the first gizmo to the safe and listened carefully to the other as he made delicate adjustments.
‘Spies!’ he giggled happily. ‘Real spies! Just like I’ve always wanted!’
‘Yeah, OK, calm down,’ I muttered. ‘You and Susan seem to be finding this case highly entertaining.’
‘I always told you to be more spyish,’ said Muddy, turning dials on a homemade oddity he’d constructed out of an old pocket calculator. ‘Haven’t I always told you
to be more spyish?’
‘Detective work is nothing like being a spy,’ I insisted. ‘I am not a spy. You are not a spy.’
‘Sooooo, we’re doing something a spy would do and there’s a spy coming here soon, doing undercover stuff like spies do . . . but we’re not spies.’
‘No. It’s just this one time, OK?’
‘If you say so.’ Muddy grinned. ‘You see this lock-picking gear I’m using?’
‘Yes?’
‘I bet spies use stuff like that.’
‘Oh, get on with it. I wish I’d never told you.’
The time was eight thirty-six p.m. Moss the smuggler could arrive at any moment.
Muddy listened as the machine beside the safe click-bleep-blipped. He switched it off and slung it back into his bag.
‘No good, I’ll try something else.’
The seconds ticked away. I glanced around. The room felt gloomy and cold. I closed my fists to stop my hands shaking. My heart was pattering like a drum roll.
Why did I get myself into this? Exactly how much trouble would we be in if this all went wrong?
CLUNK!
‘Done it!’ cried Muddy. The safe’s door swung open.
My phone warbled. It was Izzy.
‘Get out of there!’ she said. ‘Moss has just passed us. He’ll be at his room in seconds!’
Sitting inside the safe was a little black drawstring bag. Fumbling awkwardly, my pulse beating against the sides of my head, I took the bag and filled it with the diamonds from my pocket.
‘Shall we keep one?’ whispered Muddy.
‘ No! ’
‘Just one?’
‘No!’
I kept glancing at the thin bar of light that showed under the door of the room. We wouldn’t hear Moss approaching, not with those thick carpets everywhere. I slipped the bag back into the
safe and closed it up again.
‘C’mon, move!’
We scurried out of the room, taking care to make sure the door was shut behind us. We walked as calmly as our screaming nerves would allow.
We passed Moss on the stairs. He didn’t give us so much as a second glance. We tried not to stare at him with raw fear in our eyes. He patted his chest and burped quietly to himself.
‘That was close,’ whispered Muddy, as we arrived at reception.
‘The police are on their way,’ said Susan’s mum. Several of Susan’s friends were still in the admin office, keeping guard on Mr Beeks. The rest of us zipped across the
reception area and sat on the wide leather sofas that were next to the leaflet display stand.
We tried to look casual, as if we were simply lounging about without a care in the world. I don’t think we succeeded very well. Most of us were looking around like a bunch of meercats on
red alert. Izzy tried playing a game on her phone and kept dropping it. Muddy had picked up a magazine from the coffee table beside the sofas and was reading it upside down. The magazine was upside
down, I mean, not Muddy.
Minutes passed. Every second felt like a hundred million years. A couple of hotel guests checked in and a couple of hotel guests went out and diners came and went from the restaurant.
Eight fifty p.m. I felt a shock of cold air as the glass entrance door swung open. I turned to see a tall, angular woman crossing the lobby. She had a beautifully sculptured face and long, brown
hair. Her sharply tailored outfit had narrow lapels at the neck and her broad trousers flapped around her high-heeled shoes. She went over to the reception desk.
‘Hello,’ she said to Susan’s mum. ‘I believe I’m expected by a Mr Moss you have staying here? My name is Heather.’
I suddenly noticed that Muddy was
‘Spies!’ he giggled happily. ‘Real spies! Just like I’ve always wanted!’
‘Yeah, OK, calm down,’ I muttered. ‘You and Susan seem to be finding this case highly entertaining.’
‘I always told you to be more spyish,’ said Muddy, turning dials on a homemade oddity he’d constructed out of an old pocket calculator. ‘Haven’t I always told you
to be more spyish?’
‘Detective work is nothing like being a spy,’ I insisted. ‘I am not a spy. You are not a spy.’
‘Sooooo, we’re doing something a spy would do and there’s a spy coming here soon, doing undercover stuff like spies do . . . but we’re not spies.’
‘No. It’s just this one time, OK?’
‘If you say so.’ Muddy grinned. ‘You see this lock-picking gear I’m using?’
‘Yes?’
‘I bet spies use stuff like that.’
‘Oh, get on with it. I wish I’d never told you.’
The time was eight thirty-six p.m. Moss the smuggler could arrive at any moment.
Muddy listened as the machine beside the safe click-bleep-blipped. He switched it off and slung it back into his bag.
‘No good, I’ll try something else.’
The seconds ticked away. I glanced around. The room felt gloomy and cold. I closed my fists to stop my hands shaking. My heart was pattering like a drum roll.
Why did I get myself into this? Exactly how much trouble would we be in if this all went wrong?
CLUNK!
‘Done it!’ cried Muddy. The safe’s door swung open.
My phone warbled. It was Izzy.
‘Get out of there!’ she said. ‘Moss has just passed us. He’ll be at his room in seconds!’
Sitting inside the safe was a little black drawstring bag. Fumbling awkwardly, my pulse beating against the sides of my head, I took the bag and filled it with the diamonds from my pocket.
‘Shall we keep one?’ whispered Muddy.
‘ No! ’
‘Just one?’
‘No!’
I kept glancing at the thin bar of light that showed under the door of the room. We wouldn’t hear Moss approaching, not with those thick carpets everywhere. I slipped the bag back into the
safe and closed it up again.
‘C’mon, move!’
We scurried out of the room, taking care to make sure the door was shut behind us. We walked as calmly as our screaming nerves would allow.
We passed Moss on the stairs. He didn’t give us so much as a second glance. We tried not to stare at him with raw fear in our eyes. He patted his chest and burped quietly to himself.
‘That was close,’ whispered Muddy, as we arrived at reception.
‘The police are on their way,’ said Susan’s mum. Several of Susan’s friends were still in the admin office, keeping guard on Mr Beeks. The rest of us zipped across the
reception area and sat on the wide leather sofas that were next to the leaflet display stand.
We tried to look casual, as if we were simply lounging about without a care in the world. I don’t think we succeeded very well. Most of us were looking around like a bunch of meercats on
red alert. Izzy tried playing a game on her phone and kept dropping it. Muddy had picked up a magazine from the coffee table beside the sofas and was reading it upside down. The magazine was upside
down, I mean, not Muddy.
Minutes passed. Every second felt like a hundred million years. A couple of hotel guests checked in and a couple of hotel guests went out and diners came and went from the restaurant.
Eight fifty p.m. I felt a shock of cold air as the glass entrance door swung open. I turned to see a tall, angular woman crossing the lobby. She had a beautifully sculptured face and long, brown
hair. Her sharply tailored outfit had narrow lapels at the neck and her broad trousers flapped around her high-heeled shoes. She went over to the reception desk.
‘Hello,’ she said to Susan’s mum. ‘I believe I’m expected by a Mr Moss you have staying here? My name is Heather.’
I suddenly noticed that Muddy was
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