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When Creecher was with him, Billy could see no alternative other than to do as he said. But here in the dazzling sunshine on a busy street, Creecher seemed more like a bad dream: something that belonged to the fog of sleep and nothing more.
    What purpose was there to be served by Billy watching two tourists on their sightseeing expeditions? Sooner or later – whatever Creecher said – Fletcher or one of his cronies was going to find him.
    Besides, it was just plain unnatural for a thief of Billy’s skill to watch so many opportunities go by. It was a kind of torture.
    Then, just as Billy walked past the entrance to Montagu House, who should appear from the museum but the same eccentrically dressed toff he had seen earlier by the statue of the Egyptian king. It was just too tempting.
    Billy strolled nonchalantly by and reached out towards the man’s purse. In his mind he had already pocketed the purse and so it was a great shock when he felt a hand grab his wrist.
    Billy was about to kick the man in the shin and run for it, when to his surprise the man smiled and let go of his arm.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I have no intention of arresting you.’
    Billy backed off to a safe distance in case the man changed his mind. He was intrigued.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I would not be the cause of your suffering,’ said the man with a kind smile. ‘It would bother my conscience.’
    Billy raised his eyebrows.
    ‘You religious, then?’
    ‘Oh, dear me, no. Did you hear that, Mary?’
    A woman walked forward.
    ‘Yes, I did, my dear,’ she said with a chuckle.
    She was so different from the bonneted girls in the museum, though she could not have been any older. Thin and pale, like the man at her side, with a high forehead and long nose, she was pretty, but in a cool way, like a marble bust.
    ‘So our French friend was right?’ said the man. ‘You are a thief.’
    ‘He’s not French,’ Billy replied. ‘He’s from Swissland.’
    ‘I told you he sounded Swiss,’ said the woman called Mary.
    ‘I’m intrigued that a boy like you has such an acute ear for accents,’ said the man. ‘Do you know him?’
    Billy muttered something under his breath and began to walk away.
    ‘Wait!’
    Billy turned and the man opened his purse. He took out a coin and tossed it to him.
    ‘That should stop you picking pockets for the rest of the day, at least!’
    ‘Shelley,’ said Mary, ‘you are as soft-hearted as an old woman.’
    ‘Come,’ he replied. ‘What harm can kindness do? Would you have me be hard-hearted, then?’
    ‘Of course not, my love.’
    Billy stood there looking at them, not knowing what to say. From the corner of his eye he saw Clerval and Frankenstein emerging from the museum gates. He began to move away.
    ‘Do you see?’ he heard the woman say. ‘He doesn’t even thank you for it.’
    ‘He thanks me in his heart,’ said Shelley, with a chuckle.
    ‘In his heart he thinks you are a fool.’
    ‘Ha!’ said the man. ‘You are probably right, dear wife. You usually are.’
    ‘Only usually?’
    ‘Always,’ he replied.
    From across the street, Billy watched him lean over to kiss her. An elderly couple tutted in disgust and Shelley and Mary burst into laughter. What must it be like? Billy thought. What must it be like to be happy?

CHAPTER VIII.
    Billy got back to the museum gates in time to see his two targets leave, and he followed them for the rest of the day as they wandered the shopping streets of Piccadilly.
    As the sun went down that afternoon, and the chill of night was once more ushered in, Creecher’s invisible grip on Billy returned and he was in no mood to test its potency.
    He made his way back to the bakery attic and found the giant standing waiting for him. Billy sat down and began to tell Creecher about his day. He told him that he had been thrown out of the British Museum, but not that Clerval had become involved. Nor did he mention his odd encounter with the man outside. He did not think