‘Friday will investigate,’ said Melanie. ‘She’ll sort it out.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said Friday with a yawn. ‘I’m too tired.’

  ‘It will only take a minute,’ said Melanie. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a clue that will reveal the culprit. It’s probably just one of Mrs Cannon’s admirers souveniring some of her things.’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Friday. She had her eyes closed and was trying to fall asleep while standing. She had been in two chases that day. One in which she was chased by the police because they thought she was an art thief. And another when she was chasing the actual art thieves. It all added up to a lot of exercise.

  ‘Come on,’ said Melanie. ‘Mrs Cannon’s room is just along the corridor from ours, anyway.’

  A few minutes later, Friday and Melanie were standing outside Mrs Cannon’s door. Friday longed to walk the few extra metres to her own room. ‘Aren’t you going to knock, so we can get this over with?’ she asked Melanie.

  ‘I’m a little nervous,’ admitted Melanie. ‘If Mrs Cannon’s clothes have been stolen, I don’t want to confront her naked.’

  ‘She might be wrapped in a bedsheet,’ said Friday.

  ‘I don’t really want to see that either,’ said Melanie. She knocked on the door. ‘Mrs Cannon? I’ve brought Friday to investigate your crime.’

  ‘Go away, I’m too traumatised to see you,’ called Mrs Cannon.

  Friday was tired of standing. She slumped down on the floor with her back against the door. ‘Fine, just tell us what happened,’ she said with a yawn.

  ‘When we got back from town,’ said Mrs Cannon, ‘I went to take a shower. Afterwards, when I returned to my room, it was entirely empty. Everything was gone. I suspect those mean girls. Highcrest students are forever throwing clothes into the swamp. My suitcase is probably in the Arno River, halfway out to sea by now.’

  ‘How did you get from the bathroom back to your room?’ mumbled Friday. Her eyes were closed again and she was drifting off.

  ‘I walked,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘But I thought you were naked,’ said Friday. Her eyes drifted open again. ‘Did you walk the length of the corridor naked?’

  ‘Goodness, no,’ said Mr Cannon. ‘This convent is too draughty for that. I wore my dressing gown.’

  ‘So you’re not naked?’ said Melanie ‘That means we can come in and have a look at the scene of the crime.’

  ‘I don’t think so!’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘I’d have to check with my union representative first. I don’t want my rights to be violated.’

  ‘But aren’t you the union representative at Highcrest Academy?’ said Friday.

  ‘Which is why I’m so vulnerable,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘I look after everyone else, but who looks after me?’

  ‘We will,’ said Melanie as she turned the handle and pushed the door open. Friday was still leaning on it, so she fell backwards into the room. It was the same size as their own room at the convent. There was only one bed. And as an added touch of comfort there was a small armchair. The most notable feature of the room was, however, the total lack of anything else.

  ‘Wow,’ said Melanie. ‘They totally cleaned you out, didn’t they?’

  ‘They didn’t even leave my toothbrush,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘How did the thieves get in?’ asked Friday as she slowly struggled to her feet.

  ‘Through the window,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  Friday went over to inspect it. It was a leadlight window, made up of a dozen small panes. One piece, near the latch, had been punched out so the thief could reach in and unlock the window. The broken glass was still lying on the windowsill.

  Friday took a measuring tape out of her pocket and measured the width, height and depth of the whole window.

  ‘It’s like the building was designed to slot suitcases through the windows,’ said Friday. ‘It’s exactly the right size for a large suitcase.’

  ‘Maybe the nuns did it,’ said Melanie. ‘They designed the windows so that guests would be easier to rob.’

  ‘The building was constructed four hundred years ago,’ said Friday. ‘I doubt the architect could have anticipated the invention of the airplane, let alone the exact specifications of an airline-compliant suitcase.’

  ‘Who knows? Galileo and Leonardo Da Vinci were very clever,’ said Melanie. ‘Maybe they did?’

  The wall was so thick, Friday had to climb up on the windowsill so she could lean far enough forward to see down into the garden. There was a two-metre drop to the flowering bushes below. The height made her feel queasy. Friday climbed back into the room.

  ‘What do the clues reveal?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘The broken glass is on the inside,’ said Friday, pointing to the shards.

  ‘I know what that means!’ said Melanie. ‘It comes up on TV police dramas all the time. If the broken glass is on the inside, that proves that someone broke it from the outside. When people fake crimes they always get that wrong.’

  ‘Or it could mean that someone who watches a lot of TV knew to open the window before breaking the glass,’ said Friday. ‘So that it would look like it was broken from the outside.’

  ‘So it could be an inside job?’ said Melanie.

  ‘It would be such an easy crime to commit,’ said Friday. ‘All our thief had to do was wait until Mrs Cannon went down the corridor to take a shower. They could easily sneak in, pack up her suitcase and tip it out through the window – then go around the outside of the building, pick it up and roll it down to the river.’

  ‘All my lovely things, gone,’ said Mrs Cannon, dabbing her eyes with the corner of the bedsheet.

  ‘Except that didn’t happen,’ said Friday.

  ‘You can’t prove that,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘I don’t have to,’ said Friday. ‘The daphne has proven it for me.’

  ‘Daphne?’ said Melanie. ‘There aren’t any students in our group called Daphne.’

  ‘Daphne is the name of the lovely flowering shrub in the garden bed outside,’ said Friday. ‘Like many beautiful things, daphne can be delicate. Now, a passenger is allowed to take twenty-three kilos of luggage on an international flight. Mrs Cannon likes to dress with style. Isn’t that right?’

  Mrs Cannon shrugged. ‘I like to look my best. I consider it a professional duty.’

  ‘Which means you are not a light packer,’ deduced Friday. ‘Your suitcase would have been full. If you drop twenty-three kilos from a height of two metres, that would generate 225 newtons of force. Daphne bushes are not designed to withstand that. They would be crushed.’

  ‘Then the thief must have thrown it out the window,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘Right over the flower bush.’

  ‘The window is eighty centimetres deep,’ said Friday. ‘It would be impossible to lean into the window and then throw a twenty-three kilogram suitcase very far. Besides, no thief came in that way, because no one stood on that daphne bush either.’

  ‘Then who did it?’ asked Melanie. ‘And how?’

  ‘For that, we have to look for a motive,’ said Friday. ‘And there isn’t really one. Not a sensible one. But I can think of an un-sensible one. Which leads me to deduce . . . that Mrs Cannon did it! You staged this whole thing, didn’t you?’

  ‘What an outrageous accusation,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘Outrageous? Maybe,’ said Friday. ‘Accurate? Definitely.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Mrs Cannon does not want to go back to work at Highcrest Academy,’ said Friday.

  ‘But Mrs Cannon never does any work at Highcrest Academy,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Yes, but Mrs Cannon loves Italy,’ said Friday. ‘The food is fantastic, the scenery spectacular and the waiters flirt almost as outrageously as she does. She doesn’t want to leave.’

  ‘This is why you’re my favourite teacher,’ Melanie told Mrs Cannon. ‘You’re so wise.’

  ‘You can’t prove any of these accusations,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘My personality can’t be taken down and used against me in a court of law.’

  ‘Actually, character is routinely taken into consideration in a court of law,’ said Friday. ‘But that doesn’t really matter, because I don’t think it will be hard to find some physical evidence.’

  ‘The suitcase is long gone,’ said Mrs Cannon.

  ‘Really?’ said Friday. ‘Is that what you truly believe?’ Friday was back in deductive mode again. ‘We know you don’t like physical exertion, so if you had moved it, I doubt it would have gone far.’

  Mrs Cannon smirked.

  ‘But I noticed on the way in that Nigel was eating a six-scoop gelato,’ said Friday. ‘Gelato is wildly overpriced here. We’ve been in Italy for two weeks. Nigel is not good at mathematics. I know, because I was in the same maths class as him for two terms, so I know he failed financial maths repeatedly. I doubt he has any money left. So, how could he afford that enormous, overpriced gelato?’

  Mrs Cannon didn’t look so smug anymore.

  ‘Mrs Cannon, did you pay Nigel to hide your clothes?’ asked Friday, tucking her thumbs into the front of her cardigan as if she was a barrister. She was enjoying the cross-examination and getting caught up in the role. ‘And I warn you, Nigel will confess. He is terrible at lying and he’s frightened of me, so it won’t be hard to get him to spill the beans or . . . in this case . . . the gelato.’

  ‘You must be tired,’ said Melanie. ‘That was a terrible joke.’

  Mrs Cannon sagged. She realised the gig was up. ‘I paid him twenty euros to throw my suitcase in the river,’ she admitted. ‘I’m going to get in trouble, aren’t I?’

  ‘Don’t worry, teachers can’t get detention,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Besides, it might be okay,’ said Friday. ‘Nigel is pretty lazy too. Let’s find out if he actually did it.’

  After bribing Nigel with another twenty-euro note, they soon had all the facts. He had thrown the suitcase in the Arno. But, being Nigel, he hadn’t checked the tide, which had been low at the time. The suitcase was still stranded, wheels in the air, partially embedded in the muddy bank.

  ‘Mr Maclean is going to be insufferable when he finds out,’ grumbled Mrs Cannon.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs C,’ said Friday. ‘We’ll tell him the truth, but not the exact truth. We’ll say a student threw your things in the river and we were able to retrieve them, so everything is okay.’

  ‘The fact that you paid Nigel to do it doesn’t need to get out,’ said Melanie.

  ‘What if Nigel blabs?’ asked Mrs Cannon.

  ‘Give him another twenty euros if he promises not to,’ said Friday.

  When Friday finally got to lie down she went out like a light. The mystery of Mrs Cannon’s clothes had taken her mind off the life-changing decision she had to make the next day.

  THUD, THUD, THUD!

  ‘Aaagh!’ Friday woke up suddenly. It took her a moment to realise that there was someone knocking at the door. ‘Who’s that?’ she wondered.

  ‘Shhh,’ mumbled Melanie as she rolled over and tried to get comfortable. ‘If we’re quiet, they’ll go away.’

  ‘Friday, I know you’re in there!’ called a recognisable voice. It was Parker. A boy so hapless he often needed Friday’s help to get him out of scrapes.

  ‘Go away, Parker,’ said Friday. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘Really?’ said Parker. ‘My watch says it’s 8 pm. I’m pretty sure it’s right, because we just finished dinner . . .’

  Friday tried putting a pillow over her head to drown out the sound.

  ‘And . . . I don’t think 8 o’clock is the middle of the night,’ Parker prattled on. ‘I’m pretty sure midnight is the middle of the night. I’m not good at maths, but I think that’s still four hours away.’

  Friday looked at her own watch. It read 8.04 pm. ‘How long have we been asleep for?’ she asked. She’d been so tired and in such a deep sleep she’d lost her bearings. It must only have been a couple of hours.

  ‘Not long enough,’ grumbled Melanie.

  ‘. . . I think 8 o’clock is more early evening,’ Parker was still talking. ‘It’s hard to tell because people eat dinner later here in Italy, so maybe for them it’s late afternoon.’

  Friday’s head felt thick with exhaustion. Her body was achy too. It had been a crazy day, and apparently it wasn’t over yet. She swung her feet out of bed.

  ‘Noooo, don’t do it,’ protested Melanie.

  ‘If I don’t, he’ll never stop talking,’ said Friday as she opened the door. ‘What trouble are you in now?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not for me,’ said Parker. ‘Not this time, anyway. It’s Binky.’

  ‘Binky?’ said Melanie. This news woke her up. ‘But he’s not here.’

  Binky was Melanie’s older brother. He had moved to Oslo to be close to his girlfriend, Ingrid, who just happened to be the Crown Princess of Norway. This was an arrangement the King of Norway only tolerated because Binky had agreed to serve two years in the Norwegian army to demonstrate his devotion.

  ‘No,’ agreed Parker. ‘He’s on the telephone. Can you believe it? The nuns have one of those old-fashioned type of phones. It’s actually attached to the wall, by a cable! It’s like something out of an old movie. Anyway, he rang them up because he wanted to talk to Friday.’

  Friday was soon jogging up to the office off the main courtyard. She would have run faster, but Melanie was with her, and Melanie didn’t run, not even when it was her brother in trouble. Melanie’s legs and lungs were just not capable of it. Plus, Melanie had enough faith in her friend’s detective abilities to know that a couple of seconds’ delay was unlikely to be crucial.

  When they got to the cloisters, Friday spotted the phone. It did look antique. Apart from the technology being old, that colour of olive plastic had not been fashionable for many decades. The handset was hanging down by its cable. Friday scooped it up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Friday, is that you?’ asked Binky. His voice was crackly. Friday wasn’t sure whether that was because he was calling long-distance, or because the telephone was a museum piece.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Melanie’s here too,’ said Friday. Melanie had caught up and was standing alongside Friday, her ear pressed to the handset so she could listen in. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness I got hold of you,’ said Binky. He sounded very upset. ‘I’m in a terrible mess.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Friday. There was a delay on the line, so it was awkward knowing when to speak and when to listen.

  ‘They’ve locked me up. I’m in a jail cell,’ said Binky. There was definitely a sob in his voice as he got these words out.

  Friday felt a lump in her throat. She knew too well how awful it was to be in a jail cell. Sitting in a room doesn’t sound that bad, but sitting in a room you can’t leave, not ever, because powerful people have decided that you are bad – that is a horrible feeling.

  ‘Binky, it’s okay,’ said Friday. ‘Just tell me what happened, and I’ll try to help.’

  ‘I’m up on charges of pliktfraskrivelse,’ said Binky.

  ‘What’s pliktfraskrivelse?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘I don’t know!’ wailed Binky.

  ‘I don’t speak much Norwegian,’ said Friday.

  Melanie had taken out her phone and looked it up. ‘Here it is . . . it means “dereliction of duty”.’

  ‘It does? Oh no!’ said Binky. ‘They don’t like it in the army when you do that.’

  ‘Did you do it?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Binky. ‘I don’t even know what “dereliction” means.’ He was sounding emotional again.

  ‘It means a shameful failure to fulfil your duties,’ said Friday.

  ‘Oh,’ said Binky.

  ‘Did you fail to fulfil your duties?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Well, I can see how they might think that I did,’ said Binky.

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Melanie. ‘Or not do?’

  ‘I was on guard duty,’ said Binky. ‘And when you’re on guard duty it’s very important to guard your post. Guarding is meant to be the focus.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Friday. There were lots of things she might have said here, like ‘duh’, or ‘no kidding’, but her main goal was not to frighten Binky so he could get the rest of his story out. She kept it simple. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘They found me outside my guard post,’ said Binky. ‘Lying face down in the snow.’

  ‘I can see how they might take that as a dereliction of duty,’ said Friday.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Binky.

  ‘Were you taking a nap?’ asked Melanie. She was a great napper herself, and Binky was her brother, so perhaps it ran in the family.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Binky. ‘Well, actually . . . I guess in a way . . . yes. But it wasn’t a nap I wanted to take. I was knocked unconscious.’

  ‘By who?’ asked Friday.

  ‘A polar bear,’ said Binky.

  ‘You were knocked unconscious by a polar bear outside your guard post,’ said Friday. She was repeating what Binky had said back to him because it sounded so crazy she wanted to be sure she had not misheard.

  ‘Yes,’ said Binky.

  ‘I can see why they don’t believe you,’ said Friday. ‘That does sound really unlikely. Are people often knocked unconscious by polar bears in that area?’

  ‘No,’ said Binky. ‘At least, I don’t think so. My Norwegian isn’t that good. And sometimes the other fellows don’t tell me things because they think it’s funny.’

  ‘This doesn’t sound good,’ said Friday.

  ‘I know,’ said Binky. ‘My commanding officer is very cross with me. I’m facing a disciplinary hearing on Tuesday morning. If I’m found guilty, I’ll be dishonourably discharged from the army. And Ingrid’s father won’t let her go out with someone dishonourable. If I can’t be with Ingrid, it will break my heart.’ He had definitely started crying now.

  ‘You need a lawyer, Binky,’ said Friday. ‘Right now.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got one,’ said Binky. ‘But he says he can only argue with the evidence he’s got and, because I was unconscious, it’s a mystery what happened. As soon as he said that – I thought of you. You’re so good at solving mysteries. Friday, please, you will help me, won’t you?’