The Mysterious Benedict Society

that.”

“I didn’t call you ‘that.’ I called you George Washington. Ask the others. They heard me. I definitely did not call you ‘that,’ George Washington.”

Kate sighed and muttered, “So much for remorse.”

“And what about Milligan?” Constance said. “Why is he so sad?”

All eyes went to their bodyguard, who had left off tending the roses and was oiling the gate hinges. He looked as if he could use an oiling himself — he moved quite creakily, and with a pronounced stoop, so that he truly seemed as old as he appeared in his disguise. He cast not a glance in their direction. Either he hadn’t heard the question or else was pretending he hadn’t. But Constance wouldn’t let this pass.

“Milligan! Come tell us why you’re so dreadfully glum!”

“Good grief,” said Sticky, “do you have to drag out everybody’s sad tales? Why don’t you leave him in peace?”

She wouldn’t listen, however, and after a few more stubborn requests, Milligan at last set down his oil can and shuffled over to them. “All right,” he said in a resigned tone. “I’ll tell you.”

The children all sat up straight.

“Several years ago,” Milligan began, “I awoke, blindfolded, in a hard metal chair. My hands and feet were cuffed together, a metal restraint held my head in place, and as I came awake, a man’s voice said, ‘This nut is a hard one to crack.’ Indeed I felt I had been cracked — I had a ferocious headache, I was hungry and exhausted, and for some reason my fingers and toes were stinging. Worse: When I tried to recall where I was, and how I had come there, I found I couldn’t.”

“Amnesia?” Reynie said.

Milligan nodded. “Apparently I’d received a serious blow to the head. I could recall nothing at all — not my past, not my purpose, not even my name. To this day I have no memory of who I am.”

“Then why did you say your name was Milligan?” Constance asked, almost accusingly, as if he’d lied to them.

“When I regained consciousness, it was the first name that flew into my mind. Perhaps it was in fact my name, but it didn’t feel like my name, if you understand me. It seemed to apply to me somehow, and to be important, and so perhaps it is my name, but I’m afraid I’ll never know.”

“What happened next?” asked Kate.

“Well, next I heard the same voice say, ‘Let’s rouse him again. I grow weary of this one.’ Then, shaking my arm, he said, in a very different, gentle tone, ‘Wake up, my friend, wake up,’ unaware I’d been awake long enough to have heard him discussing me like a cut of meat.

“Pretending to come awake, I said, ‘What? Have I been asleep? Where am I?’ To which he replied, ‘You’re safe; that’s the important thing. We’ve rescued you from certain death and are here to help you. Now, is it true you remember nothing?’

“I didn’t, of course, as I’ve told you. And apparently I had told the man this too. But as he now seemed to expect that answer and seemed intent on taking advantage of it somehow, I said, ‘On the contrary. I remember everything perfectly.’

“The man cried, ‘What? You’re lying!’

“‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry you find it so distressing.’

“Then the voice grew cunning and said, ‘If you remember so clearly, tell me why you are here.’

“‘I believe I’ll leave the telling to you,’ I replied.

“‘The sneak! You’re lying to us, you dirty —’ the man shouted, and then, strangely, all was silent, as if someone had clapped a hand over his mouth.

“After a while I said, ‘Dirty what? Please tell me — the suspense is killing me.’

“The voice returned, much calmer now. ‘It won’t be suspense that does it,’ he said. ‘If you don’t crack tomorrow, we’ll toss you into the harbor.’

“‘Well, I’m sure I would infinitely prefer that fate to the smell of your breath,’ I replied, upon which he struck me hard across the face and ordered me taken from the room.

“As it happened, that blow did me a good turn, for it loosened the blindfold. I had only just left the room when the blindfold began to slip, and though my captors didn’t realize it, I could soon see fairly well. Two men in suits were leading me along a stone passage. They moved slowly to accommodate my pace, which was hampered by my chain-cuffed ankles. As we walked, I studied my hands, still cuffed in front of me, and became aware that one was clutching something. Wonderingly I opened my fist, noticing as I did so that my fingernails had been bitten beyond the quick, so that my fingertips were raw. (This explained why they stung, and judging from the pain in my toes, my toenails had been bitten off as well.) In my hand I discovered a tiny device, rather like a twisted hairpin. To my great surprise I realized it had been fashioned from my fingernails and toenails. All this I must have done myself, but I had no memory of it.

“Imagine then how amazed I was to discover that I knew what the little device was for. I slipped it into the lock of my handcuffs (my fingers seemed to know what they were doing, though I did not), and just as we came to a stairway, I heard the lock spring — I’d picked it in less than a minute. Before they knew I was free, I had knelt down and cuffed the men’s ankles together. Then I hopped out of reach, and my captors, trying to pursue, fell on their faces. Before they could regain their feet, I had picked the locks on the ankle cuffs, snapped them onto the men’s wrists, and bounded down the stairs.

“After that, my getaway was fairly simple. I broke out into the darkness of a rainy night. I was pursued, of course, but I made my way through a hilly terrain until I came to a cliff overlooking the harbor. The water looked shallow and lay about a hundred feet below me, but as I had no other choice, I dove straightaway. There followed some troublesome business of swimming to the mainland while pursuers in boats tried to capture me with nets and hooks, that sort of thing. But I proved a good swimmer, and the rocks in the channel are terrible for boats. In the end I escaped.”