staring at her. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen someone gape so open-mouthed at anything.
He nudged me in the ribs as ‘Heather’ headed for the stairs and out of sight. ‘Now that’s what I call a spy,’ he breathed. ‘I think I’m in
love.’
A lot happened in the next five minutes. The police arrived. Some of them piled into the admin office to collar Beeks, some of them hurried towards the restaurant to collar Black Suit Man.
‘Heather’ reappeared, frogmarching a handcuffed Moss in front of her.
All three villains (Black Suit Man with gravy stains all down his legs) were escorted out of the hotel, past where I, Muddy, Izzy, Susan and the other girls were still perched on the sofas. The
villains were bundled out into the freezing night air, towards a flashing shimmer of police car lights which glinted off the snow.
As if a switch had been thrown, the girls all started chattering at once. They agreed that this was definitely the best birthday sleepover any of them had ever been to, ever. With a flurry of
‘Bye’s and ‘See ya, guys’s they went up to their room. Susan’s mum stood behind the reception desk with a look on her face which said, ‘Yes, this is definitely
the weirdest evening I’ve ever had, ever’.
Muddy slung his bag of gizmos over his shoulder. ‘Bye, Saxby,’ he said, still a bit awestruck by the memory of Heather, or whatever her real name might have been. ‘An actual
spy. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.’
By now, I was feeling as crumpled and worn out as a pre-owned tissue. I was about to head home myself, when I caught sight of a short figure wrapped in an overcoat, lurking beside the leaflet
stand.
It was Inspector Godalming, he of the whistling false teeth and the birdish walk. I walked across the lobby to him, shaking my head slowly, hand slapped to my forehead.
Remember that one and only vague clue I had to the identity of the mysterious texter? It hadn’t been what he’d said, so much as the fact that he’d said it at all. The
texter had to be someone in the know, someone who had access to the kind of information he’d given me. (And as soon as he’d told me that ‘Heather’ was from MI5,
I’d realised that my initial fears were unfounded and that the texter was one of the good guys after all – the smugglers would have wanted to make sure MI5’s plan went wrong.)
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I said. ‘You sent me those texts.’
‘Yesh, I’m afraid sho, shonny,’ said Inspector Godalming. (We’ll take the badly-fitting dentures as read from now on, otherwise it’s a bit of a spelling nightmare!)
‘I thought you might have known it was me once you saw Sergeant Willis.’
‘Who?’ I said.
‘The man in the black suit?’
‘He was a police officer? Of course! That’s where I’d seen him before! With you. He was there when you arrested Elsa Moreaux. Argh, I should have realised!’ I
thought for a moment. ‘And that’s why you called on me. You knew a police officer was mixed up with Beeks’s scheme to steal the diamonds. So I take it you didn’t know which police officer?’
‘Correct,’ said the Inspector. ‘And that’s one reason I called on you. Beeks has been in trouble before, but there was no way he could have known about the
diamonds unless someone under my command had told him about them. As I had no idea who that was, any enquiries at the police station ran a high risk of alerting the guilty officer to the fact that
they were being investigated and that someone at the hotel had learned of Beeks’s plan.’
‘So who was your source of information inside the hotel?’ I said.
‘The restaurant’s head waiter,’ said the Inspector.
‘Vernon. You know, I barely even considered it was him!’ (Did you? ) ‘But why was it me you contacted? You’ve always gone on about how much you disapprove of
me “interfering in police work”!’
‘Yes, well,’ muttered Inspector Godalming,
He nudged me in the ribs as ‘Heather’ headed for the stairs and out of sight. ‘Now that’s what I call a spy,’ he breathed. ‘I think I’m in
love.’
A lot happened in the next five minutes. The police arrived. Some of them piled into the admin office to collar Beeks, some of them hurried towards the restaurant to collar Black Suit Man.
‘Heather’ reappeared, frogmarching a handcuffed Moss in front of her.
All three villains (Black Suit Man with gravy stains all down his legs) were escorted out of the hotel, past where I, Muddy, Izzy, Susan and the other girls were still perched on the sofas. The
villains were bundled out into the freezing night air, towards a flashing shimmer of police car lights which glinted off the snow.
As if a switch had been thrown, the girls all started chattering at once. They agreed that this was definitely the best birthday sleepover any of them had ever been to, ever. With a flurry of
‘Bye’s and ‘See ya, guys’s they went up to their room. Susan’s mum stood behind the reception desk with a look on her face which said, ‘Yes, this is definitely
the weirdest evening I’ve ever had, ever’.
Muddy slung his bag of gizmos over his shoulder. ‘Bye, Saxby,’ he said, still a bit awestruck by the memory of Heather, or whatever her real name might have been. ‘An actual
spy. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.’
By now, I was feeling as crumpled and worn out as a pre-owned tissue. I was about to head home myself, when I caught sight of a short figure wrapped in an overcoat, lurking beside the leaflet
stand.
It was Inspector Godalming, he of the whistling false teeth and the birdish walk. I walked across the lobby to him, shaking my head slowly, hand slapped to my forehead.
Remember that one and only vague clue I had to the identity of the mysterious texter? It hadn’t been what he’d said, so much as the fact that he’d said it at all. The
texter had to be someone in the know, someone who had access to the kind of information he’d given me. (And as soon as he’d told me that ‘Heather’ was from MI5,
I’d realised that my initial fears were unfounded and that the texter was one of the good guys after all – the smugglers would have wanted to make sure MI5’s plan went wrong.)
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I said. ‘You sent me those texts.’
‘Yesh, I’m afraid sho, shonny,’ said Inspector Godalming. (We’ll take the badly-fitting dentures as read from now on, otherwise it’s a bit of a spelling nightmare!)
‘I thought you might have known it was me once you saw Sergeant Willis.’
‘Who?’ I said.
‘The man in the black suit?’
‘He was a police officer? Of course! That’s where I’d seen him before! With you. He was there when you arrested Elsa Moreaux. Argh, I should have realised!’ I
thought for a moment. ‘And that’s why you called on me. You knew a police officer was mixed up with Beeks’s scheme to steal the diamonds. So I take it you didn’t know which police officer?’
‘Correct,’ said the Inspector. ‘And that’s one reason I called on you. Beeks has been in trouble before, but there was no way he could have known about the
diamonds unless someone under my command had told him about them. As I had no idea who that was, any enquiries at the police station ran a high risk of alerting the guilty officer to the fact that
they were being investigated and that someone at the hotel had learned of Beeks’s plan.’
‘So who was your source of information inside the hotel?’ I said.
‘The restaurant’s head waiter,’ said the Inspector.
‘Vernon. You know, I barely even considered it was him!’ (Did you? ) ‘But why was it me you contacted? You’ve always gone on about how much you disapprove of
me “interfering in police work”!’
‘Yes, well,’ muttered Inspector Godalming,
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