Lizzie glanced back over her shoulder and caught a final glimpse of the tops of the circus tents before the London streets swallowed them up. Even with Dru walking on one side of her and Malachy hurrying along with his stick on the other, she still felt nervous. It must have shown on her face.
“Would you like to hold my hand?” Dru teased.
“Get off!” Lizzie waved him away. She caught the eye of a stubble-faced man who glared back at her, and she quickly looked away. Was he following them? She put on a burst of speed to leave him behind.
“Hold up,” Malachy gasped. His club foot was slowing him down.
“I don’t like being out here,” Lizzie admitted. “I keep thinking I see . . . people.”
“Worried about Aurora?” Malachy said. “She won’t lay a finger on you. We won’t let her, will we, Dru?”
Dru cracked his knuckles. “I can take her down if I have to. Don’t worry.”
But Lizzie couldn’t shake the cold blanket of fear that had settled over her shoulders. Pa might rough her up a bit, but he needed her alive. But Aurora had promised, “You’re dead meat.” Whatever else she might have lied about, Lizzie was certain the furious fortune-teller had meant every word of that threat.
“We’ve got worse than Aurora to deal with if the Phantom shows up,” Lizzie said. “He’s a nasty piece of work.”
“If we’re going to get cold feet, then we shouldn’t have come!” Malachy snapped. Then, seeing the look of dismay on Lizzie’s face, he added, “You’re right, though. He did batter that one bloke half to death. We need to be careful.”
They turned into Leman Street and passed the police station Lizzie had been thrown out of. An officer was standing outside, but Lizzie didn’t recognize him. They kept up a brisk walk until they were far past.
“He might not be so keen to batter us, though, right? After all, we are just kids. . . .” Lizzie’s voice trailed off.
Dru snorted. “The Phantom is a criminal. If we get in his way, he’ll punish us. So we watch out for one another, oui?”
Not another word passed between them as Lizzie led them down street after street, until at last they stood at the end of the alleyway. Lizzie pointed out the tall house with the lion’s head knocker, feeling strangely like she was unveiling a monument. “There it is!”
The house stood by itself with narrow alleyways along both sides. Lizzie guessed there was a yard at the back too.
“Looks posh all right,” Malachy said, casually leaning against a wall and trying not to look out of place. “Just the Phantom’s cup of tea.”
“What’s the plan?” Lizzie’s mouth was dry.
Dru shaded his eyes and looked up. “Climb up the house. Watch from the rooftop until the Phantom goes in. Then we climb down, hold the doors shut, call for help, and . . . presto! Caught like a rat in a trap inside the house, yes?”
“Rooftop?” Lizzie said. “Do I look like a flippin’ monkey? I can’t get up there! Why can’t we just hide in the alley?”
“Three children lurking in an alley will attract attention.” Dru’s eyes flashed with amused pride. “Besides, these houses are as easy to climb as apple trees. You see all the stonework, those ledges, the way the windowsills stick out?”
Lizzie gulped. “It’s a bit high up. . . .”
“Trust me,” said Dru.
Lizzie could tell he wasn’t joking now. She nodded. “All right,” she whispered.
“Right,” Malachy said. “You two are on the roof. I’ll keep lookout from the end of the street and move in once I see the Phantom, because there’s no way I’m going up there with you.” He turned on his heel and limped down the alleyway, leaning hard on his stick. “. . . be lucky to manage an apple tree with this rotten foot,” he muttered.
Dru didn’t hesitate. He darted into the alley beside the house, and once he was out of sight, he dug his fingers into the crevices between the corner stones and began to climb. “Do as I do,” he told Lizzie, “and don’t look down.”
“What if I fall?” Lizzie asked nervously.
“I won’t let you.”
Lizzie took a deep breath. She copied Dru’s climb, matching his handholds and footholds. Spiderlike, Dru clambered up and past the first-floor windowsills and edged around to get a grip on a sturdy black drainpipe. He made it look as easy as breathing. There seemed to be a power in his hands and feet that defied gravity.
Lizzie wasn’t finding it so easy. There was no safety net here, no rope to catch. Only the hard cobblestones below.
Dru pulled himself up and over the edge of the roof. The gutter looked about to snap under his weight, but it held. Once he was secure, he reached out a hand for Lizzie to take. “Almost there! You are doing well. Fantastique!”
Lizzie puffed and gasped as she grabbed the gutter with one hand and clung to Dru with the other. With amazing strength, he lifted her up and over the edge. Lizzie’s feet dangled in space for a moment before her weight settled on the warm roof tiles. She clung on, not wanting to move again, ever. I made it, she thought, relieved.
They both crouched, breathing hard. Dru grinned at her. “There,” he said. “Was that so bad?”
Lizzie glanced down into the alley. Malachy sidestepped into a narrow crevice. From the shadows he gave Lizzie a thumbs-up, and she silently returned it.
The three friends lurked in their hiding places, alert for anything that might happen. Time ticked slowly by. At last there was movement. The round-faced man Lizzie had met before appeared at the front door — the caretaker.
“There he is!” she whispered to Dru. His body pressed against hers as he peered over her shoulder.
Lizzie noticed the huge bunch of keys dangling at the caretaker’s wrist. If there were that many locked doors it was no wonder he was confident the house wouldn’t be robbed. The man began a careful circuit around the outside of the house. First he checked the iron grilles that protected the lower windows, making sure the locks on each were secure. Then he walked down the side toward the rear of the house, vanishing from sight.
He must be checking the back door, Lizzie thought.
“Get back from the edge!” Dru whispered frantically.
Lizzie leaned back against the sloping roof. She heard footsteps in the side alley below.
“He was checking the windows,” Dru explained in a whisper. “If he looks up and sees us — boum! All over!”
They waited, hearts pounding, until Lizzie heard the footsteps move away again. She heard the caretaker fasten a lock, then another, and then yet another. She risked a peek, craning her head around to look down. The man looked up at her hiding place, and she whipped her head back again.
A moment passed. A bead of sweat ran down Lizzie’s spine. Then she heard the man chuckle to himself. “Just pigeons,” he said. He was moving away now, walking down the alley away from them, out of sight. Malachy gave an all clear wave.
The caretaker’s heading home, Lizzie thought. Home to his wife, who believes in all that supernatural nonsense. Funny old world, innit? A week ago, I never believed in none of it myself.
Lizzie suddenly wondered, with a cold, sick jolt of horror, if the round-faced man would make it home to that wife of his tonight after all. She was sure the Phantom had been carrying a bunch of keys just like his in her vision.
The Phantom must have chosen this house well in advance. And he needed the keys to get inside. So, unless the man was in cahoots with the Phantom, he was going to lose those keys very soon . . . and probably a lot of blood too. Just like that poor man in Spitalfields.
The minute the hour struck eight, Lizzie saw movement from the end of the alley. A man was coming out of a tiny side street, little more than a gap between buildings. She elbowed Dru.
Steadily the figure crept toward the tall house. Every detail of Lizzie’s vision was coming to life in front of her. Far off in the distance, the circus callers shouted out, “Last show!” The figure was glancing left and right, cautious as a stalking fox. A sack was slung over his shoulder, he held a black cane in his hand, and his face . . .
The figure looked in their direction. He had no face.
Lizzie was staring right into the ghoulish mask of the Phantom! It looked like a screaming skull, but battered and yellowed with age.
“Can he see us?” she whispered to Dru.
“Let’s hope not!” Dru said.
Lizzie stayed still, hardly even daring to breathe, until the Phantom moved on. This was as far as her vision had gone. Whatever happened next was uncharted territory.
The Phantom drew a bunch of keys from a pocket. That didn’t make sense. How could he have taken them from the caretaker so quickly? The watchman had left in the other direction.
The Phantom slipped down the little side alley that led around the back of the house, disappearing from view.
“He’s heading for the back door.” Dru began to clamber across the roof toward the rear. “Follow me. And be careful!”
Lizzie ground her teeth. Climbing on this sloping roof wasn’t easy. With every move they made, tiles threatened to break loose.
She and Dru made their way across until they could see down into the backyard. Dru sat straddling the ridge at the top of the roof. “It’s easier to balance up here,” he offered.
Lizzie didn’t fancy it. She peered over the edge and saw the Phantom standing at the back door. He was selecting one key from the bunch, muttering to himself.
Lizzie strained to hear, but she couldn’t make out a word. She needed a better view. Maybe if she leaned over a bit more . . . she shifted her weight, and suddenly she was sliding, her foot skidding away as a tile broke loose.
Dru lunged. He caught her dress at the shoulder and grabbed a fistful of fabric. It yanked up painfully under her arm as the tile skittered down the roof. Lizzie prayed it would land in the gutter.
It didn’t. It fell and exploded in the alleyway, and a startled yell sounded from below. The Phantom had heard.
Dru stared down at Lizzie, his face twisted in despair. “Get down there!” he hissed. “Arrêtez-lui! Stop him! Quick!”
“How?” Lizzie asked.
“Down the drainpipe, vite!”
Lizzie climbed over the edge and gripped the drainpipe with both hands. She managed a controlled, skidding descent that was a lot faster than the climb up. The Phantom was turning this way and that in the yard. He saw the shattered remains of the roof slate, turned on his heel and ran, heading for the other side passage where Malachy would be standing guard.
“Get him!” Lizzie shrieked at the top of her lungs. She dropped down the last few feet and ran across the yard, past the back door where the keys were still in the lock, and came up behind the Phantom. He was advancing on Malachy, who was bravely standing his ground. The Phantom thwacked the black cane menacingly into his open hand.
“Drop it!” Malachy warned, his voice shaking.
For the first time, Lizzie heard the Phantom’s voice. “Move,” he growled. “Or I’ll split your skull.” He spoke in a deep, hoarse whisper. He’s faking it, Lizzie knew instantly.
“You think a cripple can’t fight?” Malachy raised his own walking stick, brandishing it like a war club. “Come on!”
In answer, the Phantom gripped the cane with both hands and raised it above his head. He didn’t know Lizzie was there behind him. If she didn’t do something, he’d smash Malachy into a broken and bloody pulp. She clenched her fists and got ready to run at him.
Then, to her amazement — and the Phantom’s — something snatched the cane right out of his hands. From above.
Dru was there, his legs braced between the walls of the passageway, holding him suspended in a chimney-climb. Lizzie looked on in awe as he casually tossed the cane from one hand to the other, his spread legs holding him in place.
“And now,” Dru said, “for that mask, eh?” The cane lashed out, striking at the Phantom’s face.
It was too much for the Phantom. He ducked out of the way of the striking cane, pushed past Malachy, and ran off in a blind panic.
Dru dropped nimbly to the ground. “He’s getting away! Come on!”
The three of them set off in noisy pursuit, Malachy lagging behind. The Phantom was already halfway down the street, running as fast as he could. He tugged the mask off, flung it over his shoulder, and vanished around the corner.
As Lizzie sprinted after him, she heard the clatter of hooves and the sound of carriage wheels beginning to turn. He must have had his own transportation waiting, she realized. There was no hope of catching him now. We were so close! So flaming close!
Dru reached the mask and grabbed it off the pavement. “We have this much of him,” he said with a sigh. “At least, that is — Lizzie!”
“Eh?” she said.
“Les flics! The police!”
Lizzie spun around. Four uniformed policemen were sprinting toward them from the other end of the street. They must’ve heard all the shouting! she realized.
“Get him!” Lizzie screamed. “Hurry up! There’s still time!”
The policemen charged straight past her. But Lizzie’s delight changed to horror as she saw them grab Dru by the arms. He fought, kicking and yelling in French, but they quickly had him on the floor.
“What are you doing?” she howled. “That’s not the Phantom!”
“It’s him all right,” one of the policemen grunted. “Caught him with the mask in his hand!”
“And we’ll have that off you too,” another one said, wrenching the cane out of Dru’s grip. “It’s still got blood on the tip, see?”
The next ten minutes passed in a horrible blur. No matter how many times Lizzie and Malachy protested that the wrong person had been arrested, they were ignored. The police found the back door of the house open and retrieved the keys, congratulating themselves on this new piece of evidence.
A crowd was beginning to gather and rumors were flying fast. The Phantom had been caught red-handed. He was a circus acrobat — so obvious! How else had he been able to get into all those houses unseen? And he wasn’t even English. Well, you never could trust a foreigner, could you?
In the end, there were so many people filling the alley that Lizzie could no longer see Dru. All she saw were the policemen’s helmets moving through the crowds as he was dragged away.
“Where are they taking him?” she screamed.
“Newgate,” said Malachy, looking pale and shocked.
Lizzie gasped. Like any Londoner, she knew the name. It was the harshest prison London had ever known.