few inches and looking out through her spyglass.
“This will work,” she said. “I can see all the way down the wharf.”
“Good. Now remember,” Milligan said, “even if the prisoner makes a run for it, you’re not to leave this building if the Ten Man and I are still in view. If that happens, I’ll handle the situation myself. It isn’t my preference, but I can manage it as long as I’m not distracted with worrying about you.”
“We get it, Milligan,” said Kate, who knew too well the discomfort of worrying about someone you love. Now that her father was seconds away from a dangerous encounter, she’d begun to grow very worried herself.
“All right then, I’m off,” said Milligan. Reynie, Sticky, and Constance wished him luck, and Kate hugged him (not as fiercely as before — she was mindful of his cuts and bruises — but with a great deal of conviction) until finally Milligan had to unwrap her arms. He tweaked her chin and went out.
With the others at her heels, Kate ran to the window and poked her spyglass beneath the blinds. Milligan was walking slowly along the wharf. The Ten Man had already seen him coming, stooped to pick up his briefcase, and slipped the other hand inside his suit coat. He kept his hand hidden there as Milligan drew near. Kate couldn’t tell if Milligan spoke or gave any kind of private signal, but the Ten Man studied him intently as he walked past — and continued to study him after Milligan’s back was to him.
Milligan kept walking. The Ten Man glanced toward the boathouse and frowned. He checked his watch . . . then checked his
“What was that?” cried Sticky, startled. He had squeezed next to Kate at the window and was watching without benefit of a spyglass.
“I couldn’t tell,” said Kate. Her pulse was pounding in her ears.
With a final glance at the boathouse, the Ten Man set off along the wharf. Milligan, at this point, was nearing the far end of the wharf, heading for a group of outbuildings. But the Ten Man’s stride was twice his, and by the time Milligan turned behind the outbuildings the Ten Man was barely a dozen paces behind him. The Ten Man stopped abruptly, contemplating the corner of the building around which Milligan had disappeared. Spinning on his heel, he turned to take a different route, circling behind the buildings from the opposite direction.
Kate almost dropped her spyglass. “He’s sneaking up on Milligan! He’s going the other way! I have to warn him!” She whirled to race out, but Reynie was standing right behind her — otherwise he’d never have been able to stop her. He threw his arms around her and held on as tightly as he could.
“Hold on, Kate — you don’t know what Milligan has in mind! Maybe he
Kate had already freed herself from his grip (Reynie wasn’t sure how, but he found himself on the ground with his arms empty) and was almost at the door when she drew up short, his words sinking in. He was right, of course. She had no idea how Milligan did what he did. She might very well endanger him when she meant to help him. Difficult as it was, she would simply have to trust Milligan to take care of himself.
“You’re right,” Kate said with a resigned sigh. She hurried over and lifted Reynie to his feet, but when she tried to dust off his clothes he emphatically protested. “Really? You’re fine? Good, then, let’s go!”
With Constance on her back, Kate led the way along the wharf and down the long dock to the boathouse. Milligan and the Ten Man were nowhere to be seen. Kate dashed in through the boathouse door, then stopped in her tracks, throwing out an arm to prevent the boys (who were less adept at stopping in their tracks) from falling into the empty rectangle of water that took up most of the room. The children looked quickly about. There were no boats in the boathouse, only the murky water and a walkway on three sides. At a table against the near wall sat a stunned-looking man who’d been making pyramids out of canned goods.
“Who the devil are you?” he cried in English, leaping from his chair and toppling his pyramid. A slump- shouldered man with a face as round as a clock and covered with dark stubble, the boathouse prisoner was dressed in dirty fisherman’s clothes, and his black hair, streaked with gray, hung about his face in long greasy strands. He appeared not to have bathed or groomed in days.
“We’re friends,” Reynie said as Sticky closed the door and Kate, with her spyglass, took up her position at the window.
“Friends? Ha! If that shadow let you in here I know you ain’t my friends.”
“He didn’t,” said Reynie. “We snuck in.”
The man’s bloodshot eyes widened, and shoving Reynie aside — almost, in fact, knocking him into the water — he went to the window and looked out over Kate’s shoulder. “So he’s gone, is he?”
“Our friend led him away so we could talk to you,” Reynie said. “Don’t worry, that man won’t bother you anymore. Our friend will take care of that.”
The man looked askance at Reynie, sizing him up. He snorted derisively and looked out the window again. “Your friend, eh? Well, too bad for your friend, whoever he is. I don’t suppose he knows what he’s got himself into.”
With a shake of his head, the man set to pacing, mumbling to himself. “If the boy’s telling the truth, though, now might be the time . . . but it wouldn’t take him long, you know it wouldn’t, and if he catches you making a break for it . . .” He ran his fingers through his greasy hair and cursed in frustration. “No, Risker, old boy, you’d better just wait to be sure. Give it a few minutes. Yes, three minutes, maybe four . . .” He went to look out over Kate’s shoulder again.
“Mr. Risker,” said Reynie, “please listen to me. You’ll see soon enough that everything’s all right. We’re friends of Nich —”
“Benedict,” said Risker, waving him quiet. “Oh, I know who you are now, just took me a minute to get a fix on things. I didn’t expect a bunch of kids, is all. Plus there’s only four of you, and he paid passage for six.”
“Mr. Benedict paid for our passage?” Constance said. “Passage to where?”
“To his confounded island, that’s where! Same place I took him and his friend!” Risker turned from the window to glare at her. He seemed glad to have someone to glare at. “Nothing but directions with that weird bird. ‘Take them here. Tell them this and that. Tell no one else. I’ll make it worth your while.’ Blah blah blah.”
“What’s your problem?” Constance demanded.
