Pete wasn’t wrong. It was a long night for Tammy in the guards’ room too.
She sat and stared at the CCTV screen. She had almost eaten her own body weight in crisps. ‘BOR-ing!’ she burped. ‘This makes watching plaster dry look like a carnival.’
Brian didn’t answer. His snout was buried in a book – The Ultimate Art Lovers’ Guide to Great Art. He had bookmarked several pages with little sticky notes. Occasionally he leaned forward and put his eyes right up to the book. At the moment he was staring at the page with a picture of the Mona Fleasa and he was scribbling furiously in a little notepad.
Tammy pointed to the screen. ‘Hey, look – a fly just landed on the camera lens. That’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in two hours!’
Brian didn’t even look up from his notes.
Frozen inside the plaster, Pete could hear Curly softly snoring. He was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea, when suddenly he heard another sound. It came from above – a clunking noise and then the sound of the wind outside.
‘Psst, Curly!’ he whispered. ‘Wake up.’
Curly made a startled snuffling sound inside the statue. ‘Erm, I wasn’t asleep. I was just resting my eyes,’ he lied.
‘Just keep quiet,’ said Pete. ‘Something’s happening.’
More sounds came from above, but because of the plaster Pete couldn’t lift his head and see what was going on.
Suddenly a low voice echoed round the gallery. ‘Just a little to the left.’
Pete instantly recognized the voice – the one on the other end of the line at the handover!
‘OK, Gilbo,’ came a second, squeakier voice.
‘How many times have I told you not to use my name on a job,’ hissed the first.
‘George is sorry, Gilbo!’ The second voice was so squeaky it sounded almost child-like to Pete.
‘Just stop talking and lower me a touch more,’ snarled the one called Gilbo.
The speaker came into Pete’s line of vision – a skinny chimpanzee wearing a bowler hat and a black overcoat. A rope was tied round his waist and Pete guessed that the owner of the second voice – George – was lowering Gilbo into the gallery from the skylight.
The chimpanzee carried a second rope and a harness in his furry hands. Working quickly, he began to strap the harness around Pete and Curly.
After a couple of minutes, Gilbo hissed up to his accomplice. ‘OK, George. Pull!’
The second rope began to stretch taut, the leather straps of the harness tightened, and slowly Pete and Curly began to rise into the air. Pete wondered what sort of technology they were using to winch them up – he couldn’t hear the sound of any machinery.
When they were about halfway up, they swayed in mid-air and Pete got a better view of what was above them. The entire frame of the skylight had been removed, and a single figure filled the gap. George.
It was clear that George didn’t need the help of any gadgets or lifting machinery. He was the biggest gorilla Pete had ever set eyes on. Like his partner, the chimpanzee, George was wearing a bowler hat and black overcoat. The difference was that his hat perched on his huge head like a doll’s, and he looked as if he’d burst out of his XXXL coat if he decided to flex his chest muscles. His gigantic hands hauled on the rope as if the two pigs weighed no more than squirrel monkeys.
George stuck out his bottom lip as he got a better look at the statue. ‘George doesn’t think this one much good,’ he mumbled. ‘Not like the picture of the nice Smiley Lady …’
‘Leave the thinking to me, George!’ snapped Gilbo. ‘You just do the grunt work and give your hazelnut-sized brain a rest.’
In the CCTV security room, Tammy was struggling to keep her eyes open. How many hours could you just sit and look at Pete and Curly pretending to be statues? It didn’t help that Brian was still tutting over his book and scribbling notes.
Suddenly, a blobby shape appeared on the screen.
‘That fly’s back again,’ murmured Tammy sleepily. ‘That’s the third or fourth time now.’
She watched the fly walk forward a little, wave its front legs about in that yucky fly way, then walk forward some more.
‘Hey, that’s what it did last time,’ said Tammy. ‘And the time before that … Wait a minute!’ She sat forward, staring intently at the screen. The fly completed a loop, then flew off. ‘That’s exactly the same! How could that happen, unless …’
Brian looked up from his book. ‘Tammy … There’s something very wrong here.’
‘You’ve got that right!’ cried Tammy. ‘What we’re watching on that screen isn’t live footage! It’s a recording!’ She leapt up. ‘Come on! We’ve got to go and check on Pete and Curly!’
She charged out of the door and Brian could do nothing but follow. When he caught up, Tammy had already reached the Special Exhibition Hall. Everything looked completely normal … except there was no sign whatsoever of Pete and Curly. The statue had disappeared!
‘Now we don’t know who did it, when they did it, or how,’ Tammy said, looking around frantically. ‘This explains why no one saw them steal the Mona Fleasa either.’
‘Tammy, listen, there’s something else I need to tell you!’ said Brian urgently.
‘What?’ asked the mechanic, hunting around the room for clues.
‘It’s probably best if I just show you …’ he replied.
A few minutes later the two pigs were standing outside the art restoration studio, where Pedalbin had taken the Mona Fleasa.
‘Shouldn’t we be looking for Pete and Curly?’ asked Tammy.
‘We don’t even know where to begin,’ said Brian. ‘And this won’t take long. It’s something you need to see.’
The door was locked but that didn’t stop Tammy – she pulled out a hairpin and quickly picked the lock. Inside the studio, there were shelves and shelves of special cleaning fluids. The Mona Fleasa lay face-up on a table.
‘Look at it carefully,’ said Brian. ‘Notice anything odd?’
Tammy frowned. ‘Apart from the purple moustache?’
‘No, in the background … I thought there was something wrong when we first got the painting back, but I couldn’t quite put my trotter on it.’ Brian picked up a magnifying glass and held it over part of the painting. ‘Look here.’
Tammy peered through the lens. ‘It looks like a load of trees and bushes in the background.’
‘Yes,’ cried Brian, ‘but one of those trees shouldn’t be there!’ He waved his book around excitedly. ‘It’s not in the book!’
Tammy blinked. ‘So … someone has painted on top of the world’s most famous picture?’
Brian shook his head. ‘No! I think this isn’t the real Mona Fleasa. It’s a forgery! Whoever did it made a fantastic copy, but they added a new detail!’
‘Why?’ asked Tammy.
‘I think it’s a hidden message. Look at the type of tree …’ Brian pointed at the magnifying glass. ‘It’s a monkey-puzzle tree. Whoever put it there was trying to send a message that there’s a puzzle to work out. If we solve it, it might even help us find Pete and Curly.’
‘Complicated way of sending a message,’ muttered Tammy. ‘Couldn’t they just have texted?’
‘That’s not all!’ Brian moved his magnifying glass to another part of the painting’s background where a distant band of peasants was walking along. ‘Look at this monkey at the front.’
‘The one with the blue guitar?’
‘Yes, but he isn’t supposed to have a guitar!’ cried Brian, holding open the book for Tammy to see. ‘And look at the peasant behind him – she isn’t supposed to have her eyes shut or her hands over her ears!’
Again Tammy checked the book and saw that Brian was right. ‘So what does it mean?’ she asked.
Brian was ready with an answer. ‘I think the fact that the guitar is blue is important,’ he said. ‘There’s a famous painting with a blue guitar – it’s here in this museum! I think someone has painted these clues telling us to look at other paintings in the gallery!’
He rushed towards the door.
‘Let me guess,’ said Tammy. ‘We’re going to play another game of Spot the Difference?’