Stella awoke in daylight and, for a moment, she did not remember where she was. Then she smelled toast and heard someone humming a tune. She pushed back the rug, wriggled out from underneath a couple of sleeping cats and sat up.

The humming stopped. ‘You are awake.’ Mr Capelli poked his head around the screen. He held the toasting fork in one hand and a herring in the other. Alfredo lay across his shoulders, his green eyes fixed on the herring.

‘Good morning,’ said Stella. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

‘Yes, yes. Good morning,’ said Mr Capelli. ‘Or good afternoon, perhaps? You sleep well?’

‘What time is it?’ asked Stella, horrified. She scrambled to her feet and looked around for her dressing gown and slippers.

Mr Capelli disappeared for a moment, then appeared again, without the herring but holding a watch. ‘It is nearly one o’clock. You sleep for many, many hours.’ Alfredo jumped from his shoulders and shot out of sight. ‘No! Alfredo. No! Cattivo!’ Mr Capelli disappeared again, and there was some scuffling and an annoyed mioaw. He appeared, beaming, with the herring clutched to his chest. ‘I put it down for one second only,’ he said. ‘But always he watches me. He is most clever. And most naughty.’ He waggled a finger at Alfredo. ‘No fish for you! Well, perhaps a tiny bit. There.’ He broke off a generous piece of the herring, gave it to Alfredo and stroked his head.

He turned to Stella. ‘I will show you the water closet. And we will eat.’

‘But —’ Stella started to say.

‘The Professor is still watching,’ said Mr Capelli, feeding pieces of fish to the other cats. ‘I take my cats out for a walk early, for milk. And he is there, at the front of the theatre. And those men, they follow me. They are most suspicious. And later, I creep down and spy and he is still watching. A mouse could not escape!’

‘Still watching?’ Stella’s heart sank. ‘Oh no.’

‘Yes, yes, it is most frightful. But I have a splendid plan.’ Mr Capelli waved the toasting fork at Stella. ‘And I will tell you it while we eat.’

She pulled on her dressing gown and slippers. Mr Capelli opened the door a crack and looked out. Stella could hear footsteps and voices and someone playing a pianoforte and laughing. Mr Capelli beckoned to her and pointed to a door at the end of the passage.

‘That is the water closet,’ he said.

It was tiny, filthy and extremely cold. Gusts of icy sea air blew in through the gaps between the floorboards. Looking down the lavatory, Stella was startled to find it open to the sea. A long way below, greyish-green waves surged and frothed. A large dark fish swam past.

She used the lavatory quickly, pulled the heavy iron lever (starting a disconcerting series of clanks and bangs and trickling noises) and hurried back to the warmth of Mr Capelli’s dressing room.

‘You will have toast, yes?’ he said. ‘And milk.’ He passed her a piece of toast and herring and a mug of milk. He poured milk into a bowl and placed it on the hearthrug. The cats clustered around to lap. Mr Capelli smiled at them fondly and took a swig from his black bottle.

‘So,’ he said. ‘You know, we have a big splendid show today, at two o’clock? A matinee. And the Professor also is performing. And all those men, they work in the theatre. They will be busy, busy pulling ropes and working the limelights, yes?’

Her mouth full, Stella could only nod.

Mr Capelli gestured expansively. ‘So, it is easy. You can escape then. While the Professor is busy, and all those men are working, and everyone is watching the show, and there are many, many people everywhere. I will show you the stage door. It is to the side of the main door. That will be the best way.’

But would the Professor be expecting that? Would he have made a plan? Stella swallowed. She said, ‘Thank you, Mr Capelli,’ and tried to ignore the nervous feeling in her insides.

‘It is nothing,’ Mr Capelli said, beaming. ‘It is less than nothing.’ He picked up a brush from the mantelpiece, scooped up Violetta and sat down on the chair. ‘So, you will return to your Aunts?’ he asked as he began to groom the cat.

Stella took another brush. She knelt beside Alfredo on the hearthrug and stroked the brush along his back. ‘Yes,’ she said. Her heart sank when she thought of the Aunts and how angry they would be. ‘And I will talk to the police detectives about the Professor, if I can. If they will listen to me.’

‘So, you will go straight back to the hotel. To your Aunts and the policemen,’ said Mr Capelli. ‘Splendid. You will be safe.’

‘I hope so,’ agreed Stella.

‘And what will you do with that thing?’ Mr Capelli gestured towards where Mr Filbert’s package was hidden, hanging around her neck.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. She wished she knew what the mysterious silver bottle was. Something very precious, which someone had buried under the ancient hazel tree for safekeeping. But what? It was no good, just running and hiding. She needed to make a plan. She tried to think while she helped to groom the cats, but it was difficult to concentrate. Alfredo rolled over onto his back. Annina pounced on his tail and bit it. He gave an angry mioaw and scrambled up onto Mr Capelli’s shoulder and hissed at her, his ears flat on his head. Mr Capelli laughed and patted him. Stella started brushing Annina. The cat squirmed around and tried to bite the brush. Despite her worries, Stella giggled.

‘They are excited,’ said Mr Capelli. ‘They are most splendid artistes. They have temperament, you understand.’

At last, when all the cats were smooth and glossy (and Stella had been scratched three times and bitten once and was covered with cat fur), Mr Capelli went behind the screen to change into his costume. Stella removed the cats’ leather collars and replaced them with fancy collars embroidered with gold thread and sequins. The cats were making a lot of noise, wailing and yowling.

‘They practise,’ said Mr Capelli from behind the screen. ‘They get ready to perform.’ He started to sing and the cats joined in enthusiastically, lifting their heads and swaying from side to side.

There was a knock at the door. Stella jumped. Before she could duck out of sight, the door opened and a boy’s head poked into the room. He snatched off his cap. ‘Fifteen minutes, Mr Capelli, sir.’

‘Si, si. Thank you!’ shouted Mr Capelli.

The boy glanced at Stella. His eyes widened, and then the door slammed and his footsteps hurried away.

‘He saw me,’ gasped Stella, her heart thumping.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Capelli.

‘He’ll tell the Professor.’

‘Yes, perhaps. But it is not so dreadful.’ Mr Capelli emerged from behind the screen. He wore a red-spangled coat and a sparkling red and gold waistcoat. His moustache was curled and shiny. He placed a glossy black top hat on his head. He looked magnificent. ‘Because now, very fast, we go. I will show you the stage door. Where you can escape straight away, I think.’ He attached leads to the cats’ collars. He tucked the violin under his arm. Alfredo leaped up onto his shoulder. ‘Come,’ he said, and opened the door.

Stella picked up the Atlas and followed him.

Outside in the passage, three men in striped bathing costumes with bristling military moustaches were performing vigorous exercises and shouting, ‘Hup, hup!’ to each other. A tall lady stalked past, dressed entirely in pink feathers with an enormous nodding plume on top of her head.

Mr Capelli walked quickly along the passage, Alfredo perched on his shoulder and the other cats trotting beside him, their tails pointing straight up in the air. Stella hurried along behind, keeping her head down and trying to escape attention. But it was difficult not to stare. There were remarkable things to see on every side.

At the top of the stairs, four or five dark-eyed children, some of them even smaller than Stella, were bending and stretching in an astonishing manner. A girl took hold of a little boy and bent him over backwards into the shape of a croquet hoop. He grinned at Stella from between his own ankles. Stella smiled back nervously.

At the bottom of the stairs, a man led a small donkey past. A woman was singing trills, higher and higher. An enormous man with bulging muscles, wearing a tiger skin, cried, ‘Alley oop,’ and upended himself against a wall, his hands on the ground and his feet in the air. Stella gaped at him. He winked at her, upside down.

People greeted Mr Capelli and he answered them, but he did not stop.

They passed a group of dancers in mermaid costumes, chattering and practising fancy steps. Stella glanced behind and saw the boy with the cap threading his way through the crowd.

‘Look!’ she gasped.

‘This way,’ said Mr Capelli decisively. He squeezed quickly between the dancers and led the way out across the stage. The curtains were closed. Stella could hear the orchestra playing and the rumble of many voices. On the stage, people were milling around, pulling on ropes and shouting instructions. A backdrop was being lowered, with a picture of a romantic-looking ruined castle, a stormy sky, a shipwreck and a lighthouse.

The enormous mechanical sea monster waited at the side of the stage. A man on a ladder adjusted something inside its open mouth, called out, ‘All right, Ned,’ and pulled his head out of the way. There was a click and a hiss and the sea monster belched out a flickering tongue of orange flame.

Stella jumped.

On the far side of the stage was another group of dancers, dressed as sailors with jaunty little blue and white caps.

‘Mr Capelli!’ The boy was pushing his way through the people. ‘Mr Capelli, sir. The Professor wants you.’

The Professor was making his way quickly towards them. Mr Capelli stepped in front of Stella, shielding her from view. ‘Hide!’ he whispered.

She ducked behind the dancers, her heart thumping.

Mr Capelli said in a low voice, his eyes on the Professor, ‘I will keep him busy. The stage door is just along there.’ He flapped a hand. ‘Goodbye and good luck, Stella Montgomery.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Capelli. Thank you,’ she whispered to his back. She crept along behind the dancers in the direction he had indicated.

She looked back for a moment. The Professor had reached Mr Capelli and was bending towards him. Alfredo arched his back angrily, his tail like a bottle brush.

Stella saw the sign STAGE DOOR. She hurried towards it. A doorman in uniform stood talking to a woman who held a number of hoops and three puffy white poodles.

The door opened suddenly and four or five girls, not much bigger than Stella, tumbled in, panting and laughing.

The daylight was bright after the gloom of the theatre. Stella blinked. Outside, on the pier, flags fluttered, the merry-go-round turned and the steam organ played a cheerful wheezing tune.

Families milled around, wrapped in coats and shawls. Boys shouted, their boots thumping on the boards of the pier. In the distance, Stella could see the Hotel Majestic, perched like a fancy hat on the cliff above Withering-by-Sea.

She had almost reached the door when it was pushed wide again and a man with pale whiskers, a furtive expression and an amaranth waistcoat with a pattern of gardenias elbowed his way in.

It was the kidnapper Scuttler and he was dragging Ben behind him.