Crowfield House seemed to thump awake with commotion above them. Tim and Dee ran towards the exit but heard feet already on the stairs.
Someone was coming.
Tim slammed his back against the bookshelf, behind the study door. There was no room for Dee who spun round once, twice, looking for a place to hide. She hit the ground, and rolled under the desk, getting out of sight just as Clarice Crowfield stormed in holding a baseball bat. Her face was half asleep, but her body was wide awake. Long black hair hung down, unusually neat for someone who had been asleep moments ago. Tim stood in the shadow of the door, watching her crouch and pick up a shard of the mug.
‘I know you’re still here,’ she yelled, still with her back to where Tim was hiding. He could see Dee’s panic-stricken face pinned down on the other side of the room. The monkey had burrowed as deep as possible into Tim’s shirt pocket – the tiny heart beating rapidly on his chest.
Clarice looked up to the desk where the mug once was and then stalked towards the window. Like a suspicious dog, she smelled the air. This woman was even worse in the flesh than in Stephen’s memories – seeing her made this whole break-in altogether more real. Too real in fact. Tim guessed that the woman, crazed from head to toe, would have no problems using that bat. He hastily gestured Dee to come out, but she looked behind her at Clarice standing right there, facing away, and frantically shook her head. Then she waved Tim off, silently mouthing for him to run. To go and get help. Maybe she was right, maybe that was his only option.
When Clarice inspected the opening to the secret passage, Tim edged his way around the door, holding his breath until it began to hurt. He saw her thin arm squeeze the bat, then he leant round to look into the hall: the coast was clear. Staying low, he darted out through the front door, leaving it wide open in his haste. He knew this was going to make a noise and could already hear Clarice shouting for Stephen, and the sound of someone tearing down the stairs.
Tim ran as fast as his legs would carry him on to the driveway, skidding to the ground and hiding behind Stephen’s black car. Lying on his front, he perched on his elbows by the back wheel, Phil hanging his furry head out of Tim’s top pocket. From here he could see Clarice – still clutching the weapon – and Stephen coming out, searching.
‘Dee’s still in there,’ Phil whispered.
‘Yeah, I know. We’ve got to go and get help.’ Tim would be returning in good time, with Inspector Kane as support. ‘Soon as they’ve gone back inside, we’ll make a break for it.’
Blinking through the morning sun, Stephen scanned the front drive, sweeping his gaze backwards and forwards across the huge expanse of land surrounding the building. Then he slowly began walking towards the car – towards Tim.
‘Oh no,’ Tim said, looking around for somewhere to go. He crawled further, reaching up to one of the back doors, hoping hard that it was unlocked.
‘Got ya,’ Stephen shouted as he leapt round to the side of the vehicle, but there was no one there. Standing up straight, he sighed.
Tim had got in the car, just in time. On the back seat he lay as still as he could, only a metre away from Stephen, who was searching the bushes nearby. And then, in the footwell, Tim spotted a camera with a telescopic lens and a familiar green cap.
‘Can you see anyone?’ Clarice yelled. ‘Stephen!’
‘No, Mother.’ His voice echoed. ‘I’m going to have a drive around the grounds, see if I can find anything.’
No, no, no, Tim thought to himself, burying his face in his hands.
The driver’s door opened and Stephen climbed in. Curled up in a ball on the back seat, Tim tensed every muscle. If Stephen looked up at the mirror, or behind him, that would be it – game over. But instead he patted his dressing gown’s pocket and then climbed back out. No keys, Tim thought.
Phil clambered up on to the top of the seat. ‘Timothy, we have got to think of something. We have got to figure something out. A solution, better than a jetpack,’ the monkey said. He began literally jumping up and down in panic. ‘He’s coming, Timothy, he’s coming back!’
But Tim was already in the front seat, the imagination box open next to him.
‘What are you doing?’ Phil asked, his voice quivering. ‘Timothy? Have you ever driven before?’
‘I have sat in a go-kart,’ Tim replied as he lowered the handbrake down and looked at the steering wheel in front of him. ‘Once.’ He pushed the key he’d just created into the ignition.
‘So … no then.’
‘I suppose not. Phil, come here. You have to direct me – I can’t see over the dashboard.’
‘This seems to be a dangerous idea.’
‘Yes, it is, but unless you’ve got a better one …’
Tim reached up and adjusted the inside mirror. Stephen was almost upon them.
‘Go!’ Phil yelled as he leapt into the front.
The car rumbled into life and Tim rammed the stick into ‘Drive’, relieved that it was an automatic. Stephen stopped a little behind, seemingly bewildered that it had started – he looked at his own keys and frowned. The vehicle pulled away with spinning wheels – gravel and mud flung up around him.
‘OK, Phil, which way?’ Tim asked.
The monkey was clinging on to the dashboard, inches from the windscreen. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Turn right.’
The car gently swayed left, its wheels getting caught on the grass. It jolted and bounced off the tarmac, slowing dramatically.
‘The other right!’ Phil yelled.
Tim remembered the walk up to the house, he guessed the gate was perhaps three hundred metres away. Getting back on to the road and straightening the tyres, he pushed the accelerator pedal, gently pulled the steering wheel round, feeling the speed increase. Faster and faster. He couldn’t see anything at all – he had to trust the directions.
‘More right,’ the monkey said. ‘Less right. Less right.’
‘So left?’ Tim screamed.
‘No. Less right.’
‘Less right is left!’
‘No, it isn’t.’
Two wheels were on the road, two were on the grass. Again they had slowed, and Stephen grabbed the back door and managed to get it open. Tim looked round, swerving as he did so. Stephen stumbled and lost his grip. They swung up on to the grass and then, without Phil’s directions, he pulled it back towards the long driveway.
‘OK,’ Phil said. ‘Good, now a tiny bit right, then a bit more, then a bit more.’
‘Your directions are confusing,’ Tim shouted. He took his foot off the accelerator and knelt up to look out the windscreen, seeing the curve of the drive all the way down to the large iron gate.
‘Quick,’ Phil yelled.
Tim’s foot slammed on to the pedal as Stephen threw his body at the back of the car, bouncing the suspension, but he slipped and went tumbling over and over on the road. They weaved, picking up more and more speed as they approached the gate – Tim knew he’d have to hit it with quite some force to go through.
‘Left a bit, left a bit,’ Phil said, pointing at their small target. He then began screaming. They sped closer and closer, the revs still lifting.
Tim, eyes shut, grabbed the wheel and braced himself.
They smashed through the gate, sending the cast iron scraping across its roof. Birds erupted from nearby foliage. Bricks and lumps of metal spun in the air as the car screeched on to the road, scattering debris everywhere.
‘We did it,’ Phil yelled.
‘Now where?’
‘Keep going, it’s pretty straight.’
They drove for a while. Tim checked the mirror to see they weren’t being followed. Behind them was the entrance, utterly destroyed, and further back, Crowfield House, still proud on top of the hill. They approached a lay-by and Tim slowly pulled in, with careful directions. They toyed with the idea of driving all the way to the police station but, with adrenaline fading, decided against it.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Tim said. ‘We made it. We made it without crashing. Well, apart from the crash. No accidental crashes though.’
They were still rolling when Phil jumped down on to the seat.
‘Counterfeiting money, burglary, car theft, trespassing … any other crimes you feel like doing today, Timothy?’
‘Hey, I didn’t steal anything from inside the house – take back burglary.’
‘I think it counts, you still broke in.’
‘We broke in Phil. Quite successfully too. And the getaway went well I think.’
‘With my directions and your expertise, we are unstoppable. We should do rally driving.’ Phil said.
‘I know! A very, very successful first drive. Well done, team.’
‘Hang on a second,’ Phil looked over his shoulder, then down at the seat. ‘We are still moving.’
The front wheels hit the mud of the deep ditch at the edge of the road and the bonnet disappeared down, thumping into the dirt.
Tim was flung forward, caught by his seat belt, Phil landed on the cracked windscreen. The imagination box bounced and ended up hanging by a strap off the top of the passenger seat. The car was stuck, almost vertically, in the base of the trench.
‘Handbrake,’ Tim groaned. ‘Well … I’m sure he has insurance. We’ve probably done him a favour.’
They quickly clambered out and ran into the woods as the warm sunrise burst through the trees – long columns of light came between branches, making glitter of the morning dew. But there was no time to appreciate it – they had to head down the hill, into town, to the police station, to tell Inspector Kane what they’d found. And they had to be fast. Dee was still trapped inside the house, completely at the mercy of the Crowfields.