The Mona Lisa Mystery

by Pat Hutchins

  ‘Followed by a balloon seller,’ Avril said, looking at her balloons.

  ‘And finally,’ Mr Jones said, ‘the bearded man turns up again and is followed, we think, by the black Citroën, which has suddenly reappeared. What do you make of it?’ he asked, looking at Mr Coatsworth, who was gazing blankly at him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Mr Coatsworth, standing up as the bus approached their stop. ‘It beats me.’

  Mr Jones, Mr Coatsworth and the children walked slowly back to the hotel, so busy discussing the strange things that were happening on their trip that they’d forgotten all about Miss Parker.

  It wasn’t until they’d reached the hotel entrance that Akbar mentioned her. Mr Coatsworth remembered that Miss Parker had been reading a French newspaper on the journey to Paris, and, wondering if it was the one with the bearded man’s photograph in, went to the car park to see if it was still in the bus.

  ‘I do hope her leg is better,’ said Mr Jones, pushing the hotel door open. ‘She seemed in a lot of pain. We’ll go up to her room and see how she is,’ he added, as the children streamed into the hotel.

  ‘Oh!’ said Jessica, looking round the deserted lobby in disappointment. ‘There’s no one here!’

  ‘There must be,’ said Morgan, frowning. ‘I can hear someone whispering.’

  ‘Here he is,’ said Mr Jones, as the manager peered furtively from behind the restaurant door.

  ‘I was taken hostage by a gunman,’ Jessica shouted at him. ‘He took me and the Mona Lisa!’

  ‘Ah!’ said the manager, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. ‘I heard about that dreadful business. Terrible! Terrible!’ he repeated, glancing behind him as he slipped through the gap in the doorway.

  Morgan, who had heard a movement behind the door, glanced at Sacha and Matthew, then at the door again, which was moving slightly.

  ‘Is Miss Parker in her room?’ Mr Jones asked. The manager, his eyes travelling from the hotel entrance to the restaurant door, spotted a rolled package on the desk.

  ‘She went to her room,’ he said, glancing at the name on the package. ‘She asked not to be disturbed.’ He handed the package to Mr Jones. ‘For you,’ he added, looking at the entrance again.

  ‘Who on earth could have sent it?’ asked Mr Jones, examining the parcel.

  ‘I did not see who brought it,’ said the manager. ‘Whoever did just left it on the desk.’

  Mr Jones unwrapped the parcel while the children, noticing the restaurant door opening, looked to see who was behind it.

  ‘Good heavens!’ cried Mr Jones, as the wrapping paper fell to the floor.

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ whispered the manager faintly.

  The children, still staring at the door, didn’t see what Mr Jones was holding in his hand. They gasped as a bearded figure emerged, stopped, looked at Mr Jones, then flung himself at him. Class 3 leaped at the man, caught him in mid-flight and pinned him to the floor.

  The manager, in his excitement, was hopping from one foot to the other, shouting in French.

  The front door swung open and Mr Coatsworth burst in. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘That black Citroën’s in the car park!’

  He stopped in alarm when he saw the struggling figures on the floor.

  ‘We know!’ cried Jessica, tugging at the man’s beard. ‘We’ve caught the bearded man who was in it!’

  ‘No, we ain’t!’ shouted Avril, staring at the moustache that was left on the man’s face. ‘It’s the waiter!’

  ‘No, it’s not!’ yelled Morgan, as Akbar, hoping the moustache was false too, pulled it off. ‘It’s the balloon seller!’

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ cried the manager, remembering his English. He ran from behind the desk. ‘He is not a waiter. He is not a balloon seller.’ He paused. ‘He is Detective Inspector Thoreau of the French Police!’

  ‘And you, Monsieur,’ said the inspector, looking at Mr Jones as the children loosened their grip on him, ‘are under arrest!’

  Class 3 gazed in silence at the painting their dazed teacher was still clutching in his hands.

  16. The Newspaper Article

  Mr Jones, who had been too shocked to move during the commotion, was still staring at the painting. He opened his mouth, but as no sound came out, he shut it again.

  Mr Coatsworth could hardly believe his eyes. ‘The Mona Lisa,’ he whispered, as the children, stunned, gazed blankly at the detective.

  The manager, eyeing Mr Jones apprehensively, helped the inspector to his feet.

  ‘So!’ murmured the detective, carefully detaching the painting from Mr Jones’s paralysed fingers. ‘I now realize why Harry the Forger stuck like glue to the school bus on the way to the ferry.’ He shook his head. ‘I was on the wrong side of the track with the doctor.’ He sighed. ‘I could not believe my eyes when I saw Harry contacting you; who would suspect a teacher visiting Paris with a class of schoolchildren?’ He shook his head again. ‘I suppose Harry wanted this to copy so he could flood the art market with fake Mona Lisas. Impossible!’ he added passionately. ‘There will only ever be one Mona Lisa!

  ‘And now,’ he continued, looking at Mr Jones, who was still staring at the painting, ‘perhaps you will tell us where Harry is?’

  Mr Coatsworth and the children listened, open-mouthed, too astonished to interrupt.

  ‘Never mind,’ said the detective, when Mr Jones only blinked at him. ‘We’ll pick him up. And the hired hood who stole the Mona Lisa!’

  He spoke to the manager in French, who nodded and picked up the telephone.

  ‘And now, Monsieur,’ he said, taking a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and snapping them on the unprotesting teacher’s wrists. ‘Will you kindly come with me? And you, Monsieur,’ he added, nodding to Mr Coatsworth, ‘I suggest you tell the other teacher to take these children back to England. But you will stay in Paris, please. I may need to question you later.’

  Morgan was the first to come out of the trance. ‘Wait!’ he cried, jumping up as the inspector led Mr Jones, who had a glazed look on his face, towards the door.

  The rest of Class 3 jumped up too and, followed by Mr Coatsworth, dashed after Morgan, who was running after the inspector. Their way was barred by two grim-faced gendarmes. Mr Coatsworth and the children watched helplessly, their faces pressed against the glass door, as a third gendarme drove the Citroën to the front of the hotel and the inspector bundled Mr Jones into it.

  ‘What can we do?’ Matthew asked forlornly.

  ‘Nothing at the moment.’ Mr Coatsworth sighed. ‘We’ll just have to wait.’

  ‘I wonder why the Mona Lisa was left for Mr Jones,’ said Akbar, bewildered.

  ‘And who left it,’ muttered Avril.

  ‘And why the inspector just happened to be at the hotel when Mr Jones opened the parcel,’ said Morgan.

  ‘The inspector mentioned a forger,’ said Mr Coatsworth, frowning. ‘I wonder whom he meant?’

  ‘The bearded man from the boat!’ Sacha cried. ‘It said something about paintings under his photograph. I bet he’s Harry the Forger! That’s why the man from the Citroën, I mean the inspector,’ he corrected himself, ‘started to follow him on the ferry when the doctor and Miss Parker took him to the bar! I wish we could get hold of a copy of that newspaper,’ he added.

  ‘But we’ve got one!’ said Mr Coatsworth. ‘I found it on the bus. I clean forgot about it with all this carry-on.’ He pulled the paper out of his pocket.

  ‘It was the one Miss Parker was reading,’ he added, handing it to Sacha. ‘It’s even folded at the right page.’

  ‘So she must have seen the photograph,’ Morgan murmured, as Sacha studied the paper. ‘I wonder why she didn’t mention it.’

  ‘Contrefaçon,’ Sacha cried, pointing at the word. ‘That means forgery!’

  Morgan, who had a puzzled frown on his face, suddenly whistled. ‘The detective must have thought the forger was arranging the robbery with Mr Jones when he was really asking where Miss Parker was. Don’t you think it’s
odd,’ he added, ‘that he should want to deliver a bunch of flowers to Miss Parker in the middle of organizing a robbery …’ His voice trailed off when he realized that Mr Coatsworth and the rest of Class 3 were so engrossed in the newspaper that they hadn’t heard him and were following Sacha who was carrying it to the manager to ask him to translate it.

  Morgan walked over to the manager too and stood behind the children crowded round him. The manager, looking at Mr Coatsworth uncertainly, took the newspaper.

  ‘What does it say?’ Jessica demanded.

  ‘It says,’ said the manager, as Morgan bent down to pick up from the floor the paper that had been wrapped round the Mona Lisa, ‘that this man, known as Harry the Forger, is wanted by the French police in connection with a series of art forgeries sold to galleries in France as original paintings.’

  ‘That’s why the girl at the Louvre was so interested,’ Sacha interrupted. The manager glanced nervously at Mr Coatsworth and, seeing the puzzled expression on his face, decided he wasn’t in league with Mr Jones after all.

  ‘Detective Inspector Thoreau was very, very angry about this photograph,’ he whispered confidentially. ‘He did not want the press involved until he had caught him. That is why he went to London,’ he continued, ‘and followed him to the ferry. He hoped to catch him when he delivered the forgeries in France. How do you say?’ He frowned. ‘Ah, oui! Red-handed!’

  ‘Yes,’ muttered Sacha, glancing at Morgan, who was busy studying the wrapping paper. ‘The inspector said it was the forger in the taxi.’

  ‘And not the doctor as we thought,’ said Matthew. ‘Then why was he so interested in the doctor?’

  ‘Ah!’ The manager beckoned the children to come closer. ‘It seems that the forger must have realized he was being followed and hid himself on the boat and returned to England.’

  ‘Yes, but where does the doctor fit in?’ Matthew insisted.

  ‘Well!’ whispered the manager. ‘It also seems that the doctor was the last person to have contact with the forger. Inspector Thoreau suspected they might be working together and that the forger might have slipped to the doctor whatever fake painting he was carrying. So he followed the doctor to my hotel and pretended to be a waiter. And that is why he entered your room,’ he added apologetically to Jessica, who smiled proudly. ‘He thought it was the doctor’s room. However,’ the manager continued, ‘he had a telephone call from a colleague in England this morning saying, as he later told me, that Harry the Forger had got on the ferry. So he went to Calais and followed him back to Paris.’

  ‘Why didn’t he arrest him in Calais?’ Akbar asked.

  ‘I can only guess,’ said the manager, ‘that, as I said before, he was waiting to catch him red-handed. However, he followed the forger to the Eiffel Tower …’

  ‘Disguised as a balloon seller,’ said Avril, looking at her balloons, which were slowly deflating.

  The manager sighed again. ‘He was deeply shocked when he saw the forger had arranged to meet your Mr Jones.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Such a nice man. Such a gourmet. Who would have thought …? Ah, well.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘But that ain’t true!’ Avril cried indignantly. ‘Nobody arranged anything. That forger only asked him where Miss Parker was.’

  The manager frowned and stroked his chin. ‘Ah,’ he murmured. ‘That is so. He came and asked me which room she was in, but she had already left in a taxi for to go to the Louvre. He then departed very rapidly and the inspector came in, showed me his photograph and asked if I’d seen him. The rest you know. Inspector Thoreau followed him to the Louvre, saw him talking with your teacher by the Métro entrance and followed him. Unfortunately the traffic was very heavy and by the time the inspector arrived back here the forger must have met the gunman somewhere, retrieved the Mona Lisa and sneaked it back here for your Mr Jones to collect.’

  Morgan, who had been examining the wrapping paper while listening to the manager, suddenly sniffed his fingers.

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ he shouted, beckoning to Mr Coatsworth and the rest of Class 3.

  And while the perplexed manager gazed after them, Mr Coatsworth and the other children charged up the stairs after Morgan, who was still clutching the wrapping paper in his hands.

  17. Suspicions

  ‘Where are we going?’ Mr Coatsworth shouted as he and the children tried to catch up with Morgan.

  ‘To see Miss Parker,’ said Morgan grimly, stopping on the first floor landing. ‘What room number is she?’

  ‘Room 12,’ Mr Coatsworth replied. ‘But what’s all the hurry?’

  ‘I want to ask her some questions,’ said Morgan, bounding up the second flight of stairs.

  The rest of the children were shouting questions at Morgan as they raced after him to Room 12, but fell silent when he turned, put his finger to his lips and knocked.

  The door slowly opened and Miss Parker stood there. She glanced briefly at the wrapping paper in Morgan’s hand and then her gaze swept over the rest of the children who, not knowing why they were there, shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘What is it you want?’ she asked, turning to Morgan.

  ‘Mr Jones has been arrested,’ said Jessica as Morgan, looking at Miss Parker’s face, hesitated.

  ‘Really?’ said Miss Parker. ‘But that is dreadful!’

  ‘And we’d like to ask you a few questions,’ Morgan said nervously.

  ‘I think,’ said Miss Parker, her eyes hardening as she opened the door wider, ‘that you had better come in! Now!’ she said, sitting down as the children streamed into the room, looking a little confused, followed by Mr Coatsworth, who was looking very confused. ‘What is it you would like to know?’

  ‘Er, how your leg is?’ suggested Mr Coatsworth, nudging Morgan.

  ‘No,’ said Morgan bluntly. ‘Why was the forger following you?’

  ‘Morgan!’ said Mr Coatsworth, shocked.

  ‘I do not have a faint idea of what you are talking about,’ said Miss Parker quietly.

  ‘You were very interested in the article about him,’ Morgan persisted, ignoring Mr Coatsworth’s frantic gestures to stop. ‘You must have recognized the photo of the man from the boat.’

  ‘I read many articles,’ Miss Parker said calmly. ‘I find it impossible them all to remember.’

  ‘And your leg,’ Morgan went on. ‘This morning you said that you’d slept well, then you said it had been bothering you all night.’

  ‘I did not mention my leg hurting,’ Miss Parker replied, ‘because I did not want to miss the boat ride on the wonderful Seine. However,’ she added, smiling at Mr Coatsworth, who was looking terribly embarrassed, ‘I knew it would be difficult for me walking around the Louvre with it paining – that is quite different to sitting on a boat. So I rested it so I did not have to miss the Mona Lisa.’ She sighed. ‘And to think I never had the chance to look at it properly.’

  ‘I think you’ve had plenty of chances to look at it properly,’ Morgan said. He handed the wrapping paper to Mr Coatsworth. ‘Smell this!’

  Mr Coatsworth took the paper and sniffed the faint familiar smell of French perfume.

  ‘It’s your perfume,’ he whispered, gazing at Miss Parker, who gazed back at him, unconcerned.

  ‘So,’ she said, taking the paper from his hand. ‘A piece of paper smells of the same perfume as I do. Well? Many people in France use this perfume.’ She dropped the paper to the floor. ‘Are you trying to accuse me of something?’ she murmured, lowering her eyelashes.

  ‘Oh, no! Heaven forbid!’ cried Mr Coatsworth, frowning at Morgan. ‘Come on, children, I think we should leave and let Miss Parker rest –’

  ‘Because,’ Miss Parker interrupted, ‘I have been in my room since I returned from the Louvre, I have nowhere been near the reception desk …’ Her voice trailed off and she looked sharply at Morgan.

  ‘How did you know,’ Morgan asked quietly, ‘that it came from the reception desk?’

  Miss Parker leaped out of her chai
r, her face white with fury. ‘So!’ she hissed. ‘A smart brat! Too smart, though! Don’t move!’ she shrieked as Matthew and Sacha made for the door. ‘Stay where you are! If you do not,’ she added menacingly, ‘you will regret it.’

  She picked up the telephone as Matthew and Sacha moved away from the door as though hypnotized.

  Everyone watched in horrified silence, too stunned to move, as she dialled a number, spoke quickly in French, then handed the receiver to Morgan.

  ‘Now let us see,’ she said smiling again, ‘what you most value. The Mona Lisa or –’ She took the receiver from Morgan’s hand and replaced it.

  ‘Miss Barker!’ Morgan whispered faintly.

  ‘It can’t be,’ cried Mr Coatsworth.

  ‘Perhaps this will convince you,’ said Miss Parker, feeling in her handbag and holding up Miss Barker’s passport. ‘My trump card!’ she added, casually dropping the passport back into her handbag as the children gasped.

  ‘And now, Mr Coatsworth, you are going to take us all for a little ride. And if you are good little girls and boys,’ she continued, ‘Miss Barker will to no harm come. But if you are bad little girls and boys –’ she sighed and shook her head – ‘poor Miss Barker,’ she murmured, walking towards the door. ‘Come along, now,’ she added, glancing over her shoulder at the dejected children.

  The manager was still standing at the reception desk as they trailed gloomily down the stairs behind Mr Coatsworth and Miss Parker. Miss Parker stopped and spoke to the manager in French, who nodded sympathetically as he listened to her.

  ‘I was telling him –’ Miss Parker turned to Mr Coatsworth as she pushed open the front door – ‘about the little trip we had arranged to try and cheer these poor children up. He is not us expecting back for supper.’

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ Mr Coatsworth demanded. ‘If any of these kids gets harmed …’

  ‘Not a rabbit on their heads will be harmed,’ Miss Parker interrupted, ‘as long as they do as they are told. We are going to visit Miss Barker. I think it would be very nice if you did stay the night, all of you, to keep her company.’