‘So where are we?’ Carlos asked, his question bouncing around the walls of the dark space. It seemed they had entered a musty basement.

‘Shh!’ Autumn pressed her finger to her lips.

Max fiddled with his watch until a glow illuminated the room. Judging by the domed ceiling, crucifixes and statues of Jesus and the Madonna, they had to be in the church near the Trevi Fountain.

‘Do you think Sister Maria Regina knows the children in her orphanage are a gang of thieves?’ Kensy said.

Autumn frowned. ‘You’d hope not. Maybe those men make the children do it and she has no idea.’

‘We need to tell the police as soon as we get out of here,’ Max said. ‘And we’d better get a move on or Frizzle will never let us go anywhere alone again.’

The children began hunting around for a way out. Towards the end of the room was a narrow staircase that spiralled upwards.

‘What if they’re waiting for us outside?’ Carlos said.

‘Well,’ Max reasoned, ‘if I’ve got the right church, and I’m pretty sure I do, it’s just across the piazza from the hotel and there’ll still be hundreds of people around. We should be able to make it.’

The children ascended the stairs into a small room. Max peered out through the red velvet fabric that formed a vestibule hiding the access point. They were standing at the side of a magnificent altar. Overhead were stunning frescos and ornate plasterwork, and a vast array of gleaming brass crosses on the walls.

‘Is anyone out there?’ Kensy mouthed to her brother.

‘A nun,’ he whispered.

‘Let me see.’ Kensy pulled back the curtain and saw the woman. She was walking down the aisle on the far side and turned to genuflect before hurrying away via the front doors.

‘That was Sister Maria Regina,’ Kensy said. ‘I’d recognise that nose anywhere. Come on, she’s gone.’

Just as the children were about to step out of their hiding spot, they heard the sound of heels clacking on the marble floor.

Carlos groaned. ‘We’re never going to get out of here.’

A woman, dressed from head to toe in black with a veil covering her face, entered one of the middle pews. She knelt down and bowed her head.

‘What should we do?’ Kensy hissed.

Max pointed to the passageways on either side of the pews. If they were quiet, and the woman kept praying, they should be able to make it past without her noticing. They were about to make a dash for it when the woman began to weep.

‘Dear Father in Heaven,’ she wailed, ‘please bring my son back to me. He is a good boy.’

A priest appeared from nowhere, his foot steps soundless, but the woman was immediately aware of his presence and raised her head. She crossed herself and stood up to greet him, wiping the tears from beneath her veil with a small handkerchief.

‘Primo Ministro,’ he said, taking her hands in his, ‘you are giving thanks for the return of Nico.’

The woman nodded her head fiercely. ‘The Lord is good.’

Autumn nudged Kensy, and Max did the same to Carlos.

‘She’s the Prime Minister,’ Max whispered. ‘She was just praying for the return of her son, but the newspapers say he’s home. What’s that all about?’

Autumn frowned. ‘Maybe he’s home in body but not in spirit? He could be difficult – after all, he did run away in the first place.’

The children willed the pair to wrap things up and leave. They had about two minutes to meet Mr Frizzle at the gallery or they’d be in big trouble.

‘Let me walk with you,’ the priest offered.

Prime Minister Vitale raised a finger in the air. ‘One more minute, please. I would like to speak with our heavenly Father.’

‘Of course, signora. I will leave you in private and meet you at the rear entrance, where I presume your car is waiting.’ The priest disappeared into one of the wings.

The children watched as the woman pulled a folded piece of paper from her handbag. She walked to the side of the church and stood by a marble urn. They were surprised to see her lift the lid and drop the page inside. She knelt and genuflected towards the altar, then hurried away in the same direction the priest had gone. Only when the children heard a door creaking did they flee from their hiding place.

Carlos was just about to take a peek outside when he realised that Kensy wasn’t with them. He was shocked to see her standing next to the urn, its lid off and her hand inside.

‘What are you doing?’ Max hissed.

‘Taking a picture. It might be important,’ she said, unfolding the piece of paper and laying it on the floor. She used her watch to snap a close-up photograph. By the time Autumn had reached her, she’d already finished and was about to drop the paper back into the urn.

‘What was it?’ the girl asked.

‘No time now,’ Kensy said as she heard whistling. Someone was coming.

Carlos opened the door. The crowd near the fountain was even bigger than before and there was no sign of the three thugs. Still, they would have to make a dash for the gallery around the corner and hope that Mr Frizzle hadn’t left yet. ‘Follow me,’ the boy said, and the four of them bolted down the front steps and into the crowd.

The priest looked up as he heard the door close. He was sure he had locked it earlier – it would not do well for the Prime Minister to be mingling with the general public at the moment. They were already baying for her blood and the lines at the soup kitchen were getting longer each day. There was talk in the newspapers of flour rationing. The biggest pasta supplier in the country, Penina, which was owned by the government, had raised its prices three times in the past month. Italy was headed for disaster if the crisis wasn’t averted soon.

The children ran around the corner, past the hotel entrance and pulled up outside the gallery. Carlos pressed his face against the window, but the store was empty.

‘He’s gone,’ the boy said. ‘And we’re dead.’

Autumn had a look too. She thought she saw some movement at the rear of the shops and broke into a grin at the sight of Mr Frizzle and the sales assistant emerging from a back room. ‘He’s still inside.’

Elliot Frizzle heard the clock on the wall chiming the quarter hour and realised that he’d taken far longer than he’d anticipated. The children had probably returned to the hotel by now, but as he glanced towards the street, there they were – as reliable as ever. He rushed to the door. ‘Sorry, kids, this place is a treasure trove – it goes on for miles! I’ve just been arranging to have some things sent home to London, but would you mind helping me carry a few bits and bobs I can pack into my suitcase?’ The man grimaced. His credit card had taken a beating and then some.

‘Of course, sir,’ the group echoed.

‘I hope you haven’t been too bored. I know I told you to stay close and you’re probably sick to death of watching the tourists,’ the man said as the children followed him around to the hotel. They were carrying an assortment of antiquities, including a Roman soldier’s helmet, an ancient pot and a Venetian glass vase.

‘No, it’s been really . . . interesting,’ Max said.

‘So much excitement you couldn’t imagine it, sir,’ Carlos added.

Kensy and Autumn nodded.

Elliot Frizzle paused to look at the children. ‘Oh, thank you for making me feel better. I shouldn’t have left you so long.’ He hoped they were telling the truth. He’d take them out for a ramble after dinner and this time they’d go somewhere interesting.