“Hers aren’t, though,” Miss Fitch said. “One of her good dresses is missing. And a small suitcase she borrowed from Goldini. Gone!”
“I needed that suitcase,” Goldini said morosely, as he passed a coin between his fingers, making it appear and reappear. “It had a beautiful false bottom. Darn it!” He cursed as the vanished coin failed to materialize again. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his forehead. “I’m very upset. Mrs. Cobble . . . Potts . . . and now Hugo and Phoebe . . .”
Betty patted him on the shoulder. “Hugo and Phoebe will be back, Paul.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” growled Andrew, and then picked up his soup and began to slurp.
“Must you eat like an animal?” Miss Fitch said.
“I’m the alligator boy, ain’t I?”
“What on earth happened to that coin?” the magician muttered.
“It’ll be the end of us,” Danny said, as he hauled himself up onto a chair. “These are bad times. With Hugo and Phoebe gone—”
“Hello! What’s for dinner? It smells absolutely delicious. I’m famished, I must say.” Mr. Dumfrey had appeared in the doorway, beaming, apparently recovered from his bout of weirdness earlier.
Everyone fell silent. Danny looked to the ceiling as though suddenly fixated on the paint. Miss Fitch stared guiltily at Betty, and Betty looked pleadingly at the magician. The magician concentrated on searching his pockets for the missing coin.
Thomas dropped his gaze to his stew and began eating quickly, forking pieces of mystery meat quickly into his mouth until his cheeks were as full as a chipmunk’s, so he would not be forced to speak. He knew no one wanted to break the news of Hugo and Phoebe’s disappearance to Dumfrey.
“Now, now. Why so quiet?” Mr. Dumfrey helped himself to a generous serving of stew. “What were you talking about before I came in? I thought I heard Hugo’s name.”
There was another awkward pause, in which everyone pretended to be absorbed by the table legs, the walls, or the bottom of their soup bowls.
“That’s just it, Mr. Dumfrey,” Pippa spoke up at last. “It’s Hugo. He’s . . . gone.”
“Phoebe, too,” Miss Fitch said.
Thomas had expected Dumfrey to express anger, or at least surprise. Instead, he barely glanced up from his bowl. “Really?” he said, taking a large bite. “How curious.”
There was a brief pause. Thomas exchanged a quick look with Pippa.
“Aren’t you . . . worried?” Pippa asked cautiously.
Mr. Dumfrey swallowed. “Of course not! Why should I be worried? Hugo’s a grown man. Phoebe, too—a full-grown woman. Fattest lady of all the fattest ladies I’ve ever seen, and quite a beauty!” He patted his mouth delicately with a napkin. “They’ll be back.”
“Fair-weather friends,” Andrew muttered. “Turning tail at the first sign of trouble.”
Mr. Dumfrey slammed his fist down suddenly on the table so that all the bowls of stew jumped. “Enough,” he said. “I’ve known Hugo since he was a little eleph—a little boy. I won’t hear a word against him. I won’t hear a peep against Phoebe, either. Now I suggest we all concentrate on this delicious stew. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Thomas ate the rest of his stew without tasting it—which was actually a good thing, considering how bad it was. Should he tell Mr. Dumfrey what had happened on the train platform? But Mr. Dumfrey would tell him it was a coincidence. And what if it was a coincidence? Was Hugo capable of stealing from Mr. Dumfrey? Or of killing? And what about Reggie Anderson? Where did he fit in with all this?
Thomas was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice he’d come to the end of his bowl of stew until he bit down on something very hard.
“Ow,” he said, spitting, as a hard vibration zipped from his jaw to his head.
“My coin!” the magician cried. “You found it!” And he snatched Thomas’s spoon from his hand and tipped the missing coin into his pocket.
By the next morning, the Odditorium had been transformed for Potts’s funeral. Enormous garlands of crepe-paper roses in tasteful black and white were draped throughout the room. A large podium, hastily constructed but covered in plush black velvet, dominated the stage, and beside it stood various enormous funeral wreaths: arrangements of lilies and orchids, baby’s breath and chrysanthemums. It must, Thomas thought, have cost Mr. Dumfrey a fortune.