The Case of the Stolen Film by Gareth P. Jones Page A

easy.’
    Dirk grabbed a sheet of newspaper from the ground, rolled it up and exhaled a thin line of fire, instantly igniting it.
    â€˜Looks easy enough,’ said Putz, grabbing another couple of sheets and blowing on them. Instead of setting the paper on fire, he only managed to make it flap pathetically.
    â€˜I keep tellin’ him that we ain’t designed for fire-breathin’,’ said Kitelsky.
    â€˜Give me that,’ said Dirk, snatching the paper from Putz’s paws.
    â€˜Hey, mind your claws,’ said Putz. ‘I reckon I got close that time. I could feel my throat gettin’ kinda warm.’
    Dirk wasn’t listening. He had opened the paper. It was a page of classified ads. At the bottom of the page was an advert that read:
    Sorrentino Solutions
    If you’ve got a problem, we’ll find the solution

Chapter 15

    â€˜It should be a right turn … sorry, a left. No, a right,’ said Big Hair.
    â€˜There it is,’ said Holly, noticing a sign saying, ‘Sands Mansion’, with the Global Sands logo of a G and an S in a circle.
    Mr Bigsby turned the car up the winding path through a gate that buzzed open automatically. In the car park were Mr Buchanan’s silver Bentley and a yellow VW van.
    â€˜I won’t be long,’ said Holly’s dad, parking the car and opening the door.
    â€˜Can’t we come and have a look?’ said Holly, eager to see what a billionaire’s mansion looked like.
    â€˜We’re already late for our dinner reservations,’ said Big Hair.
    â€˜But we want to say thank you to Mr Buchanan for such an amazing holiday,’ said Archie, winking at Holly.
    Big Hair smiled. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Archie,’ she said.
    â€˜OK, but you both need to be on your best behaviour,’ said Mr Bigsby.
    â€˜Particularly you, Holly,’ said Big Hair, who hadn’t forgotten how Holly had broken into a high-security Global Sands animal-testing laboratory.
    Holly wanted to protest but she felt Archie’s hand on her arm. She kept quiet and stepped out of the car.
    Sands Mansion overlooked the high-rise financial district of the city. It was an old-fashioned building with white walls and a grey stone roof. In front of it were layers of garden, each level symmetrically designed and immaculately maintained. Hundreds of security cameras covered the building, watching every square inch of the grounds.
    â€˜Nice pad,’ said Archie. ‘It reminds me of my second home. Or is it my third?’
    â€˜You’re always getting those two mixed up,’ said Holly.
    Mr Buchanan appeared at the top of the steps with two scruffy-looking men wearing colourful T-shirts and flared trousers, one with a dark goatee beard, the other with a lighter under-chin beard. Brant Buchanan shook both their hands and said, ‘Gentlemen, I’ll see you tonight?’ He handed the man with the under-chin beard a sealed envelope.
    The two men shook his hand and said goodbye. As they passed Holly, the man with the goatee turned to Big Hair and said, ‘How you doing?’
    â€˜Very well, thank you,’ replied Big Hair primly, as though she had just been greeted by something that had come out of a dog’s bottom.
    â€˜Malcolm,’ said Mr Buchanan warmly. ‘And Bridget.’ He kissed the air next to Big Hair’s cheeks. ‘And the enigmatic Holly Bigsby.’ He extended his hand.
    Holly hesitated, still mistrustful of the billionaire.
    â€˜Holly,’ said her father, with a warning tone.
    Mr Buchanan smiled and turned to Archie. ‘And I see you have a friend, Holly,’ he said. ‘It’s so important for children to have company.’
    â€˜Are those hippies?’ said Archie, pointing at the two men getting into the yellow van.’
    Mr Buchanan laughed. ‘In a way. They’re conservationists. You see, I’m very interested in endangeredanimals. I contribute