21 Salle 345

Part Two ...in which Peanut travels the world

Chapter 21 Salle 345 Maman, pourquoi ses bras sont-ils tombés? Quelqu'un a-t-il Jaissé tomber la statue alors qu'il I'apportait å la galerie, ou le sculpteur a-t-il simplement manqué de temps?' The door was only open a crack but the child's voice was as clear as a bell. Peanut looked back at the others with her finger to her lips. 'C'est trés, trés, vieux, mon chéri. 'A different voice this time. Female. And belonging to an adult. 'Crois-moi, vieillir est une chose brutale. Cela nous concerne tous. Allez, on doit retrouver papa rue Saint-Honoré dans dix minutes. 'Je peux la toucher?' The child again. ' Elle a I 'air lisse.' 'I wonder what they're saying,' whispered Rockwell. 'The little boy is telling his mum that the statue looks

very smooth,' said Little-Bit. 'And that he wants to touch it. 'Oh, but of course you speak French! Hang on, what statue?' 'Quiet, you two. They'll hear,' whispered Peanut. 'NON! CHRISTOPHE! ARRÉTE CA! LA CORDE EST LA POUR UNE RAISON!' The woman was shouting now. Some footsteps approached rapidly. 'Excusez-moi, madame,' said an officious-sounding man, mais la galerie ferme maintenant. S'il vous plait, permettez-moi de vous montrer la sortie.' There was the sound of a slight kerfuffle before three sets of footsteps faded into the distance. 'OK,' whispered Peanut. 'I think the coast is clear. She pushed open the heavy door and the three children squeezed through. They found themselves in a large, grand room, with high, vaulted ceilings and red marble walls. To their left and right, huge arched openings led to equally opulent arcades, and straight ahead a statue-filled hallway, lined with ornate columns, seemed to go on for miles. The children stepped over a small glass barrier and turned to look back to see where they'd emerged from.

The sculpture was magnificent. An elegant female figure, two metres tall and beautifully carved from white marble. 'Er, where are her arms? Are they on display somewhere else?' said Rockwell. 'Don't be such a philistine, Rockwell,' said Peanut. 'It's obviously very old. Anyway, everybody knows that there's great beauty in imperfection. I think she's absolutely stunning. The statue stood on a large black plinth, the front of which had opened up like a door. Peanut hopped back over the barrier and pushed it shut. To her amazement, any evidence of the portal's existence totally disappeared as the door closed, apart from some very faint hinges and a tiny handle which looked like they had been drawn with a pencil. Suddenly they heard footsteps in the arcade to their right. Quick as a flash, they hid in a shadowy alcove underneath one of the arches at the side of the room. A small figure, dressed entirely in white, came trotting

into the gallery carrying a portrait of an enigmatic young woman in both hands. The person then stood in front of the statue, right on the spot where Peanut, Rockwell and Little-Bit had been seconds earlier, his white fedora glowing in the early evening light. 'It's him,' whispered Rockwell. 'It's Mr White!' 'Hmm. I recognise that painting said Peanut under her breath. Mr White looked to his left, and then his right, checking that the coast was clear before stepping over the barrier. He pulled open the small door in the plinth and dived through.