“You lied to me,” the Fat Man said. “Worse still, you defied me. I gave you forty-eight hours to find something for me. Find it you did not.”
“Well . . .” I said. “How about a second chance?”
He sniffed. At the same time, Fred moved forward. He’d opened the shoulder bag and taken out the Maltesers. He handed them to the Fat Man. The Fat Man looked at the bottom, holding them to the light so that he could read something. “Perfect!” he whispered. That threw me. How had he found out about the Maltesers? He’d never mentioned them before. He must have read the expression on my face because he smiled. “You’re wondering how I discovered what was inside the dwarf’s package?” he asked. He turned around to the boat. “Professor!”
I peered through the swirling fog. A second figure appeared at the top of the gangplank and made his way unsteadily down. He stood at the edge of the circle of light, blinking at me. Quentin Quisling, the Professor. He shook his head. “You gave me the wrong box, sir,” he said in an accusing tone of voice.
“So the Professor came to me,” the Fat Man continued. “A wise decision. A very wise decision. Did you know that the Professor designed them in the first place? You see, the Falcon needed a key—but a key that didn’t look like a key. He had too many enemies. The Professor created the bar code—”
“But why Maltesers?” I asked. The information wasn’t going to be much use to me, but I wanted to know.
The Professor shrugged. “I like Maltesers,” he said.
“And now I have them.” The Fat Man smiled. The smile stretched his skin across his cheekbones like an elastic band. “And soon, very soon, the Professor will tell me what they open—”
“And then you’ll kill him, too,” I interrupted. I had nothing to lose. I was only minutes away from the end. I could feel the chill of the cement spreading through my entire body. I turned to the Professor. “You don’t think the Fat Man will share the money with you, do you?” I said. “Once you tell him your secret, you’ll be joining the line at the bottom of the Thames.”
“We’ll split the money fifty-fifty . . .” the Professor mumbled, but I could see he had his doubts.
“I’ll see you in hell, Professor,” I said.
The Fat Man was furious. His face had gone white and the veins in his neck were standing out so far they were threatening to snap his bow tie. “Throw him in!” he yelled.
He stepped back. At once, Lenny, Benny, and Kenny moved in on me. They bent down and a moment later I was in the air, bath and all, being carried toward the Thames. Don’t let me kid you. I like to think I’m smart. Sometimes I act older than I am. But right then I would have screamed and cried and torn my hair out if I’d thought for a single second that screaming and crying and tearing my hair out would do any good.
The river drew closer. The Fat Man watched. The three men shuffled forward.
They were about six feet from the edge of the water when a spotlight cut through the fog and the darkness. It came from high up, somewhere behind me. It was hard to tell. The night seemed to rip apart, torn into shreds by the beam. The fog boiled furiously in its grip. The gangsters stopped as if frozen.
There was a crackle in the air. Then a voice boomed out, amplified by a bullhorn.
Lenny, Benny, and Kenny dropped me. I crashed to the ground but remained standing up. The Fat Man ran for the boat. He still had the Maltesers. The Professor stumbled after him. Lenny took out his gun and fired in the direction of the spotlight. I tried to dive for cover, but I was about as capable of that as an oak tree. There was an answering shot. Lenny was blown off his feet. His gun clattered to the ground.
The Fat Man had reached the boat and turned around, stretching out a hand for the Professor. But the Professor was nowhere near him. Half drunk and nearsighted, he ran forward, missed the gangplank, and dived into the Thames. Benny, Kenny, and Fred scattered and ran for cover. But now the whole area was swarming with men. They were throwing black shadows as they sprinted through the glare.
The Professor couldn’t swim. He was floundering in the water, shouting for help. But the Fat Man couldn’t wait. The police had almost reached the boat.
The boat’s engine roared and it swung away from the bank. At the same moment the Professor let out a ghastly scream. He’d been in the water. He’d been close to the propellers. Too close. I was glad I couldn’t see what the Fat Man had accidentally done to him.
Benny, Kenny, and Fred were arrested. I saw them thrown to the ground. The whole construction site was lit up. And I was still standing in the middle of it all, knee-deep in cement.
And then I felt the bathtub being dragged slowly toward the river. I couldn’t believe it. There was a figure squatting, struggling, pulling the bathtub along the gravel. With me in it.
But then I heard a familiar voice. Snape’s voice.
“No, Boyle,” he said. “You can’t push him in. We’ve come here to rescue him. Go to the car and get a chisel.”
IN THE BATH
Snape and Boyle drove me back to the apartment. I was cold. I was wet. And I was fed up. My pants, sneakers, and socks were ruined and my legs weren’t feeling much better. My throat was sore and my nose was blocked. They’d gotten my feet out of the cement, but I could still feel the cement in my blood and there was nothing they could do about that. And I’d lost the Maltesers. It had been a bad day. I was glad it was over. If I’d known it was going to be a day like that, I’d have stayed in bed.
They came in with me and I made them some coffee. While the kettle was boiling I tried to call Lauren. I thought she might be worried about me. But there was no answer. I flicked on the hot-water tank for a bath and went back downstairs. Snape and Boyle had made themselves comfortable in the office. I fixed us three cups of coffee and took them in. I didn’t like them and they didn’t like me. But like it or not, they’d saved my life. The least I could do was give them a cup of coffee.
“All right,” I said. “How did you find me?”
“We were watching the flat,” Snape told me. “We saw you go in and we saw you taken out. Lucky for you. We followed you to the Thames. When we saw what was going on, Boyle here called for backup on the radio.”
“Why were you watching the flat?” I asked.
Snape let out a sniff of laughter. “Why do you think? In the last few days we’ve been receiving some of the craziest reports I’ve heard in thirty years. A young boy blows up a hotel in the Portobello Road. A young boy pushes a grand piano out of a fifth-floor window. A young boy goes berserk in Selfridges and leaves forty hysterical children and a dead Santa Claus behind him. You’d think London was crawling with lethal young boys. Except they all fit the same description. Yours.”
“I can explain,” I said.
“I’m delighted to hear it. You’ve been making life very difficult for me. You’ve upset Boyle—”
“I’m upset,” Boyle agreed.
“—and you’ve done more damage than the Germans managed in two world wars. And I thought your brother was a menace!”
“Where is Herbert?” I asked.
Snape’s eyes narrowed at that. “We released him at lunchtime. We couldn’t hold him. To be honest, we didn’t want to.”
“Well, I haven’t seen him.”
I wasn’t particularly bothered just then. It was strange that Herbert should have just disappeared, but I could understand it. He’d probably gone to Auntie Maureen in Slough. He’d hide out there until the heat was off. I shivered. Herbert hadn’t paid the gas bill for the flat. The heat had been off for two weeks.
“Did he tell you everything?” I asked.
“Well, let’s just say that Herbert and canaries have a lot in common.”
Snape held out a hand. “I want the Maltesers,” he said.
“I don’t have them,” I said. “The Fat Man took them.” Snape’s eyes narrowed a little more. “If you don’t believe me, you can search my bag.”
“I already have,” Boyle muttered.
