Read Online Secret of the Skull by Simon Cheshire - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon Cheshire
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want this Beeks character out of the way?
Could they be lying about the whole ‘security forces’ thing and simply want someone to remove a thorn in their side?
What do I do?
Whoever the texter is, he/she already knows who I am and what I do.
If the texter is one of the good guys, then fine. But if they’re one of the bad guys . . . ? Could I end up working for the wrong side? Will I even be able to know WHICH side
I’m working for, unless I identify this texter?
I must be CAREFUL!
C HAPTER
T HREE
A FTER A LOT OF THOUGHT , and a lack of sleep, I decided that the best course of action was to proceed as planned and, er, hope
for the best!
One result of all that thinking was a brilliant idea for how to carry out my investigations without raising suspicion. After all, you don’t see all that many schoolboy detectives wandering
around the average hotel, now, do you? I’d thought of the perfect way in – Susan Lillington.
Susan, who was in the other class in my year group at St Egbert’s School, had not just one parent who worked at the Regal, but two. I remembered her talking about it, ages ago, to my great
friend Isobel ‘Izzy’ Moustique, that Rani of all Research and official Chief Brainbox of St
Egbert’s. (Readers of my earlier case files will know that some of Izzy’s enormous family were also in the hotel trade.)
As I arrived at school the next morning, I hurried over to Susan. Maybe, I thought, she was the mystery texter?
‘Hi Saxby,’ she said, ‘what’s up?’
‘Um, well, that’s just what I was going to ask you,’ I said.
She gave me a blank look. ‘How do you mean?’
‘You’ve not come across any crimes?’ I asked. ‘You’ve not, oooh, I dunno, sent any texts recently?’
She gave me a look as blank as a fresh sheet of A4. ‘What are you talking about?’
The texter really wasn’t her, then!
‘Oh, nothing! I’ve got a favour to ask you.’
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘I’m investigating a case at the moment, and on Saturday evening I need to be at the hotel your parents work at, the Regal. Do you think you could arrange some sort of cover story?
I’m there doing work experience for a school project, that sort of thing?’
She grinned. ‘No need! I’m going to be there on Saturday anyway with some friends. You can come along with us, if you like.’
‘Great!’ I said. ‘Couldn’t be better!’
Her eyes darted around. ‘What’s the case about,
Saxby?’ she whispered. ‘Is it dangerous?’
‘I hope not!’ I cried, going slightly pale. ‘I need to keep an eye on some diamond smugglers.’
‘Smugglers!’ she squealed. ‘Diamonds! Hey, that’s really exciting!’
‘It’s not a game,’ I said, in a serious tone of voice.
She cleared her throat and sloped her fingers into a couple of nice-and-calm gestures. ‘Yes, right.’ She fought back a giggle.
‘See you later,’ I tutted.
I just had time before lessons to have a word with my other great friend, George ‘Muddy’ Whitehouse, that Maharajah of Mechanics and official Top Gadgethead of St Egbert’s.
Half his breakfast was littered down the front of his school uniform.
‘Just the bacon and beans this morning, was it?’ I said. ‘Your mum out of eggs?’
‘Yeah,’ he gasped, shaking his head in amazement. ‘You really are the greatest detective.’
I gave him my phone. ‘Could you take a look at this for me? I got some anonymous texts last night, from a number I didn’t recognise, and I need to find out more about the
sender.’
Muddy turned the phone over a couple of times in his bike-oil-stained hands. ‘Hmm, not going to be easy.’
‘Because the sender would have covered their tracks?’
‘No, because your phone’s such a piece of junk. Something more up to date might capture more metadata, but a basic model like this . . .’ He wrinkled his nose and sniffed.
‘Nah, you’d have to hack too far into the SIM card. I keep telling you, I can upgrade this for
Could they be lying about the whole ‘security forces’ thing and simply want someone to remove a thorn in their side?
What do I do?
Whoever the texter is, he/she already knows who I am and what I do.
If the texter is one of the good guys, then fine. But if they’re one of the bad guys . . . ? Could I end up working for the wrong side? Will I even be able to know WHICH side
I’m working for, unless I identify this texter?
I must be CAREFUL!
C HAPTER
T HREE
A FTER A LOT OF THOUGHT , and a lack of sleep, I decided that the best course of action was to proceed as planned and, er, hope
for the best!
One result of all that thinking was a brilliant idea for how to carry out my investigations without raising suspicion. After all, you don’t see all that many schoolboy detectives wandering
around the average hotel, now, do you? I’d thought of the perfect way in – Susan Lillington.
Susan, who was in the other class in my year group at St Egbert’s School, had not just one parent who worked at the Regal, but two. I remembered her talking about it, ages ago, to my great
friend Isobel ‘Izzy’ Moustique, that Rani of all Research and official Chief Brainbox of St
Egbert’s. (Readers of my earlier case files will know that some of Izzy’s enormous family were also in the hotel trade.)
As I arrived at school the next morning, I hurried over to Susan. Maybe, I thought, she was the mystery texter?
‘Hi Saxby,’ she said, ‘what’s up?’
‘Um, well, that’s just what I was going to ask you,’ I said.
She gave me a blank look. ‘How do you mean?’
‘You’ve not come across any crimes?’ I asked. ‘You’ve not, oooh, I dunno, sent any texts recently?’
She gave me a look as blank as a fresh sheet of A4. ‘What are you talking about?’
The texter really wasn’t her, then!
‘Oh, nothing! I’ve got a favour to ask you.’
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘I’m investigating a case at the moment, and on Saturday evening I need to be at the hotel your parents work at, the Regal. Do you think you could arrange some sort of cover story?
I’m there doing work experience for a school project, that sort of thing?’
She grinned. ‘No need! I’m going to be there on Saturday anyway with some friends. You can come along with us, if you like.’
‘Great!’ I said. ‘Couldn’t be better!’
Her eyes darted around. ‘What’s the case about,
Saxby?’ she whispered. ‘Is it dangerous?’
‘I hope not!’ I cried, going slightly pale. ‘I need to keep an eye on some diamond smugglers.’
‘Smugglers!’ she squealed. ‘Diamonds! Hey, that’s really exciting!’
‘It’s not a game,’ I said, in a serious tone of voice.
She cleared her throat and sloped her fingers into a couple of nice-and-calm gestures. ‘Yes, right.’ She fought back a giggle.
‘See you later,’ I tutted.
I just had time before lessons to have a word with my other great friend, George ‘Muddy’ Whitehouse, that Maharajah of Mechanics and official Top Gadgethead of St Egbert’s.
Half his breakfast was littered down the front of his school uniform.
‘Just the bacon and beans this morning, was it?’ I said. ‘Your mum out of eggs?’
‘Yeah,’ he gasped, shaking his head in amazement. ‘You really are the greatest detective.’
I gave him my phone. ‘Could you take a look at this for me? I got some anonymous texts last night, from a number I didn’t recognise, and I need to find out more about the
sender.’
Muddy turned the phone over a couple of times in his bike-oil-stained hands. ‘Hmm, not going to be easy.’
‘Because the sender would have covered their tracks?’
‘No, because your phone’s such a piece of junk. Something more up to date might capture more metadata, but a basic model like this . . .’ He wrinkled his nose and sniffed.
‘Nah, you’d have to hack too far into the SIM card. I keep telling you, I can upgrade this for
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