Wilma Tenderfoot and the Case of the Frozen Hearts by Emma Kennedy Page B

the Cooper National Museum train station sometime between o-twelve-hundred hours and o-thirteen-hundred hours and twenty-five minutes.”
    â€œYou don’t say the ‘o’ when the number is over nine, Inspector. That’s how the twenty-four-hour clock works. You can say o-seven-hundred hours but you can’t say o-ten-hundred hours, or o-eleven-hundred hours. The ‘o’ is for numbers lower than ten.”
    â€œI know that,” replied the Inspector, looking up. “I just like saying the o bit. It sounds more official.”
    Theodore said nothing, but raised his eyebrows.
    â€œObviously an inside job,” sighed the Inspector. “I’ve arrested Jeremy Burling, the Receiver of Burrowed Things. So far, he’s saying nothing.”
    â€œHmm. I shall have to speak to him, of course. Arrange that for me, please, Inspector. And what about the people who died?” asked Theodore, picking his pipe out of his waistcoat pocket and filling it with rosemary tobacco. “What’s the connection?”
    â€œAlan Katzin and his aunt.” Inspector Lemone nodded. “Katzin found the stone. Took it to Burling. We can only assume that Burling did them in too.”
    Theodore stopped packing his pipe.
    â€œAnd were they killed before or after the Katzin Stone was stolen?”
    â€œHard to say. We think it was about the same time.”
    Theodore stood up and walked toward the door of his study. “Inspector,” he said, glancing back, “we must get to the Museum at once. But first, you,” he added, opening the door with a flourish, “had better get back to your mistress, where you belong.” Wilma, who had had her ear to the keyhole and had heard everything there was to hear, looked up. “Do you know the expression Caught in the Act, young lady?” asked Theodore, looking down. Wilma shook her head and shifted on her feet. Pickle, who was sitting behind her, rolled over and waved his legs in the air, a tactic that had often gotten him out of scrapes, but Theodore was unimpressed. “It means being caught doing something that you shouldn’t. So that’s another new thing you’ve learned, which I think you’ll agree is more than enough for one day. Inspector, if you please, we don’t have a moment to lose.”
    â€œWe’re not walking, are we?” asked the Inspector, standing up and following the great detective out through the door.
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    As Wilma watched Detective Goodman and the Inspector sweeping down the corridor, she felt quite certain that as far as learning new things today was concerned, there was plenty of room for improvement. If only she knew the way to the Museum. But then she remembered. “The mosaic!” she whispered, shooting an excited look at Pickle, and off she ran to get her bearings.

9
    W ilma was on her hands and knees. She had found the You Are Here arrow on the bathroom floor to the left of the sink and was tracing the snakelike path with her bandaged finger down from Clarissa Cottage to the big village of Coop. The post office was under the towel rack and the baker’s was next to the soap stand. If she followed the road past the Poulet Palace, which was to the right of a small rag-roll rug, then all she had to do was turn left at the toilet brush and the National Museum would be directly in front of the laundry basket. Brilliant. With her bearings all found, Wilma stood up and took one lingering glance at the picture of the young Theodore with his mentor, Anthony Amber. “Come on, Pickle,” she said with a sense of resolve. “We need to hurry. If we don’t, we’re going to miss everything. Nothing and nobody stops Wilma Tenderfoot.”
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    â€œOh no,” said Inspector Lemone as he looked at the tandem bicycle that Theodore was wheeling out from his side-garden shed. “Can’t we take the steam train, Goodman? It runs on the hour.”
    â€œYes,