Public Enemy Number Two

Each time one passed me I shivered and tried to hide my face. If a police car had chosen that moment to cross the bridge, you could have kissed good-bye to the next chapter.

In fact, I made it as far as Chelsea before I was spotted. I’d reached the traffic lights on the King’s Road and stopped to get my bearings. There were two policemen standing on the other side of the road, outside a bank. At first they didn’t let on they’d seen me. After all, as far as they knew I was armed and dangerous. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one nudge the other and then talk into the edge of his jacket. He wasn’t having a conversation with his armpit. There would be a radio there. He was calling for help.

Casually, I turned left and began to walk down the King’s Road to World’s End. I didn’t need to look back to know that the two policemen were following me. But I still kept up the pretense. I was just an ordinary, innocent boy out for a night walk. The rags and the smell of oil? Nothing to concern you, Officer. I always dress this way. I turned a corner and for a moment I was out of their sight. I began to run.

It was already too late. I’d seen it the moment I’d set off—a police car, heading toward me at seventy miles an hour. And it had seen me, too.

Suddenly the sirens and blue lights were on and it was swerving across the road to cut me off. With a spurt of energy, I took a sharp left, past a pub and down a narrow street. I heard the screech of wheels as the police car followed me. There was a Dumpster parked outside a development of new flats. I didn’t look to see what was inside it. I just dived in headfirst.

The police car tore around the corner and continued down the road. I knew I had perhaps half a minute before it turned around and came back. I climbed out of the Dumpster and realized where I was. The building behind me was where Palis lived. It was an apartment house, a smart place with smoked-glass windows, private balconies, and sophisticated burglar alarms. But then of course this was Chelsea, where you’d expect sophisticated burglars. I’d often wondered how a French teacher at an ordinary school could afford such a posh address. But this was no time to ask questions.

I pulled myself up onto the low wall that surrounded the building and from there I was able to climb onto the slanting roof of what must have been a boiler room. But that was as far as I got. A headlight swept through the darkness and I knew that the police car had returned. This time it stopped right beneath me. There was a click as the door opened and two men got out.

“Any sign of him?” one asked.

“No. He must have doubled back.”

“You sure it was him?”

“No doubt about it. A right little villain . . .”

Well, I wasn’t going to argue with that, provided they went away and left me alone. But then the worst thing possible happened. A light went on overhead. It slanted down, capturing me in a bright square. A door opened and somebody strutted out, leaning over the balcony to call down to the policemen.

“What’s going on?” a voice demanded. It was a voice that I knew well.

I looked up. Palis had come out onto the balcony, wearing a blue dressing gown and pajamas. He was leaning over, looking down at the policemen. From where he was standing, I was directly in his line of vision. He saw me. He couldn’t miss me. For a moment he frowned and I froze. One word from him and it would all be over. Desperately I raised a finger to my lips and stared at him with pleading eyes.

“We’re looking for someone,” one of the policemen said. “A young boy.”

“Well, do you have to make such an infernal racket about it?” Palis asked, and I breathed again. For the moment I was safe.

“He’s dangerous, sir,” the policeman said.

“And so am I when I’m woken up in the middle of the night,” Palis snapped. “He obviously isn’t here, so I suggest you go and wake up somebody else looking for him.”

There was a bit more muffled chat below, but then the police car moved away and the two policemen passed underneath the building and back into the King’s Road. Palis glanced at me. “Nicholas Simple?” he demanded in a tone of disbelief.

“Yes, sir.” I stood up. “Thank you very much, Mr. Palis—sir.”

“You’d better climb up here before anyone sees you,” he said.

I climbed over the rail and joined him on the terrace. “Thank you,” I said. “For not turning me in . . .”

He smiled. “Well, I had a good reason . . .”

“I’m innocent,” I blurted out. “I didn’t do any of it. In fact, I was working for the police from the very start. I still am. Only . . . it’s difficult to explain.”

“You’d better come in,” he said.

I followed him into the flat.

I found myself in a comfortable room with copies of paintings by Rubens and Picasso on the walls. The carpet was so thick my foot almost disappeared when I walked and the lighting was low and soft. I’d expected to see some sign of school—French books or homework or something—but there was nothing. Maybe he kept his work in another room.

“Sit down,” Palis said. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thank you, Mr. Palis.” I sat down beside the table. “And thanks again for not telling the police. Why didn’t you?” I remembered what he’d said out on the terrace. “You said there was a reason . . .”

“Exactement.” Palis nodded. “I never believed that you were really responsible for the theft of the carbuncle, Nicholas. Your French is poor. You are often inattentive. But despite all the evidence, I found it hard to believe that you could have allowed yourself to commit such a terrible crime.

“So tell me your story,” he said. “You say you’re working for the police . . .”

“Yes, sir—Mr. Palis,” I replied. “That’s why I came to see you. Do you remember the time you made me write out all the tenses of rire when I was mucking around in class?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “I don’t think you’ve handed them in yet.”

“I’ll do them tonight, sir.”

“No, no. They can wait. Go on . . .”

“Well, that was when they came. I wondered if you saw them. It was a Tuesday afternoon. Two men . . . Snape and Boyle. Big and ugly.”

He shook his head. “I left the school early that day,” he said. “I went to the library with The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Could he have seen them?”

“I mean the book.”

“Oh.”

So that was that. Palis hadn’t seen anything. But once I’d started I had to go on. In answer to his questions I told him everything that had happened to me since then. He didn’t interrupt. I couldn’t tell whether he believed me or not. By the time I finished, my tea was stone-cold. I hadn’t had a chance to drink it.

“This Penelope . . .” he muttered. “You were sent to find her?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you can do that maybe your troubles will be over.”

“If anyone believes me,” I said gloomily.

He straightened up. “I believe you,” he said. “I don’t know why. It is un vrai conte.”

“An old count?” I translated.

“No. An extraordinary story. But I do believe you. The question is—what can I do to help you?”

There was no real answer to that. If Palis hadn’t seen Snape, then coming here tonight had been a complete waste of time.

“I’ll go,” I said.

“In the morning.” He got to his feet. “Right now you need a hot bath and somewhere to sleep. I have a spare room. Tomorrow I can drive you to Wapping. It seems to me that the sooner you rejoin your brother and this . . . Powers, the better.”

“It may be too late already.”

“Do you have any choice, mon ami?”

I spent the rest of the night in a spare room the size of a cupboard. It was almost like being back in my cell