louder, as if something was dragging itself across thefloor. Pickle, ears pricked, slowly slunk toward the sound, Wilma tiptoeing behind him. It came from the far end of the map room, where dim recesses hid largely forgotten documents. As he drew close to the darkened alcove, Pickle suddenly gave a deep growl, the hair on his back bristling. Wilma felt her heart thumping in her chest. But she was a detective’s apprentice! And in the Case of the Blown Nose, Mr. Goodman did multiple creepings in darkened circumstances! Ghosts or no ghosts, this could be the golden opportunity she’d been waiting for. Perhaps she and Pickle had caught the ghastly ghoul or frightful fake in the act of scrawling threats! Perhaps they could somehow apprehend it. With a small gulp and steeling her nerves, Wilma clamped her eyes shut and gathered every brave bone in her body, then shot quickly around the corner of the alcove, forcing her eyes open as she did so. She gasped. “Janty! What are you doing here?”
The boy scowled at her from under his heavy curls. “None of your business,” he snapped, picking up the papers that he had just dropped on the floor.
“I thought you were at the Institute for Woeful Children,” continued Wilma, bending down to help him. “You were sent there with Barbu at the end of the Case of the Putrid Poison. I hope it hasn’t been too awful. I know what a terrible place it can be. Hang on a minute,” she added, realizing what they were gathering up from the floor, “these are maps of Blackheart Hoo! What would you be wanting with these?”
Janty snatched the drawings from her hands. “Like I said,” he replied curtly, “keep your nose out. My master and I are here to claim a debt, and we shall be staying until we get it!”
Wilma’s eyes widened. “Barbu D’Anvers is here? At Blackheart Hoo? And what debt?” she added, remembering her earlier conversation with Mr. Goodman.
“Tarquin Blackheart’s,” answered the boy crossly. “My master beat him at cards yesterday and he owes us a lot of money. Not just us, according to the casino. He hasn’t got it, of course, so we’re taking it by other methods.”
“Tarquin gambles and owes lots of money?”pondered Wilma, blinking. “Goodness. That shoves him right up the Likely Suspects list, what with him being desperate and everything. Hang on!” she gasped, the penny dropping. “Other methods? Barbu’s here to find the missing treasure, isn’t he? Of course he is! Finders Keepers means whoever gets to it first has sole claim! And if he finds it he’ll be able to buy back Rascal Rock and carry on his dastardly deeds! Janty, you must stop helping him! Why don’t you give me the plans and help us instead?” She put a warm hand on his arm pleadingly.
Janty paused. For a moment it seemed as if he was about to say something, but then he shook his head vehemently. “You still don’t get it, do you?” He pushed her hand away and shoved past her with the maps in his arms. “I LIKE working for Barbu D’Anvers. I LIKE being bad. Like…like my dad was. But then, I don’t expect you to understand, what with you being a
girl.
”
Wilma’s eyes narrowed as she followed him. “There is nothing wrong with being a girl, Janty. I can do anything and everything that you can. AndI’ll tell you this: I know the difference between right and wrong. The course you’re taking is a path to ruin. No good will come of it.” Pickle grumbled in agreement.
Janty stared back at her one last time. “At least the path to ruin is never dull,” he muttered. “Now leave me alone.”
Wilma watched regretfully as the boy stormed from the library. This was a worrying state of affairs. Not only was Barbu D’Anvers somewhere on the estate, but he was now a serious threat to Mr. Goodman’s investigations, and even worse, Janty had beaten Wilma to the blueprints. If only she had done what she’d been asked to do instead of concentrating on impressing Mr. Goodman,
The boy scowled at her from under his heavy curls. “None of your business,” he snapped, picking up the papers that he had just dropped on the floor.
“I thought you were at the Institute for Woeful Children,” continued Wilma, bending down to help him. “You were sent there with Barbu at the end of the Case of the Putrid Poison. I hope it hasn’t been too awful. I know what a terrible place it can be. Hang on a minute,” she added, realizing what they were gathering up from the floor, “these are maps of Blackheart Hoo! What would you be wanting with these?”
Janty snatched the drawings from her hands. “Like I said,” he replied curtly, “keep your nose out. My master and I are here to claim a debt, and we shall be staying until we get it!”
Wilma’s eyes widened. “Barbu D’Anvers is here? At Blackheart Hoo? And what debt?” she added, remembering her earlier conversation with Mr. Goodman.
“Tarquin Blackheart’s,” answered the boy crossly. “My master beat him at cards yesterday and he owes us a lot of money. Not just us, according to the casino. He hasn’t got it, of course, so we’re taking it by other methods.”
“Tarquin gambles and owes lots of money?”pondered Wilma, blinking. “Goodness. That shoves him right up the Likely Suspects list, what with him being desperate and everything. Hang on!” she gasped, the penny dropping. “Other methods? Barbu’s here to find the missing treasure, isn’t he? Of course he is! Finders Keepers means whoever gets to it first has sole claim! And if he finds it he’ll be able to buy back Rascal Rock and carry on his dastardly deeds! Janty, you must stop helping him! Why don’t you give me the plans and help us instead?” She put a warm hand on his arm pleadingly.
Janty paused. For a moment it seemed as if he was about to say something, but then he shook his head vehemently. “You still don’t get it, do you?” He pushed her hand away and shoved past her with the maps in his arms. “I LIKE working for Barbu D’Anvers. I LIKE being bad. Like…like my dad was. But then, I don’t expect you to understand, what with you being a
girl.
”
Wilma’s eyes narrowed as she followed him. “There is nothing wrong with being a girl, Janty. I can do anything and everything that you can. AndI’ll tell you this: I know the difference between right and wrong. The course you’re taking is a path to ruin. No good will come of it.” Pickle grumbled in agreement.
Janty stared back at her one last time. “At least the path to ruin is never dull,” he muttered. “Now leave me alone.”
Wilma watched regretfully as the boy stormed from the library. This was a worrying state of affairs. Not only was Barbu D’Anvers somewhere on the estate, but he was now a serious threat to Mr. Goodman’s investigations, and even worse, Janty had beaten Wilma to the blueprints. If only she had done what she’d been asked to do instead of concentrating on impressing Mr. Goodman,
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