The Mona Lisa Mystery

by Pat Hutchins

  Contents

  1. Paris, Here We Come

  2. Followed

  3. The Bearded Stranger

  4. The Search

  5. Mistaken Identity

  6. The Arrival

  7. The Doctor Turns Up

  8. The New Waiter

  9. Ghosts!

  10. The Waiter’s Trip

  11. The Eiffel Tower

  12. Bent on Revenge

  13. The Mona Lisa

  14. Held Hostage

  15. Under Arrest!

  16. The Newspaper Article

  17. Suspicions

  18. The Journey

  19. Prisoners!

  20. The Rescue

  21. Guests of Honour

  PAT HUTCHINS grew up in a small village in North Yorkshire, and spent most of her time drawing and writing stories. At sixteen she won a scholarship to study illustration at Darlington School of Art and then went on to Leeds College of Art. After graduating, she worked as a junior art director for an advertising agency where she met her future husband, Laurence. Together they moved to America for two years where Pat worked as an illustrator. Her first picture book, Rosie’s Walk, was published in New York and received a 1968 ALA Notable Book award. Since moving back to England, Pat has produced over forty books for children and she has won many prizes, including the highly prestigious Kate Greenaway Medal in 1974 for The Wind Blew. Pat’s books have been translated into many different languages and she has visited schools and libraries all over the world.

  Books by Pat and Laurence Hutchins

  The Curse of the Egyptian Mummy

  The House That Sailed Away

  Follow That Bus!

  For Miss Klaar,

  Mr Lytton

  and the children

  of New End School

  1. Paris, Here We Come

  The GB plates sparkled in the early morning sun as Class 3 of Hampstead Primary School gathered beside the school bus parked in New End Square. Mr Coatsworth, the driver, had fixed a sign that said ‘PARIS, HERE WE COME!’ on to the front window of the bus, and was standing back to admire it.

  Mr Jones, the class teacher, was busy collecting passports from the children, who were jostling one another impatiently and talking excitedly about their school trip as they waited to board the bus.

  Avril, who had been studying the church clock, pushed herself to the front of the class.

  ‘Where’s Miss Parker?’ she demanded. ‘She said if we weren’t here by eight o’clock the bus would leave without us. Well, it’s eight o’clock now and she ain’t here,’ she added, glancing anxiously up the hill at an approaching taxi in case Miss Parker was in it. To her relief, nobody got out as the taxi pulled into the kerb.

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ chorused the rest of Class 3, pushing eagerly towards the bus door. ‘Let’s go without her!’

  Mr Jones held his hand up for silence. ‘Miss Parker isn’t coming on the bus. But –’ he raised his voice above the cheers – ‘she’s meeting us at the ferry. She said,’ he continued, as the children groaned, ‘that she’d make her own way to Dover.’

  Jessica sighed. ‘And I thought she’d been kidnapped, like that film on Saturday.’

  ‘Kidnapped!’ Morgan repeated bitterly. ‘Who’d want to kidnap her? They’d have to be mad!’

  ‘And speak French,’ muttered Sacha, noticing a sleek French car pulling into the square. ‘She doesn’t seem to understand much English.’

  ‘Perhaps we could find a mad Frenchman who’d do it,’ said Matthew thoughtfully, turning to Sacha. ‘Your dad’s half French, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sacha, ‘but he isn’t mad. Not even half mad,’ he added quickly.

  ‘Now, children,’ said Mr Jones sternly, ‘I know it’s a great shame that Miss Barker can’t be with us, but I’m sure that once we’ve got to know her better, Miss Parker will turn out to be very …’ His voice trailed off, as the children shuffled their feet. ‘Quite,’ he corrected himself, ‘pleasant. After all, she’s only been with us for a few days, and Miss Barker did recommend her. Her French is perfect,’ he added desperately.

  ‘Her English ain’t,’ said Avril.

  Mr Coatsworth, who had been walking round the bus, polishing the GB plates, had heard only part of the conversation. ‘What’s Miss Barker done to you then?’ he asked. ‘I thought she was one of your favourites.’

  ‘We’re not talking about Miss Barker,’ said Avril. ‘We’re talking about Miss Parker!’

  ‘Barker, Parker,’ said Mr Coatsworth, confused. ‘Who’s Miss Parker then? I thought your headmistress was coming. She always comes to France.’

  ‘She was,’ Mr Jones sighed. ‘But she was taken to hospital on Thursday with suspected appendicitis. Apparently she rang Miss Parker to ask if she would substitute for her until she was back at school.’

  ‘Oh! What a shame!’ said Mr Coatsworth. ‘We’ll have to send her lots of postcards.’

  ‘We can’t,’ said Mr Jones. ‘We don’t know which hospital she’s in. She forgot to tell Miss Parker.’

  ‘And now horrible Miss Parker is taking us for French until Miss Barker comes back,’ said Matthew.

  ‘And she’s coming with us instead,’ Sacha muttered. ‘Worse luck!’

  ‘Well now,’ said Mr Coatsworth cheerfully. ‘Surely she wouldn’t want to come with us if she was that bad!’

  ‘She’s probably coming to make sure we’re all miserable,’ said Jessica. ‘She’s probably planning to lock us in the Bastille and watch us slowly starve to death.’

  ‘Like the first day she was at school,’ said Morgan.

  ‘We hadn’t done nothing, neither,’ said Avril indignantly. ‘We only asked if she came from Paris!’

  ‘She eats an awful lot of garlic,’ Akbar explained.

  ‘And she don’t speak proper, neither,’ Avril insisted. ‘She started shouting about being born in Potters Bar, and never having been to Paris in her life, and what name was more English than Parker, then made us stay in and miss lunch.’

  ‘Perhaps the poor woman was feeling a bit nervous,’ Mr Coatsworth said. He laughed. ‘I’d be a bit nervous myself meeting you lot for the first time!’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Mr Jones, patting Avril’s shoulder, ‘I’m sure we’ll have a marvellous time in Paris. Now, everyone on the bus. We don’t want to miss the ferry.’

  And after they’d all climbed on to the bus, Class 3 forgot all about the new French teacher.

  ‘Paris, here we come!’ they screamed, as the bus pulled out of the square.

  ‘Sacha,’ said Morgan, glancing out of the back window, and prodding Sacha, who was sitting next to him, ‘didn’t your dad say 75 was a Paris registration number?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sacha.

  ‘What a coincidence,’ Morgan murmured.

  Sacha looked at the taxi that was driving behind them.

  ‘The black Citroën,’ said Morgan, ‘behind the taxi. It has a Paris number plate!’

  2. Followed

  By the time the bus had reached Dover, the children were beside themselves with excitement.

  Jessica didn’t stop talking throughout the journey. She told amazing stories about her adventures in the city, and as she was the only child in the class who’d been there (apart from Sacha, who, Jessica pointed out, didn’t count, as he was eighteen months old at the time), everyone listened.

  ‘Fancy that!’ Mr Coatsworth would murmur from the driver’s seat, as Jessica, ignoring the interruptions from some of the disbelieving children, launched into another hair-raising tale about Paris.

  Morgan, who was beginning to have doubts about Jessica’s Hunchback of Notre Dame episode himself, glanced idly out of the window.

  ‘Sacha!�
�� he hissed. ‘Look!’ He pointed to the road behind them.

  ‘What? The taxi?’ Sacha asked in surprise.

  ‘Behind the taxi,’ said Morgan.

  Cruising behind the taxi was the black Citroën they’d seen earlier, and bending over the wheel was a man with a huge beard.

  ‘I’m sure he’s following us,’ Morgan whispered. ‘I wonder why.’

  ‘Not long now, kids,’ Mr Coatsworth shouted, interrupting Morgan’s thoughts and Jessica’s story, as he pointed to the sign for the ferry.

  ‘He’s not following us now,’ said Sacha. The bus had turned into the traffic lane for the ferry and was immediately overtaken by the taxi, and then by the French car.

  ‘Come on!’ he added, as the rest of the children raced to the front of the bus to try and get a glimpse of the ferry. Morgan stood up slowly, shook his head, then ran to the front of the bus too.

  The bus stopped at Passport Control while the immigration officer checked the passports then, wishing them a pleasant journey, told Mr Coatsworth to join the line of lorries and buses in front of them.

  ‘There it is!’ screamed the children, pointing ahead to the ferry. ‘And it’s boarding!’

  ‘Well done, old girl,’ said Mr Coatsworth, patting the steering wheel. ‘Perfect timing!’

  ‘Perfect,’ agreed Mr Jones as the bus followed the line of vehicles down the ramp and on to the ferry.

  ‘And now,’ he said, when the bus was safely on the boat, ‘to find Miss Parker.’ Class 3, groaning at the mention of Miss Parker, followed Mr Jones and Mr Coatsworth along the rows of parked vehicles towards the stairs that led to the decks. Suddenly Morgan stopped.

  ‘Sacha!’ he cried, pulling his friend back and pointing to a gap between two lorries.

  ‘Crikey!’ whispered Sacha.

  Parked in the next row was the black Citroën with Paris number plates.

  ‘Come on, lads!’ Mr Jones shouted. ‘We don’t want to lose you already!’

  ‘We’re being followed!’ Sacha shouted back, but as the rest of Class 3 were crowding round the teacher, all talking at once, he didn’t hear Sacha, and by the time the two boys had caught up with him, they were already upstairs.

  ‘Mr Jones,’ Morgan said breathlessly, ‘we’re being followed!’

  ‘By a bearded man in a black Citroën,’ said Sacha.

  ‘With Paris number plates,’ Morgan added.

  ‘I saw a taxi following us,’ Avril complained, ‘but I didn’t see no Citroën.’

  ‘I saw it,’ shouted Matthew, ‘in New End Square.’

  ‘I saw it too!’ cried Akbar.

  ‘So did we!’ shouted the rest of Class 3.

  Mr Coatsworth scratched his head. ‘Come to think of it,’ he murmured, ‘I seem to remember seeing a black Citroën in New End. It followed the old girl on the motorway for a while, then overtook her.’

  ‘It must just be a coincidence,’ Mr Jones said, frowning. ‘Why would anyone want to follow us?’

  ‘Hello!’ a voice interrupted. Facing them across the main deck, a huge hat covering the top part of her face and a long scarf wound around the bottom part, was a tall woman with a thick bandage round her leg.

  ‘Blimey!’ muttered Avril. ‘Who’s that?’

  A sudden gust of wind tore the hat from the woman’s head. Mr Jones and the children gasped in amazement. It was Miss Parker who was smiling at them, and her hair, which they had glimpsed before she’d had time to grab her hat and jam it on again, was a brilliant shade of yellow.

  ‘Blimey!’ Avril gasped. ‘She’s gone and dyed her hair!’

  3. The Bearded Stranger

  Mr Jones and the children stepped back nervously as Miss Parker glided towards them, but Mr Coatsworth stood transfixed. The same gust of wind that had blown the hat off blew the fragrance of expensive French perfume into his nostrils.

  ‘I don’t think you’ve met Mr Coatsworth,’ Mr Jones said quickly, as the children, who had been studying Miss Parker in shocked silence, recovered and started whispering to one another, and glancing in disbelief at the silky smile on the French teacher’s face.

  ‘H-how do you do?’ stammered Mr Coatsworth, holding out his hand. Miss Parker, holding on to her hat with one hand, placed the other limply in his.

  ‘Bonjour!’ she murmured huskily. ‘I’m Miss Parker.’ Then looking down at her hand, she pulled it quickly away, hesitated, then grasped Mr Coatsworth’s hand in a firm handshake. ‘A jolly good evening. What ho!’ she exclaimed heartily.

  ‘It ain’t evening, Miss,’ said Avril, scowling at Mr Coatsworth, who was still gazing at Miss Parker. ‘It’s morning!’

  Miss Parker’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Avril, and Avril, who was beginning to wish she hadn’t been so bold, took a step backwards. The expression on Miss Parker’s face changed as Mr Coatsworth seemed to come out of his trance.

  ‘Oh golly!’ she sighed. ‘Of course it is the morning still. What a silly little girl I am. And what a clever little girl you are,’ she added, flashing a brilliant smile at Avril, who only edged farther away.

  ‘I am so tired. When one is so tired, one forgets what time of day it is. I had such a little sleep last night,’ she continued, glancing down at her bandaged leg. ‘I’m afraid silly me spilled boiling fat all over my poor leg. Cooking chips and fish. I adore chips and fish.’

  ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have come,’ said Mr Jones anxiously, as the children, unmoved, eyed Miss Parker suspiciously.

  ‘What? And miss this wonderful trip,’ Miss Parker cried gaily, ‘with all these wonderful children? Never!’

  ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ Mr Jones, surprised at having his class described as wonderful, couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘We can watch the ferry leave from the refreshment room.’

  Morgan, still puzzling over the bearded man, suddenly whistled. ‘Look!’ he shouted, pointing to a doorway.

  Class 3 gazed open-mouthed. From the other side of the boat a bearded face was peering in their direction through a pair of binoculars.

  ‘It’s that man again!’ Morgan cried.

  The children blinked as the sun’s reflection on the lenses dazzled them, but when they opened their eyes again, ready to give chase, the man had disappeared.

  Miss Parker, who had only glimpsed the face, sank heavily on to a bench.

  ‘I think poor Miss Parker must be feeling seasick,’ said Mr Coatsworth, as the ferry bumped gently, then glided smoothly away from the dock.

  ‘I’ll go and get her a nice hot drink.’

  ‘Pardon,’ said a deep voice behind them.

  An enormous swarthy man, who had been standing close to them cleaning his fingernails with a knife, stepped forward. His gold teeth glinted as he smiled at them. Then, producing a French-English phrase book from his pocket, he flicked through it with his knife and slowly said, ‘I-need-a-doc-tor.’ He ran his thick finger down the page. ‘Pardon,’ he repeated. ‘I-am-a-doc-tor,’ he corrected himself, and bent over Miss Parker. None of them noticed a second bearded man picking his way through the crowds behind them.

  4. The Search

  Miss Parker declined the coffee that Mr Coatsworth had brought for her, but gulped the brandy from the hip flask that the French doctor offered her.

  The children were all for spreading out to look for the bearded stranger, but Mr Jones said that as the doctor had insisted on staying with Miss Parker until she felt better and as it was twelve o’clock, he’d rather they all stayed together and went to the refreshment room to have their packed lunches.

  They left the doctor and Miss Parker talking quietly together in French. ‘Well!’ said Mr Jones, when the children were eventually seated in the refreshment room, so busy talking about the bearded stranger and the peculiar appearance and behaviour of Miss Parker that their cups of tea were getting cold. ‘I think the bearded man was only looking for porpoises.’

  ‘Why was he hanging around Hampstead then?’ Avril demanded. ‘There ain’t no
porpoises in Hampstead.’

  ‘Oh!’ cried Jessica. ‘Perhaps he’s planning to kidnap us and hold us for ransom for a million dollars.’

  ‘Who’d want to pay a million dollars for us?’ said Matthew.

  ‘Miss Parker!’ shrieked Jessica, jumping up again and knocking over the bottle of tomato ketchup that Avril had insisted on bringing with her.

  ‘Would she?’ asked Akbar in surprise.

  ‘No!’ said Jessica scornfully. ‘The bearded stranger wants to kidnap her! You said –’ Jessica stabbed her finger at Morgan – ‘that only a mad Frenchman would want to kidnap her. Well,’ she continued breathlessly, ‘he looked mad to me! And,’ she added, stabbing her finger at Morgan again, ‘you said he was driving a French car.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Morgan thoughtfully, ‘but if it was Miss Parker he was after, what was he doing in Hampstead?’

  Mr Jones and Mr Coatsworth opened their mouths to speak, but Jessica, squealing with excitement, jumped up again. ‘That’s why she’s dyed her hair!’ she screamed. ‘So the kidnapper wouldn’t recognize her. She’s pretending to be a different person!’

  ‘And acting nice when she ain’t,’ Avril muttered.

  ‘And wearing that big hat and scarf,’ Akbar added, ‘so the kidnapper couldn’t see her face.’

  ‘And coming to Paris with us,’ murmured Matthew, ‘so he won’t find her.’

  ‘And he’s wearing a false beard so she wouldn’t recognize him!’ Sacha shouted. ‘That’s it, Morgan!’

  But Morgan only shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said softly.

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Mr Jones. ‘I think the bearded man just happened to be leaving Hampstead the same time as us to catch the ferry. He probably comes from Paris, which explains the Paris number plates. He just happened to be looking through his binoculars when we saw him. And Miss Parker has dyed her hair because she prefers yellow hair to black. And I also think,’ he finished, ‘that you should eat your sandwiches before they go stale.’