Operation Gadgetman! (2 page)

‘Oooh! I'm dying to see what's in it.' Ann fiddled with the clasps on the briefcase. ‘I would have opened it in the street, but knowing my luck everything in it would've decorated the pavement two seconds afterwards.'

Assembly had finished, but Mr Lark hadn't yet appeared to take the class for double geography. Louisa already had her briefcase on her desk, about to open it.

‘Look, everyone! Look what Beans's dad gave us,' Ann preened. ‘Dead-brill spy kits!'

There was a huge crowd around them in seconds. Beans was almost trampled underfoot in the rush.

‘Beans calls her dad “Gadgetman”. That's his job – he invents things, gadgets,' Louisa explained. ‘And he gave us these.'

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

The clasps on the black plastic briefcases sprung back.

‘Oooohhhh!'

‘Look at that . . .'

‘Wow!'

Even though Beans knew what was in the briefcases, she was still excited. Dad would have loved this reaction! She stood up on a chair to peer over everyone else's heads.

‘There's an instruction book here.' Ann picked up the manual on top of everything else in the briefcase and turned a couple of pages. She began to read. “Gadgetman Spy Kit Contents List: Special two-way pencil, torch (batteries not included), mirror, tweezers, magnifying glass, notepad, evidence bags, black-and-white fingerprint powder, fingerprint brush,
TOP SECRET
folder . . .”'

‘Did your dad really make all that?' Stephen turned round to ask Beans.

Beans nodded, her face growing more and more warm. ‘Dad had the idea and he wrote the instruction book. That has things in it like secret codes, masks and disguises, following suspects, the proper way to take fingerprints and all kinds of other stuff. Then Dad sent his idea to a toy company and they put the whole lot together.'

‘What's a . . . a special two-way pencil?' Jessica asked.

‘Half of it is a normal graphite pencil,' Beans explained. ‘The other half has got specially treated wax down the middle. When you write with the wax end it doesn't show up until you do special things to it. It's all in the instruction book.'

‘And are all the spy kits the same?' asked Stephen.

Beans nodded.

‘Can I have one?' Stephen asked eagerly.

‘And me . . .'

‘Me too . . .'

‘I don't know if Dad's got any more,' Beans said quickly.

No way did she want the whole class camping out in her front garden.

‘Mr Conran said the kits are going to be on sale at the end of this month,' Louisa called out over the noise of everyone in the class asking Beans for a spy kit.

‘WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?' Mr Lark's voice boomed out from behind everyone, making them all jump. ‘Beatrice Conran! What are you doing standing on that chair? Would you stand on your chairs at home?' he asked.

Beans opened her mouth to say that she often did, but Mr Lark got in first.

‘No, of course you wouldn't,' he said, answering his own question. By this time everyone else had darted back to their own desks.

‘Louisa, Ann, come to the front of the class – and bring those cases with you,' Mr Lark ordered.

He pulled his glasses down to the end of his nose, the better to scrutinize everyone. Beans couldn't be sure which glinted more, his piggy eyes or his snooker-ball bald patch, which went from the top of his forehead practically all the way back to his nape. She hated geography!

‘It's a spy kit, sir,' Louisa explained.

‘Don't be facetious, child!' Mr Lark snapped.

When he saw what was in the cases Mr Lark said, ‘Right then! These are confiscated until the end of school. And you two will stay behind in detention for an hour this afternoon and write me an essay, entitled “Why I was unwise to bring my toys to school”.'

‘Oh, but sir . . .' Ann began.

‘No buts.' Mr Lark raised a hand. ‘Or you can both stay behind on Monday afternoon as well.'

Ann shut up.

‘But sir, it's Friday,' Beans protested on her friends' behalf. ‘We all had things planned . . .'

‘Then you'll just have to
un
plan them, won't you,' Mr Lark retorted. ‘And as you're so concerned about your friends, Beatrice Conran, you can stay behind with them this afternoon. Your essay will be entitled “Why I should not stand on school chairs”.'

Beans's mouth fell open.

‘I thought you'd appreciate that.' Mr Lark's eyes held a satisfied gleam.

‘We should have just ambled to school and had done with it,' Beans muttered under her breath. ‘We always end up with detention anyway.'

‘Did you say something, Beatrice?' Mr Lark's eyes narrowed.

‘No, sir, nothing,' Beans replied quickly.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Positive, sir,' Beans said innocently.

‘Good! Because I have plenty of other essay titles in my head, you know.'

I don't doubt it, Beans thought sourly, but wisely she said nothing.

Beans, Louisa and Ann walked up the steep hill that led to Beans's house. It was late afternoon. A few cotton-wool clouds were dotted about the sky. Beans wiped her forehead. She'd have a shower later if she was still this hot and sticky.

She glanced across the street. A bearded man, wearing sunglasses, sat behind the wheel of a navy-blue Ford Escort. There was someone beside him, but that person was bending down, picking up something off the floor. Beans couldn't be sure if the person in the passenger seat was a man or a woman. She wouldn't have noticed the driver at all except that he was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and looking directly at her. Beans wondered what the man was doing there. She knew the Escort didn't belong to any of the neighbours.

‘I wonder who he's waiting for?' Beans said to her friends.

‘Who?' Ann asked.

‘Him.' Beans turned to point to the Escort. The driver was looking straight ahead now.

‘Who cares!' Ann said. ‘Beans, you're dead nosy!'

Beans smiled. Ann was right!

They reached Beans's house and walked up the path to her front door.

‘Beans, I can only stay for an hour at the most,' Louisa said.

‘Me too,' said Ann.

Beans sighed and nodded as she opened her front door. It was all Mr Lark's fault! Her friends would only have time for a quick snack. Beans hoped Dad hadn't gone to too much trouble.

‘Gadgetman, we're here!' she yelled, the moment she stepped over the doormat.

Her dad liked it when Beans called him Gadgetman. He said it made him feel like a superhero!

There was no answer.

‘Gadgetman, where are you?' Beans shouted.

Still no answer.

‘He must be in his workroom. Come on, let's go round the side of the house and surprise him,' Beans suggested.

She led the way out of the front door, through the side gate and down the path. The workroom was really a large shed, as tall as it was broad. Once it had been a magnificent, solid structure. These days, although it was still solidly patched, years of explosions and experiments gone wrong had taken their toll. And now there was a huge hole in the roof where there had been none the day before. From the looks of it, the door had taken quite a bashing too.

So much for her dad's new gadget!

Beans pushed at the door which was hanging half off its hinges. They all stepped into the workroom.

‘Oh no! Call the police – you've been burgled!' Louisa exclaimed.

Beans frowned at her, then at Dad's workroom, then back at Louisa. ‘It always looks like this,' she said, annoyed.

Louisa mumbled a small ‘Oh!'

‘Cheek!' Beans grinned. ‘It's not that bad!'

In fact, if anything, Dad blowing it up that morning had made it neater!

The workroom was still – almost eerie in its stillness, with wires and cables and printed circuit boards and light bulbs and switches and batteries and a host of other electronic gadgetry scattered everywhere.

‘That's strange!' Beans mused. ‘It usually takes a crowbar to get Dad out of here. I wonder where he is?'

Back in the house, Beans called for her dad again. There was no answer. They all ambled into the kitchen. Surprisingly, there was no food laid out on the work surface waiting for them. No sandwiches, no plates of biscuits, no bowls of crisps and peanuts. Nothing in the oven. Nothing cooking on the hob. Beans's dad was famous for his yumptious dinners.

Instead of food there was an envelope. The envelope had ‘Beatrice' written on it in her dad's squirly-whirly handwriting.

Instantly, Beans knew that something was wrong. Her dad never,
ever
called her Beatrice. It was always Beans. Beans was sure her dad had actually forgotten her real name. She picked up the envelope and frowned down at it.

‘What's wrong?' Ann asked, noticing her friend's expression.

Beans didn't reply. She tore open the envelope, a deep frown turning down the corners of her mouth. Inside was a single sheet of plain white paper. Beans began to read:

‘Does your dad often go away by himself for days at a time?' Louisa asked, surprised.

Beans shook her head. ‘No, never,' she replied, shocked.

‘Doesn't your dad write dead funny!' Ann said from over Beans's shoulder. ‘There are capital letters in the middle of sentences and he's started sentences with small letters. Miss Brace, our English teacher, would have a fit if she saw that.'

‘Dad has never written me a letter like this one before. And he doesn't even like sausages.' Beans frowned. ‘And he never calls me Beatrice. There's something going on here.'

‘What?' Ann asked, surprised.

‘That's just it,' Beans said. ‘I don't know. But something's wrong. Something's definitely wrong.'

They all trooped into the sitting-room and sat down, Beans between Louisa and Ann. Then they huddled over the letter. There was something there – Beans just knew it. If only she could put her finger on it. Well . . . there was the way the letter was written, for a start. Dad's writing was terrible, but even he knew that you started sentences with a capital letter and you didn't just chuck them in whenever you felt like it . . .

‘That's it! The capitals!' Beans bounced so hard that she almost bounced herself off the sofa.

‘What about them?' Louisa frowned.

‘Someone get a pen and paper out – quick!' Beans directed.

Ann got out the notepad and pencil from her spy kit.

‘I'm going to read out all the capitals Dad's written in this letter, and Ann, you can write them down. OK?' Beans said.

‘Gotcha.' Ann nodded.

‘What are you doing?' Louisa complained. ‘I don't get it.'

‘You would if you'd read the instruction book in your spy kit,' Beans told her. ‘Dad's trying to tell me something. I just know he is. I reckon the capitals are some kind of code. The first set of capitals spell my name – Beatrice. That's not in code, I'm sure. I think that's just to get my attention by using my full yukky name, so put a comma after that and then begin a new line. Right . . . let me see . . . It begins, I-R-L-E-I-A-A-D-I . . .'

Beans glanced over to make sure Ann was writing down all the letters. Louisa moved to sit on the other side of Ann.

‘That doesn't spell anything.' Louisa stared down at what Ann was writing.

‘Of course it doesn't. Not yet,' Beans said. ‘That would be too easy. Where was I?'

She carried on reading out all the other capital letters in her dad's note. It took longer than she thought it would. Beans read them out first and then got Louisa to read them out again as a double-check for Ann.