Jackaby glanced down the sidewalk as the carriage pulled up to Marlowe. The inspector broke off his conversation with the weepy blonde and stepped toward it, standing at attention by the door. The girl looked lost and unsteady until another officer came to escort her away. I realized I had seen her face before. She was the girl from the photograph upstairs. The swell of emotions returned, and I fought back a lump in my throat.

“Right. Thank you, Detective. You’ve been a great help,” Jackaby was saying. He nodded to the junior detective and hastened to the corner of the building. I waved a quick good-bye to Charlie, and his parting smile sent another surprising rush of warmth up to my cheeks.

I turned and hurried after Jackaby, rounding the corner almost on top of him. He had planted his back to the brickwork and was surveying the scene intently. “What are you doing?” I asked, glancing about and pulling myself into the shadows with him. The alleyway was wide, running between the Emerald Arch and a short brick building that smelled of fish. There were cans of refuse and old crates heaped along the wall opposite us, but nothing large enough to offer concealment, should we find ourselves in need of it. A slim balcony protruded from each floor directly above us.

“Well, Miss Rook, it’s time for you to go,” Jackaby said simply, glancing about the alley without bothering to look me in the eye.

I faltered. “So, it’s a ‘no’ on the job, then?”

“What? No, where did you get that idea?” He crossed to the pile of old boxes and picked one out with a sturdy wooden frame and a big, red fish emblem painted across the side. He set the box down beneath the balcony and picked up two more. He stacked these in a simple pyramid, then looked up. “If you’re still in for it after this morning’s business, then the job is yours . . . at least provisionally. We can call it a trial period.”

After the small disappointment, the excitement of what he was saying began to percolate. “Oh, I’m in for it, Mr. Jackaby,” I said. And then, after a pause, “What, exactly, am I in for?”

“Excellent, asking the right questions already.” He stacked three or four more crates in unsteady tiers as he spoke. “You’ll come with me on some cases, like today, and spot little details that might be helpful. I will dictate findings for you to type up and compile into proper case files, and when I’m connecting the pieces, you will be my sounding board. I think better aloud, and I prefer not to talk to myself too much. Gives me headaches. Otherwise, you’ll just run small errands for me, write up bills and receipts, manage the accounts, that sort of thing. Any further questions?”

“Why did you change your mind?” It just slipped out.