CHAPTER 1

Julian opened his eyes and for a moment wondered where he was. The pink ceiling was momentarily unfamiliar to him, and reminded him of the bedroom of his friend at school, Angus MacTavitt, whose preference for pastel shades of emulsion had got him into trouble with the Prefects on more than one occasion. He remembered one incident when the Head of School, Gussie Pricke, had left his study unlocked, and returned later that day only to find his desk and chair painted a pale shade of lemon yellow. Of course, Angus had been the prime suspect, and had been lined up for a dormitory thrashing that evening, but just before it was about to start, Harry Bentwhistle, Pricke's fag, had come in with the news that the culprit had been apprehended by the school Janitor, Jack Frong, whilst attempting to steal another two-pint tin of lemon-yellow emulsion from the storeroom. It turned out to be none other than Bert Loppit, the blacksmith's son from the nearby village, whom Julian had got to know rather well during the previous term's "hands-on" experience week with horses. He had been told to take the Squire's favourite mount down to the Smithy to be re-shod. As he arrived, Bert had been standing in the doorway of the corrugated-iron lean-to, hands on hips, holding a red hot poker. His first words had been, "I'll bet you give a fine ride," which Julian had mistaken as referring to the horse. Julian smiled and sighed at the memory. It had been an interesting term, and one he wouldn't forget for a long time.

A sudden moan made him turn over and look towards the far side of the bedroom. Now he remembered where he was! It was the spare bedroom of Kirrin Cottage. They were all back at the coast again, and the sound had come from Dick, who was now sitting up in the other bed, rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching under the sheet with the other. "Gosh!" he said, "That was a grand sleep! I really needed it after all that humping yesterday!" Julian sat up and looked at his brother. "I'm not surprised," he said. "There was really no need to carry your own suitcase all the way from the station. You could have put it with the others in the trap that Aunt Fanny sent to meet us." "I know," said Dick. "It's just that there were certain items in my bag that were a bit fragile, and I didn't want to risk them getting broken in the cart." "You should have wrapped them in a pair of socks," said Julian, "and that way they would have been protected. I don't know why you wanted to bring two bottles of gin anyway," he added. "You know that we can always get all the drink we want from Joanna." At the mention of the cook's name, Dick grinned. "Good old Joanna," he said. "I've never known anyone with such a capacity for alcohol consumption." "At least she won't die of that," said Julian. "Not likely," answered Dick. "It'll be kidney failure that'll see her off." "I hope she's not going to be cremated," said Julian. "With all that spirit in her tissue the inferno could carry of half the town!" Dick chuckled. "Come on, let's get dressed and see if the girls are up yet! I'll race you to the bathroom!" Before Julian had got his leg over the side of the bed, Dick was halfway out the door, pyjama bottoms billowing in the wind. Julian paused. Perhaps he'd let Dick go on ahead of him. It might be safer, he decided, to give the air a chance to blow through the bathroom before going in.

Both Anne and George had been awake for hours, and had watched the sun rise outside their window as they talked about all they had been doing since they last met. Anne was fond of her cousin, although she couldn't quite understand why George so liked dressing up as a boy. The shorts and old jersey that George preferred to skirts could be seen as more practical, she agreed, but to go so far as to wear Y-fronts and carry a rolled-up sock in her pocket was beyond her. Anne preferred pretty floral prints and white knee-length socks. Even her blue serge gym slip had caught the admiring glances of the new French Master at her school. Monsieur Rene was tall, slender, and sported a waxed moustache upon his upper lip, which he continually played with during the lessons. Anne's grasp of French technique had improved beyond all recognition over the past 10 weeks, and she was longing to try out some of what she had learned on Julian whose technique was legendary amongst the fourth formers. George was sitting on the edge of the bed tickling Timmy's ears. The dog was loving every minute of her attention, and every now and again his great big pink tongue darted out of his mouth and gave George's bare knees a very wet lick. "It's wonderful to be back here again for the hols," said Anne, moving to the window and gazing out at the blue sea, the waves rolling gently onto the sandy beach below. "I do so miss it when we're away." "So do I," agreed George. "It's not just because it's my home and everything, but this place really has a very special sort of atmosphere to it." "I think that's something to do with Uncle Quentin," said Anne. "The rough-cut old shag he uses is hardly aromatic." "I rather you didn't speak about Mother in that way!" said George, bristling. "She may not be much of a looker any more, but she had a tough time of it before she and Father married." "I didn't mean Aunt Fanny!" cried Anne, going red with embarrassment. "I was talking about the tobacco he uses!" "Oh, that," said George, calming down. "I suppose you're right, though I'm really so used to it now that I don't notice it any more." "How can you not notice it?" cried Anne in amazement. "There are some days when the fug's so thick you can hardly see across the room!" "It's not that often that Daddy really stokes it up like that," said George, defending her father who, although he was very kind and gentle most of the time, was given to sudden outbursts of temper when his work routine was disturbed. He was a scientist who did Top Secret work for the Government either in his laboratory in the basement of the Cottage, or out on Kirrin Island in the bay. Anne looked across to the island which appeared to be floating on the shimmering water. How lucky George was to own such a magical place. Even though they had experienced some strange adventures there in the past, she never thought of it with anything but feelings of fondness. Noises from the hallway outside brought her back from her reverie. Julian and Dick were up at last. Now for some breakfast!

Seated at the kitchen table, its old wooden surface freshly scrubbed by the parlour maid, Alice, the children watched in amazement as plates of food began to appear before them, brought in by Joanna the cook. There was a choice of three different cereals, accompanied by a stone jug of foaming fresh milk delivered not half-an-hour before by Harold, the milkman's youngest son. Not yet six years old, he could already twirl a large churn all the way from the dray to the cottage door without any help, and Joanna always rewarded him with a freshly-baked biscuit and a flash of her ankles. There was a plate of still-warm toast, cut from a loaf which the cook had made that morning, and next to it a slab of home-made butter lay glistening on a plate, its surface already slightly oily in the warm air that came through the open doorway carrying with it with the promise of a hot summer's day to follow. Pots of marmalade from the local Women's Institute jostled for position on the table with dishes of strawberry preserve, rashers of crispy fried back bacon and slices of liver sausage that looked slightly green at the edges. Anne decided to give them a miss. With the energy of a stevedore, Joanna thrust herself up to the table and slammed the old enamel teapot down in the middle. "There you are, my lovelies!" she said. "Get that lot down yer, and you'll be set up fer the day, you will!" Dick smiled and looked across at his brother. Julian's expression was a picture. He had never quite been able to adjust to Joanna's plain and simple home-spun ways, and always felt her to be a rather common sort. He couldn't understand why his uncle and aunt had put up with her for so many years. "Thank you, Joanna," he said, with all the politeness he could muster. "That's very kind of you." The cook rolled her eyes and screamed with laughter. "Ooh you are a card, and no mistake, Master Julian. I do declare you're more grown up every time I see you. But no matter how gentlemanly you get, you always like pulling my leg, don't you!" "Not really," said Julian. "That's Timmy again!" Anne looked across with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. Julian was right. Timmy, who was usually such a sensible dog, had clearly returned to his old habits, and was firmly attached to Joanna's left leg, a look of pure pleasure across his doggy face. "Timmy!" shouted George, pushing back her chair and getting up from the table. "Stop that at once, do you here? Stop it, I say!" Timmy's ears went back and reluctantly he let go of the upright member and swiftly crept under that table. He knew that tone in his mistress's voice, and he decided that he'd better lie low for a while. "Ooh, my!" gasped the cook. "That brings back memories, that do, I'll be blessed!" "We don't want to know," muttered Julian, reaching for the bowl of scrambled egg. "The last time I felt anything like that," continued Joanna, her ample bosom heaving up and down as she gasped for breath, "was when Lord MacCauley and me had a quick 'ow's yer father in the back of a London cab going from Euston to Victoria some ten years ago." "How did you know Lord MacCauley?" asked Anne, innocent of what was coming. "Well, me dearie, me an' him met one evening in Piccadilly when I was makin' me way 'ome from the "Parrot and Feather" where I used to do a turn or two to keep the punters 'appy on a Friday night." "You were a singer?" asked Anne. "No, dearie. Me voice wasn't what you'd call me finest marketable assets, so to speak." Dick chuckled and both Julian and George shot a glance at each other as Anne nearly choked on her first mouthful of Crispy Nuts. "We met when he mistook my room for that of Matilda Thicket, and I wasn't going to let a catch like that get away from me that easy, I can tell yer." Anne suddenly realised where this story was leading, and hastily tried to change the subject. "Do you think it'll rain today, Joanna? You see, we were all wanting to go for a ride on our bicycles, and if it's going to be sunny, perhaps you could put together some sort of packed lunch for us? You know, like you have done before?" But Joanna was now in full flight, and unwilling to be diverted from telling her life history. Few people now asked her about the old days, for all her contacts were either in prison, dead, or held in the isolation ward of the Royal Infirmary just along the coast pending development of new anti-toxins, and all she was left with were the memories. "It was early one Thursday evening, as I remember, that we first set eyes on each other. I was holding the dartboard for a friendly, and he had just wandered in by accident, looking for the "Fig & Ferkin" Wine bar just round the corner. Our eyes met, and I must have dropped my guard for a moment, for the next thing I knew, an arrer had impaled itself in my left shoulder. Well, 'e were marvellous. Without a word he hustled me up the stairs and took care of me! I remember wondering why he had to take off his coat to begin with, but afterwards ... ..."

Joanna was still going strong forty minutes later when the children made their excuses and left the table. They hurried outside and stood in the sunshine looking across the bay. "Gosh!" said Dick. "Doesn't the old bat ever shut up?" "She did go on a bit, I must admit," said George, picking up a stick and throwing it for Timmy to chase. "I don't believe half the things she was saying, anyway," commented Julian, rubbing his legs and looking at the fine fair hair that was beginning to grow on them. "What was all that about the water melon?" asked Anne. "I didn't get that bit at all." "Let's find out bikes." said Julian, quickly. "I'm sure the tyres will need a bit of inflating, and I'm really good at pumping." "Sure you don't mean, pimping, Ju?" asked Dick, moving swiftly out of his brother's reach. "That's if the stories going around the Lower IV^th are anything to go by." "What do you mean, Dick?" asked Anne. "What's pimping?" "Come on, Timmy!" called George, "I'll race you to the bike shed." "That's what they all say," whispered Dick to Julian and then running off. "Come on!" he called. "Let's find the pimps!" And so all the children ran down the garden path to the old wooden shed near the pond where their bikes had been stored since the last holidays.

It took them over an hour to get the vehicles back into proper working order, and both Julian and Dick had worked up a good sweat pumping up the eight tyres, adjusting the brakes and saddles, and giving each a rub down with an oily rag. The handlebars had received a polish as well. The children then pushed the bikes towards the road that led past the cottage and down the hill to Kirrin village. George looked at her watch. It was twenty minutes past ten, and already the sun was very hot. "Let's ride down and get some ice cream." said George. "We could all do with one, and Timmy's absolutely gasping for it, aren't you boy?" Timmy wagged his tail with vigour. He loved ice cream, and the closest he often got to it was licking the spillage from the milk boy's trousers each morning after he'd been rolling the churn. The children mounted and were just about to start when they were stopped in their tracks by a scream that came from inside the cottage. "That's Joanna!" cried George. "Something's happened!" "Let's go and find out," shouted Julian, throwing down the bike. "Come on!" and together the four children ran back to the kitchen door, Timmy galloping along beside them. The door stood open, and cautiously the children went in. Not a sound had come from the cottage after that first, single, drawn-out scream, and looking around the room the children could see no sign of the cook. "Where are Aunt Fanny and Uncle Quentin, George?" asked Dick. "Surely they must have heard that scream as well. Why aren't they here?" "I don't know," said George. "I suspect they're still in their bedroom." "Let's go and check," said Julian, leading the way to the stairs. Moving along the top landing George led the way to her parent's bedroom. Reaching the door she stood stock still and stared in disbelief at the brass handle. Pressing hard behind her the other children peered over her shoulder. "What is it?" asked Anne. "This is serious," said Julian. "There's something very odd going on here. Do you recognise it, Dick?" Julian's brother edged forward to get a closer look. "Good grief!" he exclaimed. "It's the first letter of the Greek alphabet made with a piece of sausage skin! You know what this means, Ju?" "I'm afraid so," said Julian, grasping the handle and pulling away the small piece of offal. "And I don't think that we're going to like what we find inside this room." George gasped. "You don't mean what I think you mean, Julian?" she said, her voice quavering and on the edge of tears. "I'm afraid I do," said her cousin. "It's the sign of Alph!" A small stifled cry escaped from Anne's lips and she felt faint, but in this cramped corridor there was nowhere to fall, so she took hold of her left nipple and gave it a swift twist to bring herself back to full consciousness. Julian turned the knob and pushed, but the old panelled door remained firmly shut. "It's locked!" he cried, and kneeling down he put his eye to the keyhole. "And the keys still in the lock inside!" "Then Mother and Father must still be in there!" said George. "We've got to find out," said Dick. "Give it a bash, Ju!" Julian stood up. "Let me have some room then," and the other children took a few paces backwards as Julian stepped back and then threw himself with all his might against the door. There was a sound of splintering wood and a ripping of trouser material as the door gave way and swung violently back. Julian fell headlong into the room as the others hurried forward. Inside everything was in violent disarray. The wardrobe doors stood open, the contents thrown across the double bed. The drawers of the chest had all been pulled out and turned upside down on the floor. The curtains were hanging by a few clips, and on the mirror, scrawled in Uncle Quentin's red lipstick was a hastily-drawn triangle. But of George's parents there was no sign. The windows were fastened from the inside, and apart from the door, there was no other visible means of exit. Yet somehow Aunt Fanny and Uncle Quentin had disappeared into thin air. Anne blinked back a tear and looked at her elder brother who was getting to his feet, wiping his hands on the counterpane. "I don't know what I've put my hand in," he muttered, "but it's sticky." "What's it all mean, Ju?" she asked, "Where are they?" "I think I know who and what are behind this," said Julian, "but I don't know why. But we're going to find out! We're going to solve this mystery!" "Oh, great," muttered Dick, "another freakin' adventure, when all I wanted to do was lie on the beach and torch my buttocks until they were as brown as a nut." "Come on, " cried his brother, "there's no time to lose!" and turning round, Julian hurried back along the corridor. "Let's get our things together!" he called. "We've a long journey ahead of us, and not much time." He looked back at the others. "Come on, you lot! We're together again with a mystery to solve! It's going to be fun and dangerous, and it's what we were born to do!" George sighed. Like it or not, Julian was right. This was the sort of challenge to which they always managed to rise, and things had gone their way every time. This would be no different. She turned to Anne. "It's going to be a long day," she said. "Make some sandwiches, will you? Tuna and jam for me." "I'll have one of those!" called Dick, "What about you, Julian?" "Potted shrimp and desecrated coconut for me!" came the reply. "Right," aid Anne, pulling a white plastic apron out of the small pocket of her skirt, "I'll get on with it." And as the three siblings moved away, George stood in the doorway of her parent's room momentarily at a loss. Then, shrugging her shoulders she set a determined look on her face and strode off towards the stairs. "It's high summer," she called out, "and the five of us are together again, and at the start of an adventure. It's perfect. What more could we ask for?" Dick thought for a moment as he rummaged through his drawers. "A couple of choirboys?" he mused, as he packed away his spare underpants into his small rucksack, "just to relieve the monotony?"