The Switch Read Free

did. Nothing had happened. So how . . . ? There could only be one answer. He had been kidnapped. That had to be it. Someone had broken into Snatchmore Hall, getting past the wall, the moat, the security system and the dog, had drugged him while he was asleep and kidnapped him. He had read about this sort of thing happening. His father would have to pay some money—a ransom—but that was no problem because Sir Hubert had lots of money. And then he would be allowed to go home.
    The more Tad thought about it, the more relieved he became. In fact, it was almost exciting. He’d be on the television and in all the newspapers: MILLIONAIRE’S SON IN RANSOM DEMAND, BOY HERO RETURNS HOME SAFE . That would certainly be something to tell them when he got back to school! And when the kidnappers were finally caught (as of course they would be), he would have to go to court. He would be the star witness!
    Tad glanced at his watch, wondering what time it was. The watch was gone. That didn’t surprise him. It was a Rolex, solid gold, with a built-in calendar, calculator and color TV. His mother had given it to him a year ago to thank him for tidying up his room when Mrs. O’Blimey was out sick. The wretched kidnappers must have taken it. (They also seemed to have taken his silk pajamas—he was wearing only pants and a black T-shirt that was several sizes too big.) Tad lowered his hand—then raised it again. Was he going crazy . . . or was his wrist thinner than it had been? With an uneasy feeling in his stomach, he closed his third finger and his thumb in a circle around where his watch had once been. They met.
    Tad began to tremble. How long had he been in the caravan? Could it have been weeks—even months? How had he managed to lose so much weight?
    Cautiously, he swung himself out of the bed. His bare feet came to rest on a carpet so old and dirty that it was impossible to tell what color it had once been. The smell of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air. Tiptoeing, one step at a time, he crossed the room, making for the door.
    His hand—the hand was thinner too, just like his wrist—closed around the doorknob and slowly he turned it. The door was unlocked. Tad opened it and stepped into a second room, larger than the first and shrouded in darkness.
    This room was dominated by a large fold-down bed—he could just make out its shape as his eyes got used to the gloom—and now he realized there were two people inside it, buried beneath a blanket that rose and fell as they breathed. One of the figures was snoring loudly. Tad was sure it was a woman. Her breath was rattling at the back of her throat like a cat flap in the wind. The man next to her muttered something in his sleep and turned over, dragging the cover with him. The woman, still asleep, groaned and pulled it back again. Tad stepped forward, his foot just missing an empty whiskey bottle on the floor. The wall on the other side of the room was nothing more than a ragged curtain, hanging on a rail. He had to get to it before the two people—his kidnappers—woke up.
    He forced himself to take it slowly, making no sound. He was helped at least by the rain. It was coming down more heavily now, striking the metal roof of the caravan and echoing throughout, the noise masking the sound of his own footsteps as he edged around the bed. At last he reached the curtain. He padded at the material until he found a gap and, with a surge of relief, passed through.
    He found himself now in the third and last section of the caravan. It was without a doubt the most disgusting part of all.
    It was a kitchen, shower and toilet combined, with all the different articles of those rooms jumbled up together. There were dirty pots and pans stacked up in the shower and used, soggy towels next to the sink. A roll of toilet paper had unspooled itself over the oven and there were two grimy bars of soap, a razor and a toothbrush on top of the stove. Unwashed plates, thick with food from supper the