The Mysterious Benedict Society

is wrong with this statement?’ And do you know what Constance wrote in reply? She wrote, ‘What is wrong with you?’” At this, Mr. Benedict burst into laughter — a squeaky, rapid, stuttering expulsion that sounded rather like a dolphin.

The children’s faces wrinkled in confusion.

“Here’s another,” said Mr. Benedict. “Remember this one? It shows a picture of a chessboard with only a black pawn out of its original position, and it reads, ‘According to the rules of chess, is this position possible?’ Constance writes in response, ‘Rules and schools are tools for fools — I don’t give two mules for rules!’”

Again Mr. Benedict laughed his dolphin laugh. This time he couldn’t stop, but laughed louder and louder, until tears entered his eyes. And then without warning, his eyes closed, his chin dropped to his chest, and he fell asleep.

Rhonda leaped forward to catch his glasses, which had slipped from his nose. Fortunately Mr. Benedict had been leaning against the desk — when he fell asleep, he only slumped forward a bit and didn’t fall to the floor. Even so, Rhonda took him carefully about the waist and said, “Quick, one of you bring me a chair.”

Kate jumped to her feet and slid her chair over. Rhonda lowered Mr. Benedict into it and eased his head into a comfortable position. His breathing deepened into a gentle snore, as if he’d been asleep for hours.

Recovering from his surprise, Reynie realized why Rhonda and Number Two stuck so close to Mr. Benedict when he walked around. If he often fell asleep like this, he must risk some nasty falls.

“Is he all right?” Sticky whispered.

“Oh, yes, he’s fine,” Rhonda said. “He’ll be awake any moment. He seldom sleeps longer than a minute or two.”

And indeed, even as she spoke, Mr. Benedict’s eyelids fluttered open, and he rose abruptly from the chair and said, “Ah.” Taking out his pocket watch, he squinted to read it, then touched the bridge of his nose as if searching for something. “I’m afraid I can’t read without my glasses.”

“Here,” said Rhonda, handing them to him.

“Thank you.” With his glasses on, Mr. Benedict checked the watch and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Only a few moments, then, that’s good. I would hate to have left you waiting long.” He gave a ferocious yawn and ran his fingers sleepily through his hair, as people often do when they first awake, which likely accounted for its disheveled state.

“This is another thing I need to explain to you,” said Mr. Benedict. “I have a condition known as narcolepsy. Are you familiar with it?”

“Sure, it’s a disorder characterized by sudden and uncontrollable attacks of deep sleep,” said Sticky, then ducked his head shyly. “At least, that’s what the dictionary says.”

“The dictionary is correct. Although the condition takes different forms with different people, in my case an attack is usually triggered by strong emotion. For this reason I wear green plaid suits — I discovered years ago that green plaid has a soothing effect on me — and always try to remain calm. However, every now and then I must allow myself a hearty laugh, don’t you agree? What is life without laughter?”

The children, uneasy, nodded politely.

“Now then, where did I leave off? Oh, yes, Constance. I take it you didn’t find her answers as amusing as I do. I’m not sure, however — perhaps you laughed while I was sleeping?” He glanced at them hopefully, but was met with blank faces. “I see. Well, perhaps you’ll find this amusing: Instead of answering the questions on the second test, she composed a long poem about the absurdity of the test and its rules, particularly about the missing fourth step — which apparently reminded her of doughnut holes, because these were the topic of a second poem. She is very irritated, it seems, that every doughnut contains a hole. She feels she is being robbed. I remember a particularly felicitous rhyme between ‘flaky bereft’ and ‘bakery theft.’ Let’s see, where was it? I have it right here. . . .” He began flipping through the test pages.

“Excuse me,” Sticky said. “Sir? How is it this girl passed the tests if she didn’t answer any of the questions? I mean, if she didn’t even try?”

“There are tests,” said Mr. Benedict, “and then there are tests.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It will all come clear presently, Sticky. Ah, here they are at last.”

The door was opening, and into the room now came Number Two, looking vexed, followed by Milligan, looking gloomy. And with them was Constance Contraire, looking very, very small.

It took a moment for the children to realize that Constance had arrived with the others. From Milligan’s sad face, their eyes had to travel quite a distance downward before lighting upon the girl’s. She was very little indeed, and very pudgy, too, which made her almost exactly the size and shape of a fire hydrant (a resemblance strengthened by her red raincoat and rosy red cheeks). Reynie’s first impulse was to feel sorry for her — it must be difficult to be so much smaller than other children — but then Constance gave him a cross look, as if she positively disliked him, and Reynie’s sympathy diminished.

Helping the girl into a chair (it wasn’t a particularly large chair, but she still needed help getting up into it), Number Two said, “Rather than finish the maze, Constance chose a quiet corner and sat down to have a picnic. It took Milligan some time to find her.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Constance said.

“Nor were you asked to,” replied Mr. Benedict. “I’m pleased to hear you’ve had supper. Did you enjoy your picnic, then? Have quite enough to eat?”

“Quite,” said Constance.

“Very well. Thank you, Milligan.”

With a nod, the unhappy man pulled his hat down over his eyes and withdrew from the study. Number Two, meanwhile, took up her position next to Mr. Benedict, who, after introducing Constance to the other children (she gave them all such crabby looks that no one offered to shake her hand), at last began to explain.

“My young friends,” he said, his face growing solemn, “let me cut to the chase. I wish I could tell you that,