Brush with Danger Read online

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  IT STARTS WITH A BANG!

  A KNOCKOUT PRESENT

  THE BEAR WHO WASN’T THERE

  WILY’S SUPER SUB

  THE MYSTERIOUS MOSCOW MISSION

  DIMITRI’S DOUBLE TROUBLE

  WILY GETS ICED

  JULIUS CHILLS OUT

  SOLVING CRIME IN RECORD TIME

  EXTRACT FROM ‘A WHIFF OF MYSTERY’

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  It was nine o’clock in the morning and the Wily Fox Detective Agency was open for business. Already there was a long queue of animals waiting outside – sheep, mice, owls, ocelots, ostriches and more.

  Inside, Wily was sitting at his desk, polishing his favourite magnifying glass with his bushy tail. He glanced up at the clock, put his magnifying glass in a drawer and pressed a button on the desk.

  “Send in the first client, Mrs Mongoose,” he said into a small microphone.

  “Certainly, Mr Fox,” replied a crackly voice.

  “I hope something good turns up today,” Wily murmured to himself. “If I hear another case of a squirrel who can’t find his nuts, I’ll—”

  At that moment, there was a loud scream followed by an enormous…

  Wily leaped to his feet and sprinted across the office.

  Outside in reception, it was chaos. There was smoke everywhere and animals were scrambling up the walls, leaping out of windows and sprinting down the stairs.

  Mrs Mongoose was flapping her arms, shouting, “Please leave the building in an orderly fashion.”

  Wily was about to dash downstairs when the smoke parted, the screaming stopped and a slinky silhouette came slowly into the room.

  The detective rubbed his eyes and blinked twice. The silhouette became an elegant young poodle with large brown eyes and soft black fur. She had a red beret perched on one side of her head.

  “Fireworks can come in very handy,” she purred in a French accent, waving an empty box of bangers. “I hope you don’t mind me – how you say – pushing in,” she added.

  Wily gave a half-smile. “No problem. That was quite a neat trick. I might use it myself some time.”

  “Dogs like to do tricks,” said the poodle. “Perhaps I will teach you some others. But for now, the show is over.”

  She walked through the empty reception, smiling at a surprised-looking Mrs Mongoose, and passed into Wily’s office.

  “It’s OK, Mrs Mongoose,” Wily said. “I’ll take it from here.” He sat down at his desk and the poodle started to speak.

  “My name is Suzie La Pooch. I own one of the greatest art galleries in Paris. Inside there are some of the most famous paintings in the world. See for yourself…”

  “Fascinating, Mademoiselle, but I am a detective, not an art critic,” Wily said, snapping the catalogue shut. “Why should this interest me?”

  “Because I have fallen in love with the wrong painting,” said Suzie.

  Wily blinked. “OK…”

  “Two weeks ago, I bought a painting from a gallery owned by a brown bear from Russia called Dimitri Gottabottomitch. The picture was small, a bit strange-looking, but I LOVED it. A day later, I got a phone call.”

  “From who?” Wily asked.

  “It was Dimitri. He said the gallery assistant had made a mistake. The painting wasn’t for sale. He wanted it back.”

  “So – let me guess – you refused?”

  “Of course I did. I’d fallen in love. I offered him more money – ten times what I’d paid – but he kept saying it wasn’t for sale. Then he called me rude names. Well, that did it. Nobody is rude to Suzie La Pooch. I hung up.”

  “That’s odd behaviour for a businessman,” Wily muttered. “Refusing ten times the asking price.”

  “Yesterday, this arrived,” said Suzie. She handed Wily a note:

  Wily looked at the handwriting. Then he smelled the paper. He thought he recognized the scent – there was brown bear, but also something else…

  “I must admit, this note unsettled me,” Suzie said. “I closed my gallery to the public. Locked the door. Turned on the alarms. Flew straight to London and came here.”

  Wily looked up. “I assume giving the painting back is not an option.”

  Suzie shook her head. “First, he is rude. Now, he is making threats. I may be a poodle on the outside, but inside I am pure Rottweiler.”

  “And you don’t want to contact the police?”

  “What if they take Dimitri’s side? Tell me to give the painting back,” said Suzie. “Besides, police officers are not very clever. I want to keep the painting and I want to know why Dimitri wants it back so badly. It seems that there’s something rather strange behind it all.”

  “True,” said Wily. “OK, I’ll take the case. Return to your gallery at once and I’ll follow on. You may have locks and alarms, but Dimitri will have crowbars and drills. We need to make the place a fortress. Then we’ll work out why the painting is so special.”

  “Merci, Monsieur Fox,” said Suzie, “I knew I could count on you. See you in Paris this afternoon.”

  The poodle picked up her catalogue and walked out.

  Wily pressed another button on his desk. The speaker crackled. “Did you get all that, Albert?” he asked.

  A squeaky voice replied, “Of course.”

  “Good,” said Wily. “I’m on my way down.”

  He walked over to a bookcase and pulled out a copy of Fantastic Mr Fox. The bookcase slid across to reveal a fireman’s pole that was at least a mile long.

  Wily put on a pair of gloves and thigh pads that were hanging on the wall. Then he leaped on to the pole and started to hurtle downwards. After a couple of minutes, Wily gripped with the thigh pads to slow his pace. He landed with a soft pouf on a crash mat in the middle of an underground laboratory.

  “Morning, Albert,” said Wily. “What have you got for me today?”

  A small mole with huge glasses emerged from the shadows.

  “So, I hear you’re going to Paris…” He yanked a piece of rope that was under his arm, and a curtain whipped aside to reveal a moped.

  “This is called a Vespa,” he said. “Everyone there has one. However, yours is slightly different.” The mole pulled a lever on the side of the bike and a gigantic rocket slid out of the back.

  “It can fly,” Albert said proudly.

  He pulled another lever and a large corkscrew popped out of the front. “And it digs tunnels.”

  He pointed at a third lever. “And if you pull that, it turns into a submarine.”

  “Wow,” said Wily. “Anything else?”

  “Actually, there is,” said Albert. “If you whistle, it will come to you. Within a distance of a hundred metres. And if you tap that screen, you can talk to me at any time.”

  Wily smiled. “Does it serve coffee, too?”

  “Er, actually, no,” Albert apologized. “I didn’t, er, think about that…”

  “I’m only joking, Albert,” said Wily. “It’s brilliant!” He climbed on. “Now, show me how this rocket works. I have to be in Paris by midday.”

  Wily was standing in Suzie’s gallery, La Pooch of Paris. The walls were white and bare with pale grey squares every couple of metres.

  “Where are all the paintings?” he asked.

  Suzie smiled. “I had this installed earlier this year. Now I’m very glad I did.”

  She took out a remote control from her pocket and pressed a red button. There was a whirring noise and the grey squares flipped round to reveal Suzie’s paintings.

  “Clever,” Wily said. “Dimitri doesn’t stand a chance. Now, which one does he want back?”

  Suzie glided over to a small painting at t
he end of the room. “This one,” she said.

  It certainly was a very strange-looking painting.

  Wily looked at the description underneath: ‘Vole Inspecting a Nervous Woodlouse’ by Kandogski.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” said Suzie. “It works on so many levels. Every time you look at it, you find something new.”

  “It’s certainly … different,” said Wily, looking around at the other paintings in Suzie’s gallery.

  “That’s why I’m so excited,” said Suzie. “Kandogski is a new discovery.”

  At that moment, they heard a knock. Suzie pressed a button on the remote control and the paintings flipped round, leaving the walls bare.

  “Stay hidden,” said Wily. “I’ll see who it is.”

  The detective moved slowly towards the door, ready to unleash one of his kung-fu moves. He put his paw on the handle and opened it a fraction. He couldn’t see anyone. He opened it a fraction more.

  A squirrel darted in and looked at Wily in surprise. “Wily! What are you doing here?”

  The squirrel was in police uniform and her name badge read: SYBIL SQUIRREL, JUNIOR DETECTIVE, PSSST (Police Spy, Sleuth and Snoop Taskforce).

  “Sybil!” Wily exclaimed. “I might ask you the same question!”

  “The French government got in touch,” Sybil explained. “The La Pooch gallery suddenly closed its doors to the public. No warning. No explanation given. It looked fishy.”

  “Well, it isn’t,” Wily insisted.

  “Oh yeah,” Sybil said with a grin. “What are you doing here, then?”

  A second later, she was barged out of the way by an angry-looking bulldog.

  “Wily Fox!” he barked. “I might have known.”

  “Julius Hound,” Wily replied, with a mock bow.

  “Give me three good reasons why I shouldn’t arrest you for tampering with a crime scene,” said Julius.

  Suzie La Pooch moved forward. “Because this isn’t a crime scene, Monsieur. It’s my gallery and I invited Mr Fox here,” she said.

  For a split second, Julius stopped in his tracks, staring at the elegant poodle, but he swiftly recovered. “I don’t know what he’s told you, Mademoiselle, but if you’ve got a problem, you should have come to me – the head of PSSST – not this meddling twerp.”

  “I don’t have a problem,” Suzie said. “Mr Fox is a dear friend of mine.”

  Julius looked around at the bare walls of the gallery and back at Suzie. “If you don’t have a problem, then where are all your paintings?”

  Suzie blinked. “They’re safe.”

  “Not stolen?”

  “Not stolen.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care,” said Suzie.

  “Prove it or I’ll arrest you.”

  Suzie sighed. “Fine. Arrest me.”

  Suzie held out her arms, waiting for the handcuffs. There was a tense silence. Then a knock on the door made everyone jump.

  Wily moved towards it.

  “Not you,” Julius growled. “Sybil, go and see who’s there.”

  The squirrel opened the door carefully and stepped outside. They heard the muffled sounds of a conversation, and then Sybil reappeared with a parcel.

  “Delivery for Miss La Pooch,” she said. “Says it’s from an admirer. It smells like it’s from that posh cheese shop round the corner.”

  “Give it to me, Sybil,” Wily snapped.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” said Julius, standing between Wily and the parcel.

  “Don’t be a fool, Julius,” said Wily. “You don’t know who sent it or what’s inside.”

  “And maybe you do,” said Julius. “Is the cheese shop in on this plot? Perhaps it contains money? Or a smuggled painting?”

  “Julius, do not open it,” Wily growled.

  But Julius was already angrily tearing off the lid of the parcel. “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he muttered.

  The bulldog put his paw inside the parcel and pulled out a lump of yellow cheese. He frowned, sniffed it and then collapsed on the floor in a heap.

  “Oh no!” Wily exclaimed and jumped on top of the cheese, covering it with his body.

  “What is it?” cried Sybil.

  “It’s Le Pong Beaucoup, the smelliest cheese in Paris!” Wily declared. “It knocks you out in seconds. Poisons you in minutes. Get out of here and take Suzie with you!”

  Yellow gas was beginning to seep round the edges of Wily’s coat.

  Sybil grabbed Suzie and headed for a small door at the back of the gallery. As they ducked through, the main doors of the gallery were forced open and two wolves wearing gas masks rushed inside.

  The wolves sniggered at Julius’s unconscious body as they stepped over it.

  Wily could feel the cheese beginning to fizz and bubble as the gas struggled to escape. The wolves peered down at Wily, who was lying still with his eyes closed.

  “He isn’t going anywhere,” said one.

  “He’ll be no trouble to us,” said the other. They both had thick Russian accents.

  The first wolf put a bag of tools down on the ground and pulled out a crowbar.

  Wily felt his head beginning to spin. Then he had an idea. “Hmmr phhr mmm,” he said.

  “What?” said the first wolf.

  “Hmmr phdd mmrr,” said Wily, beckoning the wolf towards him.

  The wolf leaned over, putting his face right next to Wily’s. “What?” he growled.

  Quick as a flash, Wily pulled out the cheese, lifted up the wolf’s gas mask and shoved the cheese into his mouth. The wolf was so confused, he gulped it down. First he turned red. Then he turned purple.

  Finally he ran out of the gallery, yellow steam pouring out of his ears.

  Wily jumped to his feet and looked around for the other wolf, but the gallery seemed empty. Then he felt something heavy hit him on the back of the head and everything went black.

  Time passed. Wily felt himself being shaken awake. He opened his eyes and saw Suzie leaning over him. He sat up and rubbed his head.

  “Is everyone OK?” he asked.

  “Julius is talking about pink unicorns, but otherwise everyone is fine,” she said.

  “And the painting?” asked Wily.

  “Not fine,” said Suzie. “My Kandogski has gone!”

  Wily was tearing down a long straight boulevard on his Vespa. He tapped the screen between the handlebars.

  “Albert? Are you there?” he called.

  In an instant, Albert appeared. “I’m here, Wily.”

  In the background, Wily could see the temporary HQ that the mole had set up in the Paris sewers. “I need your help,” said Wily. “I’m heading for Dimitri Gottabottomitch’s office, by the Eiffel Tower.”

  “I thought you were at Suzie’s,” said Albert.

  “I was,” said Wily. “Then two wolves broke into the gallery and took Suzie’s painting. I was almost killed by some smelly cheese, before being knocked on the head by a… Anyway, enough of that, I’ve got to find these wolves.”

  “You think they’ll have taken the painting to Dimitri’s office?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Wily. “But I do know that brown bear is responsible for all this.”

  Wily turned down a side street.

  “So how did they steal the painting?” asked Albert.

  “It’s a long story, but basically Julius turned up,” said Wily.

  “Julius?” said Albert. “PSSST was there? That’s odd.”

  “I know,” said Wily. “This case is getting stranger by the minute. And I don’t think this is just about a painting, Albert. Those wolves could have stolen every piece in Suzie’s gallery. But they just took the Kandogski. That smelly cheese could have killed us. Who commits murder for the sake of a painting?”

  “It’s weird all right,” said Albert. “So what do you need me to do?”

  “Find out everything you can about this Kandogski bloke,” said Wily. “We need to know what is it that’s making
Dimitri care so much.”

  “You got it,” said Albert.

  Wily turned off the screen. He looked up and saw the Eiffel Tower straight ahead. He parked his scooter and walked the last hundred metres, so no one would hear him coming. When he got close to Dimitri’s office, he ducked behind a hedge.

  Outside the door, Wily could see a wolf. In front of the office, there was a van. A young goat dragged a desk into the back and went to sit in the driver’s seat.

  “Leaving town, Dimitri?” Wily muttered.

  The detective knew he had to get closer. He crossed the street, flattened himself against the side of the van and peered inside – there were no paintings, just office equipment. Wily glanced over at the wolf by the door. Then he had an idea.

  Wily had always been able to throw his voice. He had caught the notorious Purple Monkey gang by making it sound like their boss, Bruno Baboon, was trapped in a vat of superglue.

  Now was a good time to practise his ventriloquism skills.

  He put his hand around his snout and shouted, “How did I end up in here?” It sounded like his voice was coming from inside the van.

  The wolf looked up.

  “Where am I? Help!” Wily called out again.

  The wolf immediately ran over and leaped inside the van, looking around in confusion. Wily swiftly closed the doors behind him, and banged on them loudly.

  “Ready to go now, driver,” he said, in his best Russian accent.

  The van revved its engine and sped off. Wily could hear the wolf calling out and banging angrily on the sides.

  “That’s one out of the way,” said Wily.

  He crept towards the door of Dimitri’s office and sniffed. He could smell wolf and also … BEAR.

  He had no time to lose – he padded quietly into the front office.