Embarrassed, Sticky gave Constance a sharp poke in the ribs for mocking him. Constance cried out and responded with a kick to the shin; then, pleased with the result (Sticky was grimacing and hopping), she quickly tried for another.
“How about a train schedule?” asked Kate, ignoring the scuffle. “Or a ticket?”
Hubrecht shook his head. Again he glanced at Constance, as if he expected her to have the answer — and this time Reynie understood why. She did have the answer, and Hubrecht had spotted it.
“Your present!” he said, pointing to Constance’s globe pendant. (Constance stopped trying to bite Sticky’s hand and looked down in surprise.) “We couldn’t have come here without it!”
Hubrecht clapped his hands. “That is it! A small world — just as your Mr. Benedict said! Very well, children, you shall have a key.” He reached beneath the desk. “This is a scavenger hunt of some kind, yes? What fun! I have been wondering when someone else would come.”
Reynie took the room key from Hubrecht. “When you say ‘someone else,’ do you mean another person came before us?”
“Oh, yes! It is a contest, correct? The adults against the children, maybe? Never fear! You are the first to be given a key. No one else has entered the room — not even hotel staff. These were Mr. Benedict’s instructions.”
“Who else has come?” Sticky asked.
“Two very nice gentlemen. It was the same day your friend Mr. Benedict rented the room. They asked if he was staying here. He was not — he and his young associate had simply inspected the room and gone away, leaving the key with me — but because the gentlemen had mentioned his name, I abided by his instructions: I offered them a room, compliments of Mr. Benedict, if only they would present a certain item. I thought perhaps it would be in one of their briefcases. They had no item, however, so they thanked me and went away. Polite men, elegantly dressed, the sort who used to frequent this hotel in its finer days. I was left to wonder who else might come. Then, as the days passed, I began to think no one would! Did you think so, too?” he asked his partner, the woman he’d called Daatje, who now seemed to be paying attention.
Daatje started. “I knew nothing about this, Hubrecht.” Reynie thought she seemed upset. She was staring at them, not with malice, exactly, but her expression was decidedly unpleasant. Did she feel left out? Obviously Hubrecht found Mr. Benedict’s arrangement charming and enjoyed being involved. But it wasn’t Hubrecht she was staring at. Perhaps she disliked children.
Reynie wanted to believe this but found that he couldn’t. He felt pretty sure Mr. Benedict would have left money in the room for them — at least enough to buy a meal or two — and he had a sneaking suspicion that Daatje had stolen some of it, perhaps even all of it. She might easily have done so, knowing the room was unoccupied. Perhaps she’d meant to blame poor Hubrecht or some other member of the hotel staff. That was the look she wore, Reynie decided. A guilty look. It made him very uneasy.
You’re getting ahead of yourself, he thought. Let it go for now. You’ll find out soon enough.
But then he noticed Constance.
She was staring at Daatje, staring with a most intense, penetrating look. And the longer Constance stared, the darker her expression grew, until she was positively glowering. Daatje had noticed and was squirming in her seat, avoiding eye contact, as Hubrecht told the children where to find their room. As Kate and Sticky thanked him and headed over to the elevator, Reynie had to take Constance by the arm and lead her away from the desk.
“What’s the matter?” he said in an undertone. “What did she do?”
“I don’t know,” Constance growled, looking back over her shoulder. “But it’s not good.”
“That’s all? Not good?”
“By which I mean extremely bad,” said Constance.
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“What are you two talking about?” Sticky asked.
“Tell you when we’re alone,” Reynie said. “But keep your eyes open. Something’s not right.”
“Oh, I hate that you just said that,” said Sticky, reaching for his spectacles.
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “You can tell us on the elevator,” she murmured, for the doors had opened now and the elevator was unoccupied. The children got on and stood close together, closer than space required, and Kate opened her bucket lid, ready to grab for anything she might need in a hurry. The doors slid closed.
Across the lobby, Daatje watched the children go. She looked upset, so much so that Hubrecht asked if she felt all right.
“Actually, I have a terrible headache,” she said. “Do you have any medicine?”
“No, but we keep some in the supply cabinet, you know. I’ll bring you some.” Hubrecht cast about for the key to the supply cabinet. “The key must be in the office,” he said, looking puzzled. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it.”
When he had gone, Daatje took the supply cabinet key from her pocket and dropped it onto the floor, where it would appear to have fallen by accident. She unfolded a scrap of paper upon which was written a telephone number — a number she dialed with trembling fingers. “Hello? Yes, this is Daatje — from the hotel . . . Yes. Someone has finally come. Just now. It is only a group of children. You may send the money you promised to my address, if you please. I . . . what? No, I cannot possibly tell you which room. Did you hear me say they are only children? No, I never agreed to that. It is against policy, and anyway . . . No, absolutely not! I’m afraid I . . . I’m afraid . . .”
With frightened eyes Daatje glanced over her shoulder. She was still alone. “Surely you would not do that,” she whispered into the receiver. “Surely you . . . you . . . I see.” She swallowed with some difficulty. “But I insist . . . you must promise no harm . . .”
There was a long pause, during which she chewed her bottom lip in extreme anxiety. And then in one quick breath she gave the room number and slammed down the phone, recoiling from it as if it had given her a most terrible, most excruciating shock.
“I’ll go in first,” said Kate, despite feeling very nervous. (And Kate got nervous only when most children would feel terrified.) She and the boys were creeping down the carpeted hallway to the hotel room. Constance had remained at the elevator to hold its doors open. They were on the fifth floor. If someone disagreeable confronted them in this hotel room, they needed a means of quick escape.
Kate listened at the door, unlocked it, and peeked into the room. With an uneasy glance at the boys she slipped inside. Reynie and Sticky waited on pins and needles. Kate’s confidence always helped keep their own fears at bay; they disliked it when she seemed uneasy. When after a long, tense minute Kate called out that all was clear, the boys exchanged looks of relief. Her voice had regained its natural breeziness. The boys signaled for Constance to follow, then entered the room.
The door opened into a cramped entryway made all the more awkward by the ill-advised placement of a table in the door’s path, so that the door swung only halfway open. On the table, waist-high to the boys, stood a vase of silk flowers, a bowl of candies, and a note that said, “Welcome!” in Number Two’s distinct, crabbed handwriting. Reynie’s stomach twinged at the thought of what Number Two must be going through at this moment.
Beyond the table a doorway opened onto the large main room, which was furnished with a few chairs, a bed, a sleeper sofa, and two cots folded against one wall. (Enough accommodations for the four of them, Reynie realized, plus Milligan and Rhonda, who were supposed to have come along.) Kate was checking behind the window curtains for any sign of a clue and making noisy, smacking sounds. She was chewing a particularly sticky piece of candy she’d taken from the bowl.