Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1 by Thomas J. Prestopnik

a glance at Arthur Weeks who tried to hide behind a few of the men in the crowd. His thin facial features were framed between long straight locks of black hair. Nicholas addressed the constable again. “What did Arthur say? I don’t understand his connection to this?”
    Constable Brindle patiently explained how Arthur had testified about Nicholas returning to the gristmill late last night. “According to him, you were the last person there last night and on several other nights as well. He claimed you had to catch up on your bookkeeping.”
    “That’s ridiculous! The books were up-to-date. I wasn’t at the gristmill last night. I had no reason to be.”
    Clay turned to Arthur Weeks who meekly squeezed through the crowd to face Nicholas. “What’d you tell me earlier, Arthur, when Ned and I questioned you outside the Iron Kettle?”
    “Well,” he whispered after swallowing hard. “I said I stayed late at the gristmill to clean up last night, just like Mr. Adams asked me to. We’ve been so busy lately.” Arthur stared in Nicholas’ direction but couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Before I left, well, Nicholas showed up. He told me to leave early so he could do his bookkeeping.”
    “That’s a lie! I never talked to you last night, Arthur.”
    “Yes, you did.”
    “I wasn’t at the gristmill last night!”
    “That’s about how I remember it,” Arthur mumbled, slipping back into the crowd.
    Nicholas held out his hands in stunned disbelief. “Clay, he’s lying!”
    “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Constable Brindle promised. “But you still have to explain about the items found in your shed.”
    “I want to see them,” Nicholas demanded.
    “I’ll take you there shortly. I have a few men guarding it now. But there’s still one other piece of evidence I need to show you. I’ve kept it secret until now.”
    Ned Adams threw an inquisitive glance at the constable. “What are you talking about, Clay? What evidence?”
    “Something I found on the floor at the gristmill. You were inside your office at the time, Ned.” Constable Brindle reached inside his vest pocket and removed a small object. “I discovered this near some spilled flour close to one of the orders that had been broken into. It’s a button. My guess is that the thief accidentally popped it off his jacket. Probably caught it on the stack of flour sacks in his hurry to leave.” The constable held up the plain brown button for all to see. The crowd looked at it with greedy eyes.
    “Who does it belong to?” someone asked.
    “Shortly after I walked in here, I noticed Nicholas’ jacket when he stood up. The color of the material matches the color of the button. It’s hard to see if you’re not specifically looking for it.”
    Nicholas glanced down at the several buttons along the right side of his jacket. One was missing near the center. Nicholas snapped his head up, his eyes locking onto Clay Brindle’s skeptical gaze. “I never noticed that one was missing.”
    The constable held the button he had found next to one on Nicholas’ jacket. “An exact match.”
    “He is the thief!” a patron in back whispered.
    “Constable Brindle did some fine work,” a second voice added.
    Ned Adams looked unkindly at Nicholas, stunned by the turn of events. He looked him dead in the eyes, prepared to unload the mixed emotions churning like a storm inside him, but then simply turned and walked away.
    As the crowd grew more vocal, Constable Brindle decided it best to get Nicholas out of the inn and over to the shed right away. The cool evening air calmed the crowd as they departed, though the constable was annoyed that the group of men now following him had grown larger. A line of oil lamp and torch light again snaked along River Road, accompanied by the shuffling of feet and bitter whispers of condemnation.
    When they reached the shed, Maynard ran up to Nicholas, a mix of horror and sympathy etched upon his face. “Clay said you’re