Agaton Sax and the Cashless Billionaires

By Nils-Olof Franzén

Agaton Sax returns to fight his biggest criminal plot yet!
Upon receiving a mysterious telegram during breakfast, Agaton soon finds himself searching to uncover the enigma around it. But it's not just one criminal mastermind behind this confounding communique - it's a whole cabal of them! And when Agaton discovers that they have captured his friend and confidant Inspector Lispington, Sax must come to the rescue as well as put a stop to the dastardly devils and their pernicious master plan - one that may spell the end for Sweden's most famous detective!

The Agaton Sax series of books were first published in Sweden, later being translated into English and printed with illustrations by much-loved artist Quentin Blake (perhaps best known for his work on the books of Roald Dahl). The English translations became immensely popular, achieving the status of the most re-issued mystery & detective series in the history of Nordic children's literature.
Now, after many years out of print, Oak Tree Books is proud to publish the entire Agaton Sax series, newly translated and illustrated for the next generation. This new collection includes the eleventh book which has never before been released in English.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oak Tree Books
• Release date: Jun 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781789827712

Book preview

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Money Matters

If I were to tell you that our story began on a summer’s day,[1] there are certain elements I know will spring immediately to mind.

A clear, blue sky.

The sun beating down from overhead, causing your parents to leap from behind the nearest bush and cover you from head to toe in sunscreen, allowing you to better appreciate the point-of-view of a recently basted chicken.

Green fields, flowers in bloom, and pavements on which you could fry an egg.

Although you wouldn’t fry said egg, as having the paragraph before spent some time feeling like a chicken, you’ve become a little funny about eggs.

However, if I then mentioned that the summer day in question was to be found in and around the city of London, England, you might change your mind and replace all of the above with grey clouds, biting wind and buckets upon buckets of rain.

And, of course, this would be understandable, particularly if you have spent a typical summer in London. It is not for nothing that it has been voted World’s Dampest Holiday Destination in seventeen separate polls, one of which was actually intended to determine the voter’s butter or margarine preference.

You would, nonetheless, be wrong. This time, at least. For this day was, somewhat surprisingly, a perfectly pleasant, heartily hot and sufficiently sunny one. So much so that the newspapers had, that very morning, printed headlines such as ‘Bright Thing in Sky is Sun, Say Scientists’ so as to avoid a city-wide panic.

It is, however, always raining somewhere. And on this day, the rain was falling inside the heart of a long-legged, bald-headed, elaborately-moustachioed man whom regular readers of these adventures will recognise as Inspector Joshua Lispington of Scotland Yard.

He was pacing, as had become his habit, back and forth across his office, deep in melancholy thought.[2]

If his appearance was anything to go by, he had not slept for some time. His ordinarily crisp shirt and carefully knotted tie were crumpled and creased.

Frankly, he looked as if he had spent some – if not all – of the previous evening in a hedge.

Now, it would be easy to pass judgement, suggesting that a professional man such as Inspector Lispington really ought to take better care of his appearance whilst representing the world-renowned Scotland Yard.

But then you had not taken part, earlier that same morning, in as strange and upsetting a telephone call as had Lispington. If you had, you too might find yourself less than fresh and somewhat discombobulated.[3]

I have recorded the conversation below, so as to increase your sympathy for the poor Inspector.

‘Hello?’ said a low, pompous voice, before Lispington could even offer a greeting of his own.

‘Hello!’ replied Lispington.

I admit this isn’t the most sinister of beginnings, but please try to be patient.

‘Do I have the honour of speaking with Inspector Lispington?’

‘Yes, although I am sure the honour is mine.’

‘Finally!’

‘What do you mean, finally?’

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‘I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours! Are you never at your work, man?’

Lispington bristled at this, as well he might.

‘Have a care, sir!’

‘I do have a care. I have several. Which is why I’m calling.’

‘But who are you?’

‘Who am I?’

‘That’s what I’m asking you.’

‘Surely you recognise my voice?’

‘If I recognised your voice, I wouldn’t have to ask who you are.’

‘Well, this is all most irregular. I am, as you should know, Albert Mix, director of the World Savings Bank. We spoke only yesterday.’

Lispington gulped. It was not considered good form to forget one’s conversations with important people, although admittedly this was a rule made up by important people to allow them to continue feeling important.[4]

‘Obviously I was testing you. Happily, you passed; of course I recognise your voice.’

‘Hmm,’ said Mix and he meant it, ‘how do I know you’re not simply trying to humour me?’

‘We spoke about money.’ Lispington wasn’t sure how he’d ended up on the wrong side of this interrogation, but it was making him feel extremely tired.

‘I am director of a Bank. What else would we talk about? Otter sanctuaries? The history of the tango?’

Lispington saw an opportunity to gain back some ground.

‘Perhaps it is you who are trying to pull one over on me,’ he said with relish.[5] ‘If you are Mr Mix, how much money were we discussing?’

‘Sixteen million pounds, Mr Lispington!’

‘That’s right. And… what had happened to that sixteen million?’

‘Someone has taken them out of the World Savings Bank.’

‘And who did you say this someone was?’

‘Bull Knickerbocker, the well-known billionaire.’

‘Correct!’

‘Alright, Inspector. I appreciate your dedication to security, but do you believe me now? That I am Mr Mix, the director of the Bank?’

‘You could still be a fraudster who imitates voices.’

‘And knows all that I’ve just told you?’

‘A very clever fraudster.’

Mr Mix – if indeed that was his real name – let out a sound akin to that of a lion who has taken a wrong turn and mislaid a herd of antelope.

‘You are driving me crazy, Inspector! Do you want me to have to contact your Government?’

Lispington made a decent show of being unconcerned by this, although angry calls from his Government superiors were amongst his least favourite things.[6]

‘Feel free!’ he proclaimed, with a confidence he did not feel.

‘Look, Inspector. I am a busy and important man. My time costs money; £130 pounds per