‘Coming up on the left-hand side, in the Wings of Asia exhibit, you will see some of Jurong Bird Park’s most beautiful recent additions – the pink-headed imperial pigeon, which hails from the Lesser Sunda islands of Indonesia, and the island imperial pigeon from the Solomon Islands. Sadly, they are both considered to be endangered species, but we have a new breeding program in the hope of increasing their numbers.’

  ‘We will stop here for you to alight and take a closer look,’ the guide said as he brought the tram to a halt.

  Mae Lyn hopped down, eager to catch a glimpse of the rare birds. She was here to get the lay of the land and meet her contact.

  A man standing beside her honed in on a pheasant walking around the bottom of the enclosure with a professional-looking DSLR camera. Scouring the aviary, Mae Lyn found she couldn’t see anything resembling the two birds the guide had described, and whose pictures were displayed on the sign.

  ‘There are no pigeons here,’ a little boy declared. ‘This is boring.’

  An attendant entered the enclosure through a rear door, armed with a small bag of food. He pulled the door shut and walked to the feeder.

  ‘Where are the special pigeons?’ a woman called out to him.

  The young man in uniform smiled. ‘I will locate them for you. Perhaps they are sleeping,’ he said. But as he searched high and low, checking the branches and the cubby holes, the crowd could see he was growing more and more agitated. He looked for a good five minutes before he picked up the two-way radio that was hanging from his belt.

  ‘Boss, it’s Imran. We have a problem,’ the attendant said. ‘The pigeons – they are gone.’

  There was a blast of static before a man’s husky voice replied.

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’

  ‘They are not here,’ Imran replied.

  There was a long pause. ‘I hope you mean the garden variety style pigeons that we have more than enough of.’

  There was a crackling noise and the attendant was visibly shaking. ‘No, sir. I am in Wings of Asia and there is no sign of the imperial pigeons anywhere.’

  ‘But I was just there half an hour ago and personally showed them to one of our VIP guests,’ the man said calmly.

  ‘I can assure you – they are not here now,’ the attendant said.

  ‘Code red,’ the man’s voice rang out through the line. ‘Code red. All stations.’

  The crowd outside the aviary was growing restless, rife with speculation about where the birds could be.

  Mae Lyn’s eyes were darting everywhere. She was racking her brain, thinking whether anyone had acted suspiciously while she’d been on the tram.

  ‘Maybe they didn’t like being in a cage and they’ve flown home,’ one young lad said.

  ‘Did they die, Daddy?’ a little girl asked.

  Seconds later there was a booming announcement through the PA system.

  ‘Would all visitors and guests please make their way to the park’s main entrance? Due to unforeseen circumstances, we must close early. We apologise for the inconvenience. All guests will receive a return pass to visit again. Please have your bags and other personal belongings ready for inspection on the way out.’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t work for us,’ one lady with three children sniped. ‘We’re leaving tomorrow. I think I’ll ask for our money back.’

  Mae Lyn held up her phone and quietly took photographs of the cage and the attendant as the group was ushered back onto the tram. It looked like her meeting would have to be postponed now too.

  ‘Do you think someone let them out?’ asked a red-faced man with a thick southern American drawl.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve been stolen,’ the woman sitting next to him replied. ‘They’re rare, ain’t they? People like to have things that no one else has.’

  Mae Lyn sat at the rear of the tram as it wound its way towards the park’s front gate. As they turned the corner into the main thoroughfare, she spotted Heston Fong running towards the enclosure with several security guards flanking him. He had only been the managing director of the bird park for five months – a robbery would be a terrible blight for him, and all indications suggested that may well be the case.

  This wasn’t the first instance of exotic animal theft on the island recently, though there had been nothing in the news. Mae Lyn had overheard Mr Koh’s guests talking at dinner on Friday night. Sedgewick was on the board of the organisation that ran the bird park and the zoo, and denied his guests’ accusations emphatically, saying that the rumours simply weren’t true. At the time, Mae Lyn had thought he looked particularly tense. A crime of this magnitude would attract a huge amount of attention given Singapore was known as one of the safest places on earth. Mae Lyn couldn’t imagine that the board of directors would want this getting out. Though perhaps it was time for the media to know exactly what was going on – some attention may just help bring things to a head.

  In London, Max hung up the phone, having learned that, in addition to still going on the trip to Singapore, they would be staying with the MacGregors until they left. Ed would pick them up on Saturday morning so they could go home and pack, and they’d visit Cordelia before their flight that evening. Max wondered how Magoo and Tippie felt about having them for another couple of nights.

  ‘Did you get a chance to speak to Autumn at all today?’ Kensy asked her brother. She had pulled some books out of her bag and was now attempting to do her homework while she sprawled all over the double bed.

  ‘No,’ Max shook his head. ‘But then I was avoiding talking to anyone – which was silly because that only makes people suspicious.’

  ‘I tried to chat to her but she blew me off again. I know there’s something going on. She didn’t even ask why we’d had to go and see Mr MacGregor after assembly,’ Kensy said.

  Max shrugged. ‘Just leave it, Kens. She’ll tell you when she wants to.’

  The boy shuffled off the edge of the bed and reached into his bag, spying his notebook stuffed down the side. He’d ask Mr MacGregor if he could have a look at his library of books on codes and ciphers tonight. He might as well use his time wisely.

  There was a knock on the door and Tippie poked her head around.

  ‘Hello, you two, dinner’s ready,’ she said. The delicious waft of roasting meat had followed the woman upstairs. Mrs MacGregor spied the cat stretched out in the middle of the bed. ‘Oh that’s where you got to, Mr Pippin. I’m sorry. He can come back down with me.’

  ‘He’s more than welcome to stay – we’ve been enjoying the cuddles,’ Max said.

  ‘Well, you must bring your books down to the dining room – we hardly ever use the table in there, but it will be much more comfortable than being all cramped in here. You’ll end up with sore backs sitting on the bed like that,’ Tippie said. ‘And you’ve certainly won that old boy over. He doesn’t often gravitate towards guests. I hope he hasn’t bitten you yet; he does that to people he really likes.’

  The children grabbed their books and followed their hostess down to the dining room. Tippie quickly spread a cloth on the antique table and suggested the twins leave everything there until after dinner.

  They found Mr MacGregor in the kitchen, stirring a pan of gravy on the stove. The rest of the meal had already been dished up and was in the oven keeping warm.

  ‘Hope you two are hungry. My gorgeous wife has whipped up a feast tonight,’ Magoo said. He leaned across and kissed Tippie’s cheek as she opened the oven door and removed two of the plates.

  Kensy looked at Max and poked her tongue out, pulling a face that made the boy giggle. He attempted to cover it up with a cough.

  ‘Sit down, you two, you don’t want to make the place look untidy,’ Magoo instructed as he decanted the gravy into a small silver jug and carried it to the table. Tippie set the steaming plates in front of the children and went back for hers and Magoo’s.

  The dinner tasted every bit as good as it looked and for the first few minutes there was barely a word spoken.

  Max looked up and saw Mrs MacGregor eyeing him and his sister. ‘This is delicious, thank you,’ Max said. Kensy nodded and murmured her agreement.

  ‘Thank you, Max. It’s hardly gourmet, but nothing really beats a good roast, does it? Though I imagine, with all the help you have, you two are used to eating like royalty most of the time,’ Tippie replied with a dimpled smile.

  Kensy shook her head. ‘Are you kidding?’ She didn’t like the way the question had been posed as if, because of who their grandmother was, they had special privileges or something. Fitz was a pretty decent cook but their mother and father were terrible and they only had proper gourmet food when Song came to stay – which wasn’t as often as she would have liked.

  Max nudged his sister. She was beginning to sound rude again. It was time to change the subject. ‘Mr MacGregor, I was wondering if I might take a look at some of your books on coding and ciphers?’ the boy asked.

  Magoo glanced up from where he was loading some meat, a piece of carrot and a lump of potato onto his fork.

  ‘Haven’t you got homework?’ Magoo said.

  ‘A bit,’ Max said. ‘But not too much . . .’

  Magoo cut him off. ‘Another time then.’

  Max felt slightly stung. Yesterday, Mrs MacGregor had been bragging about her husband’s extraordinary collection and tonight the boy was given short shrift on the subject. He wondered where the books were anyway. The front rooms of the house contained a formal lounge and dining area, but there were no bookcases. Perhaps Mr MacGregor had a study upstairs.

  Kensy was one step ahead. ‘You must have to do a lot of work after school, Mr MacGregor,’ the girl said. ‘Do you have a study at home here somewhere?’

  Magoo looked over at her, his now empty fork hovering in the air.

  ‘No, I have a rule not to bring work home – which is why I’m often still at school until the wee hours,’ the man replied. ‘But I shan’t be going back tonight.’

  Kensy glanced at Max. She’d tried to find out where he kept the books, but it seemed Magoo was tight-lipped this evening.

  ‘Have you worked out any of that sign up there yet?’ Magoo said.

  ‘No,’ Kensy replied.

  Max shook his head.

  ‘I didn’t think you would. It’s really not for mere mortals, that one,’ Magoo said, a smug grin settling on his face.

  ‘Well, it’s certainly not for kids who don’t have any access to brilliant coding books,’ Kensy quipped.

  An uneasy silence hung in the air until dessert, when Tippie produced a spectacular chocolate pudding with ice-cream that sweetened the mood ever so slightly.

  Max lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He’d awoken with a start and was surprised to see that it had only just gone midnight. It felt as if he’d been asleep for hours. Beside him, he could hear Kensy’s deep, even breaths. She’d been out to it by the time he’d brushed his teeth after dinner and then he’d nodded off as soon as his head hit the pillow. Now he was wide awake and no amount of counting sheep was making him feel even remotely tired. It didn’t help that there were a thousand thoughts swirling through his mind.

  He pictured his grandmother lying in that hospital bed, the poison still coursing through her veins. The thought of losing her brought tears to his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

  He was thinking about Mr MacGregor too, and how the man had rebuffed him when he’d asked to see his collection of books on codes and ciphers.

  Max felt thirsty. He pushed back the covers and grabbed his phone from the bedside table, along with his notebook, which he’d stashed under his pillow. He might as well see if there were any symbols on the sign in the kitchen that matched what was in the note he had tucked inside. Max tiptoed to the door, hoping to avoid any creaky floorboards. Kensy mumbled something he didn’t understand. He stopped in his tracks and waited to see if she woke up. A second later, she rolled over and snuggled back under the covers. Max turned the handle then scurried outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

  His eyes had already adjusted to the low light and he quickly crept downstairs, with thankfully only the odd squeak. Once he reached the bottom he illuminated the torch on his phone.

  Max wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.

  He leaned against the sink and for the first time since they’d arrived he properly studied his surroundings. The MacGregors’ kitchen seemed relatively new but had been built in an old-fashioned style with pale green shiplap doors and cream ceramic handles. There were black and white tiles on the floor in a chequerboard pattern, and a dark green AGA cooker stood centrepiece in what would once have been an open fireplace. There was a modern oven too. It was actually all quite stylish, though he hadn’t really thought about it until now.

  There was a door opposite the range. Curious to see where it led, Max pushed it open and immediately regretted that decision when a flash of white fur dashed out between his legs. Of course, it was the utility room – he should have known that.

  ‘Mr Pippin!’ the boy whispered. ‘Come back.’ But the cat was not going to be told what to do, and now Max had to catch him or risk waking up the whole house. Max grabbed his notebook from the bench and followed the creature down the hallway, where the cat turned left into the sitting room. Max held up his phone and put the torch on again, scanning to see where the errant feline might be hiding. Finally he spotted a white tail swishing from under a couch. Max reached down to pull the cat out when it took off, racing into the hall.

  ‘Come back here,’ the boy whisper-shouted, speeding after it. This time the cat ran past the staircase towards the kitchen but instead of turning left it continued to the end of the passageway and stopped.

  Max had him cornered now. All he had to do was make sure that the cat didn’t run again. The boy edged closer. ‘Hello, Mr P,’ he whispered. ‘Aren’t you a lovely fellow?’

  The cat stood up on its hind legs and pressed its front paws against the wall. Max wondered what on earth it was doing when all of a sudden there was a click and a secret doorway pivoted open. Mr Pippin disappeared through it and Max ran to catch the panel before it closed up again.

  Max peered through to the other side and saw a set of stairs leading down, most likely to a cellar.

  The boy took a tentative step and shone the torch around, but the staircase went much further than he anticipated. He wondered if the MacGregors’ home had some sort of underground facilities like they did at Ponsonby Terrace. Though Mr MacGregor didn’t look as if he worked out that often, apart from riding his bike to school. Perhaps it was Tippie’s space – she seemed very fit.

  Max continued on his way, hoping that Mr Pippin would suddenly turn around and run back towards him but the cat had disappeared.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and shivered. This was far from your typical musty London cellar. And it was nothing like the training room and workshop the twins had at home. Max shone the torch around and realised he was in the most beautiful library – probably where Mr MacGregor kept all of those books on codes and ciphers. It looked like something from a stately home, with polished mahogany bookshelves and a ladder running around a rail. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, it was almost an exact replica of Granny’s library at Alexandria, though a fraction of the size. There was an antique desk off to one side with a luxurious green leather chair and two chesterfield sofas to match. A Persian rug covered the polished floorboards and there was a globe on a stand and an automaton too. Different to Alexandria’s elephant – this one was a carousel – but an automaton nonetheless.

  ‘Wow!’ Max breathed. He cast his eyes over everything and saw that Mr Pippin had wedged himself between some books in the middle of one of the shelves and was now staring at Max from on high.

  The boy decided it must be a favourite hiding spot – as he climbed up the ladder he noticed bits and pieces of fur here and there.

  ‘Come on, you naughty boy.’ Max reached out for the cat, hoping that he was in an agreeable mood.

  Mr Pippin let Max stroke his head and give him a nuzzle under the chin, but when the lad tried to pick him up, the cat struck out. Max recoiled and the animal missed its target, but it was clear this wasn’t going to be as easy as just grabbing Mr Pippin and trotting back upstairs.

  Max spotted a large vase full of peacock feathers. He was about to go and grab one to try and entice the cat to play when he noticed a whole row of books on codes and ciphers on the bottom shelf. Max had to take a look – it was too good an opportunity, even though he was eager to get back upstairs in case anyone else in the house woke up. Max scurried back down the ladder and pulled several volumes out, spreading them across the desk. He opened his notebook and lay the coded message he’d found in Magoo’s study at school beside them, then clicked on the desk lamp.

  For the next half hour, Max immersed himself in the various codes, finding several clues that should be able to help him decipher the note. He was on the verge of a breakthrough when the hallway floor creaked above him.

  He held his breath and looked around for Mr Pippin, hoping he was responsible for the noise, but the cat was still wedged between the books up on the shelves.

  He hurriedly scooped up the books, returning them to the shelf and quickly checked that nothing looked out of place, before switching off the lamp. Maybe he could use Mr Pippin as an excuse for why he was down here if he had to – though the puss was now sound asleep, so it was obvious Max had been here for a while. He needed to get out . . . but he was too late. There was a sliver of light on the stairwell and a voice.

  He thought for a moment. If the library was as close a replica to their grandmother’s as it looked, there would be a small space at the top of the shelves, large enough to wedge himself in and be hidden by the cornice. Max knew that because he’d used it as a hiding place when he and Kensy and Song were playing hide and seek one rainy day. No one had found him, despite their searching the room high and low. He scurried up the ladder and to his great relief found he was right. The boy lay on his stomach, face down, hoping that the pounding of his heart wouldn’t give him away as footsteps came closer.