And what about the cameraluna? What about the moonlight recording I saw? Violet went to see Eels before she came to see me.

Suddenly, I remember how Violet never did explain why the Boathook Man was chasing her. Was that whole episode just an elaborate way to gain my trust? Was that whole episode staged?

I grab my Lost-and-Founder’s cap with both hands, pull it up as high as I can on the elastic, and let it snap down onto my head. It stings, but it clears my head a little and helps me switch on my logic.

“There’s an innocent explanation,” I say aloud. “There has to be. And I need to find it.”

I look at the window. It’s slightly open, so Violet probably left that way. At least that means she wasn’t caught by old Mollusc. But where has she gone?”

I screw my hands into my eyes as I try to think it through.

She probably hasn’t gone to see Jenny Hanniver at the Eerie Book Dispensary, because we saw Jenny yesterday. And she probably wouldn’t dare go back to the museum. Unless she wanted to return the sea glass? But somehow I don’t think she’s ready to do that. So … where?

The beach? On her own? That’s possible.

But there’s another very disturbing possibility.

I grab my coat.

I slip two hot pebbles into my pockets, put the CLOSED sign up on my cubbyhole and run out into the snowy town.

Sebastian Eels’ tall townhouse looked grand enough built of motes and moonlight on Lady Kraken’s table, but is grander still in real life. It’s perched high in the town, its top-floor windows giving a commanding view of the bay, surpassed only by that of the Grand Nautilus Hotel below on the seafront. It is painted yellow with an imposing black door, white columns either side. Today, in the snow, it is silent, its eight large front windows empty and dark.

I check the street outside and see several tracks in the snow, including one large set of footprints that emerge from the door of the house. At a guess, I would say that these were made by Eels himself. The footprints show someone leaving but no one coming back.

At the side of the house is a wall, peeling yellow, with a garden beyond. I recognize it from the image in the cameraluna. The branch of a gnarled old tree leans over into the street. And there are smaller footprints leading to it, but none leading away.

I look up at the house to see if any windows are open. And that’s when I notice him.

Erwin.

The cat is sitting on top of the wall, watching me with his cool blue eyes.

“Did she come this way then?” I say.

P-rrrr, says Erwin, licking one paw.