Wilma Tenderfoot: The Case of the Fatal Phantom (19 page)

Barbu grabbed the monkey and narrowed his eyes. “So there is. There’s a fly—no…a bee, some squiggles, then a picture of an ear. Interesting. Wonder what it means?”

Wilma had never seen Mr. Goodman so agitated. He was pacing back and forth in front of the Clue Board, hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought. Perhaps, Wilma pondered, he was upset because it was
obvious
now that there was a ghost at Blackheart Hoo and he’d been proved wrong. She would have to tread carefully. Even though she was delighted that her deductions had proved correct, she didn’t want to make her mentor feel foolish.

“Shall I stick some more clues up, Mr. Goodman? It’s been a while since we updated the Clue Board,” she said, reaching for her own notebook and making a few pertinent drawings. “There’s the cherub, the monkey, and our half a map on the treasure front; and the spooky footprints in the snow, latest ghoulish message, talon, and the Phantom’s murder attempts on the ghost hunt, whodunit front. And Bludsten’s diary gives us clues on both fronts—what with the symbols key AND the cursed ramblings. Do you think …” Wilma paused, blinked, and continued, “…that Fenomina’s in danger from
the Fatal Phantom because she’s got powers to get rid of spooks? And Tarquin and Dr. Flatelly because they’re hunting the treasure, like us?” Wilma held up her notebook to show Mr. Goodman her picture. “I’ve given the Fatal Phantom antlers, but that’s only because I can’t draw talons. And Bludsten Blackheart’s ghost—I’ve done him too since he is inside Belinda—probably doesn’t wear a skirt. But still—it’s a two-spook case, after all.”

“Which is something along the lines of what I’ve been thinking, Wilma.” Theodore nodded. “Only now …”

Wilma swallowed.
Did
Mr. Goodman finally believe in spooks? “Really?”

“Yes, really?” Inspector Lemone echoed ner-vously.

“Not the spooks bit. There’s still no
proof
of that! But the rest—though it suddenly seems not quite as clear as I believed. No matter!” Theodore continued, scribbling in his notebook. “It simply means that more digging and evidence are required. Besides, that part of the investigation
will have to wait. Our priority once again is to find that treasure as quickly as possible. If Barbu D’Anvers, or whoever is doing all this, gets hold of it first, then Cooper or the Blackhearts are done for. So, what do we
know
of its whereabouts?”

Wilma screwed her lips sideways. She wasn’t quite sure what Mr. Goodman was talking about. He was displaying classic confusion—up to their eyes in spook clues and he still couldn’t see it. Instead, his mind seemed to be racing hither and thither. “Not much, really. There’s probably a clue on a monkey that we haven’t got. And we
have
got half a map. That’s about it.”

“Let me have another look at that map in Bludsten’s diary please, Wilma.” The young apprentice scooped it from her pinafore pocket and presented it to the great detective. “Yes.” Theodore sighed. “Look here at the corners. Placer markers. That’s where the second part of the map needs to be laid so that the two merge and become the complete picture. Maybe we need to find Barbu and that monkey after all.”

As they headed toward the door, they passed the window, and in the courtyard below Wilma suddenly spotted Victor. Seeing her appear at the window he waved up. Wilma smiled. Hang on! Her churning thoughts suddenly crystallized. She’d seen those map marker arrows before! On the bit of paper Victor had given her at the séance! She stuck her thumbs up in Victor’s direction. She knew he had promised to help her prove herself to Mr. Goodman, but how was it he always knew when she needed him? She reached into the bottom of her pinafore pocket and took out the crumpled ball of paper. She had totally forgotten about it—in fact, she’d barely looked at it. Opening it out, her eyes widened. It was a mass of scribbled lines that made no sense, but in the corners there were four small black arrows. The same black arrows that appeared on the map in Bludsten’s diary! “Mr. Goodman!” she squealed excitedly, grabbing him by the arm. “Victor, the boy who works in the stable, gave me this at the séance!” She was so grateful to him, she couldn’t keep his part in her recent discoveries a secret any
longer. Besides, Mr. Goodman and the Inspector wouldn’t rat him out! “It’s the missing map page from the diary.”

“Stable boy?” quizzed Inspector Lemone now. “Why haven’t I seen him around the place?”

“He’s not supposed to come into the main house. Anyway,” Wilma pressed on, handing the famed detective the crinkled paper, “see what happens if you put that on the secret map!”

Theodore took the paper and began to line up the arrows so that all four matched. “Oh no!” whimpered Inspector Lemone, eyes darting about the room anxiously. “This might be it. We might be about to find the treasure’s location. Don’t let the spook hear us …” He loosened his tie.

“Do we know what we’re going to do when the Fatal Phantom appears?” asked Wilma. “I suspect handcuffs won’t work. We might need a net or an enormous jam jar or a—”

“There,” interrupted Theodore, triumphant. “Just as I thought.” As the great detective held the two pieces of paper together, the map, which had
previously seemed higgledy-piggledy, suddenly made sense. Wilma grinned and pointed. “Oh my goodness! The treasure! There it is!”

All pathways were now complete and the words “It Lies Here” came into sharp relief. From the words, a long thin arrow pointed upward and ended at the picture of a casket with a lock. “It’s buried under the gazebo on the boating lake,” whispered Theodore, getting out his magnifying glass. “And that,” he added, pointing with his pen toward the casket, “looks like the padlock that the mummy’s key is for.”

Suddenly the lights went out, a terrible chill drifted into the room, and there was a strange, spooky creak from behind them. Twisting around, Theodore dashed toward the cupboard the sound had come from and opened the door. But there was nothing there. “Thank goodness,” mumbled Lemone, who was looking over his friend’s shoulder. “Thought it was the Phantom come to get us. Again.”

“It’s worse than that,” Theodore rumbled.

“Really?” worried Lemone as the great and
serious detective poked urgently at the back of the cupboard with a finger.

“Yes. This has a false back. Someone has been eavesdropping and has heard every word we just said. Hang on, where’s Wilma?”

For as the lights came back on it was very clear that Wilma and Pickle were…gone.

There’s a word for this sort of situation. Can you guess what it is? No? Then I’ll tell you. It’s OMINOUS. Go and look it up now in a dictionary and then start quaking.

T
arquin was getting desperate. He had to find that treasure first! If Barbu did have the monkey, then he had to get to him and take it. With all eyes watching him, it had been virtually impossible to get away, but now that Mr. Goodman and his crew were in a case conference, all Tarquin had had to do was wait for his father to slip into his inevitable post-lunch snooze and he could creep away.

As soon as his father had slumped sideways and started snoring, Tarquin had tiptoed from the room. Now he headed quickly toward the main staircase, but before he could reach the grand
descent he stopped. Molly and Polly were standing in the hall, huddled together and whispering. They had something in their hands. Tarquin’s eyes narrowed. “What are you two up to?” he asked, rushing toward them.

“Nothing, Master Blackheart,” answered Polly, hiding the thing behind her back.

“What have you got there?” barked Tarquin, grabbing the girl’s arm.

“Just a casket we were polishing,” interrupted Molly, taking the small locked chest from Polly’s hand and placing it down on the nearby shelf.

Tarquin, wild-eyed, snatched at it. “Probably think the treasure’s in it, don’t you? You’re all after it! Don’t think I don’t know!” He shook it. “Empty. Blast!” Throwing it to the ground, he turned back to Polly. “Where’s D’Anvers?” he asked urgently. “He must be around somewhere.”

“I don’t know, Master Blackheart,” answered the shaken girl. “Though I think I saw him going into the pistol parlor about an hour ago.”

“Out of my way,” yelled Tarquin, pushing past them both. Running down the main staircase and along the narrow twisting corridors, Tarquin
sped past ancient Blackheart portraits of infamous pigs, all of them staring down accusingly.

The pistol parlor was in the north wing, a dark, menacing room used to keep weapons old and new, and that was rarely visited except by Lord Blackheart. “Where are you, D’Anvers?” Tarquin shouted, striding around it frantically. But the room was empty. “Dash it all!” he yelled in frustration. But a sudden movement to his left made him turn just in time to see the door slam shut seemingly of its own accord, an ominous shadow, then something long and pointed flying through the air toward him. It was a spear! Tarquin let out a yell and veered sideways, but he wasn’t quite quick enough and the spear caught the edge of his cheek before thumping into the wall behind him. Tarquin raised a hand to his face and looked at the blood left on his fingers. His eyes, wide with fear, darted around him, but there was no one there. He looked up at the spear vibrating in the wall and stumbled backward toward the door. “I’m not afraid, I tell you!” he screamed. “Not afraid!” But he was. He was
terrified.

Barbu and Janty had been brainstorming for over an hour, but the closest they’d come to an answer was to find something that buzzed and listen to it for…who knows what?

“What can it mean?” pondered Barbu, eyebrows knitted in angry thought. He spun around and threw his cane at Tully’s head as the henchman joined them. “You’d better be able to tell us something useful, with all the spying and sneaking around you’ve been doing.”

Tully blinked as he put his hands to his battered head. “I couldn’t get close to their operations room, Master Barbu, but I did get to listen in when they were in the kitchen—all they were talking about though was a clue of cherries, grubs, and stone cherubs. Didn’t sound very treasure-y to me.”

Janty sat back in his chair and thought. “Hang on! ‘Cherry,’ ‘grub’—say those words together quickly enough and they turn into ‘cherub.’ What if this clue is the same? Yes,” he went on excitedly, jumping up. “Bee and ear—it’s easy. Beer!”

Barbu looked at his young charge. “Well, well,” he jeered. “If I didn’t know you were rotten to the
core, I’d have you down as a detective’s apprentice!”

“What?” sneered Janty. “No way. Like that revolting Wilma Tenderfoot, you mean? Not me. I don’t even like her.”

“Hmm, yes, well. Good work, Janty, though there’s not a moment to lose. We have the advantage over Goodman and speed is of the essence.” Barbu ran to the window and stared out over the Hoo grounds. “There!” he shouted, pointing toward a low wooden structure. “The shed that leads down into the beer cellar.” Barbu looked triumphant. “Let’s go!”

“Can’t see a thing,” complained Barbu, taking the steep steps down into the cellar. “Light that lantern, Janty. Can either of you see anything vaguely TREASUREY?”

“There, master! There’s a small cupboard in the wall behind that beer barrel,” Janty cried, pointing.

Barbu went to reach up, but then retracted his hand swiftly. “I forgot,” he said with a small cough, “I don’t
do
reaching. Tully, get it.”

The hefty henchman lumbered forward and opened the tiny postcard-sized door that was halfway up the wall. Reaching in, he pulled out a strange-looking blackened cube and a charred and crumpled piece of paper. He handed both to Barbu. “The paper’s a map,” Barbu explained, giving it a cursory examination, “although it seems a bit half-baked to my eye. There’re a couple of crosses, some weird lines, and some odd arrows in the corners. Perhaps one of these marks the spot where the treasure’s buried! Besides, there are no more clues, so this must be it. This cube doesn’t seem to do anything,” he added, tossing it aside. “Well, there’s nothing for it—I can make enough out and we shall start digging! By that I mean you, Tully. My hands are far too sensitive. That treasure will be mine by the end of the day!” With a triumphant laugh, Barbu swung about only to find himself face-to-face with Belinda Blackheart.