Everyone’s eyes were on him now. He knew how to hold an audience, all right; it’s partly skill, I suppose, and partly a sort of godlike cheek.

“A last request?” said the sergeant. “This ain’t an execution.”

“No?” Doctor Cadaverezzi looked around in surprise. “I saw all the muskets, and I thought—but never mind. One day I shall have the chance to escape a firing squad at the last moment…or better still, the guillotine! Ah, what a spectacle that would make! But who is that? My good Max! Are you prospering?”

“No, I ain’t, Doctor, and that’s a fact—”

“Come on, cut it out,” said the sergeant. “You’re under guard, my man. We’ve got a long way to go this morning.”

“Can’t he stop and watch the shooting contest?” said Max.

“Yes, let him watch!” came a voice from the crowd, and others joined in too: “He won’t escape! Let him watch, go on!”

“Go on, Sarge,” said Constable Winkelburg, greatly daring. “I wouldn’t mind watching it meself.”

“Hmm,” said the sergeant. “Very well. But mind you keep a grip on him. He’s as slippery as a serpent.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Doctor Cadaverezzi, bowing again—to the crowd this time. They cheered as the policemen led him to the edge of the platform, and I saw him give a great wink to Lucy.

And then there was a trumpet call and the audience parted to let the officials through.

“Maxie!” said Eliza anxiously. “You haven’t had time to practice on your trombone!”

“It ain’t a trombone, Eliza,” he said, “it’s a—oh, never mind. I’ll just have to do me best.”

And up onto the platform stepped the Mayor, a little plump man called Herr Kessel, and Frau Kessel, his wife, and half a dozen men all dressed in their best, including one wrinkled old huntsman whom I recognized as the man who’d taught Peter to shoot.

“Who’s he?” whispered Eliza.

“Herr Stanger,” I said. “I think he’s the referee.”

The Mayor stepped forward and began to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen! I welcome you on behalf of the Municipal Corporation, and Frau Kessel, and Kessel’s Dry Goods Store, to the Grand Shooting Contest, held to determine which of these crack shots, what have assembled here from all parts of the valley and beyond, is the crackest.”

Here he paused for breath, and Charlotte craned upward to see better. There was a stir over at the other side of the crowd, beside the Jolly Huntsman; was that someone else arriving? A coach? It was hard to see, and in any case the Mayor was talking again, having taken a deep breath.

“We are deeply privileged to have with us as official on this occasion one whose exploits with the musket have earned our admiration over many years. I refer, of course, to Herr Josef Stanger, to whom I hand you over now, the referee of this noble contest.”

The wrinkled old huntsman, blinking a little and on his very best behavior for this large crowd, came forward.