Free The Case of the Wayward Professor by Gareth P. Jones Page A

from the room.
    As she walked away she could hear Petal saying, ‘That’s a turn-up for the books but I knew no one could really dislike me. I knew she was jealous.’
    Outside the room, Holly smiled and pulled Petal’s mobile phone out of her pocket.
    She dialled a number she had memorised and listened to it ring, anxiously watching the door. Petal wouldn’t take long to realise that her precious mobile phone was missing. The call went through to an answering machine and Holly left a message, finishing just as the common room door burst open and Petal appeared.
    â€˜You stole my phone, you cow!’ she yelled.
    â€˜Here you go,’ said Holly, handing it back to her.
    Petal spent the rest of the evening threatening to report Holly as a thief, so when an announcement came over the loud speaker the next day, asking her to come to the principal’s office, Holly assumed that she must have done so.
    The principal’s secretary looked bored, as she carefully painted her nails black and white to match the chequered dress she was wearing.
    She held up a black-nailed finger, indicating that Holly should wait, and pressed a white-nailed finger on the intercom button. ‘Holly Bigsby is here, principal,’ she said in her usual flat tone.
    Holly heard the principal’s voice mid-laugh, say, ‘Send her in, Angie.’
    â€˜He’s in a good mood, stock must be up,’ said the secretary, unsmiling.
    Holly entered the office to find the principal sitting behind his desk wearing a smart pinstriped suit, and a matching shirt and tie, in mid-conversation with a man, sitting opposite him.
    â€˜Diversify or die, as they say,’ said the man, laughing. Holly could only see the back of his head. ‘The school is your flagship project, but the William Scrivener brand is there to be exploited.’
    â€˜Well, we brand stationery and calendars, you know,sweatshirts, ties. Things like that.’
    â€˜Larry, Larry, Larry. What century are we in? Think outside the box.’
    â€˜Filofaxes?’ ventured the principal.
    â€˜Think mobile-phone covers, polyphonic rings, baseball caps, skinny-fit T-shirts,’ cried the man, turning round and smiling at Holly.
    â€˜Ladbroke,’ said Holly.
    It was Ladbroke Blake, the private detective that Holly had befriended after her dad’s big-haired wife had hired him to follow her.
    She had only left the message on his answering machine yesterday. She hadn’t expected him to come so quickly. She didn’t know what his plan was, but he was obviously using a false name because the principal looked quizzically at her and said, ‘Ladbroke? Surely you recognise your godfather, Holly, Mr Somerset Oglander.’
    â€˜Excuse us,’ Ladbroke grinned. ‘It’s an old family joke.’ He held his arms out and said, ‘Holly, how are you?’
    Holly hugged him.
    â€˜I see,’ said the principal. ‘Well, I must say, Holly, your godfather has a lot of interesting ideas on the subject of schooling.’
    â€˜My ideas are nothing next to your achievements,’ said Ladbroke.
    â€˜Oh, well,’ said the principal, unable to hide his glee. ‘I can’t take all of the credit. The school has a long and noble tradition of educating the nation’s finest and wealthiest children.’
    â€˜Modesty. I’ll have none of it,’ said Ladbroke. ‘I recently returned from a tour of the top-ranking private schools in the USA and I have to say yours stands shoulder to shoulder with the best of them.’
    â€˜America,’ said Principal Palmer, eyes wide. ‘You’re too kind.’
    â€˜But I have not come all this way simply to admire your wonderful school.’
    â€˜Yes, of course,’ said the principal, fixing Holly with a serious look in his eyes. ‘Now, Holly, please listen to your godfather.’
    â€˜Yes, Holly, I am afraid I have been sent here by your