the hat was pulled well down. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he thought the cloak and trousers
didn’t look like a policeman.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and for the third time that day his mouth watered.
‘There’s a pie shop over there,’ said the man, still keeping his hand on Tom’s shoulder.
Tom gave one glance at Sammy. He had just started a new song. Tom knew it well. It was a song with many verses. He would be back before it was finished.
The pie shop was very near – only a few steps away. The man let go of Tom and marched up to the counter. ‘Steak and kidney pie,’ he said.
Tom almost felt faint as the pie was slid on to the plate. His eyes were fixed on it as it came towards him. The man had to speak twice before he heard him properly.
‘I said you’ll get the pie when you tell me where the boy is hiding.’ That was what the man said.
And Tom heard his own voice saying, ‘He dressed up as a clown and he’s hiding in Covent Garden Theatre.’
And then he grabbed the pie and started to wolf it down, scared that it would be taken from him before he had eaten it.
But when he finished licking the plate and looked up, the man had gone.
Gone where? To Covent Garden Theatre?
Suddenly he vomited, spewing up all of that lovely pie. His stomach had rejected the food that he had wanted so badly.
He had betrayed his cousin.
And now it was all for nothing.
CHAPTER 13
T HE H UNT
Sarah was the first to see the policeman. She was busily rubbing away at the chairs in the orchestra pit below the stage while Alfie lay on his stomach beside the drums and
they talked to each other in whispers, discussing possibilities. ‘John Osborne is the most likely,’ Alfie had just said in a low voice when Sarah hushed him.
It wasn’t one of the Scotland Yard policemen; they didn’t wear uniform. This was a local ‘bobby’ or ‘peeler’ from Bow Street Police Station. The man was too
far away to see the number on his collar, but Sarah could see the navy blue uniform, the shiny hat, the high leather boots – Wellingtons, they called them.
He was far away, but both of them heard his words distinctly.
‘Have you got a boy here? A boy called Alfie Sykes? Wanted for questioning about the murder last night?’
‘Boy, I’ve got no boy here.’ The manager sounded peevish and bad-tempered. No wonder, thought Alfie. If his theatre was losing money and he was facing bankruptcy, the last
thing he wanted was police swarming all over the place.
‘We’ve had a tip-off,’ persisted the Bow Street bobby. ‘Our informant says that the boy dressed up as a clown. Member of the public told us. Not ten minutes ago. Came to
Bow Street Police Station to lay information.’
‘I didn’t engage any boy . . . at least . . .’ The manager had begun by shouting, but now his voice tailed off.
‘But what, sir? You did engage some clowns earlier, didn’t you?’ This was a different voice. Sarah could see the two policemen from Scotland Yard come out from the door at the
back. They left the door open behind them and now all four men could be seen plainly in the light that came from behind them.
The manager removed his tall hat and scratched his head. ‘There was a small fellow – with two other clowns, he was. Perhaps he could have been a boy, now that I come to think of
it.’
‘Well, that’s easily settled.’ The first Scotland Yard policeman seemed to have taken over. ‘Are the clowns here?’
‘Some of them are hanging around, I suppose.’ The manager sounded impatient. It must be getting near to the time of the performance, thought Sarah. He had a note of anger in his
voice when he shouted, ‘Jimmy, if there are any of those new clowns back there tell them to come here.’
‘Can I get away, Sarah?’ Alfie kept his whisper down very low. He knew how sounds could travel in this tall-roofed building.
‘No,’ muttered Sarah, as she polished frantically. ‘Stay where you are.’ He was in
didn’t look like a policeman.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and for the third time that day his mouth watered.
‘There’s a pie shop over there,’ said the man, still keeping his hand on Tom’s shoulder.
Tom gave one glance at Sammy. He had just started a new song. Tom knew it well. It was a song with many verses. He would be back before it was finished.
The pie shop was very near – only a few steps away. The man let go of Tom and marched up to the counter. ‘Steak and kidney pie,’ he said.
Tom almost felt faint as the pie was slid on to the plate. His eyes were fixed on it as it came towards him. The man had to speak twice before he heard him properly.
‘I said you’ll get the pie when you tell me where the boy is hiding.’ That was what the man said.
And Tom heard his own voice saying, ‘He dressed up as a clown and he’s hiding in Covent Garden Theatre.’
And then he grabbed the pie and started to wolf it down, scared that it would be taken from him before he had eaten it.
But when he finished licking the plate and looked up, the man had gone.
Gone where? To Covent Garden Theatre?
Suddenly he vomited, spewing up all of that lovely pie. His stomach had rejected the food that he had wanted so badly.
He had betrayed his cousin.
And now it was all for nothing.
CHAPTER 13
T HE H UNT
Sarah was the first to see the policeman. She was busily rubbing away at the chairs in the orchestra pit below the stage while Alfie lay on his stomach beside the drums and
they talked to each other in whispers, discussing possibilities. ‘John Osborne is the most likely,’ Alfie had just said in a low voice when Sarah hushed him.
It wasn’t one of the Scotland Yard policemen; they didn’t wear uniform. This was a local ‘bobby’ or ‘peeler’ from Bow Street Police Station. The man was too
far away to see the number on his collar, but Sarah could see the navy blue uniform, the shiny hat, the high leather boots – Wellingtons, they called them.
He was far away, but both of them heard his words distinctly.
‘Have you got a boy here? A boy called Alfie Sykes? Wanted for questioning about the murder last night?’
‘Boy, I’ve got no boy here.’ The manager sounded peevish and bad-tempered. No wonder, thought Alfie. If his theatre was losing money and he was facing bankruptcy, the last
thing he wanted was police swarming all over the place.
‘We’ve had a tip-off,’ persisted the Bow Street bobby. ‘Our informant says that the boy dressed up as a clown. Member of the public told us. Not ten minutes ago. Came to
Bow Street Police Station to lay information.’
‘I didn’t engage any boy . . . at least . . .’ The manager had begun by shouting, but now his voice tailed off.
‘But what, sir? You did engage some clowns earlier, didn’t you?’ This was a different voice. Sarah could see the two policemen from Scotland Yard come out from the door at the
back. They left the door open behind them and now all four men could be seen plainly in the light that came from behind them.
The manager removed his tall hat and scratched his head. ‘There was a small fellow – with two other clowns, he was. Perhaps he could have been a boy, now that I come to think of
it.’
‘Well, that’s easily settled.’ The first Scotland Yard policeman seemed to have taken over. ‘Are the clowns here?’
‘Some of them are hanging around, I suppose.’ The manager sounded impatient. It must be getting near to the time of the performance, thought Sarah. He had a note of anger in his
voice when he shouted, ‘Jimmy, if there are any of those new clowns back there tell them to come here.’
‘Can I get away, Sarah?’ Alfie kept his whisper down very low. He knew how sounds could travel in this tall-roofed building.
‘No,’ muttered Sarah, as she polished frantically. ‘Stay where you are.’ He was in
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