Barnaby materialized from the fog before them. “We’re about to go in. You’re to stay here until Sergeant Miller fetches you—he’ll come and get you, and escort you inside as soon as the boys are freed.” He looked directly at Penelope. “If you don’t stay here until Miller comes, I’ll never, ever, tell you anything about any of my investigations again.”
His lips set in a grim line; even through the gloom, she felt the force of his blue gaze.
Without waiting for any assent, he turned on his heel and stalked off through the fog.
Beside Penelope, Griselda shifted. “Never ever?” she murmured.
Penelope shrugged.
Even though there’d been no general announcement, excitement spread through the watching crowd.
There was a brief flurry of activity about Grimsby’s door; Barnaby was in the thick of it, with Stokes by his side. Then the door swung inward revealing a yawning black cavern. Grabbing a lantern, Stokes unshielded it and led the way inside.
“Police!”
The sudden noise was deafening as bobbies piled through the door. Stokes and Barnaby were lost in the wave. Penelope weaved, trying to see, but a cordon of bobbies lined up outside the door, keeping everyone else out; they blocked her view.
More lights flared on the ground floor, then a faint glow appeared on the first floor. Grabbing Griselda’s arm, Penelope pointed. “They’re going upstairs.” The glow came from deep within the building, distant from the shuttered windows facing the front.
In the front corner of the first floor, another light, smaller and much closer to the windows, bloomed.
“I’ll bet that’s Grimsby,” Griselda said.
One of the shutters on that corner swung open; a large round head topped with scraggly gray hair poked out.
The onlookers promptly jeered.
“Come on down here, Grimsby.”
“Killing old women.”
“We’ll show you what’s what.”
Those and other chants rose through the fog.
Grimsby—it had to be he—goggled. With a weak,“Strewth!”he slammed the shutter closed.
The crowd jeered more loudly, baying for his blood.
A series of thuds and thumps emanated from the house, along with shouts that were impossible to make out.
Penelope jigged. She wanted—needed—to know what was going on. Where were the boys?
The glow of the lantern had reached the second floor. For long moments, it remained on that level. The glow strengthened as more lanterns joined the first.
Penelope peered at the boards just below the roofline. Joe Wills had said there were attics, but there were no windows to be seen from the front. There didn’t seem to be any dormers on the sides, either. She jogged Griselda’s elbow. “There’s no windows for the attics.”
Griselda glanced up. “It’ll just be the space under the roof. No windows. Probably no proper floor either, and no walls or ceiling—just the underside of the shingles.”
Penelope shivered. Then she clutched Griselda’s arm and pointed upward again. The lantern bearers—Stokes and Barnaby, she’d wager—had at last found their way into the attics. Light shone through the cracks between the boards and through the ill-fitting shingles. “They’re there.”
For the next five minutes, she prayed that all the boys would be safe, and that all five would be there. She was about to risk never ever knowing anything about Barnaby’s investigations again when Miller came and rescued her. He conducted her and Griselda through the crowd gathering in the street, then through the police cordon and into the house.
If it could be called a house; it appeared more like a warehouse filled to the rafters with junk. Penelope and Griselda halted in what little space there was, midway between the door and the stairs, just as the first boy was led down.
Penelope anxiously counted heads as one by one boys trooped down the stairs.Five!She smiled brilliantly, ecstatic with relief.
In the dim light, the boys milled, looking around, confused, clutching blankets around bony shoulders. Imperiously, she called, “This way, boys!”
