“So you did have it all thought out!”

“Seems to me you’re the one who has plans for robbing,” said Alvin. “And then you accuse others of wanting to do what only you had thought of.”

Angrily the man pulled out his key and slid it into the lock. He braced himself to twist hard, expecting the corroded metal to resist. So he visibly staggered when the key turned easily and the door slipped open silently.

He might have stopped to examine the lock and the hinges, but at that moment the bluejay that had spent the night slowly dying on his worktable fluttered angrily in his face and flew out the door. “No!” the man shouted. “That’s Mr. Ridley’s trophy!”

Arthur Stuart laughed. “Not much of a trophy,” he said. “Not if it won’t hold still.”

The taxidermist stood in the doorway, looking for the bird. It was long gone. He then looked back and forth from Alvin to Arthur. “I know you had something to do with this,” he said. “I don’t know what or how, but you witched up that bird.”

“No such thing,” said Alvin. “When I arrived here I had no idea you kept living birds inside. I thought you only dealt with dead ones.”

“I do! That bird was dead!”

“John-James,” said Alvin. “We want to see him before we leave town.”

“Why should I help you?” said the taxidermist.

“Because we asked,” said Alvin, “and it would cost you nothing.”

“Cost me nothing? How am I going to explain to Mr. Ridley?”

“Tell him to make sure his birds are dead before he brings them to you,” said Arthur Stuart.

“I won’t have such talk from a Black boy,” said the taxidermist. “If you can’t control your boy, then you shouldn’t bring him out among gentlemen!”

“Have I?” asked Alvin.

“Have you what?”

“Brought him out among gentlemen?” said Alvin. “I’m waiting to see the courtesy that would mark you as such a one.”

The taxidermist glowered at him. “John-James Audubon is staying in a room at the Liberty Inn. But you won’t find him there at this time of day—he’ll be out looking at birds till midmorning.”

“Then good day to you,” said Alvin. “You might oil your locks and hinges from time to time. They’ll stay in better condition if you do.”

The taxidermist got a quizzical look on his face. He was still opening and closing his silent; smooth-hinged door as they walked back down the alley to the street.

“Well, that’s that,” said Alvin. “We’ll never find your John-James Audubon before we have to leave.”

Arthur Stuart looked at him in consternation. “And why won’t we?” He whistled a couple of times and the bluejay fluttered down to alight on his shoulder. Arthur whispered and whistled for a few moments, and the bird hopped up onto Arthur’s head, then (to Alvin’s surprise) Alvin’s shoulder, then Alvin’s head, and only then launched itself into the air and flew off up the street.