As they walked through the dark halls of the museum, Brian muttered the clues under his breath. ‘Bell, House, Hen, Van, Arrow … Arrow, Bell, Van, House, Hen.’
The light in the curator’s office was still on. Tammy and Brian quickened their step, but as they approached, they could hear Pedalbin’s voice through the partly open door.
‘He’s on the phone,’ whispered Tammy.
‘Yes, yes, of course it is a dreadful work of art,’ Pedalbin was saying, ‘but the nitwits of Pig Island consider it to be a masterpiece.’
Tammy and Brian stopped – Pedalbin was talking about the statue of Earos and Porcus. They listened on, as the curator said, ‘Yes, yes, of course, Mrs Van Housen.’
Brian had been about to push the door open, but he stopped. His eyes widened. ‘Did he just say “Van Housen”?’ he whispered to Tammy.
‘VAN Housen? Van HOUSE HEN! The clues in the paintings!’
Tammy wasn’t convinced. ‘Probably just a coincidence,’ she hissed. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t explain the ARROW and the BELL, does it?’
She was reaching out for the door handle when Pedalbin’s voice spoke out again. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll be there soon, Arabelle.’
This time Tammy froze. ‘Arabelle?’ she whispered. ‘ARROW BELL!’
Understanding dawned on both pigs at the same moment. The clues in the paintings were for someone’s name – Arrow, Bell, Van, House, Hen – Arabelle Van Housen! What’s more, it seemed the curator of the art gallery knew her!
The two pigs looked at each other with wide eyes, unsure what to do now. But they made up their minds as soon as they heard Pedalbin’s next words: ‘Don’t worry about the PiPs, Mrs Van Housen. My baboons will deal with them while I come to the mansion.’
Tammy’s eyes widened in shock – Pedalbin was in on it! Slowly the pigs turned and began to tiptoe away, hoping they hadn’t been noticed. If they could just get out of here, they’d be able to radio PiPs HQ and tell Lola everything.
Suddenly they heard the sound of claws on marble. They looked up and saw four of the museum’s fearsome security baboons charging towards them.
‘Got any ideas?’ wailed Tammy.
‘Yes,’ said Brian. ‘Run!’
It wasn’t the medic’s best plan ever, but it was the only option. The pigs pelted in the opposite direction as fast as their trotters could carry them. They could hear the horrible grunts of the baboons behind them.
‘This way!’ shouted Brian, skidding round a corner and into the modern art wing.
Tammy followed him, but the pigs quickly realized something – with the exit closed and no time to pick the lock, this part of the museum was a dead end!
Brian raced to the alarm panel on the wall and elbowed the glass. Immediately, a siren went off and steel shutters dropped down over all the doors and windows with a metallic CLANG!
‘It’s the security system,’ explained Brian. ‘Pedalbin told me that the shutters are on a timelock – they’ll stay down for twenty minutes. After that, the baboons will be able to get in.’
Tammy looked around. ‘Great, Bri – but how are we going to get out?’
Meanwhile, at the mansion of Mrs Van Housen, the ceiling of the booby-trapped room continued to drop lower and lower.
Pete tried shoulder-charging the door they’d just come through, but it was no good. Thinking fast, he picked Curly up, holding the trainee lengthways.
‘Er, what are you doing?’ Curly asked.
‘Using you as a battering-ram,’ said the captain, and he ran at the door.
Curly’s plaster-covered head struck the door hard – THWOCK! – but with no effect. Pete stood Curly back up, and tried to think of another plan. The ceiling was getting nearer and nearer. Pete couldn’t stand upright now. If this continued, the ceiling would splat them like two bugs – gigantic pink ones.
Suddenly, the whirr of the hidden mechanism changed to a whine – the ceiling had reached the top of Curly’s head. It was pressing down with a lot of force, but the cast around Curly’s body was strong enough to withstand it. But who knew for how long? Tiny cracks were already beginning to appear in the plaster.
‘I don’t like this!’ wailed Curly.
‘What’s to like?’ answered Pete, looking around frantically. If only there was something in the room he could pry open the door with. Then he remembered the quiver of arrows over his back! He pulled one out and began to work at the door’s crack with the sharp arrowhead. It took a while, but finally he was able to lever the door open. He could escape, but with Curly stuck in a rock-hard plaster cast and held in place by the force of an entire ceiling pressing down on him, there was no chance to rescue the young pig.
‘There must be an off-switch somewhere outside the room,’ Pete said. ‘I’m going to find it.’
‘What should I do?’ cried Curly.
This was an easy one. ‘You stay here!’ cried Pete, bending down and nipping through the door.
The first thing Tammy tried to do was call PiPs HQ for help.
‘No reception,’ she said angrily. ‘Something must be blocking the signal!’
Brian pointed up at the glass dome in the middle of the ceiling high above them. ‘That’s our exit!’ he said. ‘We just need to find a way to get up there.’
Tammy shook her head. ‘We’ll never be able to reach it.’ But then her eye fell on the art installation with all the bits of wood and rubbish, with a bike on top. She ran over to it.
‘Don’t touch that!’ shouted Brian. ‘That piece is called Eternal Rubbish Skip of Time. It’s a leading example of the Dustbin School of Art.’
‘It’s perfect,’ grinned Tammy.
Brian paused. ‘Really? You like it?’
‘I love it!’ said Tammy. ‘And I REALLY love what it’s going to be!’
She whipped out a spanner and screwdriver from her top pocket. ‘Remember those sketches of flying-machines by Leo Nardo …?’
As the door to the booby-trapped room swung shut behind him, Pete looked around for some sort of control box. All he could see was one panel with lots of buttons, but it was right next to the door at the top of the staircase. Pete raced towards it, taking the steps two at a time.
His bare trotters clacked on the wooden stairs. But then, when he was halfway up, suddenly there was another sound – more of a CLICK than a CLACK!
Pete just had time to murmur, ‘Uh-OH!’ before the stairs flattened out underneath him, turning into a slide. The stairs were booby-trapped too, which hardly seemed fair! Unable to keep his balance, Pete fell forward and started slipping down the slope.
He tumbled down trotters-first, straight through a trapdoor, which had opened up at the bottom of the staircase to reveal a narrow chute. Looking down, Pete caught a glimpse of something at the bottom of the shaft – several sharp somethings, glittering in the dark. Spikes!
This booby-trap was even worse than the one in the room!
However, this particular trap had been designed for someone a bit less … full-figured than Peter Porker. About halfway down the chute he came to a halt. His large tummy was wedged against the sides.
Pete gasped in relief. He knew his gut instinct to eat an extra helping of chips at every meal would pay off someday.
Now all he had to do was climb out of here and rescue Curly before the trainee was squashed flatter than a savoury pancake with ham filling …