Mo took a deep breath and knuckled her eyes, then blew her nose on her sleeve and turned in the direction of Solomon Court. She knew she might be heading for the lion’s den, but she did not intend to abandon her brother. She would go to the Court, and if he was not there she would try the docks, the pubs, anywhere at all where Cyril Huxtable might be found, and when she found him she would go to the scuffers and do her very best to convince them of his wickedness – unless of course she could find some means to rescue Jimmy herself.

Resolutely, Mo set off.

Mo walked fast, but as she got nearer to Solomon Court her pace slowed. How could she find out whether Jimmy was incarcerated without searching No. 4 room by room? And that would simply be asking for trouble. She stopped just short of the entrance to the Court, where there was a bollard on the pavement to prevent heavy lorries from entering. She had perched upon it often, for it was ‘home’ when the kids were playing relievio, and now she automatically mounted it and sat there wishing fervently that Jimmy would suddenly appear and make her worries unnecessary. But this was wishful thinking; what she needed to do at this stage was try to put herself into Cyril’s shoes. Presuming he had caught Jimmy, she was pretty sure he would bring his captive back here and threaten him with the beating of his life if he didn’t immediately admit to whatever it was he thought they had done. He must have put some sort of gag into poor Jimmy’s mouth to stop him yelling, Mo told herself. There was nothing else for it: her first move would simply have to be as much of an exploration of No. 4 as she could manage.

She was halfway across the Court when she remembered something else. She was as much at risk from Cyril and his mother as Jimmy was. If Cyril hadn’t managed to capture Jimmy he would be very pleased to capture her. So going close to the house, showing herself in the patchy moonlight, was just what the Huxtables wanted. If only there was some way of finding out whether they were at home. Mo chewed her lip. She could shout ‘Fire! Fire!’ but of course she would have to get close enough to set something alight or they would simply assume the cry concerned some other house and, being as selfish as they were horrible, simply go back to bed.

And suppose Cyril had realised the perils of bringing Jimmy back to No. 4? There were other places – Princes Park itself – where Cyril could work his wicked will on her brother. Perhaps I ought to have started in Princes Park, Mo thought despairingly. But I’m here now, so I’ll go round by the jigger and see what I can see.

Keeping to the shadows, Mo approached the house from the back. She was silent as a little mouse, but as soon as she looked over the gate she saw that the privy was occupied. Mrs Huxtable, wrapped in a blanket and with a cushion behind her head, was sitting there with the door wide open, clearly on watch, except that both her eyes were closed and a rich and grumbling snore was issuing from her mean little mouth.