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dangerous animals like snakes and scorpions.’
    ‘Why?’ Mason asked.
    ‘Well, if a bomb hit the zoo the poisonous animals could escape. But Mrs Henderson didn’t want to all her spiders to die, so she smuggled some of them out. At first she kept them at her flat in London, but now they’re all up here.’
    As Paul said this he opened a jam jar filled with live crickets and shook a few into a cage populated by a colony of small orange-legged spiders. After doing this he opened a notebook and logged the time, the cage number and exactly what he’d fed them.
    ‘You can give a worm to Maxine if you like,’ Paul told Mason. ‘She’s a baby Mexican fireleg. Not very aggressive, but she’s got special hairs on her body that’ll make your skin burn if you touch her.’
    ‘Eww,’ Mason said, shuddering as Paul plucked a bright-pink earthworm out of a compost drum by the back door and dropped it into the younger boy’s palm.
    ‘She’s quick, so I’ll take the lid off the cage and you drop it straight in,’ Paul explained, as the worm curled up in Mason’s palm. ‘Ready?’
    To everyone’s disappointment, Maxine moved towards the worm but only tapped it disinterestedly before retreating back to the other side of the cage.
    ‘We’re worried about her,’ Paul explained. ‘Mrs Henderson says the fireleg is a desert spider. The humidity in here is too high for her.’
    ‘Will she die?’ Troy asked.
    ‘We’re trying to set up another room that’s hot and dry, maybe in one of the empty cottages,’ Paul explained. ‘The trouble is, the rooms have to be kept warm all the time so you need a fireplace, but you also need sunshine, and Mr Henderson is cross about having one room with spiders in, let alone setting up another one.’
    But Troy and Mason had lost interest. They’d caught the smell of bacon and eggs wafting from the kitchen and McAfferty was calling out for someone to come and butter some bread.

CHAPTER SIX
    Marc retired to the top bunk after his wash, but he found it hard to relax. He was worried about Henderson, and the blood seeping from his wounded mouth into the back of his throat meant he had to sit up and spit every couple of minutes. After ruling out sleep, Marc squatted by the small window with the light out, peeking behind the blackout curtain.
    German bombs were hitting the City of London and the docks several miles to the east, but his window looked north, so although he could hear explosions all he could see were the occasional fire engines rattling through St James’s Square and the vague silhouettes of two elderly men stationed as lookouts on the roof of an office building across the square.
    A knock on the door startled Marc and he stubbed his toe painfully on the bedside chest as he crossed the small room in darkness. A slim girl stood at the doorway. No older than seventeen, she wore a black dress with a frilled apron and held a wooden tray on which were placed a steaming bowl of tomato soup and a side plate with slices of cheese and bread with the crusts removed.
    ‘Commander Henderson thought you might be hungry,’ the girl explained, as Marc flicked the light switch by the door. ‘Shall I put it on the bunk for you?’
    Marc hadn’t given food much thought, but his stomach growled when his nose caught the steam rising off the soup.
    ‘On the bed, yes,’ he said, feeling awkward as he became conscious that he was wearing only socks and underpants. ‘Did you speak with Mr Henderson? I mean, did he seem OK?’
    The girl smiled. ‘Your father gave me some money and told me to bring you something decent that was easy to eat.’
    ‘He’s not actually my dad,’ Marc said. ‘I’m an orphan and he sort of looks after me.’
    ‘Ahh,’ the girl smiled. ‘That’s sweet. He seemed like a nice man, though I got the impression that he’s had rather a lot to drink.’
    ‘He’s had a rough day,’ Marc said, as he sampled the soup. ‘Hot!’ he yelped, as he sucked the first