But meanwhile the people who’d been in the parlor were milling around and shouting, calling for buckets of water, for blankets to stifle the flames, and for axes to chop down doors and let out anyone behind them; and some were yelling to others to open all the windows wide to let out the smoke, and others were yelling even louder not to, since it’d let in a draft to fan the flames—and not a single person realized that there was no fire at all. I didn’t like it. It was disturbing to see that cheerful, lively audience turn in a moment into a confused mob. I slipped through the middle of them and into the kitchen. There was a back way out, through the scullery and the outhouse, and I stumbled through, banging my legs on buckets and crates and making, I daresay, a lot of noise. I hoped Peter wouldn’t hear and poke his silly head out of the cellar to see what was going on.

There is a narrow alley behind the Jolly Huntsman, and as I reached it, I was just in time to see, disappearing out of the other end of it, the form of a tall man with a cloak and a large hat. Doctor Cadaverezzi! I set off after him, not daring to call his name in case Count Karlstein had found his way out and was nearby. He’d be after Cadaverezzi, too, now. I reached the other end of the alley, which opened out into the road that led down to the bridge, and looked around, breathless.

He was nowhere to be seen. Behind me, I could hear a commotion from the tavern—angry shouts that I didn’t like the sound of. The road and the bridge were empty, gleaming white in the moonlight; and the river ran swiftly past, glinting and throwing up little liquid sparks of silvery light, and not helping a bit. I peered hard into the darkness beyond the river, where the trees began and the road curved up around the mountain. Was that a movement among the tree trunks? It was too dark, and too far off. The forest was full of shadows. And on this side of the river—just the village, the snow-covered roofs, the muddy road, the yellow lights in the windows, the smoke from the chimneys rising straight up, thick and white, into the clear bitter air.

I’d lost them.

I turned slowly back to the Jolly Huntsman, shivering with the bone-jarring cold, and weary with despair. Doctor Cadaverezzi, I thought, you’d better look after her. You’re all she’s got now. And then I thought: if all she’s got to save her from Count Karlstein and the Demon Huntsman is a traveling swindler wanted by the police—poor Lucy. Poor Lucy!

Police Report Number 354/21