The Looming Lamplight Read online

  Other books in the Cryptic Casebook series

  The Perplexing Pineapple

  The Missing Mongoose

  First published in 2013

  Copyright © Text, Ursula Dubosarsky 2013

  Copyright © Illustrations, Terry Denton 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the

  National Library of Australia – www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 174331 259 9

  eISBN 978 174343 039 2

  Coco’s favourite tango is ‘Mi Buenos Aires Querido’

  (My Beloved Buenos Aires), 1934; music by Carlos Gardel,

  lyrics by Alfredo Le Pera, translation by Joseph del Genio

  Cover and text design by Liz Seymour

  Set in 16/21 pt Adobe Jenson Pro

  For Sophie and David, buena gente!

  With love from Ursula x

  Note to reader: If there is a word in the story you haven’t seen before, it may be a Spanish word. Have a look in the glossary at the back to find out what it means.

  Contents

  Note to Reader

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Clues for Puzzles

  Glossary

  Preview chapter: The Perplexing Pineapple

  Chapter One

  Early one morning, when Alberta was about to hop into the bath, a letter arrived with a bang through the window.

  ‘Oh good,’ said Alberta, who didn’t really like baths. ‘I’ll go and get it straight away. It’s sure to be something important.’

  She trotted over to get the letter. As she had suspected, the letter was from her cousin Coco Carlomagno, the Chief of Police in Buenos Aires, a big city in Argentina, South America. He only wrote to her when he thought there was a terrible emergency, which was quite often, actually.

  This is what he wrote:

  ‘Great carrots!’ said Alberta. ‘What on earth is all this about?’

  She sat on the edge of the bath and re-read the letter.

  ‘Baths can wait,’ she decided, as she pulled out the plug and let the water disappear down the plughole. ‘This is much more serious. I’d better get over there pronto to see what’s going on.’

  So Alberta packed some lettuce leaves and her knitting in a brown-paper bag, and added a yellow raincoat just in case. Then she left a note for the window cleaner, locked the door, and headed off for South America.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Alberta arrived in Buenos Aires it was late at night, and her favourite pastry shop was closed. But luckily the ice-cream shop next door was open, and she was able to enjoy a delicious cone of white chocolate ice-cream before going to see Coco.

  Coco’s office was right at the top of the famous Obelisco, the highest point of the city. Alberta scrambled up the 206 steps until she reached the door with the lettering in gold:

  She knocked.

  ‘Alberta!’ came a faint squeak.

  She heard the sound of claw clicking across floor. The door swung open.

  ‘Prima, at last you are here!’ cried Coco, leaping out at Alberta. ‘I have been waiting for so long!’

  He covered her with kisses, which is the South American way.

  ‘I couldn’t have got here any quicker,’ replied Alberta, reasonably. ‘I came as soon as I read your letter.’

  ‘Well, in any case, it is a good thing that you arrived at night,’ said Coco, his voice dropping. ‘So I can show you at once what it is that is paralysing me with terror.’

  ‘Is it something to do with light?’ asked Alberta.

  ‘Alberta!’ replied Coco, astonished. ‘How did you know that?’

  He dashed to the window, and pulled the curtain aside. Below, the long, glittering avenues of Buenos Aires stretched out before them.

  ‘Now, Alberta, you must be brave,’ he said, clutching her. ‘Look where I’m pointing. Do you see that apartment block, at the far end of the Avenida General Fósforo?’

  ‘That narrow one with all the balconies?’ asked Alberta, squinting through the glass. ‘Ye-es.’

  It did not look all that terrifying to her.

  ‘Claro,’ said Coco, and she felt his fur tremble. ‘Now, count down the corner apartments, eight floors from the top.’

  Alberta counted carefully down. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven – she blinked.

  ‘Ouch!’ she exclaimed. ‘I beg your pardon, Coco. Something just flashed from the window, right in my eyes.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Coco. ‘Now, keep your eyes there for a moment.’

  Alberta did what Coco asked. The light went off, and then flashed on again. And off again, and on again.

  ‘You see?’ demanded Coco. ‘Does it not chill your blood to ice?’

  ‘Perhaps there’s something wrong with the light switch?’ suggested Alberta practically.

  ‘Perhaps,’ replied Coco. ‘But if that’s all it is, why do I get this prickling feeling of terrible dread running down my spine?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Alberta.

  In fact Coco was always having prickling feelings of terrible dread running down his spine. Still, it was rather odd. The light went on and off again. And again. There were short flashes and long flashes and short flashes and long flashes. And again.

  PING! went Alberta’s brain.

  ‘Coco,’ she said, turning to him in excitement. ‘I wonder if it could be morse code!’

  Coco tipped his head to one side.

  ‘Morse code?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alberta. ‘Didn’t you learn morse code in the Police Academy? You know, in case you were stuck in the jungle without a telephone.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Coco, thinking back. ‘Although I seem to remember it was dreadfully complicated. I failed every test. Luckily I never have been stuck in the jungle without a telephone.’

  ‘Oh, but perhaps you’ve still got your textbook?’ Alberta said hopefully. ‘Why not have a look?’

  Coco scampered over to his filing cabinet and dived inside one of the drawers. At last he pulled out a dusty booklet titled:

  ‘Got it!’

  He ran back and showed it to Alberta. She flipped open the pages of dots and dashes, then looked back out the window to the distant apartment block, where the light continued to flash, long and short.

  Short short short short. Short. Short long short short. Short long long short. Long long. Short.

  ‘Sapristi!’ cried Alberta. ‘It’s a pattern!’ She tossed the booklet on the floor. ‘We must go there at once. There is no time to lose!’

  CAN YOU WORK OUT WHAT THE MESSAGE IS SAYING IN MORSE CODE?

  Here is the message: Short short short short. Short. Short long short short. Short long long short. Long long. Short.

  For more about morse code, look at the back
of the book.

  Chapter Three

  Coco put on the special red sash that he wore for emergencies, and he and Alberta bolted down the 206 steps of the Obelisco. They mounted the police scooter and took off at speed through the thick night traffic.

  The Avenida General Fósforo was long and wide, and the frosty air cooled their furry cheeks. When they reached the apartment block, they jumped off the scooter and craned their necks, staring up at the corner apartment eighth from the top. Sure enough, the light in the window was still flashing on and off.

  Through the half-open door of the building, Coco and Alberta could see a portero sitting at a table, drinking mate. He was engrossed in the newspaper crossword – so deeply that he did not hear the two guinea pigs come into the lobby.

  ‘Buenas noches,’ said Alberta in her most forceful manner. ‘This is an emergency.’

  The portero looked up at them in irritation, as nobody likes being disturbed during a crossword. But he broke into a smile when he saw Coco’s red sash.

  ‘Ah, buenas noches, Señor Coco. My, that was quick!’

  Coco blinked.

  ‘Um, what was quick?’

  ‘I just rang the crossword helpline,’ said the portero. ‘I’m stuck on a clue, you see. They said they would send someone out as soon as they could – not that I expected the Chief of Police himself!’

  ‘That’s not actually why we’re here,’ said Alberta reprovingly. ‘We are investigating something much more serious than a crossword.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said the portero and he put down his newspaper with a sigh.

  ‘Can you tell us who lives in the apartment at the front corner of this building, eighth from the top?’ asked Alberta.

  ‘Ah,’ said the portero. ‘That is the apartment of Señor Romeo, the famous tragic actor. A most charming gentleman, I assure you. Of course, all our residents are charming,’ he added quickly. ‘There’s never any trouble with the police. It’s a very exclusive building, as you can see from this notice.’

  He pointed to a large sign on the wall behind him.

  ‘That certainly is exclusive,’ observed Coco, impressed.

  ‘Although some of the rules are a little strange,’ murmured Alberta.

  ‘I run a tight ship,’ said the portero proudly. ‘The things that go on you wouldn’t believe. Especially since those burglars have been on the prowl. Why, none of us can sleep quietly in our beds at night, thinking of them climbing up the walls, creeping in open windows and stealing pillows.’

  ‘Pillows?’ said Alberta. ‘What a peculiar thing to steal. Coco, have you heard about this?’

  She knew Coco was not good at opening his mail, answering his phone or looking through the files that piled up on his desk.

  ‘This – er – Señor Romeo,’ continued Coco, with a cough. ‘Tell me, does he live alone?’

  ‘Yes, all alone, poor man,’ said the portero. ‘I have often told him he should get a budgie. There’s nothing like that cheery little cheeping sound—’

  ‘It is vital that we go up and see him at once,’ Alberta cut in, not interested in cheery little cheeping sounds.

  ‘At one o’clock in the morning?’ The portero looked doubtful. ‘Does he know you’re coming?’

  ‘I’m sure he’d be pleased to see us,’ said Alberta, tossing her head. ‘Now, we know his apartment is eighth from the top, so coming up from the ground floor, what level is it on?’

  ‘A ver,’ said the portero. He rubbed his chin, calculating. ‘We have twenty-one floors, so eighth from the top means …’

  ‘The fourteenth floor,’ said Alberta.

  ‘Ah, señorita, that would be correct, except that we do not have a fourteenth floor, for superstitious reasons.’

  ‘Well, that’s ridiculous,’ muttered Alberta, annoyed, because she had forgotten that for guinea pigs in South America fourteen was an unlucky number.

  ‘And we do not have a seventeenth floor,’ continued the portero, ‘because the builders made a mistake and forgot to put it in.’

  ‘Great carrots!’ said Coco. ‘What an odd thing to forget.’

  ‘And we do not have a twelfth floor either, but that is a mystery and nobody knows why,’ finished the portero. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you can work out what floor you need.’

  He pulled open the brass concertina doors of the lift, and ushered Coco and Alberta inside.

  ‘Hold your breath,’ said the portero, clicking it shut. ‘Buen viaje! And remember, no chewing gum!’

  Alberta and Coco gazed at the row of buttons in front of them. They were both trying to remember what the portero had said. There were so many – which button should they press?

  CAN YOU WORK OUT WHICH FLOOR SEÑOR ROMEO LIVES ON, FROM WHAT THE PORTERO SAID?

  Stuck? Have a look at the back of the book for some clues to work it out.

  Chapter Four

  After Coco and Alberta pushed what they hoped was the right button, the lift began to climb up the building. When it screeched to a halt at Piso Once, they tumbled out the door as quickly as they could.

  Right in front of them was a door with a name helpfully inscribed on it:

  Amleto Coriolano Tito Otelo Romeo

  ‘That looks like an actor to me,’ said Alberta, satisfied. ‘Let’s ring the bell and see what happens.’

  Coco half crouched behind her while she rang the little silver doorbell below the name. The door immediately opened, almost as if they had been expected. Before them stood a tall, thin, honey-coloured guinea pig with a despairing expression on his face.

  ‘What do you want from me? Will you never leave me alone?’ the guinea pig sobbed, throwing his noble head backwards.

  He stopped a moment, and peered at their faces.

  ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, noticing Coco’s sash. ‘The police! I thought you were fans coming to ask for my autograph. Day and night my fans, they hound me—’

  ‘You are, then, Señor Amleto Coriolano Tito Otelo Romeo, the famous tragic actor of that same name?’ interrupted Coco.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’d be more than one guinea pig in Buenos Aires called that,’ mentioned Alberta. ‘I mean, it’s rather unusual.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Señor Romeo, beaming at her. ‘There were actually three guinea pigs in my high school with exactly that name. But now that you ask, yes, I am the famous tragic actor.’ He threw his noble head backwards again. ‘Come and see me on stage, and you will weep all night long and the next day as well!’

  ‘Er, good,’ said Coco, although it hardly seemed a recommendation.

  ‘I could get you some free tickets for my next show,’ said Señor Romeo, with a wink. ‘Front-row seats. Always happy to help the police.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Alberta cleverly, ‘you would be happy to allow us to search your apartment.’

  Señor Romeo looked furtive.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘We have reason to suspect that someone is being kept prisoner inside.’

  ‘That is nonsense!’ snapped Señor Romeo. ‘Quite ridiculous.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind us coming in?’

  ‘You’ll have to kill me first!’ cried Señor Romeo, throwing himself in the doorway in front of them. ‘But, he-hem, please don’t,’ he added quickly. ‘If you insist, you may come in. Just give me one moment. You will soon see the only prisoner here is me.’

  He slammed the door on them, and they heard a kind of hissing and then a soft jumping sound. The door opened again.

  ‘Pasen,’ said Señor Romeo graciously, holding the door open for them. ‘Make yourselves at home.’

  Coco and Alberta followed him into the living room of his apartment. The walls were covered with photographs of Señor Romeo in strange and splendid costumes from the many great plays he had acted in.

  ‘See! No prisoners here!’ he said, waving his noble claw in the air, flopping down into an armchair plump with crimson pillows. ‘My dear Señor Coco, have you considered that this
may be a case of mistaken identity? You may be seeking my identical twin brother. He is just the sort of person to keep someone prisoner.’

  ‘Do you have an identical twin brother?’ asked Alberta.

  ‘Not that I have met yet,’ admitted Señor Romeo, ‘but you never know, do you?’

  There certainly seemed to be nobody else in the apartment. Coco stepped out onto the balcony to check that there was no one hiding, but all he saw was a small fuzzy cactus in a pot. He was just about to go back in, when some voices from the apartment below floated upwards, so close it was as though the speakers were standing right next to him.

  ‘No weeping willows here,’ said one voice.

  ‘Let’s have a Captain Cook up another flight of dancing bears’, replied another. ‘We might have more Donald Duck.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll hang on to your bacon and eggs, and you pull me up.’

  ‘Right, but watch out my yabba-dabba-doos don’t kick you in the loaf of bread!’

  What a peculiar conversation, frowned Coco. There was something about it – bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs … Something he had learnt long ago at the Police Academy.

  ‘Coco?’ he heard Alberta calling. ‘Anything out there?’

  ‘Well …’ he began.

  And as he stepped back into the living room, he felt something brush past his leg, and everything went completely dark.

  CAN YOU WORK OUT WHAT THE STRANGE VOICES ARE SAYING?