tall and lean and his hair was very black, with just a few streaks of white in it at the sides. His skin was coppery dark, his nose high-bridged and aquiline.
She drew in a deep breath. âI need âelp,â sheadmitted. This was not a man you lied to. âAnâ Mr. Wiggins says as yeâre the wisest man around âere, so I come ter ask.â
âDoes he indeed?â Mr. Balthasar smiled with a definite trace of amusement. âYou have the advantage of me.â
âWot?â She blinked.
âYou seem to know something of me,â he explained. âI know nothing of you.â
âOh. Iâm Gracie Phipps. I live in âEneage Street. But I come cos oâ Minnie Maude. âEr uncle Alf got killed, anâ Charlieâs lost anâ could be all on âis own, anâ in trouble.â
âI think you had better tell me from the beginning,â Mr. Balthasar said gently. âThis sounds as if it might be quite a complicated matter, Gracie Phipps.â
Gracie drew in her breath and began.
Mr. Balthasar listened without interrupting, nodding now and then.
ââ¦Â so I think as Jimmy Quick inât tellinâ thetruth,â she said finally. âCos it donât make no sense. But I still gotta find Charlie, or that daft little article inât gonna give up till summink real bad âappens.â
âNo,â Mr. Balthasar agreed, and his face was very grim. âI can see that she isnât. But I fear that you are right. Several people may not be telling the truth. And perhaps Minnie Maude is not quite as daft as you imagine.â
Gracie gulped. The room with its crowded shelves and endless assortment of treasures seemed smaller than before, closer to her, the walls crowding in. It was oddly silent, as if the street outside were miles away.
âCourse sheâs daft,â Gracie said firmly. â âOoâs gonna kill a rag anâ bone man? On purpose, like? âE jusâ died anâ fell off, anâ as âe were on Jimmy Quickâs patch, âstead of âis own, no one knew âim, so âe jusâ laid there till someone found âim.â
âAnd what happened to Charlie?â Mr. Balthasar asked very gently.
âCharlie couldnât pick âim up,â Gracie replied. âAnâ âe couldnât get âelp, so âe jusâ stayed there with âim â¦Â sort oâ â¦Â waitinâ.â
âAnd why was he not there when poor Alf was found?â
Gracie realized her mistake. âI dunno. Someone must a stole âim.â
âAnd the cart? They stole that also?â
âMust âave.â
âYes,â Mr. Balthasar said very sincerely. âThat, I fear, may be far more serious than you realize.â He searched her face, as if trying to judge how much she understood, and how much more he should tell her.
Suddenly she was brushed with genuine fear, a cold grip inside her that held hard. She fought against it. Now it was not just helping Minnie Maude because she was sorry for her, and felt a certain kind of responsibility. She was caught in it herself. She looked back at the strange features, the dark, burning eyes of Mr. Balthasar.
âWhyâd anyone steal it?â she said in little more than a whisper.
âAh.â He let out his breath slowly. âThere I think you have it, Gracie. What was in it that someone believed to be worth a human life in order to steal?â
Gracie shivered. âI dunno.â The words barely escaped her lips. âDâyer think âe really were killed?â It still seemed ridiculous, something Minnie Maude would make up, because she was only eight, and daft as a brush. Gracie swallowed hard. It was no longer a bit of a nuisance. She was scared. âShe jusâ wants âer friend Charlie back, anâ safe.â
Mr. Balthasar did not answer