The Door That Led to Where by Sally Gardner Page B

it might be reported to Morton that there was a thief working in chambers and that the thief was Aiden Jobey. He had looked up the definition of stealing online. ‘To take (another person’s property) without permission or legal right and without intending to return it.’ The key had his name on it so legally it was his property, not Baldwin’s or anyone else’s. It struck him – and why hadn’t he thought of this before? – supposing there were hundreds of people who knew about the door and all of them were walking back and forth through time, just like it was an outing to a theme park, and helping themselves to candy? No wonder Baldwin wanted the key. No one would want to lose their free pass.
    The image of a beanstalk came to him and he laughed. Jack selling tickets for all those who wished to climb up past the clouds. Somewhere through that door, he thought, a giant is waiting to eat me up. Fee-fi-fo-fum. What he didn’t know was what the giant looked like.
    The tension at Baldwin Groat was so thick that morning it could have been classified as toxic waste. Morton’s mobile was superglued to his ear and he was constantly in and out of meetings. Mr Groat, who seldom put in an appearance at chambers, was now there most days except when he was in court on his partner’s cases. The atmosphere was made worse by the presence of the police, who were searching Baldwin’s room again.
    Stephen had recovered in time to be back in the centre of the maelstrom, wearing a new suit. He had lost weight and his neck, which was long and permanently spotty, stuck out of his shirt collar. Hunched over his computer, picking at any scraps of gossip and titbits of scandal, he reminded AJ of a cartoon vulture.
    â€˜They say Mr Baldwin’s house is like a museum, full of valuable paintings and clocks from the eighteenth century.’
    Stephen said this to the fees clerk who looked none too happy. Mr Baldwin was still in intensive care, though it was reported he’d had a better night and there were slight signs of improvement. But the suspicion that someone had attempted to murder him was proving bad for business.
    â€˜Mr Basil called Mr Groat this morning,’ added Stephen. ‘He’s taking his client’s case elsewhere. Not the first and I doubt it will be the last. There’ll be departures here soon.’
    Morton stuck his head round the clerks’ room door.
    â€˜Stephen,’ he said, ‘if anyone is going to depart, you will be the first in line. Aiden, my office please.’
    AJ noted that Morton’s office, never exactly tidy, was in complete turmoil.
    â€˜Is everything going to be all right?’ asked AJ.
    Morton sighed. ‘I suppose it depends which end of the bottle you’re looking through. It’ll be all right for someone but not necessarily us.’
    AJ didn’t know what he meant. It took him a moment to realise that what Morton was saying had nothing to do with Mr Baldwin.
    â€˜Mr Groat is summing up a libel case at the High Court. Take him these papers. You are to stay with him unless he sends you back. Oh, and, Aiden, I found this in Mr Baldwin’s office.’ He handed AJ a file. ‘Lord knows what he was doing with it. Would you put it back in the Museum?’
    It was the file marked
Jobey 1813
. AJ looked inside. The map was gone.
    AJ turned to leave and Morton followed him into reception where Detective Poilaine was waiting to see him. AJ thought it best to avoid eye contact with her, although he could feel her staring at him.
    â€˜I understand you want to look at the diary,’ said Morton. ‘We have chambers to run, you know. Aiden, what are you waiting for? Cinderella’s coach?’
    AJ arrived at the High Court to find Mr Groat pacing up and down the corridor outside, his hands behind his back.
    â€˜Ah, Aiden. At last.’
    In his wig and gown he looked even more like the man in the portrait