“And you would tell me – wouldn’t you, Mr Lemon? – if something strange were to happen in the Grand Nautilus Hotel? You wouldn’t keep secrets from me, would you, boy?”

Lady Kraken gives me a long, wrinkly stare that I swear I can feel at the back of my skull.

“You would tell me about any strange visitors you might have had down in your Lost-and-Foundery. A man, for example, with a boathook for a hand?”

“As it happens, there was someone like that…”

“Then it’s true!” Lady K gasps. “He has returned!”

“He … he said he’d lost something.”

“Something?” Lady Kraken’s voice is a hoarse whisper of excitement, and she grabs my arm again. “What sort of something?”

“Well, more of a someone, actually,” I say. “A girl, he said. So I said I don’t do people, just things, he said—”

“A girl?” Lady Kraken leans back in surprise, letting go of me. “What sort of girl?”

“Well, a lost one, I suppose.”

“Herbert Lemon.” Lady Kraken raises one crooked finger to silence me. “This is important now. Did he find the girl?”

I look back at her. A small voice in the corner of my mind tells me to be very careful what I say next. And that makes my actual reply all the more surprising.

“No,” I say. “There was no girl.”

LOST LUGGAGE

IT’S THE NEXT MORNING, and I start awake to the sound of munching. Violet Parma is sitting in the middle of my lost-property cellar, wrapped in a blanket that she is showering with golden crumbs from an enormous croissant. For a girl who doesn’t exist, she’s making quite a mess.

“Breakfast?” Violet says, pulling a Danish pastry out from somewhere and tossing it to me.

“Where did you get this?” I say, as I sit up and catch it. “It’s still warm!”

“There was a pile of them on a trolley upstairs. In the kitchen.”

“Wait, you’ve been up into the hotel? Did … did anyone see you?”

“There was a man who shouted at me in French,” says Violet, taking another bite. “And a fork bounced off the wall behind me as I ran behind a waiter, but I don’t think anyone got a good look at me. Why?”

I groan. Monsieur de Grees, the hotel’s Belgian chef, guards his kitchen like a fortress. And if he thinks there’s a thief about…

“Do you know what a cameraluna is?” I ask, taking a cautious bite from my pastry.

Violet shakes her head.

“But you know what a spy is, right?” I say. “Just don’t let anyone see you, OK? Things, er, things could get very serious if you do.”

“There are spies in the hotel?” Violet’s eyes light up.