Anthony Horowitz - South by South East

At least that amused Boyle. “Hercule Parrot,” he muttered and stuck out a finger. The parrot squawked and bit it.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Mrs Bodega asked.

Snape turned to Tim. “Well?”

“She’s lying!” Tim exclaimed. “This shop wasn’t here.” He nudged me. “Tell him!”

I had a feeling I was wasting my time but I tried anyway. “It’s true,” I said. “This is all a fake. And this woman…” I pointed at Mrs Bodega. “She must be some sort of actress.”

“I’m no such thing. Who are you? What do you want?”

Boyle pulled his swollen finger out of his mouth and went over to Snape. “Give me five minutes, sir,” he pleaded. “Just five minutes. Alone with them.”

“No, Boyle,” Snape sighed.

“Five minutes with the parrot?”

“No.” Snape closed his eyes.

Tim was utterly confused. Mrs Bodega was watching us with a mixture of innocence and indignation. “All right,” Snape said. “Just tell me where these agents of yours took you.”

“They took us upstairs,” Tim said. He pointed. “There’s a staircase behind that door.”

“There’s no such thing!” Mrs Bodega muttered.

“I’ll show you!”

Tim marched forward and threw open the door. He’d taken two more steps before he realized what I’d seen at once. The staircase was no longer there. He’d walked into a broom cupboard. There was a crash as he collided with an assortment of buckets and brooms. A shelf gave way and clattered down bringing with it about five years’ supply of bird-seed. Tim simply disappeared in a gold-and-white shower of the stuff. It poured down on him, forcing him to his knees, burying him.

And then it was all over. There was a small mountain of bird seed on the floor with two legs jutting out of it. The mountain shifted and broke open. Tim stuck his head out and coughed. Bird seed trickled out of his ear.

Snape had seen enough. “So they took you into a broom cupboard, did they?” he snarled. He caught one of the brooms. “I suppose this was your brush with MI6?”

“Chief Inspector! Listen…”

It was too late for that. Snape dropped the broom and grabbed hold of Tim, and, at the same time, I winced as Boyle’s hand clamped itself onto my shoulder. A moment later my feet had left the floor. All around me, the birds were screeching and whistling and fluttering. It was as if they were laughing at us. But then maybe they knew. They weren’t the only ones who were going to be spending the night behind bars.

This time Snape locked us up for two days. Boyle wanted to throw the book at us but fortunately he didn’t have a book. I’m not even sure Boyle knew how to read.

As soon as we were released, we headed back to the office. Tim wasn’t talking very much. He didn’t say anything on the bus, not even when I took the window seat. And he only muttered a few words of surprise when he found a letter waiting for him on our doormat. Not many people ever wrote to Tim. There were the electricity and the gas bills, of course, but they weren’t exactly chatty. Mum and Dad sometimes dropped us cards: Australia’s hot, England’s not, we love you a lot… that sort of thing. But usually the only letters on the doormat read: Please wipe your feet.

This letter came in a smart white envelope, postmarked London. Tim finally opened it in the office while I poured the tea. To celebrate our release, I’d used new teabags. It was a short letter but he took a long time to read it. Maybe it was good news.

“So what is it?” I asked at last.

“It’s a job.” Tim smiled for the first time since we’d been locked up and passed the letter across to me. It came from the Canadian Bank in Pall Mall and was signed by a woman called Louise Meyer. Briefly, it invited Tim to an interview to discuss the position of Head of Security.

“What is this…?” I began.

“Don’t you remember?” Tim said. “I told you. I applied for the job a couple of months ago.” He snatched the letter back. “They need a new Head of Security.”

“But you don’t know anything about security,” I said.

“Yes I do!” Tim looked at me indignantly. “I put burglar alarms in the office,” he reminded me.

“And burglars stole them,” I reminded him.

Tim ignored me.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I went on. “What about Charon? What about MI6?”

“What about them?”

“You can’t just ignore them! You heard what McGuffin said. And you still don’t know what south by south east means…”

“I don’t think it means anything.” Tim sniffed. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. Banking is my business.”

I gave up. “When’s the interview?” I asked.

Tim quickly re-read the letter. “This Meyer woman wants to see me at two o’clock this afternoon,” he said. He sprang out of his chair. “This afternoon! That’s today!”

It was already half past twelve. The next twenty minutes were spent in a frantic attempt to prepare himself. He put on a suit, a tie and a shirt while I polished his shoes. I didn’t do a great job but then I was using furniture polish. Finally he dragged a leather attache case out of a cupboard. Actually, it wasn’t leather — it was kangaroo skin; an unwanted Christmas present. Mum had given it to Tim. Tim had given it to me. I’d given it to Oxfam. They’d given it back. You can’t get much more unwanted than that. But now he took it because he thought it made him look good. The clock struck one. He was ready.

“I’ll come with you,” I said.

“Sure.” Tim nodded. “You can wait outside.”

We got another bus back into town and this time Tim was in a better mood. He was rehearsing his answers all the way there, whispering to himself and nodding. The other passengers must have thought he was mad. I wasn’t even sure myself. But he’d completely forgotten about McGuffin and Charon. That much was obvious. And that was his big mistake.

It happened just as we got off at Pall Mall. There had been about a dozen people on the top deck with us and I hadn’t really noticed any of them. But one of them had followed us down and just as we stepped off the bus, he reached out and tapped Tim on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he said. “You’ve forgotten this.” And he gave Tim back his kangaroo-skin attache case. That was all there was to it. I got a flash of a dark face and a beard. Then the bus had moved off and we were standing on the pavement. That was all there was to it. But I was uneasy. I didn’t know why.

“Tim…” I called out.

But Tim had already arrived outside the Canadian bank. I could tell it was Canadian because of the flag on the roof and the bronze moose on the door. It was a small, square building, one floor only. In fact it looked more like a high-class jeweller’s than a High Street bank. Everything about it was quiet and discreet. Even the alarms were muffled so they wouldn’t disturb the neighbours. I caught up with Tim just before he went in.

“I think we ought to talk,” I said.

“I know what to say,” he replied. “You wait here.”

He went in. I looked at the clock above the door. There wasn’t one. And that was strange because when I’d been standing next to Tim, I’d definitely heard the sound of ticking. I thought about the attache case again. And suddenly the skin on my neck was prickling and my mouth had gone dry. Either Tim was in serious trouble or I was going down with the flu.

It wasn’t the flu. I’d never felt better in my life. And now I had to act quickly. I’d hardly glimpsed the man on the bus but I knew now why he had taken the case and what he had put inside it.

I also knew that if I’d stopped to count his fingers, I wouldn’t have reached ten.