Mr Thacker sighed loudly. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘No, no, no, no, NO! We are not leaving this auditorium until it’s perfect, do you hear me?’

Lucienne whimpered and began to cry in the front row.

‘Oh goodness,’ the headmaster said, passing the girl a tissue. ‘I wasn’t talking to you, my dear. I meant the other children.’ He stepped back to address the rest of the choir. ‘Surely you all understand that the competition is this Saturday!’ he boomed. Little flecks of spit pooled in the corners of his mouth. ‘And where is Dugald?’

‘He went to the toilet ages ago, sir,’ Max piped up.

‘Well, go and find him then,’ the man ordered. ‘And he’d better not be sick or there will be hell to pay!’

Max didn’t relish the idea of dragging the lad out of the bathroom, but he knew better than to argue with the headmaster. The man was seriously obsessed. He’d even had all sporting fixtures cancelled, with the Wentworth Grammar teams forfeiting their matches just so there was no chance of anyone skiving off to sport instead of fronting up for the concert.

Max pushed open the door to the boys’ toilets and heard whispering. He looked along the row of stalls, which were empty but for one pair of thick ankles.

‘I hate it here,’ Dugald snivelled. ‘You never said he’d be so mean.’

Max felt sorry for the lad. On top of being new to the school, Dugald must be buckling under the pressure of carrying the main male solo. Max turned to step outside to give the lad some privacy.

‘Tell my parents I want out. It’s not worth it, no matter how good the pay is,’ the lad said.

Max paused. If Dugald wasn’t talking to his parents, who was he speaking to and what was all that about getting paid? Max’s hopes of hearing anything more were dashed when two lads barrelled in, chatting loudly. He quickly entered the stall beside Dugald’s, but the boy whispered a hurried goodbye and hung up. Max waited until he heard the toilet flush then he did the same and walked out to wash his hands.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘Mr Thacker sent me to look for you.’

Dugald groaned. ‘Of course he did,’ he said, patting water on his red face and slicking back his dark hair. ‘Tell him I’ve gone home sick.’

Max frowned. ‘Are you?’

‘What?’

‘Sick?’ Max said.

‘Of him, yes,’ the boy snapped.

Choir practice finally finished at half past one, which left the children with ten minutes to eat lunch before their afternoon lessons commenced. Max had managed to cajole Dugald into returning to the rehearsal, though it was obvious from all the huffing and snorting that the boy wasn’t happy about it. Between Dugald and Lucienne, Mr Thacker had laid on the charm thicker than the mortar on a bricklayer’s trowel.

‘Hey,’ Max said, tapping his sister on the shoulder, ‘there’s something weird going on with Dugald.’

Kensy looked at him quizically with her mouth full of ham-and-cheese sandwich. There was already a dollop of mayonnaise on her tunic.

Curtis leaned over. ‘What are you two talking about?’ he asked.

Max didn’t think it would hurt to include their friend, the amateur sleuth, in the conversation. He and Kensy liked Curtis a lot and the boy was smart too, so he quickly explained what he’d heard in the toilets.

‘We should go and talk to him,’ Curtis suggested. ‘You know, I was thinking it was strange that I’ve never seen him perform with other schools in the choral competition and, come to think of it, I’ve never seen Lucienne either. It’s as if they were both conjured from a land far away.’

‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ Max said. ‘They might have gone to schools that didn’t enter the competition.’

Curtis’s face dropped. ‘It was just an idea.’

Kensy looked at her brother, a wry smile perched on her lips. ‘Okay, Sherlock Holmes, why don’t we see what we can find out?’

Curtis’s chest puffed up and there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘I’d recommend that you let me ask the questions. I know what I’m doing.’

The twins grinned.

‘Clearly,’ Max said. ‘Come on, you’d better have your rapid-fire interrogation tactics ready – the bell’s due to ring in two minutes.’