The French Confection (7 page)

Authors: Anthony Horowitz

BOOK: The French Confection

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“Haven’t you guessed?” I sighed and pulled out the blue sugar sachet that had started the whole thing. It was the sachet Tim had been given at the Gare du Nord. Somehow I’d never quite got round to opening it. I did so now.

There was a spoonful of white powder inside.

“Sugar?” Tim muttered.

“I don’t think so, Tim,” I replied. “This is just one sachet. But Erica Nice was transporting thousands of them every day on the train. A little parcel of drugs. One dose, already weighed and perfectly concealed.” I tore open the packet and held it up. The powder was caught in the wind and snatched away. I watched it go, a brief flurry of white as it skimmed over the handrail and disappeared into the grey water of the English Channel.

“Do you think we ought to tell Moire?” Tim asked.

“I expect he’s worked it out for himself,” I said.

In the distance I could see the white cliffs of Dover looming up. We had only been away for a week but somehow it seemed a lot longer. I was glad to be home.

Tim was still holding the packed lunch that Moire had given us. Now he opened it. The first thing he took out was a strawberry yoghurt.

“Very funny,” I said.

The yoghurt followed the drugs into the channel. Then we went downstairs to order fish and chips.