‘Walkies!’ very loudly.
It was getting dark but there was still no sign of Benjamin’s parents. Benjamin seemed more resigned than upset. ‘I’ll make my own cake,’ he said. And he did. It was a chocolate sponge and he stuck ten candles in the top, and then he and Charlie sang ‘Happy Birthday’. The cake was a bit crumbly but very good.
It was half past seven when Charlie looked at his watch. He knew he should be going home, but he didn’t want to leave Benjamin alone, not on his birthday. So he stayed another hour, and they played hide and seek with Runner Bean, who was brilliant at it.
At half past eight, Benjamin’s parents still hadn’t come home, so Charlie decided to take his friend back for one of Maisie’s hot meals. There was only one egg and a pint of milk left in Benjamin’s fridge.
‘How was the party?’ asked Maisie, when two boys and a dog walked in.
‘Great,’ said Charlie, ‘but we’re still a bit hungry.’
‘There was a peculiar boy round here a couple of hours ago,’ said Maisie. ‘He was pretending to be an old man but anyone could see he was a boy. He said you’d got some case of his mixed up in the wrong bag and he wanted it back. Well, I looked in your room but all I could find was a bag of shoes. The boy was very put out. He wouldn’t believe me. A nasty piece of work, he was. Now you two run off, while I get some food on the table.’
Outside the kitchen door, Charlie whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone about the bag, and specially not the case.’
‘Why not?’ asked Benjamin.
‘Because it was given to me and I feel sort of responsible,’ said Charlie. I think we should keep it safe until we know more about it.’ He decided not to tell Benjamin about Mr Onimous and his cats, just yet.
At that moment Grandma Bone appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘What’s that dog doing here?’ she said, glaring at Runner Bean.
‘It’s Benjamin’s birthday,’ said Charlie.
‘So?’ she said coldly.
Runner Bean barked up at her and before she could say anything more, Charlie dragged Benjamin back into the kitchen.
‘Grandma Bone’s in a mood,’ Charlie told Maisie.
‘Isn’t she always?’ said Maisie. ‘She’ll calm down once you’re at Bloor’s.’
Charlie hadn’t wanted to break this news to Benjamin on his birthday, but now it was out and Charlie felt like a traitor.
Benjamin stared at him accusingly. ‘What’s Bloor’s?’ he asked.
‘It’s a big school near the Heights,’ Charlie explained. ‘I don’t want to go there, Ben.’
‘Then don’t.’
‘He has to, dear. His mum’s bought the uniform,’ said Maisie. She put two plates of baked beans and sausages on the kitchen table. ‘Now come and eat. It may be your birthday but you look half-starved, Benjamin Brown.’
Benjamin sat down, but he had lost his appetite. He slipped a sausage to Runner Bean when Maisie wasn’t looking.
‘I won’t be going until after half-term,’ Charlie told his friend.
‘Oh.’ Benjamin stared at his plate, unsmiling.
Unfortunately, Charlie’s mother chose that moment to walk in with Charlie’s pyjamas. ‘No more patched pyjamas for you, Charlie,’ she said. ‘The Yewbeams are providing a whole new set of clothes for the academy.’
‘Pyjamas?’ Benjamin looked up. ‘Are you going to sleep there?’
‘I’ll be back at weekends,’ said Charlie.
‘Oh.’ Benjamin shovelled a few beans into his mouth and then stood up. ‘I’d better go home now. Mum and Dad’ll be back.’
‘Shall I come . . .?’ Charlie began.
‘No. It’s OK. I’ve got Runner.’
Before Charlie could say another word, Benjamin and Runner Bean walked out. The dog’s tail and ears drooped dejectedly, always a sign that his master was in low spirits.
‘Funny boy,’ Maisie remarked.
‘I think I ought to see if he’s OK,’ said Charlie. ‘After all, it is his birthday.’
But when he opened the front door, he was just in time to see Uncle Paton walking away from the house. And this gave Charlie an idea.
‘Uncle Paton, can I come with you?’ called Charlie, racing after his uncle.
‘Why?’ Paton had stopped to put a large bundle of letters into a post-box.
‘Because . . . because . . .’ Charlie caught up with his uncle, ‘Well, I wanted to ask you to come somewhere with me.’
‘And where is that?’
‘To a bookshop. It’s near the cathedral, and I don’t want to go there on my own – it’s a bit spooky.’
‘A bookshop?’ Paton was interested, as Charlie hoped he would be. ‘But, Charlie, even a bookshop will be closed at this time of night.’
‘Yes, but I think there will be someone in this shop, even if it’s closed,’ said Charlie and he found himself telling his uncle about Miss Ingledew and the locked case. After all, he had to trust someone, and instinct told him that Paton was on his side, even if he was a Yewbeam.
A mysterious gleam had entered Paton’s dark eyes. ‘So you want this lady bookseller to give you a key? Tell me, Charlie, where is the case?’
Charlie hesitated. ‘I don’t want anyone to know,’ he said. ‘Someone’s already come looking for it. But if you really . . .’
Paton held up his hand. ‘You’re wise to keep it a secret, Charlie. Only tell me when you feel the time is right. Now, let’s get on and find this bookshop.’
They travelled through narrow side streets, where Paton’s talent for boosting the lights wasn’t so conspicuous. As they entered the deserted streets near the cathedral, lamps flickered rhythmically, now bright, now dim, as if they were part of a magical display.
A CLOSED sign hung behind a glass panel in Ingledew’s door, but there was a low light in the window, illuminating the antique leather-bound books. Paton gazed at them, hungrily. ‘I ought to get out more,’ he murmured.
Charlie pressed the bell.
A distant voice said, ‘We’re closed. Go away.’
‘It’s me, Charlie Bone,’ said Charlie. ‘Could I see you for a moment, Miss Ingledew?’
‘Charlie?’ Miss Ingledew sounded surprised, but not too cross. ‘It’s rather late.’
‘It’s urgent, Miss Ingledew – about the case.’
‘Oh?’ Her face appeared at the small glass panel in the door. ‘Wait a minute, Charlie.’
The light in the shop went on. A chain clanked, bolts slid back and the door opened with a familiar tinkle.
Charlie stepped down into the shop, followed closely by his uncle.
‘Oh!’ gasped Miss Ingledew, retreating. ‘Who is this?’
‘My uncle, Paton,’ said Charlie and, looking at his uncle, realised why Miss Ingledew seemed a little put out. Paton was very tall and very dark, and in his long black coat he did look rather sinister.
‘I do hope I haven’t alarmed you,’ said Paton, extending his hand. ‘Paton Yewbeam at your service.’
Miss Ingledew took the hand, saying nervously, ‘Julia Ingledew.’
‘Julia,’ repeated Paton.