First published in Great Britain 2020

by Egmont UK Limited

2 Minster Court, London EC3R 7BB

www.egmontbooks.co.uk

Text copyright © 2020 Katherine Woodfine

Illustrations copyright © 2020 Karl James Mountford

The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted

978 1 4052 9326 6

eBook ISBN 978 1 4052 9940 4

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available

from the British Library

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For The Clan

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map

PART I

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

PART II

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

PART III

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PART IV

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

PART V

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Author’s Note

Acknowledgements

Back series promotional page

‘. . . And so we are back in London again. After all our adventures, I must confess the city seems drab and dull. Nothing is the same as it was before and I find myself eager to resume our travels once more.

Once Papa’s business here is complete, and before we return to Cairo, he has promised me a trip to one of the places I most long to see – Italy! So for the present I shall tolerate grey London, while dreaming of blue Italian skies . . .’

– From the diary of Alice Grayson

Charing Cross Road, London

It was sleeting in London as the young man slipped out of the office marked: CLARKE & SONS SHIPPING AGENTS, closing the door softly behind him. There was no one to see him and yet there was something furtive about the way he hurried down the stairs, tucking an envelope into his pocket as he did so.

Out in the street he looked swiftly around him before unfurling a black umbrella and walking purposefully in the direction of Charing Cross. It was a dingy February morning: motor-taxis and omnibuses swished through the grey slush on the road and a chilly, miserable-looking newsboy was selling copies of The Daily Picture from outside the brightly lit window of a hat shop while people well wrapped up in winter coats hurried past him towards the underground railway station.

The young man went by with the rest. He didn’t glance at the newsboy, nor at any of the bright shop windows he passed, but instead kept on walking, his head down, his face concealed by the black umbrella.

He did not slow his pace until he reached the Charing Cross Road, where he turned to duck inside the door of a bookshop, pausing first to shake the sleet off his umbrella.

The bell jingled as he stepped through the door. Inside the shop was warm and snug: the light from the gas-lamps fuzzy, the windows fogged, the air rich with the smell of leather bindings and beeswax. He glanced around rapidly, taking in half a dozen people browsing the shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. A lady in a fur-trimmed hat was flicking through the pages of a book by E. M. Forster, and an old man with a monocle was browsing the shelves of the poetry section. A cluster of schoolchildren was gathered around a stack of detective novels, while behind the counter, the bookseller was patiently listening to a gentleman explaining that he was looking for a book that he’d seen in the shop last year, although he couldn’t remember either the title or the name of the author.

The young man went past them all, towards the back of the shop. In the dark corner marked ‘Foreign Languages’, he frowned at the shelves before locating a Russian phrasebook and flipping it open.

Across the shop, the gentleman at the counter was saying: ‘I believe it had a green cover, although now I think about it, it may possibly have been blue,’ while the bookseller listened wearily.

Nearby, one of the schoolboys was brandishing a copy of a newly published Montgomery Baxter detective story. ‘You’ve simply got to read this,’ he was exclaiming to one of his companions. ‘The ending is awfully thrilling. I can’t wait for the next book to find out what happens.’

‘I bet I can guess,’ said another of the boys with an air of great authority. Then in a very different voice: ‘Oh, Jane, you can’t buy it. Papa wouldn’t like it!’

‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t,’ argued the girl beside him, tossing back her plaits. ‘I’ve got half a crown of my birthday money to spend.’

‘But look – why don’t you get a school story instead? Or one of those books of fairy tales?’ suggested the boy. He reached towards her and tried to take the copy of Montgomery Baxter and the Lost Treasure out of her hands, but she had no intention of handing it over and there was a scuffle. The Montgomery Baxter book fell to the floor with a thump, making the other customers look around disapprovingly and the bookseller frown over the top of his spectacles.

In that moment, unnoticed by anyone, the young man swiftly slid the envelope out of his pocket and inside the Russian phrasebook. A minute later the book was back in its place on the shelf and the young man had left the shop, pacing back along the street under his umbrella, the bell above the door dinging quietly behind him.

At the counter, the bookseller was trying to explain that they had rather a lot of books with green and blue covers, and could sir possibly remember anything else about the book, otherwise he was afraid he couldn’t do much to help.

Meanwhile, the girl with plaits had picked up the Montgomery Baxter book. ‘Murders and crimes and spies and all that sort of thing – they aren’t suitable for girls,’ her brother was blustering as the door opened again and another young man came in.

Properly speaking, he wasn’t really a young man at all. He was probably only about sixteen, not much older than the schoolboys clustered around the display of detective stories. He wore a dark blue coat and cap and had a striped woollen scarf around his neck. He might have been an office boy, or perhaps a junior clerk. As he came into the shop, he caught sight of the book in the girl’s hand and gave a little grin as he heard what her brother was saying, but then straightened his face almost at once as if remembering he was here on serious business. He went past the detective stories, past the fiction and poetry books, heading for the Foreign Languages section.

Once there, he ran a finger quickly along the spines until it settled on the Russian phrasebook. At the counter, the gentleman looking for the green or possibly blue book was tutting to himself and muttering that it was ‘all very unsatisfactory’ while the long-suffering bookseller wrapped Montgomery Baxter and the Lost Treasure for the girl with plaits. The young man fidgeted while he waited to be served, then handed over his money before tucking the Russian phrasebook into his pocket, now neatly wrapped in brown paper.

A minute or two later, he was following in the wake of the group of schoolchildren, out of the shop door and into the street, pulling his striped scarf more closely around him.

The sleet was falling faster and thicker now; a moment later, he had vanished into its blurry whiteness and disappeared.

Lyons Corner House, London

Not very far away from the Charing Cross Road, Sophie Taylor was sitting by herself at a table in the window of Lyons Corner House.

She did not notice the sleet outside the window. Neither was she paying any attention to the cup of tea that was rapidly cooling at her elbow, nor the bun waiting uneaten on a plate. Instead she leaned her forehead in her hands as she bent over the newspapers spread out on the table in front of her. She was frowning as she scrutinised the pages of the morning edition of The Daily Picture.

It did not make very reassuring reading. Threaded between the reports of an expedition to the South Pole and a review of a new play at the Fortune Theatre were several stories about conflict in Europe and beyond. There was unrest in the Balkans. Trouble in Morocco. Rumours of a rebellion in Albania. To someone else they might not have meant very much, but for Sophie they joined together to form a jagged pattern. She felt certain that they were all the doing of the Fraternitas Draconum, the sinister secret society who were working to try and start a terrible war.

Most people had never even heard of the Fraternitas. The other customers sitting in Lyons Corner House probably wouldn’t have believed that such a group existed. Sophie glanced around, taking in the shoppers with parcels, talking and laughing and drinking tea. They all looked so contented and peaceful. They were not aware of the danger that she could see everywhere, hovering over them like a dark cloud.

For Sophie, the Fraternitas and their schemes were all too real. For a while now she’d been battling against their devious plots to spark off a horrifying war in Europe from which they intended to profit. She’d grappled with everything from shocking murders to Royal assassination attempts, and following in the footsteps of her parents, who had given their lives to the fight against the Fraternitas, she had formed a group here in London called the Loyal Order of Lions, who had vowed to work against them. And yet in spite of all her efforts, here the Fraternitas were, reaching right across Europe, seemingly stronger and more powerful than ever before.

Sophie sighed as she flicked back to the front page. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there were the tensions growing between Britain and Germany. It was not news to her that there were German spies in Britain – after all, she’d encountered them herself more than once. But a hundred of them? That was just nonsense. She knew the Prime Minister was trying to reassure people, but the front-page headline would only fuel everyone’s fears and make things worse.

It had been three years since Sophie had found the missing Clockwork Sparrow and solved her first mystery. She’d been only fourteen then – a more-or-less-ordinary girl with a more-or-less ordinary job selling hats at Sinclair’s department store. Now, she was going on for eighteen and she didn’t think that anyone could describe her as ‘ordinary’ any longer. Nor was she a shopgirl: instead, she was one of the proprietors of Taylor & Rose, London’s first young ladies’ detective agency. What was more, she was also an agent of the government’s Secret Service Bureau.

Four years ago, Sophie had been alone with no friends, family or money. She knew she had been lucky to get a job in any shop, never mind an elegant department store like Sinclair’s. Now, she lived a life that most girls of her age couldn’t even dream of: running her own business; travelling across Europe by boat, train and even aeroplane; carrying out secret missions for her country in Paris and most recently, St Petersburg. She’d taken on the infamous crime lord known as ‘the Baron’ and won. And yet as she sat in the window, flicking through the newspaper, she felt smaller and more powerless than ever before.

Under the table, Daisy whined and laid her head in Sophie’s lap. Dogs weren’t allowed in Lyons Corner House but the kind-hearted waitress always looked the other way as long as Daisy stayed out of sight. The big Alsatian kept close to them all these days – sleeping curled up under Sophie’s desk in the office, pattering after Billy every time he went over to the filing cabinet and, most heartbreaking of all, jumping up hopefully every time someone came to the door, wagging her tail as though this time it was certain to be Joe, coming back to them at last.

Sometimes Sophie let herself imagine it too. The soft sound of feet outside the door. Daisy bounding up and barking joyfully. The door swinging open and Joe strolling in, wearing his old jacket that smelled of the stables. He’d say ‘Hullo, Soph,’ just as though he’d seen her only yesterday. No one else ever called her ‘Soph’. The thought gave her a sharp pain – jagged, like broken glass.

It had been three months since Sophie and Lil had returned from St Petersburg. Three months since they’d come back to London, excited to tell Billy and Joe about their adventures, but they’d found only Billy waiting for them, anxious and alone.

Ever since they’d solved the mystery of the Clockwork Sparrow, the four of them had been a team. There were others who worked with them, first and foremost Mei Lim, who was their receptionist and handled much of the important office work, from booking appointments to arranging payments. Then there was Tilly Black, who was Taylor & Rose’s technical expert. But at the centre of it all were Lil and Sophie, Billy and Joe. Even when she and Lil had begun travelling abroad on missions for the Bureau, they’d always known that Joe and Billy were in London, keeping things going. Keeping the home fires burning, she thought. After all, Taylor & Rose was a kind of home for all of them, and for her most especially. Because while Billy had his mum and Uncle Sid, and Lil had her older brother Jack, Sophie was all alone in the world. Taylor & Rose was her family. And she knew without them ever having discussed it that Joe had felt exactly the same.

Now, Joe was gone. In St Petersburg, Sophie and Lil had learned that there was a double agent at the Bureau – someone passing top-secret inside information to the Fraternitas Draconum. While they had been away, Joe had discovered the same thing. He’d seen documents being smuggled out of the Bureau and passed to a woman whom he’d followed to the offices of The Daily Picture. He’d gone out in search of the mysterious woman to try and find out more, but he had never come back.

They’d set out to look for him straight away of course. Sophie and Lil were no strangers to finding missing persons and they’d put their detective skills to work, recruiting all the other members of the Loyal Order of Lions to help them, and consulting their friends at Scotland Yard. They’d gone up and down Fleet Street, talking to everyone from street cleaners to shopkeepers. They’d spent days freezing themselves in the Embankment Gardens, watching the statue where Joe had seen the handover of the confidential information take place. They’d quizzed the staff of Sinclair’s in case any of them might know something, and they’d talked to the people in the East End who knew Joe – not only Mei’s family, but Mr and Mrs Perks from the Seven Stars Inn, and old Samuel in Limehouse who’d once taught Sophie to crack a safe. But as day after day went by without a single clue, Sophie had begun to feel a rising sense of dread. The Fraternitas were utterly ruthless, and if Joe had crossed their path she knew he would have found himself in the very gravest danger.

Billy had been beside himself. ‘He told me he saw the double agent come out of the Bureau . . . he followed them . . . but he didn’t know for sure who they were!’ he’d fretted. ‘I ought to have asked him more questions! I ought to have gone with him to the offices . . . if only I’d been there, then maybe . . .’ His voice had trailed miserably away.

‘You couldn’t have known what was going to happen,’ Lil had said, refusing to think the worst. ‘Cheer up. I bet he’ll turn up at any moment. You know Joe – he’s so thorough. He’s probably off following a lead.’ But all the time Sophie’s feeling of dread had been growing worse and worse.

In the end, it had been their old friend, Detective Sergeant Thomas of Scotland Yard, who had brought the news she feared. He’d arrived at the Taylor & Rose offices carrying a navy-blue Sinclair’s cap stained with something dark. Sophie had recognised it at once, even before Billy’s horrified exclamation: ‘That’s Joe’s!’

The cap had been found down an alleyway in Whitechapel. There had been reports of an altercation and a gunshot fired. By the time the local constable had arrived, he’d found only the cap, lying in a pool of blood.

‘We saw the label marked Sinclair’s, so we came straight here,’ Sergeant Thomas had said, his voice quiet and grave. ‘Betteredge said he believed this cap belonged to Joe. I’m very, very sorry.’

Sophie had had to grip the back of a chair to steady herself. They had been in danger so many times – in Paris, St Petersburg and here in London. And yet however frightening things had been, somehow they had always made it back to Sinclair’s to talk about their adventures over tea and buns. Somehow she had believed they always would.

Dimly, she’d become aware that Mei was crying and Lil was saying in a loud voice that there had obviously been a mistake. The cap couldn’t possibly be Joe’s. He’d been investigating on Fleet Street, so what would he be doing in Whitechapel? Yes, he was missing, but he was probably just busy with an investigation. Perhaps he was following a suspect undercover? He was certain to be back soon, probably with some important information for them all.

‘Miss Rose – er – in the circumstances . . .’ Sergeant Thomas had begun awkwardly. But Lil had cut him off before he could finish his sentence:

‘Of course he isn’t dead!’ she’d exploded. ‘That’s ridiculous! You haven’t found a body – all you’ve got is that stupid old cap!’

Billy had glanced at Sophie. His face had been very white and Sophie knew that he had been thinking the same thing she was. When people were murdered in the East End, they weren’t left for the police to find. They’d found a body washed up in the river themselves once. It had been Joe who’d helped pull it out. A summer day – white frocks and straw hats and strawberries and cream – and then the horror of the body being dragged out of the water. It had all flashed back to her in that dreadful moment.

‘Anyway, even if the cap is his, it doesn’t prove anything!’ Lil had argued. ‘He might be injured! He might be hiding – lying low somewhere out of danger. But he isn’t dead. He can’t be.’

She had repeated the same thing again and again over the next few days. She’d refused to accept the official verdict: missing, believed killed. One cap didn’t prove anything. Joe would come back, she’d insisted: she was certain of it. Sergeant Thomas was an idiot. Scotland Yard didn’t know what they were talking about. But the days and then the weeks had limped by with no more news.

Somehow, they had to carry on. There were clients waiting for them: long-lost relatives to seek out, missing jewels to be located, blackmailers to catch in the act, stolen letters to be retrieved. There were accounts to balance and bills to pay, rather more of these than Sophie would have liked. Between all the travelling for the Bureau and the search for Joe, they were behind on their ordinary casework, and Taylor & Rose was beginning to struggle financially. Lil was too preoccupied with looking for Joe to notice or care, but Sophie knew that she must not let their business fail. One way or another, they’d stumbled through December. Christmas had come and gone, and now it was 1912 – a brand-new year.

Sitting at her table in Lyons Corner House, Sophie suddenly wished none of it had ever happened. She wished she’d never heard of the Fraternitas Draconum, the Secret Service Bureau, double agents or spies. She wished she was only a more-or-less-ordinary shopgirl, with nothing to think about except selling hats. But she knew she could never be that girl again.

Just then, the door opened and a young man in a striped scarf came in, bringing with him a gust of cold air. Billy Parker looked a great deal older and more serious than he used to as he came over to Sophie’s table and dropped down in the chair opposite her.

‘Did you get it?’

‘Of course,’ frowned Billy, looking a little insulted she’d even asked the question. ‘Here.’

He handed over a small square package wrapped in brown paper, before reaching under the table to make a fuss of Daisy.

Sophie tore off the wrapping to reveal a Russian phrasebook. Tilting it so that there was no chance any of the other customers could see inside, she flipped it open to reveal a note in familiar inky scribble:

She closed the book with a snap, tucking it safely into her pocket. ‘Thanks, Billy. Have some tea?’

‘Yes please. Are you going to eat that bun?’

‘You can have it.’ She pushed it in his direction and he broke it in half, taking one piece and pushing the other half back towards her. For a few moments they sat in silence, chewing, trying not to look at the two empty chairs at the table.

After a while, Billy said: ‘I s’pose I’d better go back to the office. I’ve got to write up that report on the Mountville case.’

‘I’m going to the Bureau,’ said Sophie. In spite of everything, she was glad of it. After all that had happened, her work for the Secret Service Bureau now felt more important than ever. What had happened to Joe made her all the more determined to do everything in her power to stop the Fraternitas for good.

It had stopped sleeting when she said goodbye to Billy and Daisy and went on her way to the Bureau. She could have taken a motor-taxi or at least an omnibus, but she decided to save the penny and walk to Lincoln’s Inn, taking a grim pleasure in the icy wind against her cheeks. She walked fast and was soon crossing the courtyard towards the headquarters of the Secret Service Bureau.

It seemed a long time since she and Lil had first come here, full of curiosity, thrilled by the chance to work for the government. Now, it had become routine, and yet there was a wariness too. She could not forget that someone connected to this office was secretly working for the Fraternitas, and the same someone was no doubt behind what had happened to Joe in the East End.

The Chief’s office looked just the same as it had on that first visit. The bookcase was still crammed with leather- bound books. The big map on the wall was still studded with pins and coloured flags. The desk was still stacked with papers and letters, pencils and blotters, diagrams and typed reports. The only thing that had changed was the music that was playing on the big gramophone in the corner: today, Sophie detected the strains of Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’.

The Chief himself had not changed either. He was the same affable-looking old gentleman he had always been, humming in time to the music as he scrawled his signature in green ink at the bottom of a document and then set it carefully aside.

‘Ah, Miss Taylor. Do come in and sit down. A most unpleasant day!’

As Sophie took a seat in the chair opposite him, amongst the papers on his desk her eye snagged on the same edition of The Daily Picture she’d read that morning, with the story about the German spies. What did the Chief make of that, she wondered?

‘I won’t keep you long. As a matter of fact, this is going to be rather a short meeting,’ he was saying.

‘Is it?’ asked Sophie in surprise.

‘Indeed it is!’ The Chief sat back in his chair and smiled at her. ‘I have some good news for you, Miss Taylor. You are, as they say, off the hook.’

Sophie only stared at him. She couldn’t imagine what he meant.

‘I shan’t be needing your services for the moment,’ said the Chief cheerfully. ‘You and Miss Rose may consider yourselves released from the Secret Service Bureau.’

Secret Service Bureau HQ, London

Released from the Bureau? Is – is there some sort of a problem?’ Sophie faltered.

‘A problem? Oh, my dear, my goodness, of course not!’ exclaimed the Chief. ‘You know how delighted I am with your work, and Miss Rose’s too of course. It’s simply that I don’t expect to have a new assignment for you for the time being.’

Sophie felt astonished. Quite apart from anything else, now more than ever Taylor & Rose needed the generous fees they earned from the Bureau. And there had never been any shortage of work for them before, she thought: if anything, she’d heard the Chief say many times that there was too much work and not enough agents to cover it. What was going on?

‘I don’t have anything suitable, you see. No assignments that are the right fit for young ladies like yourselves,’ the Chief was saying.

‘But what about the Fraternitas?’ asked Sophie.

‘Ah! You may rest assured that things are moving forwards on that score. And of course I will keep you updated on any significant progress. But for now you’ve done your part, and done it very well I might add.’ The Chief smiled again. ‘You have worked hard. The last few months must have been exhausting. And tremendously difficult with – er – what happened to your young associate. Tragic business. Most unfortunate. If you’ll permit me, Miss Taylor, might I suggest that this would be a good moment for you and Miss Rose to take a holiday?’

‘A holiday?’ Sophie repeated. What was the Chief up to?

‘I know you are a hard worker, Miss Taylor. But even the best of us need a holiday every now and again, don’t we? Rest and recuperation is important. And a change of scenery, perhaps. No sense in overdoing it, you know,’ he finished in an unexpectedly firm voice, fixing her with a sharp, bright gaze.

‘I suppose we could think about it,’ she murmured.

‘Very good, Miss Taylor. You do that,’ said the Chief. ‘Well, I’ll be in touch when I need your services again. Thank you, my dear. Good afternoon!’

Sophie got to her feet. The Chief did not even glance at her as she left: he had already turned back to his documents and was once more humming under his breath.

Outside the Chief’s door, Sophie found that the Bureau was unexpectedly busy. Normally, there was only Captain Carruthers lounging back in his chair, studying a document, but today it seemed full of people. A messenger boy was at Carruthers’ desk, waiting for him to sign for a stack of official-looking envelopes. Across the room, the tall, bronzed and handsome Captain Forsyth was deep in confidential conversation with a surly looking fellow in a dark raincoat whom Sophie knew by sight as another agent, Mr Brooks. They both looked over at her as she came out of the Chief’s office and her cheeks flushed pink. The door had been open: had they heard she wasn’t being given a new assignment? For them of course it would simply reinforce the idea that Sophie and Lil were lesser agents, and that working with female detectives was a waste of the Bureau’s time.

She hurried past them, muttering only a quick, ‘Good morning,’ and barely making eye contact with Carruthers as she passed his desk. On their mission to St Petersburg he’d become something of a friend and normally she’d have stopped to chat with him, but now she was eager to get away.

Back at Sinclair’s, Sophie went straight to the offices of Taylor & Rose, hurrying past the reception desk where Mei was on the telephone and passing the door of Billy’s office without a pause. She knew they’d be waiting to hear what the Chief had said but she didn’t feel like talking. Instead, she went into the office she shared with Lil, closing the door behind her and flopping down into her chair with a long sigh.

The Russian phrasebook was still in her pocket. She took it out and opened it and read the note again. Tonight at the usual place – 8 p.m.. The words were reassuring.

It was three o’clock now and she certainly had enough work to keep her busy until then, she thought, eyeing the stacks of paper on her desk. But as she opened an account book she felt fidgety and unable to concentrate. Her mind was still running over the day’s events: the newspaper stories. German spies. The Fraternitas. The meeting at the Bureau. Brooks and Forsyth, looking at her knowingly. Tragic business. Most unfortunate.

She knew she did not have time to be distracted. There was a great deal of work to be done – more than they could easily manage. They really needed to take on some more part-time help, she thought, but could they afford it? She frowned at the account book and then began jotting down some possible wording for a job advertisement. But after a moment she gave it up again. What she really needed was to talk it over with Lil – but Lil wasn’t here.

She pushed the account book aside and instead turned her attention to a file of information about a new case that Billy had left for her. Before long she was so engrossed she did not even notice the light ebbing from the sky. Her head was still bent over the file when Billy put his head round the door to say he was taking Daisy out for her evening walk. She only said ‘mmm’ when Mei appeared a little later to say they were going home now and should she lock the office door? It was not until a quarter to eight that Sophie looked up and realised it was quite dark outside, and if she did not hurry she was going to be late.

Leaving the file on her desk, Sophie put on her hat and coat and slipped out of the now-empty office and down the back stairs. She’d once found the deserted store rather creepy at night, but now it seemed comforting and familiar. She sucked in a deep breath of the warm air, fragranced with rose and violet, and the spicy, heady aroma that made her think of rich furs and the cigars that Papa used to smoke after dinner.

Outside, the wind felt very cold against her face, smelling instead of motor-car fumes and bitter smoke. A cold rain was falling and she was glad of the shelter of her umbrella as she splashed through the puddles and out into the street.

Even on a gloomy February evening, Piccadilly Circus was full of lights, sparkling with the brightness of street lamps and motor-car headlights and illuminated advertisements for Bovril and Perrier. But Sophie turned quickly away from the glitter of shops and restaurants, hurrying across Regent Street towards the darker streets of Soho that lay beyond.

Here, the wide roads gave way to a twisty labyrinth of poorly lit streets lined with little shops, pubs and eating- houses. Sophie took a winding route along them, glancing up into a darkened window every now and again to check the street behind her. It had become a habit, but tonight more than usual she wanted to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

She turned a corner, past a coffee merchant’s, past an ironmonger’s shop all shut up for the night, and then turned again, heading down a dark cobbled alleyway between two crooked buildings. Halfway down it was a doorway: once more, Sophie checked quickly around her to be sure she was alone before turning the handle and slipping through, closing the door behind her.

Once inside the dark shabby hall, she went swiftly up a steep narrow staircase, the stairs creaking beneath her feet. On the second-floor landing, lit only by a single flickering gas-lamp, she stopped and knocked sharply on a door. A moment later, it had opened a crack.

‘Miss Taylor,’ said a stern voice from inside. ‘Come in. You’re late.’

A Secret Location, Soho, London

As the door closed on the dark stairwell, Sophie stepped into a small, snug sitting room, so different from what lay outside that it was hard to believe she was still in the same building. It was comfortably furnished with a blazing fire in the hearth and several cosy armchairs drawn up around it. A table was set with cups and a jug of cocoa and a plate of currant buns, and Sophie – who had missed her tea – heard her stomach rumble.

‘Miss Taylor!’ came a familiar voice from the depths of one of the large armchairs. ‘Ignore my grandson’s bad manners and come in and warm yourself, my dear. Sam, pour her a cup of cocoa, there’s a good fellow.’

The Chief’s feet were resting comfortably on a footstool before the fire while he puffed on his pipe. He gestured to the armchair beside him and Sophie sat down thankfully, shedding her damp coat, hat and umbrella, while Captain Carruthers, who as well as being the Chief’s assistant was also his grandson, rather grumpily hung them up and poured her a cup of cocoa.

The three of them had been using this Soho room as a secret meeting place ever since November when she’d returned from St Petersburg and told the Chief about the double agent.

‘If the Bureau truly has been infiltrated, then we cannot be too careful,’ the Chief had said. ‘We cannot count on any conversations at the office remaining confidential. We must have a safe place we can talk.’

No one else could know about their safe house, or the conversations that took place there. It was very important to make sure the double agent did not suspect they had been discovered. ‘If they know we are suspicious, they will begin trying to cover their tracks,’ the Chief had said. ‘But if they don’t . . . well, we may be able to find out who they are and then we can work them to our advantage.’

‘You mean they might lead us to some of the members of the Fraternitas?’ Carruthers had asked.

‘Or we could use them to feed false information back to the Fraternitas,’ suggested Sophie. ‘To mislead them and disrupt their plans.’

‘Indeed,’ said the Chief, nodding to them both. ‘But best of all we could persuade them to reconsider their loyalties. To return to our side and spy on the Fraternitas for us.’

‘So the double agent would become . . . a triple agent?’ Sophie had asked.

‘Precisely!’ said the Chief with a little smile, rubbing his hands together as though he relished the challenge.

In the days and weeks that had followed, Sophie and Lil had concentrated all their efforts on finding Joe and the mysterious woman, but all the while the Chief and Carruthers had been busy with investigations of their own, doing everything they could to identify the double agent that had been passing her secrets. It would not be easy, for they knew very little about him except what Joe had told Billy – he had watched a man whose face he had never seen clearly leaving the Bureau with some documents, which he had then hidden for a woman to collect.

Carruthers had set up a way for them to communicate secretly, via messages left inside books in the Charing Cross bookshop. But this was their first real meeting in weeks, and after what the Chief had said at the Bureau earlier that day, Sophie was more eager than ever to hear what he had to tell her.

‘No Miss Rose this evening?’ asked the Chief. ‘She’s still busy with your other cases, I suppose?’

‘That’s right,’ said Sophie swiftly, her cheeks turning a little pink as she took a sip of her cocoa. It was not exactly a lie, but she felt uncomfortable saying it just the same, especially when Carruthers was looking at her through narrowed eyes as though he guessed exactly what was really going on.

‘Well, you can brief her of course,’ said the Chief, nodding amiably. ‘Thank you for cooperating with my little subterfuge earlier. I am sure you realise that I have no plans to release you just yet. You and Miss Rose are far too useful for that!’ He gave a little chuckle and Sophie felt herself relax. She’d guessed that the scene in the Chief’s office earlier had been a ruse, but she felt better now that it had been confirmed. ‘But with any luck our double agent will have picked up the news on the grapevine, as it were, and will report back to the Fraternitas that you are taking a break. Which of course will leave you free from scrutiny for your real assignment. You may have guessed from my mentioning a holiday that I am sending you abroad . . .’

The Chief reached into a leather case at his side and drew out a battered-looking notebook. It looked like an ordinary exercise book but Sophie recognised it immediately. It had once belonged to a Bureau agent called Professor Blaxland and it contained vital information about a secret code that was concealed in a sequence of paintings by the Italian artist Benedetto Casselli. After Blaxland had been murdered by the Fraternitas, and the notebook had been stolen, Sophie had chased it across Europe to Russia, before finally returning it safely to the Bureau.

‘As you know, we have been working hard to decipher the information in Blaxland’s notebook,’ the Chief explained now. ‘You’ll remember that Blaxland had discovered that Casselli’s dragon paintings conceal clues to the location of a secret weapon, which he believed to date back to the sixteenth century. The nature of the weapon itself is still unknown, but it is undoubtedly powerful and very dangerous indeed.

‘The Fraternitas Draconum want this weapon very much – they will stop at nothing to get it. But to do so they need the paintings, most of which are now safely in our possession.’

Sophie nodded. None of this was new information. She also knew that the spyglass she’d brought back from Russia had allowed the Chief and his experts to examine the paintings and discover the clues they contained. But what the Chief said next was news to her – and to Carruthers too, judging by his expression.

‘With the help of the spyglass, we have discovered that each dragon painting contains a hidden clue – a short sequence of words and numbers. Blaxland’s research indicates that the numbers are references to a seventeenth- century atlas created by the Italian cartographer Francisco Marino.’

‘References? Like a grid reference?’ interrupted Carruthers.

‘Something of that kind, yes. But though we have access to the atlas – there is a copy in the British Museum – we have not yet been able to determine the location of the weapon. There is one painting still missing, so the clues are incomplete.’

The Chief took a sheet of paper from the case and laid it before them both.

He prodded the final item on the list with the stem of his pipe. ‘The Dragon Regardant, or as it is sometimes known, The Black Dragon.’

‘Wasn’t that the painting that was supposed to have been lost, or destroyed?’ asked Carruthers.

‘It was,’ said the Chief. ‘But according to the Professor’s notes, that story was spread about by the Fraternitas to conceal the truth. In fact, they kept the painting hidden for centuries, passing it down from one generation to the next.’

‘So where is it now?’ asked Sophie.

The Chief smiled. ‘As usual, Miss Taylor, you come to the point quickly. I have been working hard to try to discover the whereabouts of The Black Dragon. My sources now inform me that it forms part of a private art collection housed in Venice, Italy, and I want you and Miss Rose to go there and find it.

Sophie felt a sudden rush of exhilaration. This was something real, something she could actually do to help stop the Fraternitas. Finding the final dragon painting – the last piece of the puzzle that had occupied them for so long.

‘You will find the painting in the Palazzo Stella, a palace overlooking the Grand Canal,’ the Chief was saying. ‘It belongs to one of the old Venetian families but I believe it has been let furnished to a tenant – a wealthy American. You will need to find a way to gain admittance to the palazzo and examine the painting to obtain the final piece of the secret code.’

He reached into his case again and produced another familiar item – this time the velvet box containing the beautiful jewelled spyglass, which Sophie had brought back from St Petersburg. ‘You’ll need to take this with you.’

Carruthers was frowning. ‘Is that a good idea? We can’t risk the Fraternitas getting hold of it!’

‘Having carried it safely across Europe before, I am quite sure Miss Taylor will take good care of it,’ said the Chief crisply. ‘Besides, remember that the spyglass is of no use without the paintings. And it will be far easier for Miss Taylor to get the final piece of the code in situ, rather than trying to remove the painting itself.’

‘And once I have the code?’ asked Sophie. ‘What happens then?’

‘There is a copy of Marino’s map in Venice, at the State Archive. I suggest you go straight there to consult it. With the complete reference, you should be able to pinpoint the location of the weapon. We must not delay if we are to keep it out of the hands of the Fraternitas.’

Sophie nodded at once. While they still had no idea what exactly the weapon might be, she knew that it must not fall into the possession of the Fraternitas. Whatever it was, she knew that once they had it they would not hesitate to use it to help them spark off a terrible war in Europe. They must get to it first.

And yet, since her time in St Petersburg, she had begun to wonder about the Chief’s plans for the weapon too. Once they had tracked it down, would he turn it over to the British government so they could use it against their own enemies?

‘What happens once we have found it?’ she ventured to ask, not for the first time. She had made a promise that she would see the weapon destroyed so it could not cause harm to anyone, and she meant to keep it. But the Chief did not pay her question much attention.

‘Let’s not get too far ahead,’ he said. ‘Even once we know the location, it is likely that we will still need to crack the rest of the code. You will remember there are words as well as numbers hidden in the paintings, and rather cryptic they are too. The Professor had a few theories about what they might mean but nothing conclusive. Possibly they will make more sense once we know where the weapon can be found.’

The Chief held the spyglass out to her and Sophie reached to take it, but before he put it into her hands he gave her a serious look. ‘I must warn you, Miss Taylor, this may not be an easy assignment. Though I have no doubt that finding the painting itself will be simple work for agents of your calibre, it is possible that for all our efforts to hoodwink them, the Fraternitas will still be watching. You know how much they want this weapon. They must realise we are close to finding it. So you and Miss Rose must be on your guard.’

‘Couldn’t I go with them and help?’ suggested Carruthers.

But the Chief shook his head. ‘I need you here, to keep up the search for the double agent. They are being extremely careful, but they will slip up eventually – I am sure of it – and no one else knows the workings of the Bureau like you do.’ Carruthers flushed, trying to hide his pride, but the Chief had already turned back to Sophie. ‘However, I would suggest you take some of your other young people along with you. There is safety in numbers, you know, and besides, it may help reinforce the idea that you are going on a little holiday, should our enemies be watching.’

Sophie nodded again and the Chief gave her an approving smile. ‘I knew you would not be daunted. But I do want you to take some extra precautions just the same.’

Once again he reached into the case, this time pulling out a small wooden box and handing it to Sophie. She opened the lid and saw the gleam of silver and mother-of- pearl inside.

‘It’s . . . a revolver!’ she said in surprise.

‘A pocket pistol. Designed for ladies – perhaps a little daintier than a normal pistol, but just as effective.’

Sophie picked it up warily and weighed it in her hand. It was not the first time she had handled a firearm: Ada Pickering, the legendary New York detective who had trained her, had said it was important she knew how to shoot. But though Miss Pickering had taught her the basics, Sophie had never felt very comfortable with guns. Now, her thoughts flashed back to the East End alley: reports of a gunshot fired, Joe’s blood-stained cap.

The Chief seemed to know how she was feeling. ‘It’s only a precaution,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Likely you won’t have any need to use it. But in case you do, I’ve asked Brooks to give you a few lessons. He’s our resident expert. Of course he doesn’t know about your new assignment, but I’ve told him we’re giving you a little extra training while you are at leisure, so to speak.’

Sophie nodded, though she didn’t much like the idea of training with Brooks. Although she didn’t know him well, she knew he disapproved of her and Lil. She knew too that he’d come to the Taylor & Rose offices while she’d been in St Petersburg, asking rude questions and making contemptuous remarks about young lady detectives. But the Chief was already moving on. ‘You’ll be travelling simply as ordinary holidaymakers – sightseeing, visiting museums, that kind of thing. Sam will make all the arrangements and provide you with a dossier on Venice. But for now, I need you to look at this.’

He took a folded sheet of paper from inside the Professor’s notebook and held it out to her. For a minute Sophie didn’t understand what she was looking at, but then she realised. ‘It’s the code!’

‘Yes. You’ll remember it was originally written in French – this is the English translation. I’m afraid I cannot let you take this with you to Venice. I’m not keeping a copy at the Bureau either. In fact, you and I will be the only two people who have seen the code in full.’

Sophie took the paper, noticing Carruthers looking a little annoyed and craning his neck slightly, as if hoping he might be able to take a quick glance at it too.

‘This information must not fall into the wrong hands. The only safe place for it is in our heads. So memorise it now, if you please.’

Sophie heard the fire crackle and suddenly felt nervous. It seemed a grave responsibility to be the only person besides the Chief who knew the code in full. Suppose she forgot something, or made a mistake? She felt Carruthers’ eyes on her and the fire hot against her face and wished more than ever that Lil was here. With her talent for remembering lines and song lyrics and dance steps, she’d have found this easy. But there was no time to think about that now. Sophie fixed her full attention upon the paper:

She pictured each image as she went over them in her mind. Seven stars made her think of the inn near where the Lim family lived in Chinatown. Green lion, black sun – she remembered that from when they had first learned the dragon paintings contained hidden secrets. Five fingers. Four serpents. Winged horse and moon. Two-headed dragon. Could that somehow refer to the Fraternitas Draconum itself?

She repeated the sequence over and over to herself, until at last she felt as confident as she could that she would not forget it. She set the paper down and the Chief, who had been sitting staring into the fire smoking his pipe, looked up at her.

‘You have it? You’re sure?’

When she nodded, the Chief took the paper and threw it swiftly into the fire.

The three of them sat and watched in silence as it flared up, burning brightly for a moment, before it fell away into grey ash and was gone.

Bloomsbury, London

‘A holiday! You want me to go with you on a holiday?’

Sophie let out a long sigh. She’d known as soon as she’d left the Chief the night before that she had to go and talk to Lil, but she’d also known that the conversation would not be easy. She’d been waiting for Lil to come home for hours, and now as she sat in the untidy sitting room that Lil shared with her older brother Jack, she knew it was going to be just as difficult as she’d feared.

‘It’s not a holiday,’ she explained. ‘That’s just our cover story. The Chief wants us to go to Venice to track down the last dragon painting. If we can get to it, we’ll have the final piece of the code, and we can find the secret weapon at last.’

Lil had only just come in and hadn’t yet taken off her hat and coat. Now, she stood in the middle of the room and stared at Sophie for a long moment. ‘I don’t know how many more times I can say it,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how to make you understand. I don’t care about the code, or the weapon. I don’t care about any of it.’

Jack had been sitting with Sophie while she waited for Lil to come home. She’d been glad of his cheerful company. The two of them were good friends: in fact, he’d sometimes given Sophie the idea that he’d like to be a little more than just friends, inviting her out with him, paying her compliments and even sketching portraits of her. One of these portraits had actually been shown in an exhibition once, which was flattering but also rather embarrassing. Jack was good fun but the truth was she didn’t feel she had time for romance.

Now, Jack got to his feet. ‘Come on, Lil. Sit down,’ he said coaxingly. ‘You’ve been out all day – you must be freezing. I’ve just made some tea and we’ve got some of those ginger cakes you like.’

But Lil just brushed him away. ‘I don’t want any cake.’ That would have been strange enough, Sophie thought, for Lil was not one to refuse food and certainly never cake. But then Lil did not seem much like her usual self at the moment. She had always seemed to be glowing with health and energy: her hair gleaming, her cheeks pink, her eyes bright. She had always loved dressing stylishly, wearing bright colours and following the latest fashions from the trimming of her hat down to the heels of her buttoned boots. But now she was pale and looked tired, dressed in an old frock with a coat thrown over it any old how, her hair straggling and her boots soaked from tramping through the sleet.

‘If we can get the weapon, we can stop the Fraternitas from using it,’ Sophie tried to explain. ‘The Chief says—’

‘Bother the Chief,’ said Lil shortly.

‘But we have to—’

‘Listen. The only thing I have to do is keep looking for Joe. I don’t know why you don’t understand that!’

‘Why don’t you at least let Sophie explain . . .’ Jack interrupted, but Lil gave him an angry look and he subsided.

‘It’s no good trying to persuade me. I’m not going to Venice. I’m not doing any assignments for the Bureau. I’m staying here and looking for Joe. I won’t give up on him. Just like I didn’t give up on you when you went missing in St Petersburg,’ she added pointedly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get out of these wet things.’

She turned away and went into the bedroom. Sophie stared after her, feeling a little sick. She and Lil had sometimes disagreed before, but it had never been like this. Lil hardly spoke to her now, and she hadn’t come to the Taylor & Rose office in weeks. The only thing she was interested in was finding Joe. She couldn’t bring herself to accept that he was gone.

Sophie had lost a great deal in her life. She’d lost both her parents to the Fraternitas Draconum: her beloved papa murdered by the Baron in South Africa; her mother, Alice, killed when Sophie was just a baby. She knew how it felt when people you loved vanished. She knew what it was like to be alone.

But nothing like this had ever happened to Lil. Until now, her life had been as bright and cheerful as one of the window displays at Sinclair’s: brilliant lights, bonbons in coloured wrappings, pretty hats decorated with flowers and ribbons. What was more, there had always been a special connection between Lil and Joe, and on the way home from St Petersburg, Sophie had begun to suspect that their friendship might be changing into something deeper. It was no wonder that Lil wouldn’t give up on the idea that he could still be alive somewhere if only she searched hard enough.

Just like I didn’t give up on you . . . That stung. It was true that Lil had travelled all the way to Russia to look for Sophie when she thought she had gone missing. But couldn’t Lil see that going after the Fraternitas was the only thing left that they could do for Joe now? Sophie felt quite sure that the double agent and the Fraternitas were responsible for whatever had happened to him in that East End alley. She was determined to do whatever she could to bring them to justice, and if that meant going to Venice, then to Venice she would go, with or without Lil.

But safety in numbers, the Chief had said. And much as she would like to, Sophie knew she couldn’t ask Billy and Mei to go with her. Without them, things at Taylor & Rose would simply fall apart. But there were others who might go with her, she thought.

Now, she looked up at Jack. ‘How would you feel about a trip to Venice?’ she suggested. ‘We can ask Leo as well,’ she added.

‘What – really?’ said Jack, surprised and flattered.

It made perfect sense, Sophie thought. Jack was an art student, so of course he would want to go to Italy to see the museums and galleries. Venice was exactly the sort of romantic bohemian city beloved of artists and writers that he would choose to visit. And it would be even better if their friend Leo Fitzgerald, who studied with Jack at the Spencer Institute of Fine Art, came too. They could bring their sketchbooks and paintboxes, and even in the winter Venice was certain to be atmospheric and beautiful enough to appeal to two young artists. Leo knew a great deal about Benedetto Casselli’s dragon paintings – in fact, it was she who had first noticed that the paintings concealed secret messages. Leo’s special knowledge of the paintings could be very useful in her quest to find The Black Dragon, Sophie thought.

What was more, Jack and Leo were both sworn members of the Loyal Order of Lions and she knew they would do what they could to help her in her mission. They both understood how important it was to stop the Fraternitas, and Sophie guessed that Leo in particular would be keen to lend her support. After all, it was not so very long ago that they had learned that Leo’s own godmother, Lady Tremayne, was secretly in league with the Fraternitas, and Sophie knew that this betrayal still stung.

Jack was looking more and more excited by the minute. ‘Venice! I’ve always wanted to see it! And you know Leo and I will do whatever you need to help you find the painting. Oh, I say, we could go undercover!’

In spite of everything, Sophie had to smile, imagining Jack and Leo’s efforts at going undercover. Like most of the art students at the Spencer the two of them were rather noticeable, dressing in unusual colours and daring styles – the exact opposite of a secret agent blending into the background. But then wasn’t that the point? No one would suspect she was on a government mission if she was travelling with them!

‘No need for anything like that,’ she said quickly. ‘All we have to do is act as though we’re on a perfectly ordinary trip. With any luck, you won’t have to do much except enjoy yourselves. I’ll go and find the painting – hopefully it should be simple enough.’ After everything she’d done, getting a quick look at one painting couldn’t possibly be too difficult, she thought. ‘Just think of it as a holiday,’ she finished.

‘Well, a holiday in Venice sounds perfectly marvellous,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sure Leo will think so too.’ But Sophie noticed his eyes wandering uncertainly towards Lil’s bedroom door.

‘What about Lil?’ she asked quietly.

Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t think you’ll be able to persuade her to go. She won’t think about anything except trying to find Joe.’

‘Will she be all right here alone, do you think?’ Sophie said in a low voice. She would never have asked such a question before. Lil had always been so independent, so sure of herself, so full of energy. Someone who thought nothing of going undercover in a Royal castle, posing as a debutante at London’s high society balls, stowing away on a train to Russia, or performing with a circus. But things were different now.

‘I’ll ask Tilly and the others to keep an eye on her,’ said Jack. ‘And perhaps Billy could drop in sometimes and see how she’s getting on?’

Sophie nodded. She knew that he would, but even so it felt all wrong that she was about to go off on another mission, leaving Lil alone to grapple with a hopeless investigation. And while she would be glad to have Jack and Leo with her, it wouldn’t be the same as going to Venice with Lil. For a moment, she thought of their first case for the Bureau – the two of them setting out together on the train, suitcases in hand, full of excitement about this new kind of adventure – and felt a wave of sadness. Whatever else might happen, things could never be quite like that again.

For a little while she waited, but Lil’s bedroom door remained closed so at last she said goodbye to Jack and went down into the street to hail a taxi. The driver gave her a surprised look when she asked him to take her to the shooting range at Vauxhall: he couldn’t have had the slightest suspicion that the dainty young lady sitting in the back seat of his motor was in fact a secret agent with a pistol in her pocket. In the past, the thought would have made Sophie laugh to herself, but now she felt too sombre even to smile.

At the shooting range she found Brooks waiting for her. He looked about as happy to be there as Sophie was herself, wearing an impatient look as though he couldn’t wait to go on his way. He didn’t bother with any pleasantries but plunged straight in, quizzing her about what she already knew about firearms. After showing her how to load the gun, he set about making her practise, criticising her stance and correcting her aim until she was consistently hitting the bull’s eye on the paper target.

‘That’ll do for today,’ he said gruffly when Sophie’s arm felt stiff and sore and her ears rang from the sound of gunshots. ‘Back here again, same time tomorrow. We’ve got a lot to do.’

Of course, shooting practice was not the only thing Sophie had to do before she left for Venice. There was work to be done at Taylor & Rose, but what was more she wanted to make sure she gave the impression she really was taking a holiday. So while of course she talked over the assignment secretly with Billy and Mei, she was careful to tell everyone else her cover story. In the Ladies’ Fashions Department at Sinclair’s she told the shopgirls that she needed a new frock for a trip abroad, and in the Book Department she asked for the latest edition of the Baedeker’s Guide to Northern Italy.

In between, she went quietly to the shooting range each day to meet Brooks. While the lessons were not enjoyable, Sophie had to admit Brooks knew what he was doing. Before long, she could load the pistol, clean it and shoot with at least reasonable accuracy. ‘Acceptable,’ said Brooks curtly, which Sophie guessed was as close as she was going to get to any kind of praise. But the sour look on his face made it quite clear that he still didn’t think much of young lady secret agents, and he certainly didn’t think it was worth his time teaching them to shoot.

Back home, she finished her packing. It was an easy task: on previous assignments, she’d had to think carefully to make sure that every item of her luggage, from her hat- pins to her handkerchiefs, were just right for the person she was pretending to be. But this time she was travelling simply as herself. Her frocks were neatly folded in her suitcase; she’d packed an umbrella, thick stockings and stout boots in case of bad weather. Beside it was a battered leather attaché case, covered all over with luggage labels. It held a Box Brownie camera, her Baedeker’s Guide and a few other supplies that any young lady traveller might need on her journey – some hair-pins, a comb, a small bottle of eau de cologne. But underneath, in the hidden compartment of the attaché case, were the true necessities of her trip: the spyglass in its velvet box, a map and briefing on Venice supplied by Carruthers, and the little pearl-handled pistol.

Last of all she added an old blue notebook, faded and battered with reading. On the cover was handwritten in black ink: Alice Grayson – Diary 1884. It was the volume of Sophie’s mother’s diaries that dealt with her travels in Italy as a young girl. Even though Alice had died when Sophie was just a baby, she felt she had got to know her through her diaries. Having her mother’s diary with her always felt rather like the company of a friend.

She closed the attaché case and then went quickly over to her writing desk. Taking out a sheet of paper and a pen, she began scribbling a note. She had to try one last time to persuade Lil to join her.

The next morning, after a final visit to the Taylor & Rose office, Sophie set out for the railway station. As she crossed the busy station concourse, she glanced around her, wondering whether in spite of all her efforts, the Fraternitas might have their spies watching.

Jack and Leo were waiting for her by the news stand, looking rather excited. They certainly didn’t look a bit like detectives or secret agents, which would be a jolly good thing if anyone was spying on her. As usual, Jack’s dark hair was flopping into his eyes; he had a satchel slung over his shoulder and the cuffs of his tweed coat were spattered with paint. Meanwhile, Leo’s hair was cut daringly short in the manner of the young lady art students at the Spencer; she wore a beret, a long flame-coloured scarf and what looked like a man’s overcoat missing several buttons. She walked with a limp, leaning on a handsome mahogany cane with a handle carved into the shape of a lion’s head.

‘I say – here we all are!’ exclaimed Jack in a loud, enthusiastic voice. They were playing their parts to perfection, Sophie thought. ‘Ready for a holiday?’

‘Absolutely!’ she said, smiling blithely back at him.

In keeping with their role of tourists, they lingered to choose some reading matter for the journey – Tit-Bits and The Strand Magazine, and the morning’s edition of The Daily Picture. They bought a luncheon basket of provisions and several packets of chocolate. All the time, Sophie kept glancing over at the station clock, just in case she saw Lil’s familiar tall figure waiting there for her. But the people standing under the clock were all strangers, each of them waiting for someone else.

‘Come on,’ said Jack as she lingered for a few more moments. ‘If we don’t get a move on, we’ll miss the train. Want me to grab that case for you, Leo?’

Sophie turned to follow them, but as they went out on to the smoky platform she could not help looking back over her shoulder at the station clock one last time before they hurried away.

‘We arrived in Venice from the sea, to find it wreathed in mist . . . What a fascinating place it seems to be – shimmering jade-green canals, twisting alleyways and secret squares.

There is so much to see and marvel at. I cannot shake the feeling that Venice is somewhere that all manner of mysterious things could happen.’

– From the diary of Alice Grayson

Fleet Street, London

Lil shivered as she paced along Fleet Street, her hands buried deep in her pockets. She must have walked up and down this street hundreds of times in the past few weeks. Everything was so familiar: the chemist’s, the stationer’s, the café with the striped awning; the motor- buses rumbling by, carrying passengers from the West End towards the East. The smell of paper and ink that wafted from the printing presses; the whirring and clanking of cylinders and belts and gears; and above it all the chiming of the bells of St Dunstan’s and St Bride’s.

The people were familiar to her too: the newsboy selling papers on the corner, the shoe cleaners, the waitresses in the café with their frilly aprons. She knew them especially well after all the hours she’d spent sitting at a little table in the steamy window, making one cup of coffee last as long as she could. But most of all she was interested in the staff of The Daily Picture – the reporters and filing clerks, the typewriter girls and telephonists, the printers’ boys in smocks smudged with ink dust, all of whom she saw streaming in and out of the big red-brick building every day.

She knew their faces now and she knew their daily routines. She knew when the office doors were unlocked in the morning and when the clerks and telephonists arrived. She knew where the typewriter girls went for their luncheon, and the pubs the young reporters visited to gossip with their rivals at the Post and the Gazette. She knew when the inky-fingered printers left after their long night shift and when the delivery vans arrived in the morning to carry the finished papers out across the city.

Yet in spite of everything she knew about this little stretch of Fleet Street, she was no closer to knowing anything that really mattered. Who was the woman Joe had seen? And the question that she asked herself a hundred times a day: what had happened to him?

She’d gone over it a million times – at first with Sophie and the others and then later by herself. Joe had discovered that someone at the Bureau was passing information to a woman, whom he’d followed back to the offices of The Daily Picture. He’d gone to stake out the offices and try and find out more, but then he’d just disappeared. The only clue was his cap, which had been found in an alley out in Limehouse.

Now, as she walked, Lil found herself wondering all over again how Joe could have ended up in the East End. She knew he didn’t like going there. It was too much of a reminder of his old life, when he’d been part of the gang known as ‘the Baron’s Boys’. She was certain it wasn’t somewhere he’d have chosen to go. Could he have been discovered and taken there against his will? Or maybe he’d followed the woman there?

It always came back to the woman from The Daily Picture. But Lil still hadn’t the least idea who she was. All she knew was that there were dozens of women coming in and out of the big office every day. Even now she could see two girls in smart hats hurrying inside out of the cold; a professional- looking older woman striding in behind them, carrying a briefcase; whilst on the pavement, a fashionable lady in a fox fur was being helped out of a motor car by her driver before she swept through the doors. Any of them could have been the woman Joe had seen. Lil didn’t know how old she was, or what colour was her hair, or whether she wore spectacles, or anything like that. All Joe had told Billy was that she had been rather smart and dressed in an expensive-looking suit.

It was so jolly frustrating, Lil thought. And the stupidest thing about it all was that Joe himself would have been so much better at this investigation than she was. Surveillance was not really in Lil’s line. Action was what she liked, not watching and waiting in the shadows. Joe, on the other hand, had seemingly limitless patience and was an expert at keeping out of sight. Now, she imagined she could hear his voice in her ear, encouraging her, just like he always had. Chin up. Keep going. Take it slowly. Don’t give up.

Joe never gave up. And although he didn’t make a fuss about it, he always did the right thing. He’d been the only one who’d understood when she’d decided she must go to St Petersburg to find Sophie. And just look at how he’d managed to track down a dangerous double agent all by himself! He might be quiet but he was brave and loyal. He’d do anything for her – he’d proved that over and over again.

Lil tied herself up in knots thinking of all the things Joe had done for her. Sometimes the big things, like when he’d given himself up to his old enemies the Baron’s Boys to try and save her. But more often than not it was the small, ordinary things she thought of. Joe shyly inviting her to go walking with him along the river. Joe turning up on her doorstep in his best suit, carrying a bunch of flowers. The very last time she’d seen him he’d insisted on accompanying her to the train station. She thought of how he’d said goodbye to her on the station platform and that moment when she thought he was going to kiss her. She rubbed her cold hand across her face. Horrid bitter wind, getting in her eyes.

The worst thing about that memory was he’d tried to persuade her that he should come with her to help find Sophie. And Lil had told him not to! If only she’d said yes, he would have been on the other side of Europe with her, instead of here on Fleet Street on the trail of a double agent. How he’d have enjoyed travelling with the Circus of Marvels! With his gift for working with animals, they’d probably have given him a job straight away.

For a moment, Lil let herself imagine the other life that she and Joe could have had. Travelling together with the circus – sleeping in train carriages, staying in foreign cities, staying up late after performances playing cards with her friends Hanna and Ravi. Lil could have worked as a dancer or learned acrobatics. Gosh, she’d even have helped Cecil with sewing the costumes, if she had to! It would have been such fun. And all this – London, Fleet Street, The Daily Picture, the Secret Service Bureau – would have been quite forgotten, as though it had never existed at all.

A rush of anger surged through her. Even thinking of the Bureau made Lil feel furious. This was all their fault! If she and Sophie had never started working for them, none of this would have happened. She’d been so stupidly proud and excited to be a secret agent, swanning off on important Bureau missions: tracking down spies and secret messages, travelling across Europe, going undercover. She’d felt like the heroine of a spy yarn. And all the time Joe had stayed behind in London, quietly working and helping behind the scenes. But because of what they had been doing – what she had been doing – he had fallen into some unknown danger. And now he was gone and the Bureau didn’t even seem to care.

Of course the Chief had said he was terribly sorry about what had happened. He’d said all the right kinds of things – but he hadn’t actually done a single thing to help. The only thing the Bureau were interested in was finding out who the double agent was, in order to protect themselves and their all-important secrets.

She couldn’t understand how Sophie could bear to carry on working for them. Not to mention going back to Taylor & Rose as though everything was normal! And Billy and the others were just as bad. Lil couldn’t stand to be at the office, seeing them going about their daily business: Sophie meeting a client to talk about a new case, Mei answering the telephone, Tilly tinkering in the little back room she used for her experiments and inventions.

Lil had been avoiding them all. She’d been avoiding her brother too, which would normally have been easy. Jack kept odd hours, getting up late and staying up until after midnight working in his studio, or going out to the Café Royal with his art-school friends. But lately he’d taken to spending his evenings in their little sitting room, as though he wanted to keep her company. She couldn’t stand him being gentle and kind to her – she’d have preferred it if he was bossy and irritating like he usually was. She knew he didn’t understand – if he had, he wouldn’t have rushed off to Venice with Sophie, as though heading out on some marvellous adventure.

Lil sighed, her breath puffing out like a cloud in the cold air. Of course she knew that Sophie was trying to do the right thing. In her pocket, her fingers closed on the note that Sophie had sent and gripped it hard. She was glad to have it there, even though she hadn’t sent a reply. She hadn’t known what to say. Lil never would have imagined that she wouldn’t know what to say to Sophie of all people.

In all her life, Lil had never felt so alone.

She came to a halt outside the café and blew on her cold fingers, wondering if she ought to go inside. She felt frozen to the core and knew it was too chilly to hang about in the street for much longer, but the very thought of another dispiriting hour or two of watching from the window was unbearable.

Lil sighed. Surely there must be something else she could do? Something she hadn’t yet thought of? For a moment she imagined brazenly striding into the office of the newspaper to ask questions – but what on earth was she supposed to say? ‘Excuse me, is there a woman here who’s involved with a secret society called the Fraternitas Draconum?’ ‘Could you tell me who on the staff is receiving secret government information from an undercover source?’

Could she disguise herself and bluff her way inside to investigate from within, she wondered? Get a job as a telephonist or typewriter girl, dress as a cleaning lady, pose as someone’s niece or long-lost grand-daughter? Yet somehow Lil couldn’t summon her usual enthusiasm for dressing-up and playing a part. This mattered too much. She couldn’t afford just to leap in wildly.

Lil’s shoulders slumped and she turned to go inside the café. But just as she did so, she caught sight of a familiar figure moving along the street and stopped, frowning. For a moment she struggled to place him, and then she remembered. It was Charlie Walters, the photographer. She’d met him first at Sinclair’s and then again a few months ago, on the boat to Hamburg. He’d been headed to St Petersburg to photograph the Circus of Marvels and unbeknown to him she’d been on her way there too. Now, she remembered that he worked for The Daily Picture, and judging by the big portfolio he carried he was dropping off some photographs. Seeing him gave her a sudden idea.

Lil had always acted quickly. Now, she almost darted forwards to call out Walters’ name, but then she checked herself. Take it slow, said Joe in her head. No need to rush. Apart from anything else, Walters would probably not recognise her. She knew she did not look much like the Lilian Rose he knew: the traveller, the chorus girl, the up- and-coming theatre star.

Instead, she walked briskly away from the café and the offices of The Daily Picture. She was going to play a part after all, she decided. She would dress herself up like the Lil she’d been before: put on a stylish hat and a smile and go and tackle Walters.

She felt a surge of exhilaration at the thought of taking action at last and forgot all about the cold as she marched towards home. At last, she had the beginnings of a plan.

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