She stared at him with hostile gray eyes, and before Victor realized what she was doing she threw herself against him and lashed out at his checkered sweater, screaming at the top of her voice, "Let me go, you pig! No! I don't want to come with you! No!"

Victor was horrified. For a moment he just stood and stared down at her. Then he tried to push her away, but she wouldn't let go of his jacket and kept thrashing at his chest. The people around them turned and stared at him and the screaming girl.

"I haven't done anything!" Victor cried, dumbfounded. "I've done nothing! Absolutely nothing!" To his horror a dog jumped at him too, barking loudly. And in the meantime the other children disappeared into a side alley.

"Stop!" Victor yelled. "Stop, you rotten little devils!" He tried again to free himself from the girl but then something hit the back of his head with such force that he began to stagger. Before he knew it, the two large ladies were all over him, swinging their massive handbags at his head. Outraged, Victor bellowed back at them, holding his arms above his head, but the girl kept screaming and the ladies kept thrashing and the dog kept growling, sinking its teeth into Victor's jacket. The crowd around him grew ever more angry. They're going to crush me, Victor thought. He couldn't believe it. He felt someone tearing a button off his jacket. Just as he was about to drop to his knees a Carabiniere fought his way through and pulled him up again. All around him a hundred voices shouted, simultaneously trying to explain what had caused this mayhem, and Victor realized that the girl had gone. Vanished, just like her four friends.

16 The Conte's Envelope

We showed him, all right!" Hornet said, once they were all safely back in the hideout. She had a deep scratch on her cheek and her cardigan was missing two buttons. But she was grinning from ear to ear. "And look what I got in all the commotion." Proudly, she produced Victor's wallet from underneath her jacket. She flung it over to Prosper. "Don't get angry with me. Perhaps now you can find out more about this guy."

Prosper murmured, "Thanks," and without hesitation quickly went through the wallet's various compartments. There were a few bills from some shop in San Paolo, a receipt from a supermarket, a ticket to the Doge's Palace. He threw all this carelessly to the ground. Then he held Victor's detective ID in his hands. He stared at it grimly.

Hornet looked over his shoulder. "So he really is a detective," she said.

Prosper nodded. He looked so desperate that she didn't know where to look. "Come on, just forget him!" she said quietly. She slowly stretched out her hand and stroked Prosper's face. He didn't even seem to notice. He only looked up when Scipio approached them.

"What are you looking so gloomy about?" the Thief Lord said, putting his arm around Prosper's shoulder. "We gave him the slip. Don't you want to see what's in the Conte's envelope?"

Prosper nodded and stuffed Victor's wallet into his pocket.

Scipio opened the envelope with great ceremony; he slit it open with his penknife while the others, sitting on the folding seats in front of him, watched with rapt anticipation.

"By the way, where's the pigeon, Mosca?" Scipio asked as he pulled a photograph and a folded sheet of paper from the envelope.

"Still sitting in the basket. I threw it some breadcrumbs," Mosca answered. "And now let's get on with it. What's that piece of paper?"

Scipio smiled. He dropped the empty envelope on the ground and unfolded the large sheet of paper. "The house he wants me to pay a little visit to is on the Campo Santa Margherita," he said, "and this is the floor plan. Anyone want to see it?"

"Oh, just give it to me!" Hornet said impatiently. Scipio handed her the plan. Hornet took a quick look at it and then passed it to Mosca. Scipio meanwhile studied the photograph that had also been in the envelope. He seemed confused, as if he couldn't quite work out what he was looking at.

"What is it?" The suspense made Riccio jump up out of his seat. "Go on, Scipio."

"Looks like a wing," Scipio mumbled. "What do you think it is?"

The photograph went from one child to the other and all of them looked at it in just as much bewilderment as Scipio.

"Yes, it's a wing," Prosper agreed after having studied it from all possible angles. "And it seems to be made of wood, just as the Conte said."

Scipio took the picture from his hands and stared at it.

"Five million lire for a broken wooden wing?" Mosca shook his head incredulously.

"How much?" The question came simultaneously from Hornet and Riccio.

"That's quite a lot, isn't it?" Bo asked.

Prosper nodded. "Take another look at the envelope," he said. "Maybe there's something else in there to explain all this."

Scipio nodded and picked up the envelope. He peered inside and then took out a small card, closely written on both sides.

"The wing shown on the enclosed photograph," Scipio read, "is the counterpart to the wing I am looking for. They look identical. Both are about seventy inches long and thirty inches wide. The wood was once painted white, but this will certainly have faded, and the gold on the edges of the feathers has probably also flaked off from the second wing. At the base of the wing there should be two long metal pins, each approximately two inches in diameter."

Scipio lifted his head. His face showed disappointment. He had obviously not expected the item he was supposed to steal -- which had made the old man's voice quiver with longing -- would be a piece of old wood!

"Perhaps the Conte has one of these beautiful carved angels," Hornet ventured. "You know, like they have in big churches. An angel like that is probably quite valuable, but only if it has both its wings. And he has probably somehow lost one of them."

"I don't know." Mosca shook his head. He went over to Scipio to have another look at the picture. "What's that in the background?" he asked. "It's very blurry, but it looks like a wooden horse."

Scipio turned the card over and frowned. "Wait, there's more. Listen: The living quarters of the Casa Spavento, as far as I have been informed, are mostly on the first floor. The wing is probably kept there somewhere. I have had no information about any alarm systems, but it is possible that there are dogs in the house. Hurry, my friend! I will await your report with great impatience. Feed the pigeon bread and let it fly a little. Sofia is a friendly and dependable creature."

"Sofia. I like that name," said Bo, peeking into the pigeon basket.

"Yes, but you must keep your cats away from her," Mosca teased him. "They'll eat her whether she's got a nice name or not.

Bo looked shocked.

"A wooden angel!" Riccio wrinkled his nose and pushed a finger into his mouth. He often had a toothache, but today it was particularly bad. "Not even a whole angel, just a wing. And that's supposed to be worth five million lire?"

Hornet leaned against the starry curtain and shrugged. "I don't like it," she said. "All the secrecy -- and the redbeard being part of it."

"No, Barbarossa is just the middle man." Scipio was staring at the photograph. "You should have heard the Conte! He's completely crazy about this wing. It didn't sound as if this was only about the money he could get for a valuable statue. No, there's something else behind all this. Do you still have my jacket, Prop?"