The Thief Lord

It took a long time for Riccio to come out again. But finally he stood in the entrance like a little lord at peace with himself and the entire world. He was holding a gigantic ice-cream cone that he had received for his labors. He casually pulled the door shut before making his way toward Prosper and Hornet.

"No bars on the inside!" he whispered to them importantly. "Not even a second lock. Signora Spavento is definitely not afraid of burglars."

"Was she at home?" Prosper asked him, looking up at the balcony above the entrance.

"I didn't see her." Riccio let Hornet lick his ice cream. "But the kitchen is exactly where it's marked on the floor plan. I took the bags there for 'Mrs. Pudgy,' the housekeeper. So it's probably also true that the main bedroom is in the attic. I tell you, if Signora Ida Spavento really does go to bed early then this job is going to be easier than stealing candles from a church."

"Yeah, just don't get too excited!" Hornet warned. She looked uneasily at the windows.

"Wait. It gets even better!" Riccio chuckled. "There's a door that's not on the plan, going straight from the kitchen into the garden. And -- wait for this -- that one doesn't have any bars either. Signora Spavento's really quite careless, isn't she?"

"You're forgetting the dogs again," Hornet replied. "What if they don't belong to the housekeeper? And what if they don't like your sausages?"

"Bah! All dogs like sausages. Right, Prop?"

Prosper nodded and looked at his watch. "It's nearly one o'clock," he whispered, "and Scipio still isn't here. I hope nothing's happened."

They waited for another half hour. Then, feeling very anxious, they made their way to their prisoner's apartment to feed his deserted tortoise.

"I don't get it," Riccio said as they stood in front of Victor's house. "What could have happened to Scipio?"

As they struggled up the steep staircase to Victor's office, Hornet panted, "It's probably nothing. He's often late when we arrange to meet at the hideout." But she looked just as worried as the other two.

Riccio picked Victor's lock. Once inside they saw that Victor's tortoise-husband really looked quite lonely. He hardly poked his head out of his shell when Prosper and Hornet bent over his box. Only when Prosper offered him a lettuce leaf did his wrinkly neck come out.

Riccio ignored the tortoise. He still thought it was quite ridiculous to look after a prisoner's pets. Instead he tried out one of Victor's disguises in front of the mirror. "Hey, look at this, Prop!" he called as he stuck the walrus mustache under his nose. "Didn't he have this on his face when you ran into him?"

"Maybe," Prosper answered. He was investigating Victor's desk. Underneath the paperweight lion was a picture of the two tortoises and next to the typewriter was a pile of densely written paper and an apple with one bite taken out of it.

"And how do I look now?" Riccio asked, stroking a full reddish beard.

"Like a gnome," Hornet answered. She pulled a book from the shelf where Victor kept his well-thumbed crime novels. Then she made herself comfortable on one of the visitors' chairs and settled down to read. Prosper perched on Victor's armchair and rifled through the drawers in his desk. There was nothing interesting, only bits of paper, paper clips, a stamp pad, scissors, keys, postcards, and three different bags of candy.

Prosper closed all the drawers. "Have you seen any files? He's got to have files on his cases."

"Nope. I bet he became a detective because he likes dressing up. He hasn't got any files." Riccio stuck some bushy eyebrows over his eyes, popped a hat on his head and tried to give his face a dignified expression. "Do you think I'll look like this one day when I'm older?"

"He's got to write things down somewhere."

Prosper had just discovered Victor's only filing cabinet when the phone rang. Hornet didn't even lift her head. "Let it ring." She smiled. "It's not going to be for us, is it?"

Ten minutes later the phone rang again, just as Prosper discovered a transparent cover with a photograph of him and his brother. Mesmerized, he stared at the picture.

Hornet looked up from her book. "What is it?"

"Just a photo. Of Bo and me. My mom took it on my eleventh birthday."

The phone rang once more and then fell silent again. "What did the snoop write down about you?" Hornet asked.

Prosper put the picture in his jacket and pushed Victor's notes across to her. "I can't make it out."

"Let's see." Hornet put her book aside and leaned over the desk. "Well, he doesn't seem to like your aunt either. I think it says 'weasel-face' and he's called your uncle 'the wardrobe.' Not interested in the older one," she read, "probably because he doesn't look like a teddy bear anymore." Hornet smiled at Prosper. "No, you definitely don't. He's really not that stupid, our snoop." The phone rang again. "Good heavens! I would never have thought he had so many customers." She grabbed the receiver. "Pronto!" she said in a low voice. "Victor Getz's office. How can I help you?"

Riccio had to squeeze his hands into his mouth to stop himself from bursting out laughing. But Prosper watched Hornet with a worried expression on his face.

"What was your name?" Hornet gave Prosper a startled sign. "Hartlieb?"

Prosper jumped as if someone had hit him in the face. Hornet pressed a button on the telephone and Esther's voice shrilled through Victor's office. She didn't talk too fast, and her Italian was very good, "... have been trying for days to reach Mr. Getz. He told me he was on the boys' trail. He even told me he would send me a picture he took of the two of them in St. Mark's Square..."

Hornet gave Prosper a surprised look. "I know nothing about that," she stuttered. "That, eh, may well have been a misunderstanding. He received some new information yesterday. Brand new. Mr. Getz now believes that the boys are no longer here, I mean, in Venice. Hello?"

There was silence at the other end.

The three children in Victor's office hardly dared breathe.

"Well, that's all very interesting," Esther's shrill voice replied, "but I would really rather receive that information from Mr. Getz himself. Please put me through."

"He, he --" Hornet began to stutter; in her panic she forgot to lower her voice. "He's not here. I'm just his secretary. He's out on another case."

"Who are you?" Esther's voice now began to sound irritated. "I didn't know Mr. Getz even had a secretary."

"Of course he has!" Hornet sounded truly offended. "I don't know what gave you that idea. And Mr. Getz will only tell you what I've just told you. At the moment he's out. Perhaps you could try again in a week's time."

"Now listen, whoever you are." Esther's voice cut through the air like a knife. "I've already left a message for Mr. Getz on the answering machine, but it can't do any harm to leave it a second time. My husband will be back in Venice on business in two days' time. I will meet Mr. Getz on Tuesday in the Hotel Sandwirth, three o'clock sharp! Good day." Then there was a sharp click on the line.