The Pearl of Bengal Read online

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Original Title: Agatha Mistery: La perla del Bengala

  Text by Sir Steve Stevenson

  Original cover and illustrations by Stefano Turconi

  English language edition copyright © 2013 Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Original edition published by Istituto Geografico De Agostini S.p.A., Italy, 2010. © 2010 Atlantyca Dreamfarm s.r.l., Italy

  International Rights © Atlantyca S.p.A. – via Leopardi 8, 20123 Milano, Italia –

  [email protected] – www.atlantyca.com

  Published in 2013 by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014. GROSSET &t DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN: 978-0-698-14388-3

  SECOND MISSION

  Agents

  Agatha

  Twelve years old, an aspiring mystery writer; has a formidable memory

  Dash

  Agatha’s cousin and student at the private school Eye International Detective Academy

  Chandler

  Butler and former boxer with impeccable British style

  Watson

  Obnoxious Siberian cat with the nose of a bloodhound

  Uncle Rudyard

  An adventurous wildlife photographer and animal wrangler

  DESTINATION

  India

  New Delhi

  The Bay of Bengal

  OBJECTIVE

  To find a priceless jewel, the legendary Pearl of Bengal, stolen from the temple of the goddess Kali in the Ganges River Delta.

  Table of Contents

  Prelude: The Investigation Begins…

  Chapter One: An Unexpected Reunion

  Chapter Two: Off to Kolkata

  Chapter Three: Uncle Rudyard’s Folly

  Chapter Four: Deshpande’s List

  Chapter Five: High Tea at the Tiger Hotel

  Chapter Six: Something Doesn’t Add Up

  Chapter Seven: The Statue of Kali

  Chapter Eight: The Final Verdict

  Epilogue: Mystery Solved…

  Special Excerpt from The King of Scotland’s Sword

  It was a Saturday afternoon in mid-October. Dashiell Mistery was elbowing his way through a sea of umbrellas that had popped up like mushrooms when a sudden downpour hit. Within minutes, all of London was drenched. The bustling city streets were as muddy and gray as a scene out of Dickens.

  Fourteen years old and as thin as a rake, Dash was a typical teenage boy, except for his secret obsession. He was studying to be a detective, though he told everybody he met that he was pursuing an online degree in marketing.

  Only a few family members knew the truth. Among them was his extraordinary younger cousin, Agatha Mistery.

  “Watch where you’re going!” scolded a woman standing in front of a wig shop. In his rush, Dash had bumped into her, knocking her leather purse into a puddle. He scooped it up, shook it dry, and shoved it back into her hands.

  “Here you go. Good as new!” he gasped, speeding away as she stood there sputtering. His best friends were waiting for him at the Hastings Street Bowling Alley, and if the church-tower clock he’d just passed was correct, he was already twenty minutes late.

  As usual, Dash had taken his sweet time waking up. He’d slapped down his snooze-alarm several times, grabbed a slice of cold pizza while playing a rap mix he’d burned, and zoomed out of his penthouse apartment in Baker Palace without even checking the weather online.

  Big mistake. Everybody in London knew the city had only two kinds of weather: sun at intervals and rain at intervals.

  The storm had caught Dash off guard. At first, he’d stood under an awning, hoping it was just a cloudburst. But the rain didn’t let up—in fact, the longer he waited, the worse it got. He couldn’t afford to lose any more time. He started to run, stopping only when he got stuck at a crosswalk. Now he was soaked from head to toe.

  At Richmond Avenue, three blocks away, he hit another red light.

  Panting and shivering, Dash huddled against a wrought-iron fence. What if his friends had given up on him and started their weekly challenge match? But they wouldn’t do that without calling him first, would they?

  A terrible thought slammed into his head. “Oh no!” he groaned, digging frantically through his pockets. Except for a few stray coins, they were empty.

  He fingered the case where he kept his most precious gadget.

  It was light. Too light.

  Holding his breath, he reached in. There was nothing inside.

  “Where did I put it? Where?” he cried out in panic.

  Eye International, the famous detective school he attended, had one very strict rule: Never go anywhere without the tools of the trade.

  This didn’t mean the traditional investigator’s kit (e.g., magnifying glass, bugging devices, spy cameras, and walkie-talkies). All of these functions and more were performed by a patented high-tech device called the EyeNet. The worst thing a student could do was to lose it.

  If he couldn’t find his EyeNet, Dash was in a sea of trouble. He kept patting his clothes in the pouring rain, waving his arms like an octopus. Meanwhile, the light had turned green, and a new wave of bobbing umbrellas came at him.

  Frozen in place, Dash pressed his palm on his forehead and tried to mentally reconstruct the events of the night before. He’d gone to Marshall’s apartment, played video games for a couple hours, and gotten back home around midnight. Half asleep, he’d kicked back on the couch to watch some shows he’d recorded. This morning he’d woken up fully dressed, with the TV still on. Had he put his EyeNet into its charger right next to the couch, like he did every night? He didn’t remember doing it. Which could only mean…

  “Marshall!” he shouted so loudly that passersby eyed him cautiously from underneath their umbrellas. “I left it at his apartment!”

  Dash charged across Richmond Avenue without realizing the light had turned red. Horns honked and brakes squealed as taxicabs swerved to avoid a collision. A policeman blew on his whistle, but Dash didn’t bother to turn. Nothing mattered as much as getting his EyeNet back as soon as possible.

  Five minutes later, he skidded into the Hastings Street Bowling Alley. Panting
, he swiveled his head, looking for Marshall. Every lane was in use, and the sounds of heavy balls striking pins echoed through the cavernous room.

  Dash vaulted over the seats where his friends were sitting without even saying hello. He leaped into the lane, grabbing Marshall’s shoulder just as he let go of the ball. It swung wide and rolled into the gutter.

  A big zero flashed on the scoreboard.

  “Dash!” shouted Marshall. “That was a strike waiting to happen. You totally killed it!”

  “Have you seen my…um…err…cell phone?”

  “You left it at my place!”

  “Thank God,” the young detective said with a gulp. “Can I get it right now?”

  “Look at you, Dash! You are beyond disgusting!” sniffed Alison, tossing her curls. She was wearing a bright pink designer sweater.

  Marshall and the others snickered.

  Dash was sure he did look disgusting. He could feel wet hair glued to his cheeks, his clothes dripped like a broken faucet, and he’d left muddy footprints streaked over the polished wood floor.

  “Calm down, I brought it,” said Marshall, rummaging through his backpack. “That thing is huge. Must be way overdue for an upgrade.”

  Dash grabbed it, heaving a sigh of relief. “Thanks, but no way I’d replace it! My dad gave me this phone, and it means a lot to me.” He closed his fist over the EyeNet, trying to hide its array of buttons and flashing lights. Tapping a bowling ball, he added casually, “How about I dry off by beating you all without mercy?”

  “In your dreams,” snorted Marshall.

  Dash grinned. As he made his way toward the shoe rental counter, he quickly punched in his secret access code. The EyeNet had been in standby mode since late last night, and there might be urgent messages.

  A high-pitched ring shattered the air. Just he suspected, the Eye International symbol was flashing insistently. There were eleven missed messages, all from his school!

  Dash skimmed down to read the last message, and a desperate cry escaped his lips.

  “Kolkata? In India? Oh God, what a mess! I need Agatha!”

  His friends watched as he shot back out like a rocket. “What a weirdo!” sniffed Alison, but the others just shook their heads and went back to their game. They were used to the unpredictable ways of the Mistery family.

  The Mistery Estate was an ancient, lavender-roofed mansion on the edge of a park on the outskirts of London. Its high ceilings creaked with heavy oak beams. Whenever it rained, the grand old house seemed even gloomier. Windowpanes rattled inside their dark frames, and the wind seemed to haunt the large rooms, echoing down the long halls like the whispers of restless ghosts.

  Luckily its residents were not easily frightened. For twelve-year-old Agatha Mistery, bright-eyed and petite, the sounds created a moody and magical atmosphere.

  At that moment, Agatha lay on her canopy bed, listening to raindrops patter against her bedroom window, as though knocking to come in. After a few moments, she reached for her notebook and pen. “It’s a perfect day for writing,” she murmured to Watson, her white Siberian cat. “But let’s have some inspiration first. What do you say to a spy movie?”

  The cat let out a satisfied meow as Agatha scratched his favorite spot under the chin. Then he followed her down the back stairs to the screening room. While most home theaters boasted state-of-the-art sound systems and flat-screen TVs, the Misteries had a thing for outdated technologies. Agatha’s parents, Rebecca and Arthur Conan Mistery, never took jets if there was a biplane or zeppelin handy.

  Chandler, the Mistery Estate’s jack-of-all-trades butler, was already fitting a take-up reel into the vintage projector, as if he’d read Agatha’s mind.

  Chandler was a former heavyweight boxer, with a square jaw and shoulders as broad as a redwood tree. As usual, he wore an immaculate dinner jacket, with his hair slicked back. “Which film have you chosen, Miss Agatha?” he asked politely as she entered.

  She paused for a second. “I should brush up on Cold War spies for my new story, but I can’t decide,” she said, idly stroking the tip of her small upturned nose.

  This simple gesture always helped her to focus her thoughts.

  “What are you thinking, Miss?”

  She searched for an answer. “There’s also the indie film Mom and Dad sent me from San Francisco,” she said. “It would be rude not to watch it before they get home.”

  Chandler cleared his throat. “They’ve taken a steamer to India, Miss Agatha,” he replied. “They’ll be there for at least a week.”

  “The international conference on renewable energy, right?”

  The butler nodded, adjusting the projector’s lens. “You’ll have plenty of time to watch it before they return, Miss.”

  Agatha wasn’t convinced. She turned toward Watson, who was nosing around through a dust-covered carton. “What are you up to, kitty?” she asked.

  The cat jumped out of the carton and set his paw on a single film canister under the table—another gift from Mom and Dad. It had never been opened.

  Chandler and Agatha exchanged a stunned glance.

  “Apparently Watson has a thing for Alfred Hitchcock,” she observed with a laugh.

  She opened the canister and handed the butler a copy of Hitchcock’s classic thriller Rear Window. “Decision made!”

  “As you wish, Miss Agatha.”

  While Chandler patiently threaded the reel, Agatha pulled the dark velvet curtains closed, taking a seat in her favorite armchair. She wasn’t one of those people who lounged on the couch munching popcorn, like some of her friends—or her cousin. She liked to take notes in the notebook that she always carried, jotting down quick descriptions of characters, furniture, costumes, and any other detail that caught her imagination.

  Like every member of the Mistery family, Agatha had her eye on an eccentric career.

  She wanted to be a writer.

  More specifically, a mystery writer. The best in the world.

  To that end, she spent her days reading novels, poring over old encyclopedias, flipping through magazines and newspapers, watching movies and documentaries, always on the lookout for interesting ideas for stories.

  As soon as the room went dark and the opening credits started to roll, Agatha felt a shiver of excitement. She knew director Alfred Hitchcock was a master of suspense, and the opening shots of a city courtyard on a hot summer day made her wonder what terrible thing was about to take place there. A man in pajamas sat next to a window, his camera abandoned next to a stack of Life magazines. “A photographer,” she murmured. “And his leg’s in a cast, so…”

  She felt a wet touch on her shoulder.

  Who could it be?

  She turned quickly.

  “D-Dash?” she stammered.

  “That’s my name!”

  “What are you doing here, cousin?”

  “It’s a disaster,” he said, squirming to pat himself dry with a tissue. “Can you spare a couple of minutes?”

  “Of course.”

  From the tone of his voice, she could already tell that a couple of minutes would not be enough.

  Dash plunked down beside her. “My school’s given me a new mission,” he rattled. “I have to solve a really crazy case!” He broke off, leaping back out of his seat. “What in the world!?” he shouted. “What is that?!”

  A dark shadow loomed over the screen. It was some sort of horrible monster with giant hooked claws.

  “Are you jumpy or what, Dash?” laughed Agatha. “Look closer. It’s just Watson’s shadow. He stepped in front of the projector!”

  “Oh—oh, are you sure? That cat’s trying to kill me! I could have died of fright!”

  There was a lot of bad blood between Dash and Watson.

  Agatha stood up, waving her arms to get Chandler’s attention. He snapped on the lights and turned off the projector.

  “Sorry, Agatha.” Dash stared guiltily at the blank screen. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your screening…”

>   “Tell me everything.”

  The young detective started to pace back and forth as he filled her in. He couldn’t be sure that his phone wasn’t tapped—his professors were experts at spyware—so he’d come in person to the Mistery Estate. He didn’t want anybody at Eye International to know how much Agatha helped him with solving the cases he was assigned.

  “Got it,” said Agatha. “Where are we being sent this time?”

  “It’s a village in Sundarbans National Park, near Kolkata.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Agatha flinched. “My parents are in India, too. That’s too close for comfort!”

  “Excuse my correction, Miss Agatha,” Chandler interjected. No one ever noticed his light, discreet steps. “Mr. and Mrs. Mistery are in the capital city, New Delhi, in western India,” he explained. “Kolkata is in the east, hundreds of miles away.”

  “Yes, of course, Chandler,” Agatha said, nodding. “But we may have to fly through New Delhi. What will we do if we run into them?”

  Just as Dash hid his cousin’s help from his professors, Agatha had never told her parents that she accompanied Dash on his missions around the world.

  “Let’s plan a surprise for them,” suggested Dash.

  Agatha pursed her lips, doubtful. “What sort of surprise?”

  “Simple. Once we’ve solved the case, we’ll go visit them in New Delhi. I bet they’ll jump for joy to see us! What do you think?”

  Chandler gave a small nod of agreement.

  “I have to admit, that’s not a bad thought,” said Agatha, twisting a lock of her short, blond hair. “All right, let’s do it!”

  She sent the butler to pack while she and Dash went to her room to download mission data.

  They clicked on the main file, and a familiar face with a mustache and bowler hat filled the screen.

  It was Agent UM60, professor of Investigation Techniques.

  Dash’s cheeks flushed instantly.

  “I’ll be brief, Agent DM14,” the professor said. “The data we have on this case is quite scarce: a recorded phone call, some photo files, and a man who’s gone missing. It’s a mystery we know precious little about. Your mission: to fill in the gaps and solve the case. You have five days and not one minute more. Otherwise, you’ll be expelled. Happy hunting!”