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this is all about. If it wasn’t for Mason Green those two golden rods would still be buried and forgotten. Why not just leave things as they are?’
    Ruby leaned forward and cupped her hand over Gerald’s palm. The gem inside glowed out between their fingers like a Chinese lantern. Ruby tilted her head and peered at Gerald through upturned eyes.
    â€˜You must be curious,’ she said. ‘To find out what the big secret is. Surely you want to know.’ Gerald felt Ruby’s fingers tighten on his own.
    There was a stirring in the pit of his stomach.
    â€˜I’m hungry,’ he said. He broke away from Ruby’s touch and rolled the gem into its leather pouch before shoving it into the back of his sock drawer. He folded up the paper and dropped it into his backpack on the floor by the bed. ‘Let’s see what Mrs Rutherford has cooked up.’
    The lift doors opened onto a blazing row in the kitchen. Mrs Rutherford was on one side of the room, arms crossed and scowling. Opposite her was a slender woman dressed in black shirt and trousers, her hair pulled tightly back into a ferocious bun. Between them was the kitchen table, piled high with trays of canapés.
    â€˜You can’t possibly serve this…this…rabbit food to the guests,’ Mrs Rutherford said, with more force than Gerald had ever heard her use before.
    The woman in black shot her a dark glare. ‘And what would you suggest? Sausage rolls and jellied eels?’
    Mrs Rutherford’s cheeks flamed red. Her nostrils flared and she turned to the penguin that had appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Mrs Wilkins, I do not think your guests will appreciate being fed puff balls of alfalfa sprouts and raw broccoli. It is not hospitable.’
    The woman in black snorted. ‘Perhaps you’d feel more at home if we deep fried everything in a vat of lard.’
    Vi held up her hands for silence, but with no effect. Gerald thought his mother might have exerted a bit more authority if she wasn’t dressed as an enormous penguin. She flapped her wings in agitation.
    â€˜What’s with the costume?’ Ruby whispered to Gerald.
    â€˜Fancy-dress party,’ Gerald said. ‘I’m going as a mortally embarrassed teenager.’
    Gerald, Ruby and Sam stared wide-eyed at Vi as she waddled around the kitchen, trying to bring calm.
    â€˜Mrs Rutherford!’ Vi called. ‘Miss Rousseau! This will be the party of the year. I will not have it ruined by squabbles over the hors d’oeuvres. The people attending this event are here to be seen with me. They’re not here for the food.’
    Mrs Rutherford sniffed. ‘You’ve picked the right caterer then.’
    Miss Rousseau’s lips tightened. ‘Why, you vexatious old—’
    Vi flapped her wings as another shouting match broke out. Just as Gerald thought he might have to restrain the housekeeper, a man stepped into the kitchen.
    His very presence brought the screaming to silence.
    He wore the full dress uniform of an officer in Napoleon’s cavalry: navy trousers with a broad white stripe down the legs; a dark blue jacket, unbuttoned at the neck, with golden epaulets on his broad shoulders; and a red sash taut across his barrel chest. His hand rested on the grip of a golden sabre slung on his belt. The man surveyed the kitchen as if it were a battlefield. A wry smile appeared on his face.
    â€˜Walter!’ Vi’s face lit up. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. We’re in the middle of a crisis.’
    â€˜A crisis?’ The man’s voice was richer than Mississippi mud. ‘Surely not, ma’am.’
    Walter surged forward like an icebreaker. He flung an arm around Mrs Rutherford’s shoulders. ‘How could anything get in the way of this evening’s festivities? With the two finest cooks in London, how could it possibly fail? Now, am I right in assuming that you two fine ladies are having some