Free Secret of the Skull by Simon Cheshire Page A

hotel’s U-shape, on the far side of the courtyard.
    A sleazy-looking, greasy-faced beanpole in a black jacket and bowtie greeted us at the entrance to La Splendide. This, it turned out, was Vernon, the head waiter. He eyed us as if we were a pack
of scuttering cockroaches.
    ‘You’re at one of the window tables, Miss Lillington,’ he said to Susan, as if he was speaking to something a cockroach might turn its nose up at.
    The restaurant was positively beautiful. The dining area was large and delicately laced with the smell of fresh bread. Its high ceiling was decorated with flowery patterns, and the lighting came
from shaded lamps placed at the centre of every table.
    Our table was circular, spread with a spotless white tablecloth and neatly laid with sparkling cutlery and tall glasses. It was placed beside that big window I’d seen from the office
earlier on; looking out, I could see across the snowy courtyard to the brightly lit rectangle of the office’s window. The blinds were open now, and Bryan Beeks was clearly visible, sitting at
the desk by the door, working at his laptop.
    I had the perfect vantage point from which to watch him. As I sat down, next to Izzy, Susan leaned across to me and whispered, ‘Spotted any diamond smugglers yet?’
    Ah! Good point!
    ‘Excuse me a minute,’ I said, ‘just got to verify something.’
    I nipped back out to the reception desk. There was now a Do Not Disturb sign on the admin office door, and I could very faintly hear Bryan Beeks tapping away at his laptop inside.
    I asked Susan’s mum if I could take a quick look at the hotel register, as part of my ongoing detective investigation into certain matters which would have to remain confidential for the
time being. She smiled sweetly and clearly thought I was slighty peculiar. Anyway, the current screen of the register showed all check-ins for that day:
TIME
NAME & ADDRESS
ROOM
4.22 p.m
G.T. Foreman 145 Bailey Street, Bath
209
4.40 p.m.
Mr & Mrs Smith c/o GPL Ltd, Poole, Dorset
206
5.09 p.m.
Peter Glynn Flat 2, Bunn Court, Stortley
319
5.58 p.m.
Mr L. Moss 12 Watford Grove, Leamington
217
6.30 p.m.
Daniel West The Priory, Totley, Glos
222
6.33 p.m.
Louise Draper 38 Murray Road, Birmingham
301
    I hurried back to La Splendide. It was seven twenty-five p.m. and, besides Susan’s group, there were about half a dozen people dotted around the restaurant. I slid back
into my seat. Everyone was looking at menus.
    ‘Any news?’ asked Izzy.
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I can at least confirm that the first of tonight’s two smugglers has arrived and which room he’s in.’
    It had taken only a brief look at the register to spot the smuggler. Have you worked out who it was?

    ‘Only one person arrived at around six, the time the texter told me the first smuggler would get here. I’m pretty sure that’s him because he’s using the
name Moss, which also ties in with what I was told. I doubt either the name or the address he put down are genuine. Anyway, he’s in Room 217, which if I’m not mistaken puts him on the
floor above where we are now. I’m not sure what time his contact will arrive, the one codenamed Heather, but they’re due to meet at nine o’clock. Let’s see thaaaaat’s
. . . exactly an hour and a half from now.’
    ‘By the way,’ said Izzy, ‘I checked the online news services, like you asked. There are indeed several articles about a smuggling operation. There are very few details, but
they appear to back up what Mr Mystery said.’
    ‘Or Mrs Mystery,’ I added.
    ‘Or Mrs Mystery, right.’
    Vernon the waiter slimed up to the table and asked if everyone had chosen what they wanted to eat. He made it sound as if we were selecting clumps of goo out of a gutter. Hurriedly, I picked up
a menu.
    While the others were ordering variations on the theme of whatever-sounds-poshest, I kept glancing out of the window. Bryan Beeks was there, in the office across the courtyard, tapping away.
    I was just trying