back to the house and have lunch; we don’t want to miss one moment of the exhibition…’
Steijner’s toy shop was vast, housed in a narrow building, several storeys high, each floor reached by a narrow, steep staircase. The front shop was large and opened out into another smaller room which extended, long and narrow, as far as a blank wall. Both rooms were lined with shelves packed with toys of every description, and arranged down their centres were the larger exhibits: miniature motor cars, dolls’ houses, minute bicycles, magnificent model boats.
The place was crowded with children, tugging the grown-ups to and fro, and it was some time before Araminta and the boys managed to climb the first flight of stairs to the floor above. The rooms here were mostly given over to dolls, more dolls’ houses and miniature kitchens and furniture, so they stayed only for a few minutes and then, together with a great many other people, made their way to the next floor.
This was very much more to the boy’s liking—more cars and bikes, kites of every kind, skates, trumpets and drums, puppets and toy animals. Araminta, with the beginnings of a headache, suggested hopefully that they might go and have their tea and wait for Bas in the café. More and more people were filling the shop, the narrow stairs were packed, but the children were reluctant to move from the displays they fancied.
‘There’s camping stuff on the next floor,’ said Peter, and he tugged at her hand. ‘Could we just have a look—a quick peep?’ He looked so appealing and since Paul had joined him, raising an excited face to her, she gave in. ‘All right. But we won’t stay too long, mind.’
The last flight of stairs was very narrow and steep, and the room it led to was low-ceilinged and narrow, with a slit window set in the gable. But it was well lit and the array of camping equipment was impressive. There were only a handful of people there and before long they had gone back down the staircase, leaving the boys alone to examine the tents and camping equipment to their hearts’ content.
They must have a tent, they told Araminta excitedly, they would ask Uncle Marcus to buy them one. ‘We could live in it in the garden, Mintie. You’d come too, of course.’
They went round and round, trying to decide which tent was the one they liked best. They were still longing to have one and arguing about it when Araminta looked at her watch.
‘Time for tea, my dears,’ she told them. ‘We mustn’t keep Bas waiting.’
It was another five minutes before she could prise them away and start down the stairs in single file. Peter was in front and he stopped on the last stair.
‘The door’s shut,’ he said.
Araminta reached over. ‘Well, we’ll just turn the handle.’
Only there wasn’t a handle, only an old-fashioned lock with no key. She changed places with Peter and gave the door a good push. Nothing happened; the door could have been rock. She told the boys to sit on the stairs and knocked hard. There was no reply, nor did anyone answer her ‘hello’. The place was quiet, though when she looked at her watch she wondered why. The exhibition was due to close at five o’clock and it was fifteen minutes to that hour. All the same, surely someone would tour the building and make sure that everyone had left. She shouted, uneasily aware of the thickness of the door.
‘What an adventure!’ she said bracingly. ‘Let’s all shout…’
Which brought no result whatever.
‘Well, we’d better go back to the room. Someone will come presently; it’s not quite time for people to have to leave yet.’ She spoke in a matter-of-fact voice and hoped that the boys would believe her.
Back upstairs again, she went to the narrow window. The glass was thick and, although it had once opened, it had been long since sealed up. She looked around for something suitable to break it, picked up a tent peg and, urged on by the boys, who were revelling in the whole thing, began to bash the glass.
It didn’t break easily, and only some of it fell into the street below, but anyone passing or standing nearby could have seen it. She shouted hopefully, unaware that there was no one there. The doctor’s second car, another Jaguar, was standing close by, but Bas had gone into the café to see if they were there.
Of course, they weren’t; he went to the toy shop, where the doors were being locked.
‘Everyone has left,’ he was told, and when he asked why they had closed a quarter of an hour sooner than expected, he was told that an electrical fault had been found and it was necessary to turn off the current.
‘But no one’s inside,’ he was assured by the owner, who was unaware that the assistant who had checked the place hadn’t bothered to go to the top room but had locked the door and gone home.
They could have gone back to the house, thought Bas. Miss Pomfrey was a sensible young woman, and instead of lingering about waiting for him she would have taken the boys home to let him know that they had left earlier than they had planned.
He got into the car and drove back, to find the Bentley parked by the canal and the doctor in his study. He looked up as Bas went in, but before he could speak Bas said urgently, ‘You’re just this minute back, mijnheer? You do not know about the exhibition closing early? I thought Miss Pomfrey and the boys would be here.’
The doctor was out of his chair. ‘At the toy shop? It is closed? Why? You’re sure? They were not in the café?’
‘No one had seen them. I spoke to the man closing the place—there’s been an electrical fault, that’s why they shut early. He was sure that there was no one left inside.’
The doctor was already at the door. ‘They can’t be far, and Miss Pomfrey isn’t a girl to lose her head. Come along. We’ll find them. You stay in the car, Bas, in case they turn up.’
With Bas beside him he drove to Steijner’s shop. There were few people about—the proprietor and his assistants had gone home—but there was a van parked outside and men unloading equipment.
The doctor parked the car and walked over to them. ‘You have keys? I believe there are two boys and a young woman still inside. I’m not sure of it, but I must check.’
He looked up as a small splattering of glass fell between them. He looked up again and saw what appeared to be a stocking waving from the gabled window.
The man looked up, too. ‘Best get them down, mijnheer. I’ll open up—you won’t need help? I’ve quite a bit of work here…’
He opened the door, taking his time over its bolts and chains, giving the doctor time to allow for his relief, mingled, for some reason which he didn’t understand, with rising rage. The silly girl. Why didn’t she leave the place with everyone else? There must have been some other people there, and the boys would have understood what was said—everyone would have been warned in good time.
He raced up the stairs, turned the key in the lock of the last door and went up the staircase two at a time. The boys rushed to meet him, bubbling about their adventure, delighted to see him, and he put his great arms around their small shoulders.
He said, very softly, ‘I hope you have a good explanation for this, Miss Pomfrey.’ The look he gave her shrivelled her bones.
Araminta, ready and eager to explain, bit back the words. He was furiously angry with her. No doubt any other man would have sworn at her and
