Dear Herbert, it began. Tim Diamond was, of course, only the name he called himself. His real name was Herbert Simple.

It has been many years since we met, but I would like to invite you to a reunion of old boys and girls from St. Egbert’s Comprehensive, which will take place from Wednesday, July 9th, to Friday, July 11th. I am sure you are busy but I am so excited to see you again that I will pay you $1,000 to make the journey to Scotland. I also enclose a ticket for the train.

Your old friend,

Rory McDougal

Crocodile Island, Scotland

Tim tilted the envelope. Sure enough, a first-class train ticket slid out onto the table.

“That’s fantastic!” Tim exclaimed. “A first-class ticket to Scotland.” He examined the ticket. “And back again! That’s even better!”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Who is Rory McDougal?” But even as I spoke, I thought the name was familiar.

“We were at school together, in the same class. Rory was brilliant. He came first in math. He was so clever, he passed all his exams without even reading the questions. After he left school, he invented the pocket calculator—which was just as well, because he made so much money he needed a pocket calculator to count it.”

“McDougal Industries.” Now I knew where I’d heard the name. McDougal had been in the newspapers. The man was a multi-Mcmillionaire.

“When did you last see him?” I asked.

“It must have been on graduation day, about ten years ago,” Tim said. “He went to college, I joined the police.”

Tim had spent only a year with the police but in that time the crime rate had doubled. He didn’t often talk about it but I knew that he had once put together a sketch artist picture that had led to the arrest of the Archbishop of Canterbury. He’d been transferred to the mounted police but that had lasted only a few weeks before his horse resigned. Then he’d become a private detective—and of course, he had hardly made millions. If you added up all the money Tim had ever made and put it in a bank, the bank wouldn’t even notice.

“Are you going?” I asked.

Tim flicked a cornflake toward his mouth. It disappeared over his shoulder. “Of course I’m going,” he said. “Maybe McNoodle will offer me a job. Head of security on Alligator Island.”

“Crocodile Island, Tim.” I picked up the invitation. “What about me?”

“Sorry, kid. I didn’t see your name on the envelope.”

“Maybe it’s under the stamp.” Tim said nothing, so I went on, “You can’t leave me here.”

“Why not?”

“I’m only thirteen. It’s against the law.”

Tim frowned. “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

“I will tell.”