
“Who told you that?” the inspector asked.
“A friend,” Xena said, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more than that. Luckily, the prime minister answered.
“Your friend is right.” The prime minister sat down heavily. He took a large handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face with it. “I did get in earlier on Saturday, but I had nothing to do with Princess Alice’s disappearance. Please believe me.”
“How do we know t
hat?” Inspector Sayers asked.
The prime minister pulled a wad of paper out of another pocket. “Here are receipts for the restaurants I went to that night. I adore English food, and I knew that once I became caught up in preparations for the coronation, I would be too busy to indulge this passion. The steak and kidney pie! Bubble and squeak!”
“Muffins!” Xander couldn’t help adding. Xena glowered at him.
“If you check the time stamped on the receipts,” the prime minister went on, “I think you’ll see that I couldn’t have been involved in this ghastly occurrence.”
One by one, the three policemen returned. Before they even spoke, their disappointed faces revealed that their search had been unsuccessful.
“Nothing, sir,” one of them told Mr. Brown.
“Exactly as I said!” Aunt Penelope trumpeted.
Inspector Sayers began, “I’m afraid—”
“May I take a look?” Xander interrupted him.
The inspector glanced at Mr. Brown. He nodded. The prime minister said, “Of course you may. No harm in it, is there?” he asked Aunt Penelope, who pinched her lips together for a moment and then nodded ungraciously.
Xena followed her brother up the stairs. He didn’t need to tell her what he was doing. Obviously, he was looking for the place where he had found the mysterious gap in the architectural drawings. Close behind her came the inspector and Mr. Brown. She remembered that Alice’s interrupted text message mentioned being taken “up.” But up where?
Xander didn’t stop at the second floor but kept on until he was at the landing between the second and third floors. The wall was covered by a large scene of the countryside, with picturesque shepherdesses, birds, flowers, a small hut. It was one of those trompe l’œil paintings, like the ones Miss Jenny had shown them on their first visit, and in the dim light of the stairway, Xena could have sworn that she was really looking at a sunny afternoon in the country.
Xander ran his hands over the painting. Alice’s aunt Penelope shouted, “Stop! You’ll dirty it!” Xander ignored her and worked his fingers around a crack.
The Missing Heir Page 9