After almost an hour of wandering the halls, Max was yet to encounter a single soul. He had passed through sitting room after sitting room, each warmed by a crackling fire, and had even happened upon a grand dining room set for at least fifty guests. It was all rather eerie, especially with the faint twang of country music that was drifting from the air vents. Fitz was nowhere to be found either, and Max was beginning to wish he’d gone after his sister.

As for whether this place was actually a hotel, Kensy’s theory was looking more plausible by the second. None of it added up. Max had happened upon a whole room dedicated to one hundred samurai swords (he’d counted them in his head). They were mostly sheathed and hanging on the walls, although there were several on display in a glass case alongside three full suits of samurai armour. If Kensy had been queasy about the weasel upstairs, she was definitely going to hate the billiard room, which, apart from boasting a magnificent full-sized table, played host to a comprehensive collection of antique hunting trophies. Max found them strangely fascinating and utterly repulsive at the same time. He couldn’t help wondering if any of the poor creatures had acquired names during their residency. The Javan rhino over the fireplace looked like a Herbert to him.

Max’s favourite room by far, however, was the library. He loved to read and this one had the most impressive collection he’d ever encountered. He had hesitated for a mere second before scurrying up one of two ladders that ran around the mahogany bookshelves on a well-oiled rail. From this vantage point, he spied works by the world’s greatest authors. Dickens, Shakespeare, Austen and just about every other writer worth their salt lined the shelves.

When Max stumbled upon a copy of Treasure Island, the boy’s mind turned to more sober thoughts. His parents had given him that book on his last birthday. What if something really had happened to them? He jumped to the floor and was about to leave when a particularly colourful cover caught his eye. It was displayed on a little brass stand beside a stripy armchair. Max picked it up and ran his fingers along the embossed title – The Caesar Shift – then thumbed through the first chapter. He loved codes and puzzles, so this was right up his alley. Max flicked back to the title page. Halfway down was a handwritten inscription, except that it too was in code:

Max was keen to crack it and began hunting around for a piece of paper and a pen when there was a loud skirmish outside the room. He quickly returned the book to the stand. Seconds later, two West Highland terriers skittered into the library and danced at the boy’s feet.

‘Hello, where did you come from?’ Max leaned down to give them a pat. He noticed they were wearing identical blue collars, both glittering with diamantes and a shiny name tag. Max peered at the first one. ‘Wellington. That’s cute. And you are?’ He reached for the other tag. ‘Mackintosh.’

Max knelt on the floor as the dogs nuzzled and sniffed and lolled about.

‘Wellie and Mac.’ The boy chuckled to himself. ‘Like gumboots and a raincoat.’

‘Ah, you have a masterful brain, Master Maxim,’ a man said.

Max looked up to find the fellow from the previous night standing before him. Only, this time he wasn’t wearing his dressing-gown and slippers. Instead, the man was immaculately dressed in a black dinner suit with shoes so highly polished Max could see his own reflection in them. The man smiled at him.

‘H-hello,’ Max said, pushing up his spec tacles. He scrambled to his feet. ‘I didn’t mean to snoop about. I was looking for Fitz. Have you seen him? And have you seen my sister? She went for a walk in the garden.’

Running feet thudded in the hallway.

‘That will be Miss Kensington now,’ the man said. He turned towards the door just as the girl ran past.

The sound of her sneakers skidding on the floorboards caused them both to wince, before she doubled back and appeared in the doorway. The girl was quite a sight to behold with her flushed cheeks, muddied jeans and her wild hair speckled with leaves. Max was puzzled to see that his sister had her cardigan tied around her waist on a chilly autumn day.

‘Max!’ Kensy exclaimed breathlessly. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I met this lady with a pet squirrel! And I found a greenhouse with tomatoes that taste like passionfruit. And there were two men who said something about getting rid of bod–’ She stopped abruptly when she realised they had company.

‘Good morning, Miss Kensington,’ the man in the dinner suit said pleasantly. ‘I was just coming to find you and Master Maxim for breakfast. Although, perhaps at this time of the morning, we should call it brunch.’

The man bowed deeply as the girl hurried to her brother’s side. The two dogs had scampered around behind the fellow and were now sitting at attention.

‘How do you know our names?’ Kensy asked, as the thought also formed in Max’s head. He vaguely remembered thinking the same thing last night, when they’d arrived.

The man’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘Forgive me. I am Song, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintances.’ He bowed once more. ‘I am your butler.’

The twins glanced at each other, then turned back to Song.

‘For the hotel, you mean?’ Kensy said, a crease forming on her forehead.

Song grinned. ‘Alexandria is not a hotel, although I can understand how you reached such a conclusion.’

‘So, you’re a servant?’ Max asked. He wondered if they’d somehow travelled back in time.

Kensy scoffed. ‘Isn’t that against the law these days?’

‘I am a butler, Master Maxim, Miss Kensington, not a servant. Confucius says choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life. I can assure you that I have never worked a day in my life,’ Song said with a satisfied nod.

‘What’s he talking about?’ Kensy whispered to her brother. ‘What confusion?’

‘It’s Confucius,’ Max explained. ‘He was an ancient Chinese philosopher, and what Song is saying is that he loves his job, so it doesn’t feel like work to him. That still doesn’t explain whose house this is.’

‘Oh, it’s Cordelia’s,’ Kensy said. ‘The lady with the pet squirrel said so. She flew off in a helicopter a little while ago. Cordelia – not the lady with the pet squirrel.’

At the mention of the woman’s name, the two dogs began to wag their tails.

‘Yes, Dame Spencer is mistress of the estate,’ Song said, nodding. ‘Now, Mr Fitz has had some business to attend to, so if you would be kind enough to accompany me to the conservatory, I have arranged creamy scrambled eggs on toast for you, Miss Kensington, and fried eggs with crispy bacon and a well-cooked tomato for you, Master Maxim.’

The twins exchanged looks of mild alarm. Those dishes were recent favourites which Fitz usually cooked for Sunday breakfast.

‘Well … I am starving,’ Max said. His stomach growled for the umpteenth time that morning.

‘Me too,’ Kensy agreed.

Song bowed again. ‘Then, without further ado, please follow me.’

Kensy was disappointed to see the two dogs trotting off in the opposite direction.

‘I wish he wouldn’t do all that bowing,’ Max said to his sister, as they hurried along the hall. ‘It’s weird.’

‘Is he the guy who was speaking to Fitz last night?’ Kensy whispered, and her brother nodded. ‘So, did you ask him about Mum and Dad?’

Max shook his head, earning a dig in the ribs from Kensy. No doubt she would have something to say to the man very soon.