Cat Among the Pigeons by Julia Golding Page A

marked men in Covent Garden. Red Scarf was a familiar face, more usually to be seen worshipping at the bar of the Shakespeare Tavern than in a church such as this.
    â€˜It’s one of the traps,’ I whispered. ‘A magistrate’s man. He’s tailing Pedro.’
    â€˜Of course he is. Wait till the end of the service. I’ll think of something.’
    From then on, no one could fault my piety. I sat with head bowed, nose in my prayer book, until the final anthem signalled the conclusion of the service.
    â€˜Right, I’ve an idea,’ said Frank in a low voice. ‘You hang back, Cat. Charlie, are you ready for the Captain Bennington-Smythe manoeuvre?’
    Charlie grinned and nodded.
    â€˜What’s the . . .?’ But Frank was off, marching towards the magistrate’s man as he lurked in the doorway to the antechapel.
    â€˜Captain Bennington-Smythe! What a surprise! I thought you were in Delhi with the Hussars!’ Frank cried out, arms wide open to embrace his long-lost friend. ‘Charlie, can you believe my luck? Not seen cousin Smythie for years and here he is!’
    Red Scarf looked over his shoulder as the two boys bore down on him, clearly expecting to see a cavalry officer behind him. But there was noone. Frank seized the man’s hand and pumped it up and down furiously.
    â€˜How are you, old man? Out of the Hussars now, eh? Sold your commission for a pretty penny, I’ve no doubt. Father always said it was a valuable position.’
    The plain-clothes runner didn’t know what to do. His cover was blown now that half of Westminster School was staring at him.
    â€˜I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, tugging on his collar. ‘You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.’
    â€˜Good one, Smythie!’ Frank roared with laughter, slapping him on the back. ‘He always did like his little joke,’ he added to Charlie. ‘You think I don’t recognize my own third cousin twice removed when I see him, eh? Come, come, you must tell me all about it. I don’t mind letting you know that I’m considering the army – Charlie too.’
    â€˜Absolutely,’ beamed Charlie. ‘So was it really hot in India? I’ve heard tales of eggs frying on the cannon. Is that true?’
    â€˜No – I mean I don’t know,’ blustered the man, who’d probably never been beyond Gravesend. ‘Look, you’ve made a mistake . . .’
    â€˜You must tell us over a drink, old man,’ said Frank, remorselessly towing his ‘cousin’ away. ‘I dare say you’ve not lost your taste for a glass or two. You were always known as a capital topper.’
    And ‘Cousin’ Smythie was propelled out of the Abbey doors, still protesting his ignorance of any kinship with Frank, as I slipped into the chapel. I touched Pedro on the arm.
    â€˜What was all that?’ he asked, nodding to the door.
    â€˜A diversion – the magistrate’s man was tailing you. Come on, let’s get out of here.’
    I pulled him to his feet and we ducked into Poets’ Corner. There was a large marble tomb with weeping cherubs next to a statue of Shakespeare. I pulled Pedro with me into the space between it and the wall, comforted that we had our guardian bard keeping watch above.
    â€˜You look different,’ said Pedro, giving my hand a squeeze.
    â€˜And you don’t. How was the performance last night?’
    â€˜Good. But I didn’t come here to talk about that. Oh Cat, what are we going to do about you?’
    â€˜Nothing for the moment. I’m safe where I am.’
    â€˜Safe? Hardly. You’ll be found out.’
    â€˜I know, but it’ll do for now. I’m hoping Hawkins will decide he’s beaten and leave.’
    Pedro shook his head. ‘You don’t know my master then. He never forgets – never forgives. I’m sorry I got you mixed up in all this.’
    â€˜Sorry?