In Spurlington’s Shipping Agency — at the late Mr. Spurlington’s mahogany desk — an anxious Charlie Grinn sat absentmindedly spearing a singed notebook with his knife, while the whole building shook.
The telephone hadn’t rung for nearly an hour. An air raid had been in progress for almost two.
“Bring me another,” he yelled, pointing to the empty whiskey bottle that wobbled by the phone. Tater, who was standing behind the desk with a brow covered in cold sweat, sloped off into the gloom. The room was lit only by a small, sulfurous coal burner. In the corner a copying machine stood among split packets of paper. The smell of the spirits it used hung heavy in the dusty air. Outside, the distant wail of the sirens could barely be heard beyond the crash and rumble of the bombs.
Grinn wasn’t happy. After the bizarre turn of events at Paddington — another ghost, for goodness’ sake! — Adam had been furious. Grinn, though, had just been desperate to get as far away as possible from the sensation and the police who came with it, and was ready to give up the whole cursed affair as too risky. But Adam had other ideas. Grinn shuddered as he remembered the boy’s reappearance in this very office that afternoon. He’d been terrifying and impossible to refuse. This whole business with Adam was becoming a nightmare, but by now there seemed to be only one way out for Charlie Grinn. Find this Eddie kid and stick a knife in him.
So far, the only clue was this half-burned notebook found in the ruins of Edmund Utherwise’s house. At least, Adam claimed it was a clue. All Grinn could see in it were smudges and crossings-out, and what good was that meant to be? He jabbed his blade into it again.
Adam would return at midnight. And it had been clear from his tone that he expected to find the boy waiting for him, bound and gagged and ready to be killed. But even Grinn couldn’t produce that kind of result, not in just a few hours. As it was, he was using all the contacts he had, calling in every favor, making the rashest of promises to some very dangerous people. Word had seeped throughout the underworld that Grinn was offering serious money to locate a lost boy, and every gang in London probably had someone out on the job, taking advantage of the raid and the empty streets. It was only a matter of time. But how much time?
“Tell me again what they said,” Grinn snapped as Tater came back with the whiskey. “Could it be the boy we’re after?”
“Can’t say, guv,” said the man as he poured his boss a glass. He splashed a little over the side as something exploded nearby. “It’s just some kid they know. They say he’s been lying to them. Thought you’d like to ask him yourself. They’re sending their man straight over.”
“Who is it?”
“Rob Box, guv.”
“Box …” Grinn drained his glass and looked at the clock on the wall. “… is an insect. He really the best lead we have?”
Tater shrugged. He and the other minder were also looking at the clock, and the atmosphere in the room was growing tense.
Midnight struck.
“Well, Mr. Grinn,” said an unmistakable voice. “Is it done? Is it seen to?”
Charlie Grinn remained composed. He’d already shown fear in front of his men because of Adam, and he had no intention of doing something so foolhardy again. He deliberately stayed in his chair, even as his minders fell back. Something moved in the shadows. Adam’s face appeared first, pale and handsome, then the rest of him emerged from the gloom.
“Good evening, Mr. Adam,” said Grinn. “Whiskey?”
“Don’t waste my time, Grinn. What news?”
“We have everyone out now. All the most likely places — the docks, the Underground, the churchyards — are being searched, but there’re more places than ever, what with the raids on, and …” Grinn stopped. He could feel the boy’s gaze harden and take hold of his mind as it had done before.
“… and we have a lead,” he added quickly, gambling that the idiot Rob Box was really bringing something useful. “Someone’s on his way here with a boy.”
“Eddie?” Adam’s face lit up and his eyes sparkled. “Is it him?”
“Well,” said Grinn, “I think he’s more in the nature of a witness, as you might say.” And he was immensely relieved to hear a loud banging on the door, right on cue. Adam raised one eyebrow and stepped back into the shadows.
The door was opened by one of the men he’d left outside. Grinn caught a glimpse of a motorcar’s dimmed headlights before a hairy man dressed mostly in rags shoved his way through the doorway and began to struggle across the room. Locked in his arms, legs scrabbling for some foothold, was a boy in his early teens.
“Mr. Box,” said Grinn. “And who’s this?”
“Little runt’s a biter,” croaked Box. “Bleedin’ toe-rag! He was seen wiv a kid like the one yer lookin’ for, but lied about it. He knows somefink, so my guv’nor wants his ’undred up front.” He released the boy and held out his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Box,” said Grinn, who knew that utmost politeness was wise when dealing with other gang leaders and their lackeys. “If this boy leads us to our target, I’ll send the cash across in the morning. Your guv’nor knows the score.”
Rob Box lowered his hand and glowered about the room. Grinn gave him a you-may-go-now look, and his men came and stood either side of their hairy visitor.
“First thing, mind!” shouted Rob Box, waggling his finger before he was led out.
When the door was closed, Tater came and stood over the boy crouching in the middle of the room. Still at his desk, Grinn switched on a flashlight and pointed it at their captive. It wasn’t Edmund Utherwise, that was clear, but with Adam somewhere in the room, Grinn would have to be careful. He just hoped Box was right that this boy knew something.
“Name?”
“Never!” shouted the boy, standing up and tightening his fists.
Tater smacked him back down again.
“Tell us your name, and then tell us where to find Edmund Utherwise,” Grinn said. “Help us and you can leave by the front door. Lie to us and you can swim home with a brick in your pocket.”
“You don’t scare me!” said the boy, standing up again. “Bleedin’ pantomime, all this.”
“Perhaps I don’t scare you,” said Grinn, “but my associate here just might.”
The boy looked around in alarm, unsure which direction any new threat might come from.
“What is your name?” said a cold voice behind him.
The boy spun around and looked up into Adam’s face as it materialized from the shadows. He shrank back almost as if Adam’s gaze were driving him down forcefully. By the time he reached the floor his defiance had been replaced by pure dread.
“Name!”
“Tomkin” was the only word the boy could utter.