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street vendors, pickpockets and beggars. With a pounding heart, he arrived at Clements’ pawnshop but lost his nerve and stopped at the door.
    Julius’s stomach was churning hard enough to make a pound of butter. He looked in the window at the display of pledged items. There were corsets, a trumpet, hats, cigar cases and even a shrunken head. He remembered Jack Springheel’s blade flashing through the air and Crimper’s terrified expression. He wanted to be close to Jack Springheel when Crimper came searching for him, even though it meant keeping an eye out for the street urchins, and Chinamen. He took a deep breath and walked into the shop.
    Clements sat behind the counter smoking a cigar. He lowered the newspaper he was reading and blew out a cloud of smoke that lingered around his head and shoulders like a fog on the Thames. Then, to Julius’s surprise, Clements’ eyes opened wide in welcome.
    â€˜Well, if it isn’t our little bookseller friend. How are you, my boy?’
    â€˜Very well, thank you, sir.’
    â€˜You’ve found it then? I knew you would,’ he said, as he leaned forward and eyed the carpetbag greedily.
    Before Julius could speak, the tip of a walking cane shot out from behind the curtain separating the shop from the back parlour. It swept across the doorway, lifting the curtain to reveal Jack Springheel.
    â€˜Our young friend returns,’ he said, as he stepped up to the counter.
    Julius’s heart jumped. Last night’s events came back in vivid colour. What seemed at first like a very simple and straightforward plan now seemed too ridiculous for words.
    What were you thinking, Higgins? He could imagine the two of them laughing their heads off at his plea for their help.
    â€˜You have news of Harrison’s diary?’ said Springheel, arranging the ruffles on his cravat—it was canary yellow with black polka dots. His eyes bored into Julius.
    Any words Julius ever knew left his head. All he could do was stare dumbly at Springheel.
    â€˜Well?’ said Springheel.
    â€˜Er…yes, I do. The thing is…I’m in a small spot of bother. I was wondering…I need some lodgings, just for a week or two…until things settle down.’
    â€˜Bother?’ said Springheel. He turned to Clements. ‘I’m sure Clements would be delighted to have you as our guest. Wouldn’t you, Clements.’
    â€˜Would I?’ said Clements.
    â€˜Yes…you would,’ said Springheel.
    Clements swallowed. ‘I’d be delighted. But he’d have to do a few odd jobs around the place.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t mind doing a few odd jobs, would you, Julius?’ said Springheel.
    â€˜No, not at all. In fact, I was going to offer to do just that.’
    â€˜In that case, we’d be happy to put you up,’ said Springheel, looking at the carpetbag. ‘In exchange for the diary.’
    â€˜Er…I don’t have it with me…but I can get it… tonight.’

CHAPTER 5
    Wednesday 5th July, 1837
2:48 AM
    Julius lay on the rickety bed at his new lodgings, looking up through the skylight at the tiny stars. The carpetbag lay against the damp wall. On the upturned box that served as a bedside table a candle burned lower and lower marking the slow passing of time. Julius waited, wishing that he could wait forever for what he had to do next.
    When the candle finally flickered and died, the room was clutched by darkness.
    It grew suddenly cold. Julius pulled his boots on and crept down the narrow stairway. In the kitchen he found the backdoor key on the hook where Clements had said it would be. He walked out into the back alley and through New Market Square. No one was about at this time of the morning, except for a policeman doing his rounds. The full moon lit Julius’s way as he went home to get the diary.
    From the end of Ironmonger Lane the dark shape of his grandfather’s shop sign stood out against