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the night sky.
    Julius was skinny enough to edge himself through the shop doorway without causing the bell to ring. He closed the door and listened. The mantel clock ticked, but that was the only sound. The shop’s interior was almost black; he felt his way to the back parlour and lit a lamp. The familiar room was full of shadows. They seemed to know he was up to no good. Julius slid open the writing-desk drawers, searching for the diary.
    Where is it, Higgins? Julius’s desperation grew more intense the more he searched. It had to be in the parlour or in the shop. If the old man was keeping it under his pillow Julius stood no chance of getting it. He rifled through the papers and books on the writing desk. A pile of letters tumbled to the floor.
    Stop and think, Higgins. Where did you last see the diary?
    That’s it. He spun around and looked at the chair his grandfather had been sitting in when Professor Fox called. He carefully lifted the cushion. There it was. It was so obvious that it was the last place he would have looked. He snatched the diary, hugged it to his chest and reached out to turn down the lamp.
    â€˜Julius Caesar?’
    Julius spun around. Mr Higgins was standing in the doorway leading from the stairs. His nightcap was perched precariously on his head and his skinny legs poked out from beneath his nightshirt.
    â€˜Aha! I knew you were up to something.’
    â€˜No…I—’
    â€˜What’s that you have there?’ said the old man, pointing to the diary.
    â€˜Nothing.’
    â€˜What are you up to? Tell me, now.’
    â€˜Nothing.’
    â€˜It’s not nothing. Why are you sneaking about in the dead of night like a…like a sneak-thief ?’
    â€˜I’ll explain it all later. I promise,’ said Julius, edging towards the door.
    Mr Higgins snatched the diary from his hand. ‘Thinking of going into business for yourself, were you?’
    â€˜No, it’s—’
    â€˜I knew this would happen one day. I should call the peelers. That’s what I should do.’
    â€˜No, please,’ said Julius, clasping his hands around the diary. ‘It’s not what you think.’
    â€˜Give it back,’ said the old man. He pulled the book from Julius’s grasp.
    â€˜No, please. I’ll explain later. I need—’
    â€˜It’s come to this: stealing from your own flesh and blood!’
    â€˜But, I’m in a bit of bother, Grandfather, I—’
    â€˜Oh, you’re in a bit of bother, all right, a lot of—’
    â€˜Please. I’ll explain later. Please. Let go, let go,’ Julius cried. He wrenched the book away with such force that the old man fell back onto the stairs.
    Julius dropped the diary and went to his grandfather.
    â€˜I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
    â€˜Get back,’ cried the old man with anger and disappointment is his eyes. ‘There’s bad blood in you… bad blood. Get out, get out.’
    â€˜But—’
    â€˜Police, police,’ shouted Mr Higgins.
    Julius scooped up the diary and ran out into the night.

    Julius was out of breath by the time he ran into the embankment wall. He slumped against the cold, damp stones. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and the sound of his panting and his heartbeat rose above the lapping waves and the distant fog horns and the creaking and groaning of the ships further along the river. His hand clutched his jacket to feel the diary inside. He held it tight, but part of him wanted to throw it into the river and run away somewhere where no one would ever find him again. What have you done, Higgins? And what did Grandfather mean? What bad blood?
    A line of mist floated above the water, like a ghostly white veil in the moonlight. Julius watched it drifting and shifting. As his breathing slowed he rested his head against the damp wall and looked across the river. He could see the city’s ebony silhouette in the