As Alice-Miranda, Sep and Fabien reached the back door of the Ritz, the older lad raced towards the limousine he had arrived in.

A burly security guard intercepted him, shouting in French, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘It’s my limo,’ Fabien replied.

‘Nice try, monsieur, but this limousine is for the designer, Dux LaBelle.’ The man shook his head and eyeballed Fabien.

‘But I . . .’ Fabien began.

‘No! Don’t.’ Alice-Miranda raced up and grabbed the boy’s arm. ‘We’ll find another way. Come on.’

Josiah Plumpton charged out of the back door, puffing like a steam engine. ‘Hold up!’ he called.

Alice-Miranda raced into the laneway with the boys and Mr Plumpton behind. There wasn’t a taxi in sight and as they neared the Rue de Rivoli the traffic was at a standstill.

Alice-Miranda stopped. Sep and Fabien kept up but Mr Plumpton was struggling.

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ called Sep. He pointed at a bank of bicycles.

Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘NO!’ Mr Plumpton wheezed. The children stopped in their tracks. They weren’t used to him being so assertive. ‘Let’s take one of those.’ He pointed at the row of tiny electric cars.

‘Good thinking, sir,’ Alice-Miranda agreed.

Mr Plumpton inserted his credit card into the self-serve podium and within a few seconds he was in the car. Sep and Alice-Miranda squeezed into the back seat and Fabien wedged himself into the front.

A moment later the little car was speeding through the traffic, weaving between the other cars. At one stage Mr Plumpton took to the footpath, dodging pedestrians who were diving out of the way.

‘Look out, sir, it’s a one-way street,’ shouted Sep. He held his breath as the teacher sped down the cobbled lane.

From a side street a police siren began to wail.

‘Oh my goodness!’ the Science teacher said. ‘Perhaps we should pull over and let the police go past.’

‘I don’t think so, sir. It’s us they’re after.’ Sep looked around and saw the policeman shaking his fist.

‘Oh, oh, but I’ve never been in trouble in my life!’ Mr Plumpton looked as if he was about to pass out.

‘It’s just up there, around the corner.’ Fabien pointed at a laneway that ran off the main road. The trouble was, Mr Plumpton had to negotiate four lanes of traffic from one side to the other. The teacher wove the little car in and out of the passing vehicles. Only once did Sep close his eyes, quite sure they were about to end up in the back of a garbage truck.

Alice-Miranda looked at her teacher in shock and admiration. ‘Where did you learn to drive like that?’

‘I once took an advanced driver course, just for fun,’ Mr Plumpton replied. ‘I never realised it would come in so handy.’ He skidded the car to a halt outside l’Hôtel Lulu, with the police car, its siren wailing, right behind him. The officer leapt from the vehicle and was stunned when the stout little man and three children emerged from the tiny car.

Fabien was the first to speak. ‘Please, I can explain everything.’ He launched into rapid French.

After some questions and snorts of disbelief, the police officer shooed Fabien away and turned to Mr Plumpton.

Fabien raced to the front door of the townhouse. He tried the handle but it was locked. He rang the bell and waited for his mother to come but she didn’t.

The policeman was busy trying to work out what to do with Mr Plumpton. At least the Science teacher had a reasonable grasp of French and was doing his best to explain what was going on.

Alice-Miranda scurried down the stairs to the basement door. She was surprised to find it ajar. ‘Sep, Fabien, come here,’ she called. ‘The door’s open.’

Alice-Miranda pushed her way inside with the two boys close behind her. The first room was empty. Not a scrap of material anywhere. The doors leading off the room were open, except for one.

‘Have a look in there.’ She pointed towards one of the open doors. Fabien raced ahead and emerged shaking his head.

‘Everything is gone,’ he said.

Alice-Miranda put her finger to her lips. ‘Shh. Can you hear something?’

‘It’s coming from in there.’ Sep pointed at the closed door.

Alice-Miranda tried the handle. It was locked. Fabien looked around for a key but found none.

‘Stand back,’ he instructed, before kicking the door with all his might. It sprang open. ‘Mama!’ Fabien cried and ran towards the woman.

He untied her hands and feet while Alice-Miranda carefully undid the knot that secured the hessian bag over her head.

‘Mama, oh Mama.’ Fabien hugged her tightly.

‘What are you doing here?’ She wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘You are meant to be at your show!’

‘It’s a long story, Mama, but we have to get back there to make sure that Uncle Claude is arrested. He’s a thief.’

‘And a liar,’ Sybilla added. She looked at Alice-Miranda and Sep. ‘You are the children who came to the door this week?’ she said tentatively in English.

‘Oui, madame. It’s a long story. We can tell you on the way back to the Ritz,’ said Alice-Miranda. She looked at the envelopes strewn all over the floor. ‘Do you need all of this?’

‘Oui.’ It would be used as evidence against her brother, Sybilla thought sadly as Fabien helped her to her feet.

Sep and Alice-Miranda set about picking up the papers and putting them back into the trunk.

‘But Mama, you can’t go out. You’re not well.’

‘Fabien, I am perfectly healthy, except for the medicine your uncle has been feeding me.’

The boy gulped. ‘But Uncle Claude said that you were sick. He said you have agoraphobia and paranoia and that you needed the medicine to calm your nerves.’

‘What?’ Sybilla’s face contorted. ‘That’s why you think I didn’t leave the house all this time and why I didn’t let you out either? You think I’m afraid of open spaces?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s the only thing that made any sense.’

‘I’m sorry, Fabien. That is a lie and there is so much you don’t know. But there is no time to explain now. We must get to the Ritz.’ Sybilla turned and snatched up one of the letters. ‘This will be enough.’

The group ran out onto the street. With Mr Plumpton’s help, Alice-Miranda convinced the policeman to take Fabien and his mother to the Ritz. Mr Plumpton would drive Alice-Miranda and Sep behind them.

In the police car, Sybilla explained to her son that she had been wrongfully accused of theft and fraud many years before. The reason she didn’t leave the house was that there was still a warrant for her arrest. Fabian understood now why they had entered France on a private boat and avoided security and customs. Sybilla hadn’t wanted to come back to Paris in the first place but Claude had convinced her that he had a plan to clear her name.

Now she doubted that was true at all. His plan was to make money and use Fabien’s talent as a designer and her skills as a dressmaker. All her life she had protected him, except that terrible day when he was just a little boy. She hadn’t realised that his finger was in the bicycle chain when she had pushed off. She could still remember the screaming. And then their parents were killed in an accident and she vowed that it was her responsibility to always look after her little brother.

Fabien was confused. His uncle didn’t need to steal. He had a thriving rug business.

‘I’m afraid I don’t believe that your uncle has ever sold a rug in his life,’ Sybilla said. ‘He steals designs and fabric and sells them on the black market.’

‘But why did he want me to be a designer?’ Fabien asked his mother.

‘Money and power, I suspect, and of course you are a huge talent,’ said Sybilla. ‘How could I have been so blind?’ Tears slid down her cheeks. ‘All this time I have been hunted for something I knew I didn’t do. And it was him, my own brother.’

Fabien reached across and slipped his hand into his mother’s.

‘Madame,’ the policeman in the driver’s seat finally spoke. ‘I have called for back-up. We will arrest Monsieur Bouchard soon,’ he assured her.