‘Now I’ve come to fetch you.’ Though not exactly threatening, his tone had an edge to it. His clothes were so sodden that they looked almost black. His wet moustache drooped. Water dripped from his hat-brim. His shoulders were bent beneath the weight of his sack. All in all, he cut a gloomy, disheartening figure – yet the sight of him made Jem feel almost dizzy with relief. ‘He’s in there!’ Jem gabbled. ‘Lubbock! With the butcher!’ ‘What?’ ‘He knows who Sarah is! He’s bin scheming!’ ‘Woah.’ Alfred placed a hand on Jem’s shoulder, then leaned towards him and said, ‘Slow down. What’s amiss? Tell me.’ Jem explained what had happened. When he described the butcher’s appearance, Alfred’s face began to sag. ‘This here ain’t summat we can deal with,’ Alfred declared. ‘If Salty Jack’s got a-hold o’Lubbock, ’tis a police matter.’ As Jem opened his mouth to protest, Alfred continued, ‘Fetch Constable Pike.’ ‘Constable Pike?’ ‘At the market.
