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We hope you will be relieved to know that the wrecking
     of your van was a pure accident, and not an act of mindless vandalism by kids. We can only afford fifty pounds, which is a fair bit of the pocket-money we are carrying. One of us says you
     are probably insured, so might even make a bit, which we certainly hope.
    We are really sorry for the inconvenience we have caused and if we come by this way again we will definitely eat here – if your business
     survives, that is. We much prefer it to the Family Roadgrill, which is way too expensive for what you get. A hot chocolate, for example, is now an unbelievable price, and I bet yours is
     better. Crazy!
    Sorry not to sign this note with our names, but that would obviously make catching us rather easy.
    TTFN and good luck.
    The original note appears as an Appendix in the Somerset Police File, which was copied to D.C.C. Cuthbertson of the Devon and Cornwall Police. The offences Jacob Ruskin refers to
    were ultimately taken into consideration in the final police prosecution.

Chapter Six
    The next morning saw a further series of connections as different journeys inched forward. Breakfasts were going on all over the world: a complex network of cookers, cups,
dishes, knives, and forks. For example, in the crypt under Ribblestrop Towers, six elderly monks were eating porridge from wooden bowls. Over their heads, thirty-seven thousand feet up on a British
Airways’ 747, a slim, blond boy called Miles, in a grey shirt and a black-and-gold tie, drank fresh juice, while the chef prepared his omelette. His mother was still sleeping in the seat next
to his. She would want only rosehip tea when she awoke.
    Captain Routon was already on the road, speeding up the motorway having breakfasted on a Mars bar. Brother Doonan and Father O’Hanrahan were dozing fitfully in a hospital waiting room. The
restaurant wouldn’t open till nine-thirty due to staff-shortages, and the coffee-machine accepted money but refused to give drinks. Lady Vyner – the proud and insomniac owner of
Ribblestrop Towers – ate Marmite on toast, with a glass of early-morning rum. Little Lord Caspar, grandson and heir to the estate, had a chocolate pancake. The orphans were finishing yet more
jellies from the cancelled party, whilst Tomaz was in his glorious home under the ground opening a can of pineapple chunks.
    In Colombia, Andreas Sanchez was fast asleep because it was half-past one in the morning, but a servant was preparing fresh bread for the household and the nightingales sang to the
fireflies.
    In the school’s west tower, as the sun rose over frosty lawns, the headmaster had Ryvita with Professor Worthington – she brought jam and he brought marmalade.
    It was going to be a very special day.
    Sam, Ruskin, Oli, and Millie helped Flavio feed the animals, distributing the last burgers as fairly as they could. They had phoned the school and Captain Routon had details of
their location. It was just a question of waiting for him, so they were happy to explore the truck. There were two tigers, who seemed to get hungrier however many boxes they dispatched. Sushamila
the lioness nibbled more gently, content to let Sam feed her. She gazed at him with loving, shortsighted eyes. Flavio unlocked a partition, took down various shutters, and then – to
everyone’s amazement – produced a small camel, which he led down onto the tarmac. The camel looked utterly miserable and lapped at a puddle. It had thick brown hair, which rippled in
the freezing wind. The children realised there were hidden chambers.
    ‘Flavio, there’s a fish-tank!’ said Millie. ‘What are you doing with a fish-tank?’
    ‘You wanna go careful, man. That’s the python.’
    ‘Wow, you’ve got a python?’ said Ruskin. ‘I’ve always wanted a snake.’
    ‘It’s not in the tank,’ said Millie. ‘One dead mouse, that’s all I can see.’
    ‘Oh boy,’ said Flavio, wearily. He pulled out his flash-light and played it from