London Art Chase (12 page)

TWENTY-ONE

I
nside the building, it was at least fifteen degrees colder and at least twice as dark as it had been on the streets outside. And it hadn't been warm or bright outside. Maddie's teeth started to chatter.

A dim desk lamp lit the receptionist's desk and cast grim shadows across her face as she looked up with surprise. “May I help you?”

Kids must not come here very often, Maddie realized. She looked at Lulu and then at Mia, but clearly, no one knew what to do next. They couldn't exactly demand to see the man with wire-rimmed glasses.

Miss Julia shot Maddie a
say-something
look. Seeing that no one was going to help her out, Maddie stepped up to the desk.

“We, uh, came to see the man who just came in.”

“Mr. Hughes?”

“Yes,” Maddie said, trying to sound sure when she was anything but.

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, flipping through a book on her desk. “I'm afraid Mr. Hughes is quite a busy man.”

Maddie fidgeted, trying to think of the right answer. Mia and Lulu always had something to say, but now, when she needed help . . . nothing? And shouldn't Miss
Julia say something? She thought of Miss Julia's expression when Lulu toppled the guards and the sound of her voice when she'd told the girls to come back. No. Miss Julia was definitely not going to smooth this over for Maddie right now.

“We don't have an appointment, but we really need to speak to him,” Maddie said. “It's urgent.”

The receptionist narrowed her eyes at Maddie, sizing her up, and then picked up the phone. “Your name?”

“Maddie Glimmer. And these are my sisters, Mia and Lulu.”

She dialed and waited. “Mr. Hughes? I have three American children here to see you. Maddie, Mia, and Lulu Glimmer . . . No, sir, they did not . . . I'm not sure. They say it's urgent . . . Yes, sir . . .”

Maddie shifted from foot to foot, her discomfort growing. If Mr. Hughes was the thief, there was no way he'd want to talk to them. But he hadn't seen them at the museum, or when they'd been following him—at least she didn't think he had. Maybe he'd think they were harmless kids. But if he wasn't the thief, what reason would he have to talk to three kids he'd never heard of before?

“Yes, blonde hair, one is wearing a . . . They do have a guardian here with them. Okay, yes, sir, I'll send her right up.” She hung up and spoke only to Miss Julia. “Mr. Hughes would like to see you, Miss . . .?”

“Julia Twist,” Miss Julia said, shooting Maddie a
this-is-going-to-stop-now
look.

“Mr. Hughes thought there might be a few blonde children following him today as he walked back from Buckingham Palace. He'd like a word with you.”

“Of course,” Miss Julia said.

“His office is up the stairs and to the left. The girls may have a seat on the bench over there and wait. I'll keep an eye on them.”

Maddie, Mia, and Lulu sat. Lulu swung her legs, obviously not a bit bothered.

Mia elbowed Maddie. “Do you still think he's guilty?”

“I don't know,” Maddie whispered, eyeing the receptionist.

“Maybe he won't talk to us because he
is
guilty,” Lulu said, her voice loud and clear.

“Excuse me?” the receptionist asked.

“Nothing,” the girls chimed in unison.

“I must ask that if you must speak at all, keep your voices down. This is a place of business, girls.”

Good thing this receptionist wasn't their nanny. Miss Julia might get mad every once in a while, but at least she didn't wear her hair in a too-tight bun and have too-strict rules that even made something like waiting in a lobby uncomfortable.

Maddie tried not to talk, listening to the tic-tic-ticking of the clock. She rubbed her arms to keep warm.

“It's freezing in here,” Lulu said to no one in particular. “Why don't you turn up the heat?”

The receptionist gave her a withering look. “We are an archival office. Cool temperatures keep the paintings and documents from deteriorating.”

“So that's what you do here? Take care of old paintings and things?” Maddie asked.

“Yes,” the receptionist said, deliberately looking away from them and back at her computer screen.

“Maybe we can get some clues from her!” Lulu whispered, and then raising her voice again, said, “Do you know of any paintings by Renoir?” She said Renoir with a strong “r” at the end.

“Ren-oir!” Mia corrected, pronouncing his name in the French way.

“Of course I know of Renoir,” the receptionist said.

“There's this painting,” Lulu said, jumping to her feet and slinking around the room, the way a detective might in a cartoon. “We call it ‘Sun-Splattered Afternoon,' but that's not its real name. Anyway, it's missing from the National Gallery. And we think we know who took it!” At this, she turned and pointed her finger directly at the receptionist.

“Lulu!” Maddie said.

“Come sit down,” Mia said.

“I'm going to have to insist that you girls stay quiet until Miss Twist returns. And that you stay seated,” the receptionist added as an afterthought.

Lulu shrugged one shoulder and sat back down with her sisters. “I think she's guilty too. We'll see.”

Even though the receptionist could clearly hear everything Lulu had said, she didn't respond.

“Girls?” Miss Julia had come down the stairs. “Mr. Hughes would like to speak with you for a moment.”

Maddie shot the receptionist a triumphant look as she followed her sisters upstairs. The truth! She was finally going to get the truth. She would look Mr. Hughes in the eye and demand an explanation. Soon, the painting would be back on the wall of the National Gallery and it would be all because she, Maddie Glimmer, hadn't given up.

TWENTY-TWO

T
he stairway and upper hall were just as dim as the rest of the office. Shady. The kind of place where criminals might hang out. She'd been so busy chasing after Mr. Hughes, she hadn't thought of what she'd say to him when she found him. Mentally, she ran through her questions.
Why did you steal the painting? Where is it now?
If he denied being the one who took it, what would she say then?

The tightness around Miss Julia's mouth and eyes had relaxed, and her cheeks weren't flushed with frustration anymore. The meeting must not have gone the way she expected. Maddie wondered what that meant. Did Miss Julia finally believe her, now that she'd looked into Mr. Hughes' guilty face?

The office was surprisingly cozy, with overstuffed armchairs and a couch. Where outside, the dim light was bluish and cold, in here, the lampshades were amber, giving the room a warm glow. Even though the temperature wasn't any warmer, the room felt inviting, less like an industrial refrigerator.

“Come on in, girls,” Mr. Hughes urged. “Now, sit yourselves down. It sounds as though we've had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Miss Julia introduced the girls to Mr. Hughes, and then she, Mia, and Lulu sat together on the couch. Maddie stayed on her feet, eyeing Mr. Hughes critically. Was the warm, welcoming tone his way of putting them off his criminal trail?

He perched on the edge of his desk, took off his glasses, polished them with a handkerchief, and then put them back on. “I have to admit, I was a tad concerned when I realized a parade of girls was following me back to the office after lunch. But then Miss Twist explained that you saw me remove the Renoir from the wall at the National Gallery, and all the pieces fell into place.”

“So, you admit that you stole the painting?” Maddie demanded.

“Actually, I didn't steal it,” Mr. Hughes said. “Are you sure you don't want to sit down?”

Maddie folded her arms. “I'll stand.”

“Have it your way.” Mr. Hughes cleared his throat, and then scanned the room as though someone might be hiding in the shadows. No one was, of course, and so he went on. “Now, girls, what I'm about to tell you is confidential.”

“That means it's top, top secret!” Lulu said, starting to bounce on the couch. “I knew this was going to be good when I chased after you at Buckingham Palace.”

“That's why all those guards knocked into one another today?” Mr. Hughes asked and then glanced
at Miss Julia. “Oh dear, we seem to have made quite a mess, haven't we?”

“I didn't mean to knock into anyone,” Lulu said. “There were so many of them, and they were in my way . . .” As Miss Julia caught her eye, her voice trailed off. “I'm really sorry about it.”

“What's done is done. I didn't realize you girls were following me until I was quite a distance from Buckingham Palace. Turns out that you're rather good at following people. Not”—he raised a finger—“that I'm suggesting you follow anyone else. If you truly believe you've found a criminal, you should do exactly what your nanny has told you to do and tell a bobby.”

“So, what's so confidential?” Maddie insisted, not willing to be distracted from what actually mattered.

“Here at our office, we keep a vault of valuable paintings when they aren't on display at the National Gallery.”

“Why aren't all of the paintings on display?” Mia asked.

“We have far too many paintings to display all of them at one time.” Mr. Hughes shook his head regretfully. “Honestly, many paintings which ought to be seen are languishing in our storage vaults. Most of those vaults are housed at the National Gallery itself, but when a painting needs special attention or restoration, we bring it here to our office.”

Maddie felt like a teakettle about to boil. Mr. Hughes was acting so reasonable and as though he had
all of the answers, but he hadn't explained the thing she wanted to understand. “But why did you take the Renoir off the wall, and then look over your shoulder like you hoped no one saw? We
saw
you,” she said.

Even though his glasses were already spotless, Mr. Hughes took them off and rubbed them clean again before answering. Maddie wished she could be a teakettle and start to whistle, loud and long, until he got to the point and spilled the truth.

“The truth is,” Mr. Hughes said, putting his glasses back on again, “we've had a string of robberies recently, all paintings that were newly brought here to the archives. The theory is that someone is watching which paintings we bring to the archives, identifying those that he or she wants to steal, and stealing them from us, here. Our security in this office isn't as tight as the security at the National Gallery.”

“I don't understand,” Maddie said. “If you need more security, why were you taking the painting all by yourself with no one else around?”

“We figured that by cutting out the procedures, paperwork, and official red tape, we might be able to avoid notice. Maybe that way, we could bring paintings here without the thief's knowledge. I scheduled my pickup of the painting to be just before the concert, when I thought no one would be around.”

Mia frowned and then started to nod. “That's actually a good idea! If the thief worked for the National
Gallery and was watching the paperwork to plan his robberies, he might not find out about the paintings until they were treated or repaired and back in the more secure vaults at the National Gallery.”

“Exactly,” Mr. Hughes said.

“But how do you know it's not someone who works
here
?” Mia asked.

“We've investigated all of our employees, plus we have a very small team. Everyone knows everyone else here, and we trust one another. We value the paintings, or else we would never do what we do—so much hard work for so very little money. No. No one here would ever steal a painting. The National Gallery, on the other hand, has an extensive staff. There are curators, administrative staff, security, even retail and wait staff, all of whom might have access to the employee-only areas. When someone clocks in or out, how hard would it be to slip into the office and take a look at the paperwork?”

“So you didn't steal the painting?” Maddie asked, the truth starting to settle in.

“No,” Mr. Hughes said. “In fact, it's here in our back office. Would you girls like to see it?”

Mia sprang to her feet. “Would we?”

“Me too, me too!” Lulu said.

Maddie swallowed hard and shook her head. She'd run her sisters all over town, insisted she was right, refused to listen to Mia's common sense about how an alarm would for sure have gone off.

“You know what,” Miss Julia said. “Why don't I wait here with Maddie? You girls can go see the painting with Mr. Hughes. But, Lulu?”

“What?” Lulu said, all innocence.

“No touching anything. That goes for you too, Mia.”

“Got it,” Mia said, grinning. “You sure you don't want to come, Maddie?”

Maddie shook her head again, not able to speak over the lump in her throat.