Return to Groosham Grange by Anthony Horowitz

likely that Miss Pedicure’s name would turn up in the index and there were probably statuettes in just about every room in the building.
    That left only the first option. Straightening up again, David crossed the hall and climbed the staircase that the guard had just come down. He would have to hope for a little luck.
    Three and a half hours later he was back where he’d started.
    His head was pounding and his eyes were sore with fatigue. The stairs had led him up past a Roman mosaic and on into Medieval Britain. He had backtracked into the Early Bronze Age (dodging a second guard) and had somehow found his way into Ancient Syria . . . which was indeed seriously ancient. He must have looked at about ten thousand objects all neatly laid out in their glass cases. He felt like a window-shopper in some sort of insane supermarket and he hadn’t found anything remotely like Miss Pedicure’s statuette. After a while, he barely knew what he was looking at. Whether it was a Late Babylonian jug or an Early Sumerian mug no longer made any difference to him. David had never been very fond of museums. But this was torture.
    Standing once again in the entrance hall, he looked at his watch. It was a quarter to eleven. Less than two hours of the challenge remained . . . assuming that Vincent hadn’t found the statuette and left with it long ago.
    Another guard crossed the entrance hall. “Who’s there?” he called out.
    David froze. He couldn’t be found, not now. But then a second guard, a woman, appeared from the door on the right. “It’s only me.”
    “Wendy? I thought I heard someone . . .”
    “Yeah. This place gives me the creeps. I’ve been hearing things all night. Footsteps . . .”
    “Me too. Care for a cup of tea?”
    “Yeah. I’ll put the kettle on . . .”
    The two guards walked off together and David ducked back through another open door just opposite the main entrance. It led into the most amazing room he had ever seen.
    It was vast, stretching the entire length of the museum. It was filled with a bizarre collection of animals, people and creatures that were both. Everything looked Egyptian. Huge Pharaohs carved in black stone sat with their hands on their knees, frozen solid as they had been for thousands of years. On one side, two bearded men with lions’ feet and dragons’ wings crouched, staring at each other in grim silence. On the other, a gigantic tiger stood poised as if about to leap into the darkness. Farther down the gallery there were animals of all shapes and sizes, facing in different directions like guests at a nightmare cocktail party.
    David froze. He had seen Vincent before he had heard him. The other boy was moving incredibly quietly and would himself have seen David had he not been looking the other way. David noticed that Vincent had taken his shoes off and was holding them in his hand. It was a good idea and one that David should have thought of himself.
    Vincent was looking as lost and as tired as David. Crouching down behind a brass baboon, David watched him pass. As he went, Vincent rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand and David almost felt sorry for him. He had never liked Vincent and he didn’t trust him. But he knew what he was going through now.
    A minute later Vincent had gone. David stood up. Which way now? Vincent hadn’t found the statue yet, and that was good, but it didn’t help him. He looked once more at his watch. There was a little over an hour left.
    Left or right? Up or down?
    At the far end of the gallery he could see a collection of sarcophagi and several obelisks—some carved with hieroglyphics like Cleopatra’s Needle—plus four gods with the heads of cats.
    And that was when he knew.
    In fact he should have known from the start. This challenge was all about skill, not chance. Mr. Helliwell had said it himself: a test of stealth and cunning. What he and Mr. Kilgraw had said, what Miss Pedicure had said, and what he had just seen . . . put them all