The Mysterious Benedict Society

was in the culvert and swam away to escape — your soggy shoes are a dead giveaway. Everybody saw me spill that juice, so now you have a reason other than harbor water.”

“Yikes,” Kate said. “Thanks, buddy. And wipe that grin off your face, Constance. You don’t always have to enjoy it so much, you know.”

As the girls wolfed down their breakfasts, Reynie and Sticky filled them in: After Kate left their room, they’d finally had the opportunity to send Mr. Benedict a report, but to their enormous disappointment, Mr. Benedict hadn’t been able to reply. Jackson and S.Q. had returned to the plaza, this time with Mr. Curtain, who like Jackson was clearly furious with S.Q. about something and kept shaking his finger in S.Q.’s face.

“We wondered why S.Q. was in so much trouble,” Sticky said, “and this morning we found out. Everybody’s heard about it: Jackson and S.Q. failed to catch the spy, but they did find footprints in the sand at the culvert entrance, footprints leading down into the water.”

“What?” said Kate, freezing with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to her mouth. “Oh, no! I meant to wipe away the prints, but then I didn’t have time.” She reddened, ashamed, and set down her fork. “I’m sorry, everybody. They’ll match my shoes to the prints, you know they will. And then it’s . . . Why are you both shaking your heads?”

“Because you have nothing to worry about,” said Reynie.

Sticky broke into a grin. “S.Q. took care of the problem for us. Those big feet of his came in very handy for once. He found the footprints, all right, and followed them down to the shore, but in the process his own footprints destroyed yours! Destroyed them completely! That’s why Mr. Curtain is furious.”

“Ha!” Kate said, profoundly relieved. “Here’s to good old S.Q.!”

“We’re still in a tight spot,” Reynie said. “Mr. Curtain will be watching everybody very . . . and, oh, don’t you find these danishes splendid, Sticky? They go down wonderfully well with cold milk, especially the raspberry ones.”

Sticky wasn’t puzzled by the change of subject. He, too, had seen Jackson and Martina approaching the table. He was responding earnestly that he preferred the cinnamon rolls when Jackson drew up and said with a sneer, “George, forgive me for interrupting your very interesting conversation about breakfast foods, but Martina and I are making an inspection. No doubt you’ve all heard about the spy.”

“We have,” Reynie said, “and we can hardly believe it. Why on earth would a spy be at the Institute?”

Jackson knuckled Reynie painfully on the head. “If you would use your brain, Muldoon, you might figure a few things out. The spy obviously hopes to steal some of Mr. Curtain’s secret technology, then sell it to someone who might use it for wicked purposes.”

“That would be terrible,” Kate said.

Reynie was rubbing his head. “Anyway, yes, we’ve heard about the spy.”

“And yet one thing you probably have not heard about is this.” Jackson reached into his pocket and drew out a marble. Kate’s marble.

“The spy is a marble?” Reynie asked.

“Ha ha, young man. Ha ha. No, this marble happens to have been found somewhere last night, somewhere — let me put it this way — somewhere it should not have been.”

“That seems a reasonable way to put it,” Reynie said.

Martina leaned forward, peering into Kate’s bucket. “So Jackson and I are looking for the marble’s owner. I don’t want to point any fingers,” she said silkily, “but it seemed to me Kate’s bucket might be a good place to look. She has so many odds and ends in there, you know.”

Reynie and Sticky tried to appear unconcerned, but their minds were in turmoil. Kate had mentioned losing a few things in the water last night, but she’d said nothing about the marbles and slingshot.

“Mind if we have a look?” Martina asked, already reaching.

“Not at all,” replied Kate. Before Martina could actually touch anything, she dumped the bucket’s contents onto the table: a magnet, a Swiss army knife, a spool of twine, a kaleidoscope, and a rope (which was damp, but you couldn’t tell without touching it). No marbles. No slingshot.

“Oh,” said Martina, with a look of bitter disappointment.

“Okay, then,” said Jackson. “Just checking. We have other people to ask, so we’ll leave you to continue your fascinating conversation. Come on, Martina.” With some effort he drew the reluctant Martina away.

Kate winked. “I may not know when the Cenozoic Era was —”

Sticky was aghast. “Kate, we live in the Cenozoic Era. Sure, it began 65 million years ago, but —”

“What I was going to say,” Kate continued stubbornly, “is that I may not know when the Cenozoic Era was, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“What in the world are you people talking about?” asked Constance.

“She just means to say she’s not stupid,” said Reynie. “So you got rid of the marbles and the slingshot on purpose, Kate?”

“Of course. I figured he’d find that marble, so I had to dump the others. I sure hated to, though. I won most of them in a game with a lion tamer.”

“Poor Kate,” said Constance, “she’s lost her marbles.”

Everyone but Kate was chuckling about this one when Martina and Jackson, halfway across the cafeteria, suddenly seemed to change their minds and returned to their table. An intimidating look of cruel pleasure on Martina’s face dried up all their laughter and made them wait in silence for the explanation.

“Jackson forgot to mention something else,” Martina said. “He just so happened to spit out a piece of licorice last night in the same place he found that marble. But when he looked for it later, it was gone.”