something long and thin were being stuck in the keyhole to try to unlock the lock. Violet knew, from when she and her siblings lived with Uncle Monty, that a lockpick can often take a long time to work properly, even if it has been made by one of the world's greatest inventors, but the children nonetheless moved to the F aisle as fast as their tiptoes could carry them.
'Fabian to Fact.'
'Fainting to Fangs.'
'Fatalism to Faulkner.'
'Fear to Fermat.'
'Ficus to Filth.'
'Fin de Siécle to Fissle--here it is!'
Once more, the Baudelaires hurried to find the proper key, and then the proper drawer and then the proper file. 'Fin de siéecle' is a term for a time in history when a century is drawing to a close, and 'fissle' is a fancy word for a rustling noise, like the one that continued to come from behind the locked door as the children looked frantically for Fire. But the papers went right from Finland to Firmament, without a single word on Fire in between.
'What will we do?' Violet asked, as the door began to rattle again. 'Where else could the file be?'
'Let's try to think,' Klaus said. 'What did Hal say about the file? We know it has to do with Jacques Snicket, and with fire.'
'Prem!' Sunny said, which meant 'But we looked under Snicket, Jacques, and Fire already.'
'There must be something else,' Violet said. 'We have to find this file. It has crucial information about Jacques Snicket and V.F.D.'
'And about us,' Klaus said. 'Don't forget that.'
The three children looked at one another.
'Baudelaire!' Sunny whispered.
Without another word, the orphans ran to the B aisle, and hurried past Babbitt to Babylon, Bacteria to Ballet, and Bamboo to Baskerville, stopping at Bat Mitzvah to Bavarian Cream. As the door continued to fissle behind them, Klaus tried nine keys in a row before finally opening the cabinet, and there, between the Jewish coming-of-age ceremony for young women, and the delicious filling of certain doughnuts, the children found a folder marked 'Baudelaire.'
'It's here,' Klaus said, taking it out of the drawer with trembling hands.
'What does it say? What does it say?' Violet asked in excitement.
'Look,' Klaus said. 'There's a note on the front.'
'Read it!' Sunny said in a frantic whisper, as the door began to shake violently on its hinges. Whoever was on the other side of the door was obviously getting frustrated with trying to pick the lock.
Klaus held up the file so he could see what the note said in the dim light of the room. ''All thirteen pages of the Snicket file,'' he read, ''have been removed from the Library of Records for the official investigation.'' He looked up at his sisters, and they could see that, behind his glasses, his eyes were filling with tears. 'That must be when Hal saw our picture,' he said. 'When he removed the file and gave it to the official investigators.' He dropped the file on the floor and then sat down beside it in despair. 'There's nothing here.'
'Yes there is!' Violet said. 'Look!'
The Baudelaires looked at the file where Klaus had dropped it on the ground. There, behind the note, was a single sheet of paper. 'It's page thirteen,' Violet said, looking at a number typed in a corner of the paper. 'The investigators must have left it behind by mistake.'
'That's why you should keep paper clips on papers that belong together,' Klaus said, 'even when you file them. But what does the page say?'
With a long
Page thirteen of the Baudelaire file was not a crowded sheet of paper--there was just one photograph stapled into place, below one sentence of type. But sometimes it takes only a photograph and a sentence to make an author cry himself to sleep even years after the photograph was taken, or to make three siblings sit and stare at a page for a long time, as if an entire book were printed on one sheet of paper.
There were four people in the photograph, standing together outside a building the Baudelaires recognized immediately. It was 667 Dark Avenue, where the orphans had lived with Jerome and Esmé Squalor for a brief time, until it became another place too treacherous for the children to stay. The first person in the photograph was Jacques Snicket, who was looking at the photographer and smiling. Standing next to Jacques was a man who was turned away from the camera, so the children could not see his face, only one of his hands, which was clutching a notebook and pen, as if the obscured man were a writer of some sort. The children had not seen Jacques Snicket since he was murdered, of course, and the writer appeared to be someone they had never seen at all. But standing next to these two people were another two people the Baudelaire children thought they would never see again. Bundled up in long coats, looking cold but happy, were the Baudelaire parents.
'Because of the evidence discussed on page nine,' read the sentence above the photograph, 'experts now suspect that there may in fact be one survivor of the fire, but the survivor's whereabouts are unknown.'
Chapter Seven
'I never thought I'd live to see the day,' Violet said, and took another look at page thirteen of the file. The Baudelaire parents looked back at her, and for a moment it seemed to Violet her father would step out of the photograph and say, 'There you are, Ed. Where have you been?' Ed was short for Thomas Alva Edison, one of the greatest inventors of all time, and it was a special nickname only used by her father, but the man in the photograph did not move, of course, but only stood smiling in front of 667 Dark Avenue.
'Me neither,' Klaus said. 'I never thought we'd see our parents again.' The middle Baudelaire looked at his mother's coat, which had a secret pocket on the inside. In the secret pocket, she often kept a small pocket dictionary, which she would take out whenever she encountered a word she did not know. Because Klaus was so interested in reading, she had promised that someday she would give the pocket dictionary to him, and now it seemed to Klaus that his mother was about to reach into her coat and put the small, leatherbound book in his hand.
'Neither me,' Sunny said. She looked at her parents' smiles, and suddenly remembered, for the first time since the fire, a song that her mother and father used to sing together, when it was time for Sunny to go to sleep. The song was called 'The Butcher Boy,' and the Baudelaire parents would take turns singing the verses, her mother singing in her breathy, high voice, and her father in his, which was as low and deep as a foghorn. 'The Butcher Boy' was the perfect way for Sunny to end the day, safe and cozy in the Baudelaire crib.
'This photograph must have been taken a long time ago,' Violet said. 'Look how much younger they look. They aren't even wearing their wedding rings.'
''Because of the evidence discussed on page nine,'' Klaus said, reading the sentence typed above the photograph, ''experts now suspect that there may in fact be one survivor of the fire, but the survivor's whereabouts are unknown.'' He stopped, and looked at his sisters. 'What does that mean?' he said, in a very faint voice. 'Does that mean one of our parents is still alive?'
'Well, well, well,' said a familiar and sneering voice, and the children heard the odd, tottering footsteps walk straight toward them. 'Look what we have here.'
The Baudelaire orphans had been so shocked by what they had found that they had forgotten about the person breaking into the Library of Records, and now they looked up to see a tall skinny figure walking down the B aisle STOP. It was a person they had seen recently, and one they had hoped never to see again. There are many different ways of describing this person, including 'Count Olaf's girlfriend,' 'the Baudelaire children's former guardian,' 'the city's sixth most important financial advisor,' 'a former resident of 667 Dark Avenue,' and several
