A Web of Lies, page 5
Wily was standing outside the Sheep residence in New York. Next to him stood Simon Sheep, Sybil Squirrel and Julius Hound.
“I don’t like this, Fox,” said Julius, glaring at Wily. “You know I’m supposed to give the orders round here.”
“But you did,” said Wily. “Don’t you remember – this whole plan was your idea?”
“Was it?” barked Julius. “Hmm. Actually, I suppose it was.”
“You dreamed it up while you were pinned down by the porcupines,” said Wily.
“Hmm, yes. I do remember making a plan,” said Julius.
“Of course you did,” said Wily. “Now, remember your idea about the nine-legged tree spiders helping you to block the exits. Because they can spin webs so fast.”
“Er, yes…” said Julius. “Remind me about that idea again.”
Wily told him how the spiders could help them to catch Maxwell Mirage.
“And remember your idea about waiting out here with Sybil until we’ve flushed Maxwell out,” he added.
“Yes,” barked Julius. “I definitely remember that idea. And then I get my picture in the papers and you scarper.”
Wily nodded. “That’s it. Another triumph for PSSST.”
He winked at Sybil and she grinned back. Then she grabbed Julius by the arm and vanished around the side of the mansion.
“OK, Simon,” said Wily. “Remember what I said. You appear when I whistle. I need him to confess.”
Simon nodded and ducked behind a bush.
Wily pressed a button marked “record” on his phone and then knocked at the door of the Sheep residence. He heard footsteps and Maxwell Mirage – still dressed as Simon – opened the door.
“Hello, Maxwell,” said Wily.
For a few seconds, Maxwell blinked at Wily. Then he burst out laughing. “You worked it out! But you’re too late!” he cackled. “Come in.”
He led Wily into the house.
As they walked along the corridor, Maxwell said to Wily, “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Wily replied. “Or at least missing in the jungle?”
“Nice comeback,” Maxwell replied with a giggle. “Oh, it’s such a shame you’re still alive. I thought I’d managed to rid the world of your irritating crime-fighting skills. I know the poison dart missed its target, but I thought throwing you off the Empire State Building had worked.”
“So it was you – both times? I thought you might have had an assistant.”
“No, the first time I heard you rummaging in Sally’s room – thanks to the bug in the statue’s eye. I was only a block away so I managed to run back quickly. The dart was adapted from a porcupine quill – borrowed from one of my bandit friends.”
“I guessed that bit,” said Wily. “I thought you might have had help throwing me off the balcony though.”
“I realized I’d made a big mistake at the Millionaire’s Ball,” said Maxwell. “I ate peanuts when I was supposed to be allergic to them. I was terrified of being found out and I needed to get rid of you. So over you went.”
Before they entered the drawing room, Maxwell said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be Simon again. As you’ll see, my, ahem ‘grandmother’ is just signing a document, giving everything she owns to me. There’s no point telling her who I really am because she won’t believe you.”
Wily saw an extremely old sheep leaning over a desk, squinting at a large sheet of paper.
He also saw Sally sitting in an armchair flicking through a magazine. She looked up and her eyes met Wily’s. Wily winked at her and put a finger to his lips. Sally nodded.
“I can’t make head nor tail of this, Simon,” said Sheila Sheep. “Why don’t you just sign it for me?”
“I can’t, grandmother, dear,” replied Maxwell. “It has to be you, I’m afraid.”
“Perhaps my lawyer can help,” said Wily, putting two fingers in his mouth and whistling. “I asked him to join us.”
“Oh, did you?” said Maxwell, raising an eyebrow. “And how’s he going to join us if I don’t let him in?”
“Because I have my own key,” said a voice behind them.
Simon Sheep stood in the doorway.
“Simon!” exclaimed Sally, running across to her brother and embracing him.
Sheila Sheep held up her pince-nez glasses to her face. She looked at Simon and Maxwell and Simon again.
“I must be losing my mind,” she whispered.
“Grandmother,” said Sally, “this is Simon. He’s an impostor!” She pointed a finger at Maxwell.
“I understand why you’re confused, Mrs Sheep,” said Wily. “This is Maxwell Mirage, one of the world’s best con artists. His disguise even fooled PSSST. And my face-mapping software. He spent a month in the jungle with the real Simon studying his every movement and gesture. He even stole Simon’s wool to make his disguise foolproof.”
“It didn’t fool me!” spluttered Sally.
Maxwell was standing very still, looking at Sheila and then Wily.
Sheila was muttering to herself and rubbing her eyes.
“Nice to see you again, Gustavo, or Maxwell, or whoever you are,” said Simon, striding across the room and holding out his hand.
“I-I … don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maxwell stammered.
“You know, the thing that really hurts,” said Simon, “is not the fact that you paid the bandits to kidnap me. Or the fact you manipulated my grandmother. It’s that … I really thought you cared about the spiders.”
“Grandmother,” said Maxwell, “it’s me – Simon… This is all some plot to steal your money—”
“Money? What money?” Sheila Sheep said wonderingly. “I don’t have any money, dear.”
“What?” said Maxwell.
There was a sudden silence in the room.
“I’m afraid it’s all spent,” said Sheila. “I’ve got nothing to leave you but debts.”
Maxwell blinked.
“Honestly, it’s true,” Sheila went on. “I had a long phone call with the bank manager only yesterday. He’s going to cancel your credit card. And Sally’s. I don’t know what we’ll do.”
Maxwell stared into space for a second more. Then he sprinted out of the room.
Wily ran after him, pulling out his phone. “Heading for the front door,” he said.
“Covered,” said Julius’s voice.
Maxwell opened the front door and saw a giant spider’s web blocking the exit.
He turned and ran towards the study, opening the window.
“Heading for the side window,” said Wily.
“Covered,” said Sybil’s voice.
Maxwell opened the window and saw another spider’s web.
He tried a few more doors before running upstairs, shoving Wily to one side and leaping off the balcony in the master bedroom.
Wily followed him and looked down into the garden, where Maxwell was tangled up in a giant spider’s web. Julius and Sybil were standing either side of it, taking photos and jotting down details in their notebooks. Maxwell’s disguise had slipped off – he was now unmistakably a goat.
Sybil looked up at Wily. “Solving crime in record time?” she called up to him.
Wily smiled and nodded. He went back downstairs to the drawing room. Sally, Simon and Sheila were all hugging each other.
“Thank you, Mr Fox,” said Sally.
“I can’t believe that villain had me fooled,” said Sheila. “It’s probably time I got new glasses. I’ve had these since 1963.”
“I know I need to pay you,” Sally told Wily, “but my grandmother was telling the truth. She just showed us a letter from the bank. She’s got millions of dollars of debt. We’ll have to sell the house.”
“I may end up moving back into a cave,” Simon said glumly. “To think I dreamed of coming back to New York and setting up a tree-spider sanctuary, where my little friends could spin their amazing webs forever.”
“Don’t worry about paying me right away,” said Wily. “And don’t give up on your dreams just yet.”
He held up a shimmering diamond.
“Wow,” said Sally. “Where did you get that?”
“The Peruvian government had been trying to catch those bandits for years,” Wily said. “They were offering a large reward for any information about the gang’s whereabouts. Simon’s clever treasure trail led me right to their hideout.”
Wily handed the diamond to Simon. “This is your reward,” he said.
Simon and Sally looked staggered.
“We don’t have to sell the house,” whispered Sally.
“I can open my sanctuary,” stammered Simon.
“You marvellous fox!” gasped Sheila, giving Wily a hug. “I wish we could clone you!”
But at the word “clone”, Sally shuddered. “No more doubles, Grandma,” she said.
“Sally’s right,” said Wily with a smile. “I’m afraid that there is now – and there will always be – only ONE Wily Fox.”
It was nine o’clock in the morning and the Wily Fox Detective Agency was open for business. Already there was a long queue of animals waiting outside – sheep, mice, owls, ocelots, ostriches and more.
Inside, Wily was sitting at his desk, polishing his favourite magnifying glass with his bushy tail. He glanced up at the clock, put his magnifying glass in a drawer and pressed a button on the desk.
“Send in the first client, Mrs Mongoose,” he said into a small microphone.
“Certainly, Mr Fox,” replied a crackly voice.
“I hope something good turns up today,” Wily murmured to himself. “If I hear another case of a squirrel who can’t find his nuts, I’ll—”
At that moment, there was a loud scream followed by an enormous…
Wily leaped to his feet and sprinted across the office.
Outside in reception, it was chaos. There was smoke everywhere and animals were scrambling up the walls, leaping out of windows and sprinting down the stairs.
Mrs Mongoose was flapping her arms, shouting, “Please leave the building in an orderly fashion.”
Wily was about to dash downstairs when the smoke parted, the screaming stopped and a slinky silhouette came slowly into the room.
The detective rubbed his eyes and blinked twice. The silhouette became an elegant young poodle with large brown eyes and soft black fur. She had a red beret perched on one side of her head.
“Fireworks can come in very handy,” she purred in a French accent, waving an empty box of bangers. “I hope you don’t mind me – how you say – pushing in,” she added.
Wily gave a half-smile. “No problem. That was quite a neat trick. I might use it myself some time.”
“Dogs like to do tricks,” said the poodle. “Perhaps I will teach you some others. But for now, the show is over.”
She walked through the empty reception, smiling at a surprised-looking Mrs Mongoose, and passed into Wily’s office.
“It’s OK, Mrs Mongoose,” Wily said. “I’ll take it from here.” He sat down at his desk and the poodle started to speak.
“My name is Suzie La Pooch. I own one of the greatest art galleries in Paris. Inside there are some of the most famous paintings in the world. See for yourself…”
“Fascinating, Mademoiselle, but I am a detective, not an art critic,” Wily said, snapping the catalogue shut. “Why should this interest me?”
“Because I have fallen in love with the wrong painting,” said Suzie.
Wily blinked. “OK…”
“Two weeks ago, I bought a painting from a gallery owned by a brown bear from Russia called Dimitri Gottabottomitch. The picture was small, a bit strange-looking, but I LOVED it. A day later, I got a phone call.”
“From who?” Wily asked.
“It was Dimitri. He said the gallery assistant had made a mistake. The painting wasn’t for sale. He wanted it back.”
“So – let me guess – you refused?”
“Of course I did. I’d fallen in love. I offered him more money – ten times what I’d paid – but he kept saying it wasn’t for sale. Then he called me rude names. Well, that did it. Nobody is rude to Suzie La Pooch. I hung up.”
“That’s odd behaviour for a businessman,” Wily muttered. “Refusing ten times the asking price.”
“Yesterday, this arrived,” said Suzie. She handed Wily a note:
Wily looked at the handwriting. Then he smelled the paper. He thought he recognized the scent – there was brown bear, but also something else…
“I must admit, this note unsettled me,” Suzie said. “I closed my gallery to the public. Locked the door. Turned on the alarms. Flew straight to London and came here.”
Wily looked up. “I assume giving the painting back is not an option.”
Suzie shook her head. “First, he is rude. Now, he is making threats. I may be a poodle on the outside, but inside I am pure Rottweiler.”
“And you don’t want to contact the police?”
“What if they take Dimitri’s side? Tell me to give the painting back,” said Suzie. “Besides, police officers are not very clever. I want to keep the painting and I want to know why Dimitri wants it back so badly. It seems that there’s something rather strange behind it all.”
“True,” said Wily. “OK, I’ll take the case. Return to your gallery at once and I’ll follow on. You may have locks and alarms, but Dimitri will have crowbars and drills. We need to make the place a fortress. Then we’ll work out why the painting is so special.”
“Merci, Monsieur Fox,” said Suzie, “I knew I could count on you. See you in Paris this afternoon.”
The poodle picked up her catalogue and walked out.
Wily pressed another button on his desk. The speaker crackled. “Did you get all that, Albert?” he asked.
A squeaky voice replied, “Of course.”
“Good,” said Wily. “I’m on my way down.”
He walked over to a bookcase and pulled out a copy of Fantastic Mr Fox. The bookcase slid across to reveal a fireman’s pole that was at least a mile long.
Wily put on a pair of gloves and thigh pads that were hanging on the wall. Then he leaped on to the pole and started to hurtle downwards. After a couple of minutes, Wily gripped with the thigh pads to slow his pace. He landed with a soft pouf on a crash mat in the middle of an underground laboratory.
“Morning, Albert,” said Wily. “What have you got for me today?”
A small mole with huge glasses emerged from the shadows.
“So, I hear you’re going to Paris…” He yanked a piece of rope that was under his arm, and a curtain whipped aside to reveal a moped.
“This is called a Vespa,” he said. “Everyone there has one. However, yours is slightly different.” The mole pulled a lever on the side of the bike and a gigantic rocket slid out of the back.
“It can fly,” Albert said proudly.
He pulled another lever and a large corkscrew popped out of the front. “And it digs tunnels.”
He pointed at a third lever. “And if you pull that, it turns into a submarine.”
“Wow,” said Wily. “Anything else?”
“Actually, there is,” said Albert. “If you whistle, it will come to you. Within a distance of a hundred metres. And if you tap that screen, you can talk to me at any time.”
Wily smiled. “Does it serve coffee, too?”
“Er, actually, no,” Albert apologized. “I didn’t, er, think about that…”
“I’m only joking, Albert,” said Wily. “It’s brilliant!” He climbed on. “Now, show me how this rocket works. I have to be in Paris by midday.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adam Frost writes children’s books full of jokes, animals, amazing gadgets – and ideally all three! When he was young, his favourite book was Roald Dahl’s Fantastic Mr Fox, so writing about fantastic foxes all day is pretty much his dream job. His previous books include Ralph the Magic Rabbit and Danny Danger and the Cosmic Remote.
www.adam-frost.com
Copyright
STRIPES PUBLISHING
An imprint of Little Tiger Press
1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,
London SW6 6AW
First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2016
Text copyright © Adam Frost, 2016
Illustrations copyright © Emily Fox, 2016
eISBN: 978–1–84715–748–5
The right of Adam Frost and Emily Fox to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
www.littletiger.co.uk
Adam Frost, A Web of Lies
