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driver will tell you where to get off,” she called back to them with a big smile. “And you get the bus back on the other side of the street from the gallery.”
    â€œFine, Mom, thanks!” Xena sounded as cheery as she could so that Mom would get off, and with a big wave at them, she did.
    â€œI wish she wouldn't treat us like kids,” Xander grumbled.
    Although there weren't many of London's famous double-decker buses on the roads anymore, riding buses through the city was still fun. London was so different from home. Xander loved seeing old buildings right next to brand-new ones, and the neat-looking bulgy black taxicabs zipping around. He leaned his forehead against the window, looking out at the drizzly day. It was still confusing to ride on the left side of the street. Sometimes when they went around a corner he thought that the driver had gotten mixed up and they were going to have a head-on collision with another car.
    People walked under umbrellas, wearing raincoats and boots. Everything was gray and dull—theraincoats, the store windows obscured by rain, the expressions on people's faces.
    That was why, when a sudden flash of purple crossed his line of sight, he didn't even realize what it was at first. He was just surprised to see color. But then he focused more closely. Was it? Could it be? . . . Yes, it was!
    â€œXena!” he cried.
    â€œHush,” she said. “Everybody's staring at you!” But Xander kept his eyes on the girl who was darting under awnings, dodging the rain-drops, holding her colorful hat on her head with one hand. Even in the gray light of a drizzly day he could see that the ringlets under the hat were bright golden blond.
    â€œLook!” he said, pointing out the window.
    â€œWhat?” Xena asked.
    â€œIt's her!” Xander half rose from his seat. “It's the girl in the purple hat!”

C HAPTER 7

    T he girl from the painting? No way!” Xena swung around and looked where Xander was pointing. But the girl had vanished into a crowd, and when the bus passed the corner where Xander had last seen her, there was no girl and no purple hat.
    â€œYou're nuts,” Xena said. “Or barmy, as they say here. I think you've lost what little mind you ever had, brother dear.”
    â€œBut she was there! I saw her!”
    â€œXander, you couldn't have seen her. The model would be more than a hundred years old. You must have imagined it. Or you just saw some kid in a purple rain hat.”
    â€œIt wasn't a rain hat! It was one of those hats with ribbons and flowers, like old ladies wear.” Xander kept his nose pressed to the window, but it was no use. The girl was gone.
    â€œThis is our stop,” Xena said, and Xandergot up and went through the door after her, stepping down into a puddle. Great, he thought as he followed her.
    A bell tinkled as they opened the door to the gallery. The man at the desk nodded at them as they came in, and then went back to his news-paper. The gallery was a series of small rooms, with lights shining down on the drawings, all in dark frames.
    In the Batheson room was a brochure that described the sketches, but it didn't provide much information beyond titles that were pretty obvious, like Child Picking Roses .
    A few other people were walking around, either alone or in pairs, pausing at each picture. There weren't many.
    Xena inspected a few landscapes, a drawing of boys playing with puppies, a pretty woman doing needlework, and the same woman gathering flowers.
    Even though Xander knew he should be looking for clues, he wasn't really studying the art. Instead he kept thinking of that girl with the purple hat. He knew he wasn't crazy. He had seen her.
    His boots squished when he finally moved on to the next group of pictures, and peopleturned to glare at him. He tried to walk quietly, but what could he do about noisy boots?
    Then he heard Xena calling him in a loud whisper from three sketches away.