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They escaped out the back of the museum and scrambled up the grassy embankment that fed into the wilds of Central Park. The two Cookes knelt in a screen of bushes to catch their breath.
    The thunder and rain had fizzled to a drizzle and was now pierced by the din of police sirens closing in from all directions.
    â€œLook—it’s Uncle Nigel!” Molly pointed to the serviceparking lot behind the museum. Addison watched Professor Ragar shove a handcuffed Uncle Nigel into the back of a stretch limousine with tinted windows. Ragar slammed the door and locked it.
    Police arrived seconds later, red and blue sirens flashing on their squad cars. A dozen police cruisers surrounded the museum. Officers aimed spotlights on all the doors.
    From the hillside, Addison watched the police commander leap from an armored police van, one hand on his holster. The commander shouted at Professor Ragar, “Hands in the air where I can see them!”
    Addison turned to Molly, grinning with relief, “Finally, the police can restore some sanity.”
    Professor Ragar stepped forward and greeted the police commander affably. “Commander Grady, just the man I want to see.”
    Commander Grady froze, confused.
    â€œProfessor Vladimir Ragar,” said Professor Vladimir Ragar. “I sit on the board of the police memorial fund. I believe we met at a recent fund-raiser.”
    â€œProfessor Ragar, of course,” returned the commander, shaking Ragar’s hand vigorously. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. And thank you, by the way, for your generous contribution. What’s the situation here?”
    From the hillside, Molly watched, aghast. “Do you think Ragar really donates money to the police?”
    â€œI doubt it. I suspect Ragar is just an extremely smoothtalker.” Addison shook his head in begrudging admiration. “I can learn a thing or two from this man.”
    The police commander stood only a few feet from the limousine where Uncle Nigel was hidden, bound and gagged. Professor Ragar acted completely relaxed. He set a friendly hand on Commander Grady’s shoulder and led him away from the limousine. “I was just visiting the museum for some specimens and spotted a crime in progress. And I believe I know who the criminals are.”
    â€œWho?” asked the commander, who loved a case that solved itself.
    â€œA boy and girl. They broke into the museum, smashed displays, and ruined priceless artifacts. These criminals must be found.”
    â€œOf course. Are they nearby?”
    â€œYes, I recommend you search the grounds, Commander Grady,” said Professor Ragar, pointing to the woods that hid Addison and Molly. “These are—how do you say?—urgent circumstances.”
    â€œAt once.”
    In the bushes, Molly turned to Addison. “Time to go.”
    â€œAgreed.”
    The two left their hiding place and crept farther up the forested hillside.
    â€œI love it when things get completely bad,” said Addison.
    â€œWhy would you say that?”
    â€œBecause once things are truly awful, they can’t possibly get any worse.”
    At that moment, they heard a shout from Professor Ragar below. “There they are now, Commander! Quickly!”
    Ragar pointed his ivory-tipped cane up the hill at Addison and Molly. Police spotlights swept the hillside and lit up the pair like the stars of a Broadway show. Addison and Molly froze in midstep. Addison offered his brightest smile.
    A squadron of duty-hardened New York City police officers surged up the hill, batons drawn, closing fast.
    â€œAddison,” Molly said, “I think things just got worse.”

Chapter Four

A Sticky Wicket

    A DDISON AND MOLLY CRESTED the hill, plowed their way through thorn-encrusted briar bushes, and touched down onto a jogging path. Addison searched frantically for a fast escape. “Where are the bike messengers when you need them?”
    The shouts of