a man at my place who wants to see you.”
Pete followed her across the landing to her flat. Nathaniel the Artist and Mr Jones, who lived on the second floor, were already seated when they entered. Mr Jones held Mangler, his little Chihuahua, on his lap. A strange, bald man stood by the stove.
“Pete, this is Mr Vulture,” said Mrs Burton.
The man stared at Pete with beady black eyes down an enormous beak of a nose. “Voltaire, Madame. Like the famous French philosopher.”
Mangler growled. Mrs Burton’s cheeks glowed a bit.
“Pete, this is Mr Voltaire,” she said. “He was Mr Humperdinck’s attorney.”
“Not his attorney exactly, Madame. I’m a bit of a … ahem, specialist. I take care of deceased estates, and as such I was assigned by Mr Schwarz, who was his attorney, to see to this … ahem, matter.” His head bobbed backwards and forwards on his slender neck as he walked over to the table, sat down and opened his briefcase. “As everybody is present, we will now proceed to read the … ahem, will.”
The will! There was a shocked silence. It was obvious that no one had ever imagined being in someone’s will.
“Please be seated, Master Smith, and close your mouth.” Voltaire took out a document and read aloud, “Here follows the Last Will and Testament of … ahem, Wilhelm Karl Frederick Hans Jozef von Kirschbaume und Humperdinck.”
He paused for a moment to blow his nose in a huge red handkerchief, and then read the will. Pete didn’t understand much of it, but it seemed that Mr Humperdinck had no family or friends other than his neighbours in Paradise Mansions.
“The property known as Paradise Mansions is bequeathed to Mrs Edwina Burton.”
They all gasped. They hadn’t even known that the building belonged to Mr Humperdinck. They thought he was just the agent collecting the rent.
Mrs Burton put her hand on her mouth. “He did love me after all!” She started to sob uncontrollably.
Mr Voltaire had to wait a few moments for the clamour to die down before he could proceed. Nathaniel the Artist would receive a rare and valuable set of Chinese pig-bristle brushes, which dated from the fourteenth century. Apparently there were also two valuable paintings. And there was some cash in the bank for Mr Jones, whom Mr Humperdinck had called my dear friend in the will.
“And the next clause seems to make no sense whatsoever,” announced Mr Voltaire. “All my books, as well as the bicycle shop business, are bequeathed to my friend Snow White, the cat. We shall simply ignore this, since cats obviously have no need of … ahem, books or businesses.”
And lastly, Mr Humperdinck had asked Pete to take care of his mouse Squeak.
Squeak! Pete could kick himself. He had forgotten all about the white mouse in the wire cage. The poor thing had had no food or water since his master died, which was already more than forty-eight hours ago.
“Do you have a key to the shop?” Pete asked Mr Voltaire. “I must fetch the mouse.”
The man shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. The police have sealed off the shop since it’s a crime scene. It’s illegal to enter without their permission. And then of course, there’s the problem of claims against the … ahem, estate.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mr Jones.
“I mean, Mr Jones, that before you can get to the loot, Mr Humperdinck’s creditors have to be paid. I have here a letter from the city council that states that Mr Humperdinck has failed to pay his levies and taxes on this property for the last twenty years.” He waved a piece of paper in the air. “How on earth he managed to do that is beyond me. But the estate owes the city more than this … ahem, hovel would ever fetch at an auction which, incidentally, will be held on the premises in two months’ time. You have six weeks to vacate the building. A notice to this effect will be sent to all the residents. And then, of course, there’s the question of tax and … ahem, my fee.”
“But if I don’t go fetch Squeak he’ll die!”
“It seems that you have inherited a dead mouse that will be sold on a public auction, young man.” Voltaire pulled his lips to imitate a smile, and then got up. “Now if you will excuse me, I have other important appointments.”
He took his hat and coat and went through the door. Pete ran after him. Mr Voltaire’s coat billowed behind him like a pair of enormous black wings as he went down the stairs. Suddenly he jumped through the window on the second landing. Pete rushed down to the window and was just in time to see him fly away, his black coat flapping in the wind behind him.
The bicycle shop’s door was sealed with a thick chain and a padlock, and there was a police officer on guard. Pete stuck his hands in his pockets and casually strolled back into the foyer of Paradise Mansions. The back door was unlocked, and he went outside.
The alley was dark and muddy, with an overwhelming smell of rotten garbage. He found the window of the bicycle shop’s back room, lifted the latch with a piece of wire he found on the ground close by, and climbed in. He had brought a candle stub along. Its small light cast dark, dancing shadows on the walls. It looked as if a tornado had swept through the place.
Suddenly Pete heard a crash in the shop.
He put the candle out and crept to the door. Four red eyes glowed in the dark behind the counter. They belonged to two rats. The rats had pulled Squeak’s cage onto the floor. The poor little mouse looked terrified, and clung to the topmost wires of his cage.
Pete grabbed a piece of bicycle tube and hit out at the rats. They scurried off and disappeared in the shadows.
Pete lifted the cage, opened the door and carefully removed the trembling mouse. It ran up his arm and hid in the pocket of his windbreaker. The policeman on the pavement outside shone his torch through the window. Pete ducked behind the counter. The light of the torch pierced the dark shadows under a shelf, exposing one of the rats. It shrieked, and ran across the room to disappear into a crate.
“Damn rats,” the policeman mumbled, switching off the torch.
As fast as he could, Pete moved in the dark to the window of the back room, and out into the alley. He closed the window carefully behind him. As he walked back to the door, he saw a pair of luminous red eyes glaring at him from the blackness behind a dumpster. He ran up the stairs, slammed the door of their flat behind him, and breathlessly locked it.
4
The Long Arm of the Law
The next day was Saturday. Pete woke as somebody banged on the door. It was Freddy.
“Seen this morning’s paper?” he asked.
Pete was still half asleep.
“Wash your face and have a look at this!”
Pete splashed some cold water from the sink on his face, while Freddy spread the newspaper on the table. Squeak jumped onto it and ran from side to side. He seemed to be reading the paper.
“Look here, on the front page!”
