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with a handful of belongings and a drip-white face. He was long-haired and scruffy and Jarvis took a step backward at the sight of him. Mrs. Duvell retreated into the parlor, staring out at Jarvis with tears streaming down her face.
    “Please don’t hurt him, Mister Jarvis. He’s not mine. He’s the son of Mister Brice. He’s a good boy. Never did nobody no harm.”
    “Why, thank you, Mrs. Duvell, how very obliging of you. I’m sure he’ll be just fine. Now that was easy, wasn’t it? May I remind you that children are banned in the hollow? Good day.” And he shut the door in her face.
    Jarvis curled his hook into the shoulder of the boys’ tunic and yanked him out into the street, dragging him to the carriage. He forced him inward and locked the door soundly and the last thing Mrs. Duvell heard was Jarvis shouting at the horse to get back up the small climb to the city road.
    The smile had stayed across Jarvis’s face. He was so delighted with his catch that he stopped to take another look. Pausing at the stone bridge, he climbed down and walked to the back of the carriage. He peered in through the window and he could just see the shape of the small boy, his watery eyes glistening under the torchlight.
    “How sickly sweet,” he laughed, and then he climbed back into his seat.
    “Where next?” he asked his friend Captain Dooley.
    And then the spooky croaking voice came again, loud and clear.
    “Born of the same hour and only a moment away. The Carraway twins are asleep in their beds.”
    “My, oh my. Mister and Mrs. Carraway. How surprising. All that time she lay in bed with the fever. Such a deceiving plot. She bore no illness at all, it seems. Surprising what people will do to conceal children in the womb,” Jarvis said, chattering away to himself. And then he steered his carriage toward the riverside houses.
    But then he was corrected.
    “Not at the Carraway house. They fear the searches and sometimes at night, the children are in the care of the DeGale family, along the track where the watermill sits. Below the bridge.”
    “Ahhh, I see. They’re so sly, but so am I,” laughed Jarvis, and he was having so much fun he had forgotten how freezing cold the air had become.
    Within moments he was parked up again and rapping at the door with his hook. Thud, thud, thud.
    But not every taking was going to be so simple. Mister Jarvis was about to meet with much younger and bigger opposition. Mister DeGale was not so much a pushover as the last one. His large frame almost filled out the space as he opened the door.
    Jarvis was not perturbed. He informed Mister DeGale that he was about to get into hot water if he didn’t hand over the Carraway children.
    “Who told you, Jarvis? You’d have to get past me to get to those children, anyway,” insisted DeGale.
    Jarvis took one long look up at the man before him, square-jawed and broad in the shoulder. Hmmm, he would have to think for a moment. What would melt this man’s ice-cold bravery?
    “It’s a battle of wits is it, Mister DeGale? Very well. Let me show you something.” He fiddled with the lock of his back door and pulled out the young boy.
    “Have you met Mister Brice’s youngest son?” he asked. “I’m presuming Mister Brice would like to see him again, but if you don’t bring out those twins I’ll have you explain to him what happened to his beloved child.” As he said this he held the boy with his hooked hand over the side of the bridge, ready to let him drop. The boy screamed out loud and then his cry fell to a quiet, pleading blubber of help.
    “He’s quite heavy. I can’t imagine I’ll hold on much longer. I don’t play games, Mister DeGale. You’d best hurry up.”
    DeGale dropped his head in defeat. He had the might to crush Jarvis but he did not have his evil will. He returned quickly with the Carraway twins. “Don’t hurt them, Jarvis. They’ve done nothing wrong. Keep them safe or I’ll come looking for you.”
    “Thank