Through the front door they entered Mr. Benedict’s maze, which Rhonda and the children knew by heart. The maze had been the last of Mr. Benedict’s tests, as well as a line of defense against intruders. Together they moved quickly through its many identical rooms, up the staircase at the far side, and at last into a sitting room, where their entrance surprised another group of officials, all of whom turned toward the doorway with apprehensive expressions.
“Oh, it’s just you,” a silver-haired woman said to Rhonda. “Sorry, we’re a bit on edge.” She glanced inquiringly at the children. “I take it these are —?”
“Yes, Ms. Argent,” Rhonda said. “And I would like for them to see it.”
Exchanging uncertain looks, Ms. Argent and the other officials nevertheless stepped aside to let the children approach. On a table in the center of the room sat a brown box.
Rhonda gestured toward the box. “What happens to Mr. Benedict and Number Two depends on that,” she said grimly. She sounded as if she still couldn’t believe it, and indeed, as if speaking to herself, she repeated in a whisper, “Everything depends on that.”
The children moved closer. It was an ordinary-looking box, about the size of a fruit crate, with several holes punched into it. Together they peered through the holes into the box’s dark interior, anxious to see just what it might be — what the box might possibly contain that would determine the fate of those they held so dear.
It was a pigeon. Only that. A pigeon.
The Society Reconvenes
What can this bird have to do with the kidnapping?” Kate asked.
The government officials seemed reluctant to speak until Rhonda pointed out that the children might be directly affected by this situation. Finally a blond man with prominent cheekbones stepped forward to address them. “It’s a carrier pigeon,” he said, “sent by Mr. Curtain. It had a message strapped to its leg. We’re expected to send a reply by the same method.”
“Actually,” Sticky interjected, “it’s a homing pigeon.”
Everyone in the room looked at him. The Washingtons, who were standing with Miss Perumal and her mother inside the doorway, shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether their son had just been helpful or rude.
The blond man coughed into his fist. “I hate to argue with you, son —”
“Then please don’t,” said Rhonda impatiently. “I assume the difference is important, Sticky?”
“It could be,” Sticky said. “Homing pigeons can fly great distances — sometimes thousands of miles. Carrier pigeons aren’t really suited for long flights.”
Ms. Argent, the silver-haired woman, said, “So we can’t necessarily expect it to fly somewhere around Stonetown?”
Sticky shook his head. “Its roost could be anywhere on the continent.”
Ms. Argent cast a dark, meaningful look at the blond man, who mumbled something about needing to make a phone call and left the room. Rhonda watched him go, her expression grave.
“Tell me you haven’t started a search,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” Ms. Argent replied. “We’re taking appropriate measures.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Rhonda said, turning on her heel. Beckoning her friends to follow, she left the sitting room without another word. She led them down the hallway to the dining room, where she had them sit at the long table. “It’s exactly what they should not be doing,” she muttered, closing the door behind her. “Not until they know more. I’m going to have to be aggressive, I see.”
“Rhonda,” said Miss Perumal, “what did the message say?”
“I would show it to you,” Rhonda said, “but they’ve already confiscated it as evidence. In essence, it said —”
“Can you quote it exactly, Rhonda?” asked Reynie, who knew Rhonda had a prodigious memory almost as good as Sticky’s. “There might be something important in the phrasing, you know.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Rhonda said. “Ready, then?” And she quoted the message, which was as follows:
Dear Miss Kazembe,
I write to report that your friends are in grave danger, and — lest there be any doubt — that it is I who endangers them.
Let me explain. Despite his efforts to keep silent on the matter, my prisoner, Nicholas Benedict, has been compelled to reveal a secret regarding a certain rare plant. According to his reluctant confession, “only one person can secure the information” I seek — namely, the exact location and description of the plant — and this person is neither Benedict nor his yellowish assistant but someone, regardless, who is “extremely close” to Benedict. I know for a fact that he is telling the truth. I must assume that if you are not this person yourself, you will at least know of whom he speaks. For Benedict’s sake, I certainly hope so.
You have exactly four days to release this pigeon with the information I require. Be assured that if you attach any tracking devices to the bird, or make any sort of attempt to follow it to its destination, I will know. Such treachery will not bode well for your friends. If you hope to see either of them again, you will give me exactly what I wish, and without delay.
Oh, do not delay, Miss Kazembe. We shall all be most unhappy if you delay.
Cordially,
L. Curtain
When Rhonda had finished reciting the letter, there was a disturbed silence as everyone felt its meaning sink in. At length the silence was broken by Mrs. Washington stifling a sob with her handkerchief, and then everyone started to speak at once. Rhonda held up a hand. “Nobody say anything yet.” She went to make sure nobody was listening at the door, then returned to the table and spoke to the children in a low voice. “Do any of you know what this is about?”
None of them did.
“Good, then at least you won’t be subjected to more than the usual unpleasant questioning.” Rhonda jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the officials down the hall. “They’re very concerned about what Mr. Curtain is trying to get. They’re worried it’s connected to the Whisperer.”
Everyone at the table knew that Mr. Curtain’s infamous machine was now situated here in Mr. Benedict’s house, powered by a huge bank of computers that had been moved into the basement. Several months ago, Mr. Benedict had finished altering the Whisperer’s sophisticated functions, and since then he’d been using it to help people whose memories had been suppressed by the Whisperer under Mr. Curtain’s guidance. In fact, in Mr. Benedict’s last letter he had happily reported that he’d restored the memories of almost everyone ever affected by the Whisperer, and that after a year of constant labor he might even allow himself a short vacation.
“What would a plant have to do with the Whisperer?” Sticky asked.
“I don’t know,” Rhonda said. “Mr. Benedict’s never mentioned anything about a plant to me. All I know is that he was away doing some personal research. Of course he had to take Number Two with him — she’d never let him go alone, and I had to stay to prepare for your visit — but if she knew where they were going, she didn’t let on. I doubt she knew. Mr. Benedict loves his surprises.”
“Hold on,” Kate said. “Mr. Benedict went away on purpose? He wasn’t going to meet us here?”
“He and Number Two left last week,” said Rhonda. “It was supposed to be part of your surprise.” She was about to say more, but a look of crushing sadness came over her face, and she fell silent.
Miss Perumal spoke up, addressing the children. “We adults all knew about it, of course. Mr. Benedict asked our permission before he made the arrangements. You were to go on a mysterious adventure.”
Sticky looked at his parents in surprise. After this last year of being so carefully sheltered, he found it hard to believe they had granted permission for him to go on an adventure of any kind — mysterious or otherwise.