The secret to instant height?   Stand on a box. Want to make your money go further? Roll it down a hill. The answer to smelly feet? Wear a clothes pin on your nose. Eleven-year-old Johnny Swanson is in business. He's raking in the money with his advertising scams and his advice columnist persona, who offers advice on absolutely anything in return for a shilling. But his money-making schemes are getting him in too deep with the wrong kinds of people. Everything is spiralling out of control, and now his own mother is in mortal danger. There's only one thing to be done: Johnny must assume another role as undercover detective! In the spirit of Roald Dahl, this is a funny and delightful story with a satisfying mystery, a wonderful cast of characters, and an unlikely but completely likeable hero. ELEANOR UPDALE has been writing books since the turn of the century, including the Montmorency series, which has won awards on both sides of the Atlantic. She worked in radio and television, mainly on British news programs including The World at One and Newsnight . She is a governor of the children's charity, Coram, and a member of the Clinical Ethics Committee at Great Ormond Street Hospital. She also has a PhD in History and all those interests have influenced this book. To learn more about Eleanor and her books, please visit EleanorUpdale.co.uk. Chapter 1 ATHLETICS, AUTUMN 1929 The teacher was smiling, but he wasn’t smiling at Johnny. He was looking over Johnny’s head at the other boys, lined up behind him to take their turn at the High Jump. And it wasn’t a nice smile. It couldn’t be. The scar running from Mr Murray’s eye to his chin pulled the skin of his lips to one side and gave him a permanent sneer, even when he was in a good mood. But now he really was sniggering – inviting the rest of the class to laugh at the smallest, thinnest boy as he struggled with the run-up and brought down the pole. Johnny could feel his second-hand shorts flapping against his spindly legs. He knew he looked ridiculous, and that his only hope was to pretend that he thought it was funny too. Of course he would fail. He breathed in, clenched his fists and started his run. Mr Murray called out to him, catching the moment to put Johnny off his stride. ‘Right then, Squirt,’ he shouted. ‘Show us what you’re made of!’ The boys gave a mock cheer. Johnny forced a smile and clattered into the bar. After the fall he brushed the mud from his knees and swaggered to the back of the line, grinning, even though he wanted to cry. Mr Murray blew his whistle and put a stop to the laughter, swiping at Johnny’s head as he passed. ‘It’s nothing to smirk about, Swanson. This country needs men, not insects like you. You wouldn’t have got far in the war.’ The boys groaned. They were expecting another tale about Mr Murray’s bravery in France, where his face had been torn apart at the Battle of the Somme in 1916 – two years before any of them were born. But the teacher blew his whistle again and turned to the next boy in line: the muscular captain of the football team. ‘Now then, Taylor. Show Swanson how it’s done.’ Everyone cheered as Albert Taylor cleared the bar with room to spare; and at the end of the afternoon Albert was the winner and the class hero. No one wanted to know Johnny, however much he tried to turn his humiliation into a joke. Mr Murray put Taylor in charge of clearing the hurdles from the games field and set off for the warmth of the staff room. Taylor delegated the job straight away. ‘You need building up, Quacky,’ he said, using the nickname he knew Johnny hated. ‘The extra exercise might make you grow a bit.’ He threw Johnny the key to the shed and turned to the others. ‘Who’s coming for a game of marbles?’ The rest of the boys were happy to leave Johnny to lug the equipment away while they ran off to celebrate Albert’s triumph, and to laugh about Johnny’s shame. Johnny had almost finished tidying the hut when he was startled by a snuffling noise outside. Had the boys come back to taunt him? Were they waiting to jump on him as he left the shed? He couldn’t make out any voices, but he thought he could hear sticks of wood bashing against each other. Maybe they were going to barricade the door so he couldn’t get out. They all knew he’d just started a job after school. They’d love to get him into trouble by making him late for his paper round. He pushed hard at the door, hoping to knock away whatever barrier they had already built. The door swung open easily. There was no one there – just a big wooden hoop rolling away across the field. Then he heard a whimper and looked round. A girl was lying on her back on the grass behind the door. She had half a dozen hoops around her neck, and more looped over each outstretched arm. Like a beetle flipped upside-down, she was wriggling but couldn’t get up. ‘You knocked me over,’ she sniffled. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Johnny. ‘I didn’t know you were there.’ Al