Reynie pointed to a numeric keypad beside the door. “It’s not like the outside doors,” he whispered. “It’s locked.”
Sticky winced and put his shoes back on. So much for regaining composure.
“What’s that?” Kate said, pointing to a piece of paper stuck to the wall above the door. “It looks like a note. Here, Constance, let me lift you up.” In a moment Constance had the note. Printed in distinctive, awkward handwriting, it read: LOSE the new code? Turn OVER for new code!
At the bottom of the paper an arrow pointed down.
The children sucked in their breath. Could it be as simple as this? Could they be so lucky? Eagerly Reynie flipped the paper over. On the back was another note, this one in different handwriting: Attention all Executives: You cannot leave notes like this. S.Q., this had better be gone by tonight. Stop trying to be clever. — Jackson
“I knew it was too good to be true,” said Constance.
“I don’t get it,” Sticky said. “Why would S.Q. say ‘turn over for code’ if he wasn’t going to write the code on the back?”
“It’s S.Q., remember,” said Kate. “Maybe he forgot to write it. My question is why Jackson didn’t just take the note down himself.”
“And miss a chance to scold S.Q. in front of the other Executives?” Constance said.
“Good point,” Kate said.
Reynie was studying the note. “There’s something . . .” The others looked at him expectantly. He rubbed his chin. “Well . . . why did Jackson tell him not to try to be clever?”
“Because Jackson knows it’s pointless for S.Q. to try?” said Constance.
“But he did try — that’s what Jackson’s saying. So the question is, what did S.Q. do that he thought was so clever? Surely it wasn’t just leaving the note so high up. It was hard to reach, maybe, but not hard to spot.”
Kate read the note again. “Okay, why does he capitalize LOSE and OVER? It’s not just for emphasis, is it?”
“I think it’s to call attention to them,” Reynie said. “There’s something special about them. . . .” He trailed off, considering.
“Well . . . both words have four letters,” Sticky offered, hoping somehow this was a helpful thing to point out.
“Maybe the code’s in invisible ink,” Constance suggested.
“With invisible ink he could have just written the code on the front,” Reynie said. “What would be the point in turning the note over?”
“You think everything S.Q. does has a point?” Sticky said.
Suddenly Reynie stifled a laugh. “Wait a minute! I have it! Turning the note over is the point! S.Q., you devil!”
“Um, Reynie?” said Kate. “We did turn it over, remember? There’s nothing there.”
“We turned to the back of the paper,” Reynie said. “S.Q. didn’t mean that. He meant to turn the note upside down.”
“I still don’t get it,” Sticky said.
“Think of it this way. What if the note read: ‘Is LOSE the new code?’ The answer is ‘Yes, but you have to turn it OVER!’” Reynie turned the note upside down and pointed to the word LOSE. The letters were now numbers: 3507.
“Hey, that is clever,” said Sticky. “For S.Q., I mean.”
“We’re just lucky he’s not clever enough to remember the code without leaving notes,” Reynie said.
The note was returned to its proper place, and the children prepared themselves. Now that they’d had a moment’s pause, their minds had filled up with questions: What would they find behind this door? What if it was terrifying? Or what if it was exactly what Mr. Benedict needed? Or what if — this had suddenly occurred to Reynie — what if S.Q.’s note had been left on purpose, to trick sneaking children like themselves?
Reynie saw a troubled look cross Kate’s face. Had it occurred to her, too? Mr. Curtain suspected another snoop on the island — that was why he’d changed the door codes, after all. So what if . . . ?
“We need to think about this,” Reynie whispered.
But Kate was already reaching for the keypad. “No time for thinking. He’s coming!”
“H-he?” Sticky repeated.
That was why Kate’s expression had changed. She’d heard something, and now Reynie and the others heard it, too — down in the main passage, growing louder by the second, an electric whine, a shifting of gears. . . .
It was Mr. Curtain.
They had no choice but to go through this door, even though Reynie had no answer to his last burning question: What if it was a trap?
Practice Makes Perfect
The door slid open. The children dashed through. They found themselves in a warm, bright room that smelled heavily of newsprint and ink. It seemed to be some kind of press office. Two tables stacked with printed material stretched across the middle of the room, and in the far corner an oversized printer was spitting out page after page. A television stood near the printer — its screen flashing but the volume turned down — and on top of it sat a glass of juice. The room appeared to be in the process of being disassembled: Two long tables had been folded up and leaned vertically against one wall; several empty wooden crates were stacked against the other. This was clearly a busy place, and only temporarily empty.
Mr. Curtain rolled into the room twenty seconds later carrying a tall stack of newspapers in his lap. Empty was how the room appeared to him, too. Humming a chipper tune, Mr. Curtain shot over to the printer and began sorting through the printouts.
Meanwhile, the entire membership of the Mysterious Benedict Society, crammed inside an empty crate like a bunch of discarded dolls, peered out through the spaces between the crate’s wooden slats. Reynie, because of the unfortunate angle of his neck and the weight of Constance upon it, was only able to see a bit of floor. Constance’s view of the ceiling was little better. Sticky, however, was in the perfect position to see the evidence of the unfortunate thing that had just happened; and by pinching Kate’s ankle to get her attention, then repeatedly blinking and rolling his eyes, he tried to explain it to her. His eyes, wide as saucers, seemed to Kate more anxious and panicky than usual. This was understandable, she thought, given their predicament. Although, wasn’t something missing? Something about his eyes? And was he trying to point something out to her? Kate swiveled her own eyes to see what Sticky was looking at.
There, in plain sight on the floor outside the crate, were his spectacles.
They must have come loose when Kate tossed him into the crate. She hadn’t seen them fall — she was too busy throwing Constance over her shoulder, tumbling in after the boys, and pulling the top of the crate over them. But she saw them now, all right. And if Mr. Curtain hadn’t been absorbed in his newspapers when he came in, he would have spotted them, too. But the moment he finished his task at the printer and turned around . . .
Kate could tell the spectacles were beyond her reach. She would need to consult her bucket. This proved a bit tricky, though — one arm she could not move at all; the other she had to thread around Constance’s neck while pressing her elbow into Sticky’s nose; and she had to bend her wrist backward at an unnatural angle that hurt like the dickens. A bit tricky, yes, but Kate managed it, and with a sharp tug (which brought tears to Sticky’s eyes), she had her horseshoe magnet.
The spectacles had wire rims. Kate just hoped it was the proper kind of wire.