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The manager's office was reached by a door behind the reception desk. It was decorated in the same faded Victorian style as the rest of the hotel, and had, it seemed, been used to store various fragile objects during the building works. Stuffed birds under glass domes glared balefully from every flat surface, sharing the space with overblown porcelain vases. Pictures were stacked against the walls. At the far end of the room was an outsize desk, its vertical surfaces carved to resemble blind arcading. Although the desk had its share of displaced ornaments, some of it still seemed to be used for business. Papers were stacked here and there on it, and Isobel, seated in a similarly grandiose revolving chair, was glancing through these. Samantha, Victoria, Zoë and Gia, on the other hand, were sitting in a huddle before an ancient gas fire, trying to dry their clothes and get some warmth back into their legs. Jamie, who'd met them in the hall, was standing guard at the door. "Any luck?" Samantha asked. "They all seem to be invoices." Isobel glanced through another stack of paper. "Building materials, plumbing, heating, that sort of thing." "Perhaps there's a hidden clue," Gia said. "Perhaps it's a stegotext, and the real information is coded in the distribution of ink. See if Zoë can spot a pattern." Zoë made no answer; she appeared to be dozing, her head on Victoria's shoulder. "What's a stego-thingy when it's at home?" Samantha asked. "A message with another hidden message. You might encode it in the low bits of an image file--" She looked around at the blank faces. "Never mind." "Actually, that's a thought," Isobel said. She picked up a piece of paper, held it to the light at various angles, set it aside, and began to do the same thing with the other papers on the desk. Samantha turned to Jamie. "What about you? Did you see anything?" "They went off in a boat," Jamie said. "Out to sea, so I don't think they came from round here." "What about that motorbike? Where does that fit in?" "Well, that came a wee bit before those men came out of the hotel." "But still after we'd been locked in the cellar," Gia said. "Definitely," Victoria said. "I think it must have been you banging on the pipes that woke me." "That all fits together quite well. These men are snooping round for some reason. They find us, and tie us up. Then one of them goes inland by road, and the remainder go out to sea by boat." "They must have arrived by sea as well," Jamie said. "Otherwise, where did the boat come from?" "By that reasoning, where did the motorbike come from?" "Perhaps they brought it in the boat. Or perhaps it was in one of the sheds here." "So, where does all that--" Samantha began. Zoë's eyes snapped open. "The goldfish!" she gasped. "They're plotting to-- Oh, sorry." "Nightmares again?" Victoria asked sympathetically. Zoë nodded. "I'm definitely not firing on all thrusters tonight." "Now," Isobel said, more to herself than the others. "What have we here?" "I dunno," Samantha said. "What *do* you have there? Because I'm fed up with hanging around with a lot of dead birds. We should be doing something." Isobel held up a sheet of paper. She'd shaded it with a soft pencil, revealing a pattern of pale lines. "It's a map," she said. "This piece of paper must have been underneath whatever they drew it on." The party gathered round her. "Any idea where that is?" Gia asked. "Nope. No names." "I suppose it was for the man on the motorbike," Zoë said. "If he was unfamiliar with the local topography." "You what?" Samantha asked. "She means, if he wasn't from round these parts," Jamie explained. "If he was, he wouldn't need a map." "Well, can't we work it out? Perhaps it's the route from here to where he's going." "Or perhaps it's just a few streets in Tatchester," Isobel said. "You know, you might say 'go to Tatchester and then follow this map'." "Why Tatchester?" "Why not?" "Oh, I give up." "It does sound as if we need more information," Gia said. "Where does that man Henry fit into this?" "He must have let the others in," Victoria said. "The door was open, and it didn't seem to have been forced. I'm sure he was in on this from the beginning. Remember how displeased he was when Mrs Walters said we could stay the night?" "Oh, was he?" Zoë yawned. "I didn't notice." "Idiot," Samantha said casually. "Of course he was. And he'd be the one who locked us in, too." "Then where's he now?" Jamie asked. "And the lady?" "He's probably gone off with the others," Gia said. "Or on that motorbike. As for Mrs Walters... I think we'd better look for her." "Together," Victoria added hastily. "Why?" Samantha asked. "Frightened of what might happen to you on your own?" "Not in the least," Victoria replied, not sounding entirely convincing. "But having gone to considerable trouble to find and rescue you once tonight, I'd rather not have to do it all again." Isobel laughed. "That's us told, then. Come on, let's get started." Outside it might be getting light -- according to Jamie's wristwatch, it was getting on for dawn -- but within the hotel, behind shuttered windows, the night seemed everlasting. Doubtless stung, however lightly, by Victoria's remarks about having to be rescued, Samantha had reclaimed her torch and insisted on taking the lead. It had seemed likely that anything or anyone worth finding would either be in the part of the hotel where the lights were on, or at any rate not far from it. And, sure enough, a little way from the hall, Samantha shone her torch into what looked like a washroom, and discovered a prone, motionless figure on the tiled floor. "Uh-oh," she said, stopping a few steps inside the door. "When I said I didn't wanna hang around with dead birds, I didn't mean this." "Only the feathered variety?" Gia darted past her and knelt beside the fallen housekeeper. "Fortunately for you, she's not dead." "I think it's pretty fortunate for her as well," Isobel said. "She's out cold, though." There was a short pause. "Well, come on, then," Samantha said, glancing meaningfully at Victoria. "Break out the smelling salts." Victoria raised her eyes heavenwards. "Whatever next? Will you demand that I don a crinoline or embroider a cushion? You seem to think that just because I was brought up a century before you--" "Ye mean ye havenae brought any," Jamie said. "No. I don't carry them. The bottles get broken, or they leak, and then when you need them they've all gone and your handbag's ruined." "Salts, comma, smelling," Zoë said dreamily. "Also known as sal volatile, aromatic spirits of ammonia, spirit of hartshorn. Active compound: Ammonium carbonate, Bracket-Bracket-N-H-four-Bracket-two-C..." She shook her head. "Sorry, parsecs away. We should be able to synthesize some from common household materials." Isobel crossed to the sink. "Or we could just splash water in her face." "If there is water. It's supposed to have been deactivated in the central range." "Yes, but it was Henry who said that. And he was trying to get rid of us." "Even if he was lying, I think Samantha's probably cut the water supply off with all that pipe-breaking." "One pipe!" Samantha protested. "I break one pipe and now I'm suddenly the Phantom Plumbing Sabotager for the rest of my life." Isobel turned one tap, then the other. Not a drop of water was forthcoming. "Yes," she said. "You are." "She's coming round," Gia called, from her position beside the housekeeper. "Hello? Mrs Walters? Can you hear me?" "Yes," came the faint reply. There was a flurry of questions. "What happened?" "How are you feeling?" "What's the last thing you remember?" "What about yon fellow Henry?" "Please, everyone, be quiet!" Victoria held up her hands. To her slight surprise, it worked. There was a momentary hush. "Glad somebody's got some manners," Mrs Walters said, sitting up. "Now, what are you young people doing roaming my hotel at dead of night?" "May I?" Gia said. "It's a longish story, and perhaps we should find somewhere more comfortable to tell it. But it involves a criminal gang meeting here." By the time the story had been told, most parts of it several times over, the party were once again sitting round the fire in the manager's office. Mrs Walters, still sounding a little shaky, added her own account, which wasn't much. "I heard young Henry opening the front door," she said. "And I went to see what he was playing at. He was talking to someone. Must have been one of those men you saw later." "Did you hear what was said?" Gia asked. "Only something about being in London before noon. Then I think they must have heard me. Someone grabbed me... I don't know what happened after that." "Some kind of stunner?" Zoë suggested. "No, they'd have used it on us as well." "Chloroform?" said Victoria. "Or ether. Something they'd only brought enough of for one person. They were expecting you, Mrs Walters, but not us." "Why did they come here?" Samantha asked. "Surely there isn't anything valuable here for them to steal." "I'll check the safe," Mrs Walters said. "You'll have to help me up, my dear. I'm still a bit weak. But there's not a lot in it, and I can't see anything else missing." Samantha pulled the housekeeper to her feet. "Who'd want this lot?" "There's got tae be aliens *somewhere* who'd give something for it," Jamie said dubiously. "Maybe there's a kind of creature that eats birds in glass jars. But I reckon these fellows were bringing something, not taking it away." Mrs Walters and Samantha had by now reached a locked cupboard on the office wall. The housekeeper opened this, revealing the door of the safe itself: steel, with a keyhole and a large lever handle. With the aid of another key from her ring, this too was opened. "It's all here," she said. "What there is." "I thought so." Jamie nodded in satisfaction. "I reckon they weren't thieves. They were smugglers." Isobel slapped her forehead. "Of course! They bring whatever it is ashore here, and take it to London by motorbike." She jumped to her feet, crossed to a bookshelf, unearthed a motoring atlas, and opened it on the desk. "Where are we?" Mrs Walters joined her. "Here." "Really?" Isobel laughed. "Jamie, come and look at how far off course you were." "Now look," Jamie said. "Lass or no lass, if you mention that again--" "Here come the empty threats of violence," Zoë said with a grin. "I've had quite enough violence for one night, thank you," Mrs Walters said. "Now if I leave you lot on your own, can I trust you not to get in fights or cause any more floods? I'm not as young as I was and I've not had the best of nights." "Neither have w-" Samantha began. Victoria kicked her in the ankle. "You have our word," Gia said. "I'll make sure everyone's on their best behaviour." "Right, then." The housekeeper walked slowly to the door, and turned to frown at the group. "Don't make things any worse than they are already." "What did you want to kick me for?" Samantha asked, the moment the door had closed. "I was wondering that, too," Zoë said. "As a rule, you're the one who'd start a fight just because she'd been told not to. Victoria isn't usually aggressive." "Probably that scumble she drank at the festival," Isobel said. "It wasn't scumble!" Victoria protested. "It was apple juice!" "Keep back, guys," Samantha said. "Any minute now she'll turn nasty." Victoria pulled the sternest face she could manage. "You're all being very silly. Isobel, are you using that atlas merely to tease Jamie, or did you have a serious point to make?" "Well," Isobel said. "I think, if they are going to London, this map's got to be the route they're taking." She moved the open atlas to the left and placed the shaded paper beside it. "Look. If you avoid major roads, and do this..." She ran her pencil along the the route. "That gets you as far as this village. King's Medford. The map stops there. They must have another one for the rest of it." "Nice going," Samantha said. "So we call the King's Medford police, tell them to arrest two blokes on a motorbike, and that's that. Telephone's in the hall. Come on." "Hang on a moment," Jamie said. He placed his finger on the map. "D'ye mean tae tell me this is the road we should've been on in the first place?" "No, Jamie," Isobel said patiently. "That's a county boundary. Now come along. The mapreading lesson's going to have to wait." She folded the sketch map and tucked it into her belt. Leaving the atlas on the desk, they departed, en masse, for the hall. Samantha picked up the telephone. "Hello?" she said. "Hello? Operator?" She listened, rattled the receiver rest, then hung up. "The line's dead." "They must've cut the wire," Isobel said. "That always happens in crime flicks." Gia nodded. "Logical enough. They wanted to keep us out of things for as long as possible. Where's the next nearest telephone?" "The nearest settlement is at St Margaret's Cove," Zoë said promptly. "About five klicks away." "Five whats?" Isobel asked. "Kilometres." "You and your metric. How long would it take us to get there on foot?" "An hour, at least." Isobel groaned. "Just what I need right now." "Och, it's jist a wee stroll," Jamie said. "Come on. Let's get our boots on and make a start." In the dawn light, they hurried out of the hotel and along the path to where, it turned out, the bridge wasn't any more. Only an irregular line of posts sticking out of the marsh marked the route it had taken. This wasn't just a question of submersion by the tide, either; the walkway had been systematically dismantled. Just beyond the most distant post, it was possible to discern a neat stack of timber that hadn't been there before. The severed telephone cable protruded from the ground nearby. "I suppose we couldn't wade across?" Isobel suggested reluctantly. "I think that would be very dangerous," Victoria said. "That mud looks deep. We could easily get stuck or even drown." She picked up a pebble and threw it out into the marsh; it sank without a trace. "Perhaps when the tide comes in we could swim across, but that won't be for hours." "There's shingle round the other side of the island," Samantha said. "We could start swimming from there..." She tailed off, sounding even more reluctant than Isobel at the prospect. "We'd still have to cross the marsh somehow. That's if we didn't get swept out to sea by the tide." Jamie rubbed his hands. "You can't keep a McCrimmon prisoner. What about a boat?" "They'd hardly have left one for us, would they?" Gia said. "Even if there were any boats here, they'd be locked away in one of those sheds." "Aye, I ken that, but there's lots of wood and stuff in the hotel. We could tie some of it together..." "Oh, there are lots of things we could do," Victoria said distantly. "The problem is time. Every minute we spend building a raft or trying to make a radio from bits and pieces, they're getting further away." Samantha turned to Gia. "I suppose you can't--" "Whip up a quick teleporter? No." "All right," Isobel said. "How do we get out of this one?" There was a longish pause. Then Zoë tentatively raised her hand. "This is a bit risky," she said. "But one of those buildings is a café, isn't it? I think we should all go into it and eat different things." Isobel tapped her on the head. "All right. I know there's a fine line between genius and insanity, but you've just gone straight through it." "I hadn't finished." Zoë shot her an annoyed glance. "This is the clever bit. I dress up as a waitress--" "She's finally snapped," Samantha said. "Look at it this way," Jamie said. "At least we might get a cup of tea and a biscuit out of it. And who knows, maybe someone'll think of a proper plan." The lock on the café door yielded quickly to Victoria's ministrations, and the party made their way inside. Chapter 6: They Can Look You Right In The Face And Still Lie
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