Sindhu and Jeet's Detective Agency Read online

  CONTENTS

  All Aboard

  Building Bridges

  A Hard Shell to Crack

  ALL ABOARD

  The dimly lit boarding gate at Chennai International Airport smelt of bleach. Sindhu flipped through the pages of her book – The Handbook for Young Detectives – and put it away.

  She was going on a holiday to London with her parents, and most importantly her best friend Jeet, for a whole week. Yay! The trouble was that Jeet actually wanted to do sightseeing in London while Sindhu wanted to solve mysteries. They were, after all, Sindhu and Jeet’s Detective Agency.

  According to her book, detectives almost never went on holidays. Even if they did, they were pulled into solving mysteries. Also, detectives preferred flying business class where they had the space to discuss clues and interview suspects if they needed to do so. If only her parents could afford to fly them business class!

  Mum and Dad were snoozing, catching up on sleep since they had had to leave for the airport at two in the morning. Jeet was playing with his new gadget – the latest model of pen-shaped spy-cam with still, audio and video capabilities (his words).

  “Jeet!” Sindhu called, waving a folded sheet of paper. “Guess what this is?”

  Jeet shrugged.

  “The commendation letter from our headteacher Mrs Kandasamy for solving mysteries at the school.”

  “Why did you bring that?”

  “Just in case we get to solve mysteries on the holiday!”

  Jeet rolled his eyes. “No way,” he insisted. “I’m going to be a tourist! Not a detective, for the next one week.”

  Let’s see about that, thought Sindhu, carefully putting the letter in her jacket pocket and pulling out her OWL – Observation and Watch Log. The motto of every detective, according to The Handbook for Young Detectives, was Observe, Watch and Log.

  “Say cheese!” shouted Jeet. “You’re the 100th photo!”

  Sindhu made a face at the camera and started logging her observations. Every entry had three sections.

  “Sindhu!” called Jeet. “Please can you get your dad’s phone?”

  “Why?”

  “This camera connects to a phone via a USB,” explained Jeet. “So we can look at the pictures, sound recording or videos.”

  “Never wake a snoozing dad or a sleeping bear,” said Sindhu, “if you want to live long enough to see London.”

  Jeet giggled as he turned away to take more pictures. Sindhu returned to her observation subjects. The cleaner man was gone. The cleaner woman was just pretending to wipe the door. She was looking in another direction completely.

  Sindhu’s detective instinct went on high alert. Something was not right. She needed to gather evidence. But if she asked Jeet to help, he would refuse. So, she needed a ruse.

  “Jeet, how about a holiday project?”

  “About what?”

  “About professions around the world,” said Sindhu. “Look! You can start with that cleaner.”

  “Genius!” said Jeet, turning on his camera to record the woman. “I’ll record a video.”

  The PA system crackled. “We will begin boarding in the next ten minutes,” the staff announced in three languages.

  Passengers woke up from their slumber and started moving towards the boarding gate, blocking Jeet’s view.

  “I need to get closer,” said Jeet as he walked ahead.

  Sindhu followed him.

  “The cleaner, she’s gone,” said Jeet.

  “Wait!” said Sindhu. “What’s that?”

  “Some rag,” said Jeet.

  “Not any rag,” said Sindhu. “It’s her cleaning cloth.”

  “Oh no, careless cleaner,” mocked Jeet. “I’ll find another cleaner in London who isn’t as careless. It’s time to board. Come on!”

  “Maybe she’s just around the corner,” said Sindhu, pulling Jeet with her.

  “Sindhu!” called Mum. “Don’t go far.”

  As they turned a corner, they bumped into the cleaning cart.

  “That’s strange!” said Sindhu.

  “No, it’s not,” said Jeet. “Please don’t imagine a mystery. She must be on her break or something.”

  *

  The hall was busier. Sindhu and Jeet spotted a few cleaners dressed in blue shirts over saris. But none of them were the woman they had seen before.

  “If she’s on a break,” said Sindhu, “she must be in the STAFF ONLY room.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Jeet. “I don’t want to miss our holiday because we went looking for a cleaner on a toilet break.”

  But Sindhu had already opened the door and entered the cleaning closet marked STAFF ONLY.

  It was lined with metal shelves filled with cleaning products, bins and rolls of bin liners. In one corner, a pantry was set up with a tray of empty glass tumblers, a kettle and some mugs for tea.

  “You never listen!” hissed Jeet as he followed her inside. “Look! It’s a cleaning closet. There’s nothing else.”

  “Shh! Listen.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t you hear voices?”

  They moved closer to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Garbled sounds came from the other side.

  Jeet pulled Sindhu towards the door.

  “Hang on!” whispered Sindhu. She tiptoed to the pantry and picked two glass tumblers. Jeet sighed and took one glass from her hand.

  Sindhu placed the open side of her tumbler flat on the wall and pressed her right ear to its bottom. Jeet did the same. Then he had an idea. He held up his spy-cam near the tumbler too.

  They could hear clearly what was being said on the other side. It was like magic! But really it was science – the resonance of the air waves through the glass.

  “We need four bags – the easier to open the better, anything that will open with the universal luggage key.”

  “Boarding has started!” said a woman’s voice. “We must hurry.”

  Whoever was on the other side was going to steal from passengers’ luggage. Sindhu and Jeet’s Detective Agency needed to stop them.

  Then they heard a new voice, speaking in a hoarse whisper.

  Sindhu leaned in closer, pushing hard on the glass pressed against the wall.

  CLICK!

  Uh oh! She had pressed too hard. The wall wasn’t a wall. It was a room divider. And now she was falling… down. Jeet tried to pull her back. But gravity was stronger than him. That was also not magic, just science.

  Down she went. Sindhu braced for the fall. But she fell on something soft. Luggage.

  THUMP! Jeet fell right next to her. Their glasses clattered to the floor.

  “Hello there,” a gruff man’s voice called.

  “Snooping, are we?” said the woman. The cleaner they had been searching for.

  Sindhu and Jeet struggled to their feet, balancing on the wobbly bags. The woman got hold of Sindhu and the man grabbed Jeet.

  “Lock them up until the job is done,” the third man whispered. “Then make sure they get on that flight. Missing children will ruin all our plans to get rich.”

  “Yes boss!”

  When the boss man turned and left, Sindhu saw her chance. “Now!” she hissed and kicked the woman’s shins.

  “Ow!” The woman let go of Sindhu.

  The man tried to help the woman and loosened his hold on Jeet. Jeet broke free and they both ran through the door to find the boss man.

  “Which way?” asked Jeet.

  Sindhu looked to her left and right.

  “That way is the runway, so he must have gone this side, maybe,” said Sindhu. “Come on!”

  They sprinted through the long corridor looking for an exit. Behi
nd them, the fake cleaners were giving chase.

  *

  The corridor was so long, with a short roof like a tunnel. When they reached the other end, Sindhu and Jeet had to stop.

  “We’re trapped,” said Jeet.

  “Between a wall and two baggage burglars,” said Sindhu.

  The two cleaners slowed down to a stroll with evil grins on their faces.

  “No bag or snooping children can escape from us,” shouted the man.

  The woman laughed.

  “Maybe we can jump over the walls, over their heads and escape through the cleaning closet again,” whispered Sindhu.

  “Not unless we can magically turn into martial arts experts.”

  “We’ve got to do something,” said Sindhu.

  “We’re not superheroes,” said Jeet. “But we do play Kabadi.”

  Sindhu high-fived Jeet. That would work.

  Both Sindhu and Jeet belonged to their school Kabadi team. Kabadi was a game of getting away. It was a bit like rugby but without the ball. You had to enter the opposing team’s area, touch someone on their team and leave without being caught.

  “We enter the domain of the cleaners,” said Sindhu.

  “And we leave without getting caught,” said Jeet. “Just like a Kabadi match.”

  Sindhu nodded.

  “1, 2, 3,” Jeet counted.

  Sindhu and Jeet ran headlong towards the cleaners, then quickly turned, ducked and rolled on the ground, confusing the two cleaners. An element of surprise was always necessary for escape, their coach always said. And it worked.

  The woman tripped on her own sari and fell. The man tried to stop her from falling and tumbled on top of her.

  Sindhu and Jeet ran through the corridor towards the cleaning closet. But it was blocked by the boss man.

  “Over here!” called Jeet, running to the wall diagonally opposite. Jeet punched a square frame on the wall and it swung inwards. It was a hatch.

  “Good observation!” shouted Sindhu as Jeet pulled himself into the hatch. She quickly followed.

  Aaagh! They were sliding down on something rubbery.

  “Why do they have slides inside an airport?” asked Jeet.

  “And why didn’t they tell the kids?” asked Sindhu.

  BRRDDRRR!

  What was that?

  Their rubber slide juddered and shook. Suddenly they started to move faster. Their legs pushed through flaps of rubber.

  Aaaaaaghh!

  Tumbling on top of suitcases and bags on the baggage carousel, they arrived into the arrivals hall.

  “We’re a week early,” quipped Jeet.

  “Jump!” shouted Sindhu.

  “Move the trolleys,” Jeet shouted to the passengers waiting for their luggage. But the momentum of the carousel made it impossible to land gracefully on their feet.

  “Ugh! Phenol,” said Jeet as they hit the floor.

  “And bleach with a lemon fragrance,” said Sindhu.

  They were pulled up by a very stern security guard. “What in the name of the god of travel are you doing on the carousel?” he shouted. “Where did you arrive from?”

  “We’re not arriving,” shouted Sindhu. “We’re leaving. Our flight is boarding right now.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” said the guard. “Once you’re in the arrivals hall, you need a new ticket to go back to departures.”

  “But we were trying to stop a robbery!” said Jeet.

  The guard hustled them into a dingy office and pointed at two chairs without a smile. Then he rapidly spoke into a walkie-talkie.

  “Playing detectives?” he asked.

  Sindhu showed him her OWL. “Look!”

  “Good handwriting,” the guard said.

  “Here!” said Sindhu, pulling out the commendation letter she had brought with her. “We really are detectives.”

  “I’m not buying any of this. The truth please! Otherwise, we’re cancelling your holiday and calling the police.”

  “We have real proof,” said Jeet.

  Before the guard could answer, Sindhu’s parents came running into the room.

  “Are you OK?” shouted Mum.

  “What have you done now?” asked Dad.

  “Can I borrow your phone, Mani Uncle?” asked Jeet.

  Sindhu’s dad handed the phone to Jeet and Jeet plugged his spy-cam into it.

  The first hundred photos were photos of the airport.

  “I’m still not seeing any real proof as you promised,” said the guard.

  “Look!” screamed Sindhu as the cleaner’s face came into focus. “She’s one of them.”

  “She’s just a cleaner,” said the guard.

  “Wait until you hear this,” said Jeet, turning up the volume on the phone.

  He replayed the conversation he had recorded using the glass tumbler, before Sindhu had fallen through the wall.

  But it was just garble.

  “Really?” said the guard. “This is your proof?”

  “Wait!” said Jeet. “I left the recording running, so you’ll hear everything they said to us.”

  As promised a video played, showing the three thieves threatening them and mentioning getting rich, the sound crisp and clear.

  “Hmm,” said the guard. “OK... That’s interesting.”

  “See, real proof,” said Sindhu. “We’re real detectives.”

  The guard rushed out, talking into a walkie-talkie.

  Mum and Dad checked their watches a million times. Sindhu tried not to look them in the eyes. They were going to miss the holiday because of her.

  At last, the guard returned to the office. “We’ve got them,” he said, “when they were trying to open some suitcases for another flight. Thank you for being alert!”

  Sindhu smiled. Our holiday has been sacrificed for a good cause, she thought.

  The PA system crackled. “Last call for Flight A73 to London.”

  “Oh no!” said Mum. “We’re going to miss our flight.”

  “Our tickets are non-refundable,” said Dad.

  “Sorry!” said Sindhu. “It’s all my fault.”

  “We stopped a burglary though,” said Jeet.

  “We’re just happy you’re safe,” said Mum.

  “Don’t worry,” said the guard. “We’re holding the flight for you.”

  He led them back to the boarding gate. The airline staff welcomed them with big smiles.

  “Jeet and I are in 27 E and F,” said Sindhu, as they entered the plane.

  “No, you’re not,” said the flight attendant. “We’ve upgraded you to business class, as a small thank you for catching the burglars.”

  Mum smiled at Sindhu and Jeet. “Thanks to Sindhu and Jeet’s Detective Agency!”

  “Hear, hear!” said Dad.

  “Let’s hope the rest of the holiday is quiet,” said Jeet.

  “Maybe!” said Sindhu, crossing her fingers behind her back. Quiet holidays were boring.

  BUILDING BRIDGES

  It was the first day of their London holiday.

  “After breakfast, let’s go for a walk along the riverside, I’m told it’s historic,” said Mum.

  “Only until Dad gets tickets for the Tower of London,” said Sindhu.

  Dad pulled out his phone and checked. “Those tickets are way too expensive.”

  “Dad!” cried Sindhu. “We HAVE to see the Crown Jewels. I want to see the ravens too.”

  “There are crows in India!” said Dad.

  “Actually, the crows in Chennai are jackdaws,” said Jeet.

  “Come on, Dad,” said Sindhu. “We have to go to the Tower of London.”

  “Fine! Go on your walk and I’ll get the tickets,” said Dad. “Meet you by that tunnel?”

  “Just get them online,” said Mum.

  “I want to show them all the free coupons and find the best price for the tickets.”

  Right outside the hotel, there were display boards explaining the history of Tower Bridge, the river and how it brought shi
ps from India, China and many other countries.

  “Do you think we can go on top of Tower Bridge?” Jeet asked. “I bet the river looks pretty from up there.”

  “Don’t know,” said Sindhu.

  Before they could venture east, Dad returned with the tickets. “There was a long line,” he said, “and this woman almost tried to cut me off. But I held my ground.”

  “Did you get the tickets, Dad?” asked Sindhu.

  “Yes, and they were almost a third cheaper.”

  “Oh good!” said Mum. “Now everyone’s happy. Let’s go.”

  But as they walked through the tunnel, Dad started climbing the steps to the bridge. Uh oh! Sindhu knew something was wrong. The Tower of London was to their right.

  “Come on!” said Dad. “It’s up there.”

  “Mani!” Mum said. “I think you’ve got the wrong tickets.”

  Even though Dad had got it wrong, he insisted they use the tickets.

  “But Dad,” Sindhu moaned.

  “It was meant to be,” said Mum. “We can see the river from up there, just like Jeet wanted.”

  “I wanted to see the Tower too,” said Jeet.

  Sindhu refused to talk to her dad as they got into the lift.

  “Hey!” Dad whispered. “That’s the woman who was trying to cut the queue.”

  Even though she didn’t want to, Sindhu instinctively looked. That’s what detectives did. She pulled out her OWL and logged it in.

  The lift stopped on the exhibition floor.

  “We’re standing 44 metres above the river,” said Jeet.

  “Look!” said Dad, pointing at a sign. “That’s 206 steps to the ground level.”

  “Heroes of the Bridge!” Mum read aloud from the posters. “This is all about the people who worked on the bridge. Mani, look! There was an Indian engineer working here too.”

  Dad put on his glasses and peered at the poster. “Keshavji Shamji Budhbhatti.”

  “I’m bored already,” said Sindhu.

  “Don’t be like that,” said Mum. “We’re in London for a week. We can go to the Tower some other time. Just enjoy this now.”

  Jeet was definitely enjoying it. He took out his spy-cam and held it to the windows and took photos of the river, the river birds and the police boats.

  “Jeet!” called Sindhu. “Do you want to play Count the Objects?” she asked.