Modo wondered if she was going to throw something at him, but instead she scratched her neck again. “This horrid itch,” she said, then, wide-eyed, pulled something out of her hair. Opening her fist, she looked at her palm and let out a little shriek as she dropped something on the table.
A metal spider, an inch wide, lay there on its back, its silver legs kicking at the air. It ticked like a watch. “What the deuce is that!” she exclaimed.
Mr. Socrates picked up a butter knife from the table and poked at the thing. It closed its legs tightly around the knife and began to climb. “Hmm. A curious device. Incredibly fine clockwork.” He slowly turned the knife, then dropped one of his cuff links onto the table. He bumped the spider close to it and the cuff link moved slightly. “It’s magnetic. Powerfully so, for something that size. Any idea how you came to get it?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she replied.
Tharpa found a tin in a desk drawer, and Mr. Socrates placed the spider inside and closed the lid.
“I’ll have it examined. And, Octavia, we’ll have to have a
real
doctor examine your neck. Thank you, Tharpa.” He handed the tin to Tharpa, who then left the room.
“The spider is troublesome. One can only guess at its purpose. Fortunately it wasn’t covered with contact poison or you’d be dead right now.”
“Well, that’s a comfort,” Octavia said. She crossed her arms.
“It might be a different kind of poison,” Modo suggested, “something with a delayed action.”
“You sound as though you wish it were so,” Octavia said.
“No. I just … you should see a doctor.”
Mr. Socrates shrugged. “Once we’re done with this meeting, she’ll be attended to. But here’s what’s important now.”
He opened the envelope and unfolded the map, holding it so only he could see. Modo stared at the back of it to avoid looking at Octavia, who he knew was still glaring at him. He could see a dim outline but couldn’t tell what area of the world the map represented.
“Well, that settles it,” Mr. Socrates said finally. “Prepare yourselves for another mission. We are going to Australia.”
A Hidey-Hole Discovered
G erhard Visser pounded his fist on the side of the cab. When it didn’t stop he smacked the roof several times and shouted, “Halt! Halt!” Now he understood why English gentlemen were always carrying walking sticks. The cab stopped. “Hold your position!” he shouted, and the cabbie muttered, “Your orders is my command, guvnuh.”
Visser let the compass needle come to a rest. He’d circled this large, walled house and each time the needle had pointed toward it, which meant the spider was inside—and the woman as well, of course. He glanced at the statue of a Roman god at the gate.
So this is one of their hidey-holes
, he thought. It was a word he’d picked up from his time in pubs in Sydney, trying to find Fred Land. The Australians often talked about scaring wombats out of their hidey-holes.
Visser had no idea what a wombat was, but he knew a good find when he saw one. He didn’t have the map. But hehad located the home of one of their enemies. That would mean something, wouldn’t it? And he’d have ample information to give his masters. He’d send a telegram.
He made a mental note of the address, pounded on the roof again, and shouted out the name of his hotel. He sat back and grinned ear to ear. His masters would be extremely pleased.
An Uneasy Journey
F or the next seven days Modo waited at Safe House, training by himself, dining by himself, and wondering:
Have I been forgotten?
What if Mr. Socrates had decided to go to Australia without him? He’d rot here! There’d been no word from him, nor had Modo seen Tharpa, Mrs. Finchley, or Octavia. Footman attended to Modo’s needs, but the man rarely spoke.
Modo read as much as he could about Australia, but only three books in the mansion even mentioned the country, and the one
A metal spider, an inch wide, lay there on its back, its silver legs kicking at the air. It ticked like a watch. “What the deuce is that!” she exclaimed.
Mr. Socrates picked up a butter knife from the table and poked at the thing. It closed its legs tightly around the knife and began to climb. “Hmm. A curious device. Incredibly fine clockwork.” He slowly turned the knife, then dropped one of his cuff links onto the table. He bumped the spider close to it and the cuff link moved slightly. “It’s magnetic. Powerfully so, for something that size. Any idea how you came to get it?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she replied.
Tharpa found a tin in a desk drawer, and Mr. Socrates placed the spider inside and closed the lid.
“I’ll have it examined. And, Octavia, we’ll have to have a
real
doctor examine your neck. Thank you, Tharpa.” He handed the tin to Tharpa, who then left the room.
“The spider is troublesome. One can only guess at its purpose. Fortunately it wasn’t covered with contact poison or you’d be dead right now.”
“Well, that’s a comfort,” Octavia said. She crossed her arms.
“It might be a different kind of poison,” Modo suggested, “something with a delayed action.”
“You sound as though you wish it were so,” Octavia said.
“No. I just … you should see a doctor.”
Mr. Socrates shrugged. “Once we’re done with this meeting, she’ll be attended to. But here’s what’s important now.”
He opened the envelope and unfolded the map, holding it so only he could see. Modo stared at the back of it to avoid looking at Octavia, who he knew was still glaring at him. He could see a dim outline but couldn’t tell what area of the world the map represented.
“Well, that settles it,” Mr. Socrates said finally. “Prepare yourselves for another mission. We are going to Australia.”
A Hidey-Hole Discovered
G erhard Visser pounded his fist on the side of the cab. When it didn’t stop he smacked the roof several times and shouted, “Halt! Halt!” Now he understood why English gentlemen were always carrying walking sticks. The cab stopped. “Hold your position!” he shouted, and the cabbie muttered, “Your orders is my command, guvnuh.”
Visser let the compass needle come to a rest. He’d circled this large, walled house and each time the needle had pointed toward it, which meant the spider was inside—and the woman as well, of course. He glanced at the statue of a Roman god at the gate.
So this is one of their hidey-holes
, he thought. It was a word he’d picked up from his time in pubs in Sydney, trying to find Fred Land. The Australians often talked about scaring wombats out of their hidey-holes.
Visser had no idea what a wombat was, but he knew a good find when he saw one. He didn’t have the map. But hehad located the home of one of their enemies. That would mean something, wouldn’t it? And he’d have ample information to give his masters. He’d send a telegram.
He made a mental note of the address, pounded on the roof again, and shouted out the name of his hotel. He sat back and grinned ear to ear. His masters would be extremely pleased.
An Uneasy Journey
F or the next seven days Modo waited at Safe House, training by himself, dining by himself, and wondering:
Have I been forgotten?
What if Mr. Socrates had decided to go to Australia without him? He’d rot here! There’d been no word from him, nor had Modo seen Tharpa, Mrs. Finchley, or Octavia. Footman attended to Modo’s needs, but the man rarely spoke.
Modo read as much as he could about Australia, but only three books in the mansion even mentioned the country, and the one
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