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  “And if he doesn’t?” I asked.

  “Well, in all probability, Irene, it will mean that you’ve just seen the murderer,” he concluded grimly.

  I couldn’t breathe for a moment. Sherlock’s breathing was as calm and steady as ever. But his eyes burned like shadowy pits.

  “And he saw all three of us,” I said, finishing Sherlock’s thought.

  Chapter 7

  THE TALKING WARDROBE

  The next day was Friday. I remember that morning perfectly. I got out of bed and looked at my face in the bathroom mirror. I looked like a ghost. I’d spent the whole night tossing and turning, and hadn’t slept a wink.

  “Miss Irene?” Mr. Nelson said, knocking politely on the door. He entered and handed me a towel and a basin of hot water. “Your mother is waiting for you at breakfast.”

  “I’ll be right down,” I lied, keeping my face down so my butler wouldn’t notice my tired eyes.

  He put the bowl on the edge of the marble top and stood looking at me harder than I could stand. “Are you feeling well, Miss Irene?” he asked.

  “I’m very well!” I answered, and then asked him to leave me alone. But I immediately regretted treating him so rudely when I saw that there were rose petals floating in water. A thoughtful touch.

  I quickly washed with the too-hot water to get my blood flowing. I rubbed and rubbed with my towel until my skin was all red. I put on a long, light dress that would cover as much of my skin as possible, and then went down to breakfast.

  “Irene,” my mother said, greeting me. She looked up from the little green leather-bound book she’d been reading for the last few months. “You look awful.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” I answered. “I think it’s the sea air.” She closed her book, annoyed once again at my insolence. I noticed that despite reading this book for months, her bookmark was still in more or less the same place.

  Mr. Nelson timed his entrance to perfection, interrupting our angry silence with a silver tray piled with hotcakes, butter, jam, and a teapot producing wisps of jasmine-scented steam. He served us with his usual courtesy, as if it were a perfectly normal day.

  “What does today have in store for us, Horatio?” my mother asked.

  He held the now-empty tray to his chest like a shield and answered, “There’s a great deal of commotion in town today, ma’am.”

  I stiffened.

  “Commotion?” Mother asked. “Why a commotion?”

  “There has been an unfortunate event,” answered Mr. Nelson.

  My mother’s bell-like laughter rang through the room. “Now really, Horatio! Please don’t be so dramatic! Just tell us what’s going on.”

  “Nothing that would be appropriate to discuss at breakfast, ma’am,” Mr. Nelson said with a little bow.

  Mr. Nelson’s lack of willingness to talk in front of me confirmed my suspicions. Someone had to have found the dead man on the beach. My mother, however, couldn’t have known anything about the reason for Mr. Nelson’s reluctance to talk and thus became annoyed. “Please tell me anyway, Horatio,” she said sternly.

  “On the shore,” said our butler, sighing, “a castaway was found, ma’am. They say he was not from the town.”

  I took a deep breath, thanking Mr. Nelson with all my heart for his vague answer.

  “And why should this create a commotion?” my mother asked him.

  “Because the gentleman in question was dead, ma’am,” Horatio replied flatly, then left the room.

  The discovery of a dead man on the beach was more than enough justification for my mother to send an urgent telegram to my father. She scurried away to do just that.

  * * *

  A little later, I saw Mr. Nelson putting on his bowler hat to go to the post office in town. “Mr. Nelson?” I said. “May I come with you?”

  “Surely, Miss Irene,” he said.

  I thanked him and followed him out the door.

  “So,” I said as we walked along the street, “what did you hear about what’s happening in town?”

  “These things are not appropriate for the ears of a respectable young lady,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Do you think that respectable young ladies are so stupid that they don’t need to know about what’s going on around them?”

  “Not at all,” he answered.

  “So, why don’t you want to tell me?” I asked. “Is it because you think I’m just a girl? Maybe because I’m too young?”

  “One or the other,” he said.

  “Mr. Nelson, it won’t take me long to find out the story on my own, anyway,” I said plainly. “Look around you — it’s the only thing anyone in town is talking about.”

  It was true. Along the streets of Saint-Malo, people were gathered in groups and talking excitedly. Quite often, one would point toward the beach.

  “You can always ask your new friends, Miss Irene,” Mr. Nelson said with a smirk.

  At the post office, there were around thirty people standing around in little groups. Of course they were talking about the discovery on the beach. I didn’t see any threatening hooded figures nearby. But there was one stout gentleman going from one group to the next, asking questions and scribbling in a notebook, most likely notes for an article he was writing for the evening paper.

  “Excuse me, excuse me,” Mr. Horatio Nelson said as he opened up a passage for us leading to the telegram counter. I tried to listen to as many of the conversations as I could, but all I could hear was total confusion.

  “Are you happy now, Miss Adler?” asked Mr. Nelson when he’d finished dictating the telegram. The fact that he’d used my surname meant that he was annoyed by the situation.

  I looked at him. “A crime has been committed,” I said, “but everyone who’s talking about it makes it sound different.”

  “That’s right, Miss Adler,” Mr. Nelson said. “Exactly right. Everyone is talking about it and everyone has their own version of the story. That’s why it’s best to wait until the truth comes to light.”

  As we walked home, I felt strangely empty and troubled by what I’d heard at the post office. My heart had jumped at everything, scared that someone was about to mention that three children had been spotted on the beach, poking at the corpse. Fortunately, no one did.

  Then again, the fact that no one had mentioned seeing us on the beach was a bad thing.

  “Shall I call you down for lunch?” asked Mr. Nelson as I walked up to my room. I can’t remember what I said in response. I was completely lost in my thoughts.

  I lay down on my bed and looked out my window. Suddenly, I heard a voice coming from my wardrobe!

  Chapter 8

  A STRANGE GUEST

  Well, my wardrobe wasn’t talking, as much as it was whispering. And it was whispering my name. “Irene? Irene?”

  My first reaction was to pinch myself. But the whispering was soon followed by a sharp knock on the wood, a rustle of clothes, and someone cursing quietly.

  “Lupin?” I asked, recognizing his voice. I jumped out of bed, walked over to the wardrobe, and yanked open the door.

  Lupin stared back at me. “What are you doing in there?” I asked, feeling rather embarrassed. I remember thinking that this was probably the first time a boy had set foot in my bedroom. It was certainly the first time a boy had been hiding in my wardrobe.

  My blue silk dress was tangled around Lupin’s head. It draped over him like a cloak. “Shh!” he said. “They’ll hear us!” He seemed almost annoyed by the fact that I was surprised. “Sherlock and I are here to check on you.”

  Hearing Lupin calling his friend by that name made me happy, but I didn’t let it show. “But why are you in my wardrobe?!” I snapped.

  “Shh! Don’t you get it?” Lupin said. “We’re checking to see how safe you are!”


  “Safe?” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Safe from what, may I ask?”

  Lupin finally freed himself from my dress, threw it down all crumpled in a corner, and motioned that he wanted me to move so he could climb out of the wardrobe. “We don’t even know who saw us yesterday on the beach,” he explained.

  I didn’t move. He could stay stuck in there — I wanted him to explain himself properly before I let him out. “And that’s a good reason to sneak into my bedroom?” I said.

  “Even a baby could have snuck inside, Irene,” he said, pointing at the unlocked window.

  I looked at the open window with the sun pouring through. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone would try to hurt me. “I always sleep with the window open,” I mumbled.

  “That’s what Sherlock told me,” Lupin said. “That’s why I had to come and see if you were in any danger. And I’m sorry to say it, but the answer is yes.”

  I squinted at Lupin. “Sherlock really said that?” I asked. I’d never told anyone where my room was. How could Sherlock have known? The only possible explanation was that he’d spied on me, which irritated me. But the thought also made me smile. I sat back down on the bed.

  “Sorry I scared you, but I wanted to get away before you realized I was here,” said Lupin. “But then I heard you come back home and I thought it was better to hide.”

  “Was Sherlock snooping around my house trying to find out which room was mine?”

  Lupin just stared at me. “Have I missed something?” I asked, suddenly blushing.

  “Oh, no! I’ll go back the way I came in,” Lupin said, pointing to the window. “I’ve got to go meet William — er, Sherlock — on the walls.”

  “I’m coming with you,” I said. But as I got up off the bed, I realized that I had a snake coiled around my ankle!

  I screamed like a baby. Lupin grabbed the repulsive creature and pulled it off me, throwing it against my bedroom door. But I couldn’t stop screaming.

  Mr. Nelson came running up the stairs before everyone else and threw the door open. He saw me standing on the bed pointing at the poor snake, which was now looking for some corner to escape to. At that point, it was probably much more frightened of me than I was of it.

  But Horatio Nelson wasn’t scared at all. He grabbed the poker from the fireplace. I asked him not to hurt it, so he simply grabbed the snake and set it free in the garden. I felt like that queen who’d mercifully pardoned her attacker. I began to breathe more calmly and, little by little, I settled down.

  “Is he gone?” asked Lupin, peering out.

  I despaired upon realizing I’d just reacted like a spoiled little city girl in front of Lupin. I wanted the ground to open beneath my feet and swallow me up.

  Lupin smiled. “Your eyes sparkle when you’re angry, you know,” he said.

  Before I could decide whether or not that was a compliment, he climbed out through the window with a rustle of ivy leaves.

  Chapter 9

  A DEAD MAN’S SECRET

  The three of us were sitting in our usual spot up on the city walls, just near the statue of the pirate. Sherlock and Lupin were on the wall, their feet dangling in the air. I was more cautious and lay on my stomach with my chin resting on my hands. The uneven stones of the wall pushed into my skin under my clothes.

  I began to wonder why neither Lupin nor Sherlock seemed even a little bit frightened. “Do you think we should be afraid?” I asked.

  “Scared of what?” Lupin asked. He didn’t even mention the snake, while I didn’t say a word about him hiding in my room.

  “We found a dead body on the beach,” I said. “Does this mean there’s a murderer on the loose?”

  “Not necessarily,” Sherlock said. “There could be more than one. Or none. Or maybe he simply died of natural causes.”

  “Natural causes, Sherlock?” asked Lupin. “You saw the state of him. How could he have died of natural causes?”

  Sherlock grunted. “Death is probably the most natural event in our lives,” he said.

  Lupin said, “But the note in his pocket —”

  “The note only said that the sea would wash away his sins,” Sherlock interrupted. “Maybe it really was a suicide note. Maybe it wasn’t. Of course, his pockets were full of rocks, and why would he have put rocks in his pockets unless he was trying to drown himself? Remember, we have no idea who he was. We don’t know the cause of his death. We don’t even know if he had some reason for committing suicide.” Sherlock crossed his thin legs beneath him. “Therefore we don’t have sufficient evidence to be sure he was killed, committed suicide, or died of natural causes.”

  “You’re forgetting about the hooded man,” said Lupin. “The man with the blue cloak. According to Irene, he was watching us.”

  “I really did see him!” I said.

  “I’m sure you’re sure you saw him,” said Sherlock. “But we can’t be as sure as you are.”

  I scowled. “Thanks for your trust, Sherlock.”

  “It’s not a question of trust,” Sherlock said. “I’d say the same thing even if I’d seen him.”

  “The man I saw could have been the murderer,” I insisted.

  “Sorry Irene, but I have my doubts, as well,” said Lupin.

  “Oh, really! Would you care to tell me why?” I asked.

  “Because a murderer would go into hiding,” Sherlock said. “He’d try not to be seen. Even if it was only by three kids like us.”

  “Good point,” I admitted. “I just wish we knew more.”

  “We’re the only ones who have seen that note,” Lupin said. “And we’ve got a clue that no one else has — not even the police! I say that we investigate this ourselves.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked him. “That note was disturbing. You really think we should . . . ?”

  Sherlock shook his head. “Maybe we should just give it to the police.”

  Lupin threw his hands into the air. “Oh, yes, let’s be good little children. We’ll hand the evidence over to the police and go back to playing games. Don’t you want to find out what happened?”

  Sherlock looked at me, then at Lupin. Then he laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Lupin asked.

  “I’m laughing because it all sounds impossible,” Sherlock said. “Dangerous and impossible.”

  “You don’t even want to try?” I asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” Sherlock said. “But think about it. Even with the note, it will be very difficult to find out who the man was, where he lived, and what he was doing here. Not to mention the possible dangers of poking our noses into a potential murder.”

  “Are you scared?” Lupin asked, a grin dancing across his face.

  Sherlock laughed again. “No, not in the least!” he said.

  Lupin relaxed a little. “Now that’s the Sherlock I know! How about you, Irene? What do you think about it?”

  “I think it’s crazy. No one’s talking about anything else in town. I saw a journalist at the post office. And then there’s the police . . .”

  Lupin scowled. “Chief Inspector Flebourg?” he said. “My father says he’s an utter fool! He spends half his day eating and the other half sleeping. He won’t get in our way.”

  “Yes, but what about everyone else?” I asked. “Everyone in town is interested in this case.”

  “Irene is right,” said Sherlock. “The more people who stick their noses into this, the more likely they’ll trample all over the clues.”

  Lupin clapped his hands together rapidly. “Well, then we’d better get moving!”

  “I’m in,” I said. “But where are we going?”

  Sherlock looked at us. Our determination seemed to amuse him. “Where most of the history of this town starts and finishes,” he said, jumping to his feet. “The harbor!”

 
Sherlock and I hurried away. We’d almost reached the path that wound down from the ramparts to the old part of the town before we realized Lupin hadn’t moved an inch.

  “What are you waiting for?” I asked Lupin. “After all that effort put into convincing us, you just stand there like a statue?”

  Lupin stared at us with an enigmatic smile. He seemed to enjoy being mysterious. He certainly enjoyed being irritating.

  “Would you mind telling us what’s going on in that head of yours?” I asked, walking back to him.

  “What if I said that there’s someone who knows who the dead man is?” Lupin said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Simple,” I said. “I’d ask you if you know who this someone is.”

  “Maybe I do,” Lupin answered. He walked up to us, dancing around us like some kind of ridiculous ballerina. “Last night, I couldn’t stop thinking. I kept asking myself who the dead man could be. The question kept going through my head so much that I couldn’t get to sleep. We know from his clothes — the jacket, the cuff links — that he was very well dressed and probably wealthy. People like that don’t go unnoticed around here. But this morning, when everyone started talking about the dead man, the whole town agreed on one thing —”

  “That they’d never seen him before,” I said.

  “Exactly,” said Lupin, snapping his fingers. “Which means he wasn’t from around here. And if he wasn’t from around here, he was either here on vacation or just passing through. So, this morning I went to all the best hotels in town.” Lupin grinned widely. “At the Maritime Hotel they couldn’t tell me anything helpful.” Sherlock looked like he was about to say something, but he remained silent and let Lupin finish. “But at the Hotel de la Paix, I think I found out something.”

  “Ah,” Sherlock said finally.

  “My father’s friend works there,” Lupin added. “I asked him a few questions and discovered that the dead man was staying with them. Apparently he came and went all the time for business.”