The House of Puzzles (19 page)

Mr Mantle grinned broadly. ‘As I told you at Oates, the club’s founder, Diamond Jim
Kincaid, was somewhat eccentric. He installed a few surprises in here.’

‘By surprises you mean puzzles?’ Gerald said.

‘Puzzles. Booby traps. Dead ends. All sorts of mischief,’ Mr Mantle said. ‘Nothing
too serious, of course—just a little fun. But it is written in our constitution that
each new member must spend a night here to solve as many puzzles as they can. The
more you solve, the further into the house you get. Some of the puzzles don’t do
anything when you crack them, but others unlock hidden doors, or give clues to other
conundrums. The best anyone has done so far is get to the second floor.’

Gerald blinked. ‘Are you saying that the Billionaires’ Club has been around for almost
two hundred years and no one except Diamond Jim Whatsisface has ever been above the
second floor? What’s up there?’

‘No one knows for sure,’ Mr Mantle said. ‘But it’s every club member’s duty to try
to find out. Wouldn’t you like to be the first?’

‘If it’s that important, why do we only get one night to do it?’ Alex asked.

Mr Mantle picked up his hat and tugged his gloves onto his hands. ‘You don’t become
fabulously wealthy by playing at games all the time,’ he said. ‘This is a pleasant
distraction that might test your lateral thinking skills and tickle your ego, but
it’s hardly going to make your fortune. I will leave you to it. I can’t hang around
here all night.’ Mr Mantle allowed himself a polite laugh. ‘That’s your job.’

He crossed to the lift and consulted his watch. ‘It’s eight o’clock. I’ll be back
at eight in the morning to let you out. I look forward to hearing all about your
adventures.’ He climbed down into the lift and the doors faltered closed. The arrow
indicator tracked him down to the ground floor.

Alex looked at Gerald.

Gerald looked at Alex.

Twelve hours to locate a hidden box, or Professor McElderry was a dead man.

‘So, what’s with the commando gear?’ Gerald said.
‘Is there a paintball arena on
the fourth floor?’

Alex smiled. ‘My father did this night twenty years ago,’ he said. ‘He gave me a
few clues.’

Gerald shrugged. ‘Well, go for your life, champion. Don’t let me stop you storming
the castle. I’ve got my own puzzles to solve.’ Gerald wandered over to the closest
door and tried the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

‘I’ve already tried them,’ Alex said. ‘They’re all locked.’

Gerald grunted, then picked up his pack from the floor. He dropped cross-legged to
the rug and flipped open the bag.

‘What are you doing?’ Alex asked.

‘I told you,’ Gerald said. He pulled out the message from Jeremy Davey. ‘I have my
own mysteries to work on. But if your dad told you how to get started, crack on.’

Alex stared at Gerald, then kicked a boot at the rug. ‘He never got out of this room,’
he muttered. ‘He said I’d have to work it out for myself.’

‘Then what’s with the secret ops gear?’ Gerald asked.

Alex’s face flushed pink. He unzipped a pocket on his left sleeve and pulled out
a chocolate bar. ‘He told me you get hungry after twelve hours of sitting around
doing nothing.’

Gerald looked at Alex in disbelief. ‘All those pockets are full of snacks?’

Alex gave a self-conscious nod. ‘Want a Twix?’

Gerald snuffled out a laugh. ‘You little chocolate
soldier,’ he said, and held out
his hand. Just as Alex tossed the chocolate bar, a telephone rang. The Twix fell
to the rug as Gerald’s eyes darted towards a black bakelite phone on an end table.
It emitted another jangling ring.

Gerald swapped a curious glance with Alex then crossed to the table. He picked up
the handset from the cradle and lifted it to his ear.

‘Hello?’

The line crackled. Then a familiar voice filled his head.

‘Gerald? Excellent—this is Mason Green. Have you solved that code yet?’

Chapter 20

Gerald’s knuckles were white as he clenched the telephone handset.

That voice.

It cut to the marrow.

‘Gerald? I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing. Have you deciphered the code?’
Green demanded.

Gerald’s heart raced. ‘I’ve been trying—’

‘Trying!’ Mason Green shouted the word. ‘Have I not made the stakes clear?’

‘I know,’ Gerald said, his voice pleading. ‘I will do it.’

There was a long pause. When Green spoke again, it was in a tone of deepest displeasure.

‘Is Sergei Baranov’s boy with you?’

Gerald felt like he’d been punched in the chest. ‘How
did you know?’

‘I know, and that’s enough,’ Green said. ‘What the devil does that fool Mantle think
he’s playing at, inviting that bleached weasel along? He’ll ruin everything.’

Alex took a step towards Gerald. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Who’s on the phone?’

Gerald turned his back on him. Green’s voice barked down the line. ‘Don’t tell him!’
Then, quieter, ‘Can he hear me?’

Gerald cupped his hand to the mouthpiece. ‘Only if you keep shouting at me,’ he said.

‘Then listen carefully, Gerald Wilkins.’ Green’s voice dipped to a mortuary whisper
and Gerald had to press the earpiece hard to the side of his head to hear. ‘Sergei
Baranov is a very dangerous man. You don’t make your fortune on the oil fields of
Russia by sending people flowers and baskets of muffins. I suspect he is after the
same thing I am. And with the Baranovs, the apple does not fall far from the tree.
Do you follow me? Unless I am mistaken, young Alex will follow along as you work
your way through the various puzzles. He may even help you. But when you reach the
final piece—the box—he will do all he can to take it from you.’

Sir Mason Green paused to let his words rattle around Gerald’s skull. Gerald glanced
over his shoulder. Alex Baranov stood just metres away, his commando boots planted
wide and looking every inch the Russian assassin. Mason Green whispered again, ‘If
he is anything
like his father, he will not hesitate to kill you for it.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Gerald said into the telephone. Alex was staring right into
his eyes.

Green’s voice rasped in his ear, ‘What you believe, Gerald Wilkins, will get you
killed. Know this: in the field of ruthless pursuit, the Baranovs make me look like
a stamp-collecting schoolboy.’

‘But…but you’re his godfather,’ Gerald whispered.

Green laughed. ‘Then you should understand my character assessment of both Baranovs
is based on detailed personal knowledge,’ he said. ‘Solve the code. Collect the box.
Do that or the professor dies. Horribly. And then, I will come for you.’

A vision of Professor McElderry, stumbling dazed and lost in the Scottish highlands,
flashed through Gerald’s mind. ‘You’ve been here before,’ he said to Green. ‘Tell
me how to get started. All the doors are locked. What do we do?’

Green’s laughter rang hollow. ‘Gerald, on my initiation night I didn’t get out of
the room you’re standing in now.’

And then the line went dead.

Gerald looked at the handpiece like it had just licked his ear.

‘Terrific,’ he said.

He looked at Alex. He had not moved.

‘Who was that?’ Alex asked flatly.

Gerald’s mind raced. How much of what Green had
said about the Baranovs could be
believed?

‘Just a club member,’ Gerald said, avoiding the other boy’s eye. ‘A friend of my
great aunt’s.’ He replaced the receiver in the cradle. ‘Wishing us luck.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘You wouldn’t know him.’

Alex stared hard at Gerald. He was clearly making his own assessments as to what
should be believed. ‘Did he tell you how to get out of this room?’

‘No. He wasn’t any help at all.’ Gerald looked at his watch. ‘We better get going.
You start by the far door and I’ll start over here.’

‘What are we looking for?’

‘Clues.’

‘Like what?’

‘I have no idea.’

Alex marched to a door at the far end of the salon. Gerald turned and crossed to
a set of double doors at the opposite end of the room. He took hold of the brass
handle on each and pulled. They could have been welded shut for the amount they moved.

‘Terrific,’ Gerald muttered.

Hanging on the wall next to the doors was a simple black picture frame, the glass
obscured by grime. Gerald wiped his palm down the front, leaving a smudged view of
the contents.

Beneath the fly spots and the dust was a notice, handwritten in thick black ink.

Know it henceforth that:
no person shall enter
or be given specific
cause to enter these
kept premises without
the approval or consent
herewith required by the
Regent of the club.
In making this ruling,
certain death for whom
ever befouls our Order.
  Regent of the Billionaires’ Club
  of New York, 1830

‘And have a nice day,’ Gerald said. ‘What a cheery welcome.’

Alex loomed over his shoulder. ‘There’s nothing back there,’ he said, jerking his
head towards the far door. ‘What about here?’

‘Locked solid,’ Gerald said. ‘Not even a keyhole.’

Alex nodded at the frame on the wall. ‘What’s that?’

‘The club rules, by the look of it,’ Gerald said.

Alex squinted at the old notice. ‘What’s that even mean?’ he said. ‘
Certain death
for whom ever befouls our Order?
’

Gerald shrugged. ‘I guess they didn’t like visitors.’

Alex yanked on the door handles. The portal stood firm. ‘This is rubbish,’ he said,
aiming a kick at the floor.
‘What are we supposed to do?’

Gerald scanned the room. ‘Maybe there’s a switch behind one of the paintings,’ he
said. He looked back at the notice in its black frame. ‘Or behind this thing.’ He
lifted the bottom of the frame away from the wall. A haze of dust rained on his face,
and he sneezed. And sneezed again. He glared up at the notice as if it was to blame
for their sorry situation.

Then he saw it—seemingly lit up like the shopfronts of Fifth Avenue.

‘Oh my gosh,’ Gerald said. He stared open-mouthed at the sign.

Alex looked at him with suspicion. ‘What?’

Gerald hesitated and turned his face. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing. I thought
I saw something, but I was wrong.’

‘Listen, Gerry.
Gerald
. You must realise that wherever either of us goes in this
house tonight, the other one is going to follow,’ Alex said. ‘So if you can see a
way of getting out of this room don’t hold back. Otherwise we’re both wasting our
time.’

Gerald breathed deep. He knew Alex was right. And time was the one thing that Professor
McElderry did not have to spare.

Gerald pointed to the faded lettering. ‘There. On the notice.’

‘What about it?’

‘Take the first letter of each line and read down.’

Alex read the notice again, his lips moving silently. Then he said, ‘K-n-o-c-k t-h-r-i-c-e?’

Gerald crossed to the double doors. ‘That’s got to
be how we open these,’ he said. ‘We knock three times.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Alex said. ‘That’s too obvious.’

‘All answers are obvious,’ Gerald said, ‘when you know them.’ He swung his pack to
his shoulder and rapped his knuckles on the double door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The hollow sound of the final knock echoed to the ceiling. Then somewhere in the
hidden distance came a buzzing whirr. The shifting of gears. The popping of locks.

And the twin doors opened.

Gerald pushed the doors and they swung inwards with a disconcerting
creeeeaaak
. Beyond
the doorway stood a wrought iron staircase that spiralled up into the darkness.

‘What do you think?’ Gerald said.

‘You opened it,’ Alex said, ‘You go first.’

‘Thanks. I can see you’re going to be a lot of help.’

Gerald pulled on the shoulder straps of his backpack and started to climb. The clang
of his boots on the metal steps rang up the stairwell. He had no idea what he was
doing, but he was pretty sure that the club founders would regard it as befouling
their Order.

Chapter 21

The spiral stairs wound tightly and the light from the reception salon struggled
to penetrate the darkness ahead. By the time Gerald reached the top he could barely
see in front of him. He stumbled onto a landing and stepped down hard, expecting
another step to be there. A second later, Alex thumped into his back.

‘Watch out,’ Gerald said. He spread his hands in front of him, feeling about. ‘I
can’t see a thing.’

There was no apology from Alex. ‘There must be a door or an opening,’ he said. ‘Stairs
don’t lead to nowhere.’

‘Try not to wet yourself, okay?’ Gerald said. Not for the first time that night he
wished that Ruby, Sam and Felicity were with him. If for no other reason, at
least
they had a sense of humour. Gerald’s hands pressed up against a smooth and featureless
wall. He ran his fingers down to where a doorknob ought to be, and they wrapped around
a cold lump of metal.

‘I’ve got something,’ Gerald said. He turned the knob and pushed. The door creaked
open. Out of the darkness, the interior of an enormous chamber lit up in a flash.
A line of crystal chandeliers ignited, one after the other, like a string of Chinese
firecrackers.

From the open doorway, Gerald and Alex stared in slack-jawed wonder at what lay before
them. Flames erupted in an enormous stone fireplace, a bare grate transformed into
a welcoming blaze in seconds. Wall lamps crackled into life. A music box the size
of a barrel organ spouted a plinking version of
Für Elise
. It was as if the room
was waking from a long winter’s hibernation and stretching the cricks from its joints.

The room was twice the size of the ballroom in Gerald’s Chelsea townhouse back in
London and seemed to occupy the entire floor of the building. Wooden display cabinets
and workbenches were laid out in rows, as if in an enormous workshop. At the end
of each bench stood a tall wicker basket, stuffed with rolled-up documents. Gerald
looked upwards to take in the scale of the place. The walls stretched up and kept
on going. A broad mezzanine balcony extended around the walls, home to an enormous
library of books, but there seemed to be no way to get up to it.