Outside the shop, just next to Raj’s red Reliant Robin (an old banger he’d named “the Raj Racer”), Ben spotted something strange. There was a postbox on the street. The strange part was that he was sure it hadn’t been there when he’d gone into the shop. Ben quickly dismissed the thought – postboxes don’t just appear in minutes – and started walking home. However, when he turned his back, he was sure the postbox had moved. Ben picked up his pace, and then turned round suddenly. The postbox was following him. Now Ben was running. When he looked back, he saw that the postbox was running too! He was being chased by a galloping postbox!
Looking down, he noticed a pair of highly polished brown brogues sticking out from under the postbox. He’d know those shoes anywhere... It was Mr Parker! The nosy parker was following him!
Ben was not the fastest runner and tended to walk the school cross-country runs, often crossing the finishing line the next day. However, with some extra effort, he found he could just about outrun a pensioner disguised as a postbox. Ben sprinted as fast as he could. He took a shortcut across the park and darted through the playground. It was dark and the park keeper was locking up for the night.
“PARK’S CLOSED!” he shouted after Ben, but the boy just kept running.
The postbox was not far behind.
“AND THAT GOES FOR YOU TOO, POSTBOX!”
“I AM DEEP UNDERCOVER FOR NEIGHBOURHOOD WATCH! DON’T GIVE THE GAME AWAY!” came a shout from inside the cardboard postbox.
Ben leaped over the fence into the playground. The postbox tumbled after him.
BOOF!
In a desperate bid to escape the postbox’s clutches, Ben swung on the swing, slid down a slide and clambered up a climbing frame. Fortunately for Ben, Mr Parker couldn’t see too well out of the slot. The postbox stumbled around in the dark before charging SLAP BANG into the climbing frame.
CLONK!
It fell to the ground.
There Mr Parker rolled around on his back like an upturned beetle, his legs waggling in the air.
“HELP ME, YOU FOOL! HELP!” came the cry from inside. “THIS IS A TOP-SECRET MISSION!”
“Give me a chance, you big red nincompoop!”
With difficulty, the park keeper helped the postbox to its feet. Ben chuckled to himself before making his escape through a hedge.
RUSTLE!
Ben now looked a lot like a hedge. He had twigs and leaves stuck to him. But he kept running.
His legs were racing. His heart was racing. His mind was racing. For all his eccentricities, Mr Parker had been right. The theft of Tutankhamun’s mask did have all the hallmarks of The Black Cat.
A daring robbery from a heavily guarded building.
A heist in the dead of night.
A figure dressed from head to toe in black.
A theft of something super famous and absolutely priceless.
A clue left behind in Scrabble letters.
Plus, and perhaps most importantly, this seemed like a theft done purely for the adventure.
The mask of Tutankhamun was not something that you would ever be able to sell. Who would buy something so famous that everyone in the world knew was stolen? You wouldn’t be able to put it on display or ever sell it on. If you did, you would be arrested and thrown into prison. Forever!
Granny had told Ben that she only stole precious jewels for the thrill of it. She never sold a thing. But Granny had been gone a year, and Ben really had been fixing the toilet last night. If he’d stolen the mask of Tutankhamun, he would have remembered it!
Even so, this didn’t put him in the clear. Mr Parker was convinced Ben was behind it. The boy was terrified that if he didn’t find out who the real culprit was he would end up getting all the blame! Maybe Mr Parker would finally get his wish of seeing Ben behind bars!
Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, Ben saw lights and heard music coming from his house. That meant only one thing. His mum and dad must be rehearsing another ballroom-dancing routine…
THE HORROR! THE HORROR!
Looking back, Ben couldn’t see anyone following him, but to throw Mr Parker off the scent he sneaked down the alleyway and climbed over the wall. Then he made his way across his neighbours’ back gardens, leaping over fences until he reached his. Outside, it was now pitch-black, but, inside, the house was illuminated by a disco ball and flashing coloured lights. The theme music from his parents’ favourite TV show, Strictly Stars Dancing, was playing so loudly the house was shaking.
TA-DA-DA!
Ben pressed his face up against the glass sliding door. He peered into the living room. Mum and Dad were sporting matching ballroom outfits. Mum was in a sequined purple satin floor-length ball gown. Dad was in a matching sequined purple satin tight-fitting shirt and trousers with a cummerbund. They might have been dressed like professional dancers, but the truth was that the Herberts were anything but. All they were good at was hurling each other around the living room.
CRASH!
The armchair was bashed over on to its side.
bang!
The coffee table was overturned.
WALLOP!
The floor lamp ended up upside down.
As Ben looked on in TERROR, his parents began a dance move that seemed destined for DISASTER!
Mum hoisted Dad into the air by his ankles. Then she began spinning him round the living room.
The problem was she was spinning him way too fast!
WHIRR!
Dad was nothing but a BLUR!
And it looked as if Mum, with her impossibly long false nails, might lose her grip at any moment.
Ben banged on the glass door and shouted, “STOP!”
“AAAHHH!” shrieked Mum. She was so startled to see a talking hedge outside in the dark that she accidentally let go of Dad!
SLIP!
“AAAAARRRGH!”
screamed Dad as he flew through the air.
WHOOSH!