Midnight for Charlie Bone. Jenny Nimmo

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘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. ‘Lovely. My nephew asked me to accompany him.’

      Charlie couldn’t decide whether his uncle sounded pompous or shy. Perhaps a bit of both. ‘I’ve come about the key, Miss Ingledew,’ he said. ‘The key to that case you gave me.’

      ‘Key? Key?’ She seemed confused. ‘Oh, I think they came with the, er . . . I’ll have a look. You’d better come through to my, er . . . Or people will think we’re open again.’ She gave a flustered laugh and disappeared through the curtains behind the counter.

      Charlie and his uncle followed. The little room behind the bookshop glowed with mellow colours, and Paton’s eyes roamed excitedly over the rows of books. Miss Ingledew had obviously been reading when they arrived, for a large book lay open on her desk.

      ‘The Incas,’ observed Paton, reading the chapter heading. ‘A fascinating subject.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Miss Ingledew, still agitated. She had found a small tin of keys which she proceeded to empty on to the desk. Most of the keys had labels attached to them, but some did not. ‘How am I to tell?’ she said. ‘There are so many. Charlie, I think you’d better take all the keys that aren’t marked and see which one fits. I’m afraid that’s all I can suggest.’

      ‘All that could be expected,’ said Paton.

      Miss Ingledew frowned at him, put a pile of keys in a plastic bag and handed them to Charlie. ‘There. Bring them back when you’ve tried them,’ she said.

      ‘Thanks, Miss Ingledew.’ Charlie took the keys and, as there seemed to be nothing left to say, or do, he led the way back through the curtains.

      Miss Ingledew came after them, to bolt and lock the door, but as Charlie and his uncle stepped into the street, Paton suddenly asked, ‘May I call again, Miss Ingledew?’

      ‘Of course,’ said Miss Ingledew, taken aback. ‘It’s a shop. I can hardly stop you.’

      ‘No.’ Paton smiled. ‘But, after dark?’

      Miss Ingledew looked rather alarmed. ‘On Fridays, I’m open until eight,’ she said, and closed the door.

      For a moment Paton stared at the door as if he were transfixed, and then he turned, suddenly, exclaiming, ‘What a very charming woman.’ And his huge, soundless humming caused the nearest lamp to burn so fiercely, a fine shower of glass fell out. It landed on the cobbled street with a soft, musical tinkle.

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