Hornet replaced the receiver, looking miserable. "I don't think I did very well," she sighed.
"We've got to go," said Prosper. He put the files back where he found them. Hornet gave him an anxious look. But then she ran over to Victor's shelf and stuffed a few books under her pullover.
"Wouldn't it be great if someone really nice was after you like that?" Riccio pushed his tongue into his tooth-gap. "Some nice filthy-rich uncle or grandfather, just like in the stories Hornet reads to us."
"Esther is rich," Prosper said.
"Really?" Riccio stuffed Victor's beards into a backpack. He took the fake nose as well. "Could you ask her if she'd take me instead of Bo? I'm not much bigger than him and I don't ask for much. Just as long as she doesn't hit me too often."
"She wouldn't do that," Prosper said as he looked through the drawers once more. "What photograph was she talking about? I knew he had photographed Bo feeding the pigeons. Riccio, take the camera. Maybe the picture's still in there."
Riccio hung the camera around his neck and stood once more in front of Victor's mirror. "Buongiorno, Signora Esther!" he said, smiling and tightly closing his mouth so that no one could see his bad teeth. "Would you like to be my mother? I hear you don't hit children and you have lots of money."
"Forget it!" Hornet said to him as she looked over his shoulder. "Prosper's aunt wants a little teddy bear and not a hedgehog with bad teeth. Come on, let's get out of here. We'll take the tortoise with us since the snoop is our prisoner."
"Maybe Scipio has already turned up at the hideout!" Riccio said hopefully as they pulled Victor's door shut.
"Perhaps," Prosper replied.
But none of them really believed it.
23 Quarrels
Bo opened the door for them when they arrived back at the hideout.
"Where's Mosca?" Prosper asked him. "I told you not to come to the door!"
"I had to. Mosca's busy," Bo answered. "Victor's showing him how to repair his radio." Then he skipped away, whistling to himself.
When Prosper, Hornet, and Riccio reached the auditorium they found the door to the men's bathroom wide open. They could hear Mosca laughing.
"I don't believe it!" Riccio shouted. He planted himself in the open door. "What on earth are you up to, Mosca? Is that your idea of keeping watch? Who said you could untie him?"
Mosca turned around in surprise. He was kneeling next to Victor on the blanket and was just passing him a screwdriver from the toolbox. "Calm down, Riccio. He gave me his word of honor that he wouldn't run away," he said. "Victor knows a lot about radios and I think he can fix it."
"To heck with your radio!" Riccio shouted. "And to heck with his word of honor. He's going to be tied up again right now."
"Listen, Hedgehog." Victor struggled to get up on his stiff legs. "No one disrespects my word of honor, understood? You can always trust Victor Getz's word of honor one hundred percent."
"Exactly." Bo stood in front of Victor as if he wanted to protect him. "He's our friend now."
"Friend?" Riccio gasped for air. "Have you gone completely crazy, you silly baby? He's our prisoner, our enemy."
"Stop it, Riccio!" Hornet interrupted. "The ropes are stupid. We may as well just lock him in. He's a bit too fat to climb out of the bathroom window anyway, don't you think?"
Riccio didn't answer. He folded his arms and looked angry. "We'll see what Scipio has to say about this!" he grumbled. "Maybe you'll listen to him."
"If he turns up," said Prosper.
"What? I thought you were going to meet him." Mosca got to his feet.
"We waited for two hours by the newsstand," Hornet replied, "but he never came."
"Well, well." Victor knelt down in front of the radio again. "Well, well, well. But I hope you didn't forget my tortoise."
"No, we even brought him with us." Prosper looked at him. "What was that 'well, well, well' supposed to mean?"
Victor shrugged and tightened another screw.
"Spit it out!" Riccio barked at him. "Or your tortoise has just had its last meal."
Victor turned around very slowly. "Aren't you a charming little fellow!" he growled. "How much do you really know about your leader?"
Hornet opened her mouth, but Victor held up his hand. "Yes, I know, he's not really your leader. I got that. But that wasn't the question. So, once more: How much do you know about him?"
The children looked at one another.
"What should we know about him?" Mosca leaned against the tiled wall. "None of us talk much about the past. Scipio grew up in an orphanage, just like Riccio. He did tell us about it once. He ran away when he was eight and since then he's been looking after himself. He lived with an old thief for a while who taught him everything he needed to survive. When the old man died, Scipio stole the best gondola from the Grand Canal and laid the old thief in it. Then he let him drift out on to the lagoon. Since then he's been by himself."
"And goes by the name of the Thief Lord," Victor said. "So he lives by stealing things. Which means you do too ..."
"As if we'd tell you that!" Riccio said coldly. "And what if we do? You could never catch Scipio, even if you tried a hundred times. No one can match him. Barbarossa gave us four hundred thousand lire for his last loot. What do you say to that?"
Mosca elbowed Riccio's side, but it was too late.
"Barbarossa, that old scoundrel. Well, well," Victor said under his breath. "So you know him too. You know what? I bet my tortoises that I can tell you where Scipio stole those things."
Riccio squinted at him suspiciously. "So? It was in all the newspapers, that's no big deal." Mosca gave him another shove, but Riccio was far too worked up to notice.
"In the newspapers?" Victor lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, you probably mean the break-in at the Palazzo Contarini?" He laughed. "Did Scipio tell you he did that?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Riccio clenched his fists. He looked like he wanted to attack Victor, but Hornet held him back.
"It means," Victor answered calmly, "that your Scipio may be a clever fellow and quite a crafty liar, but he's definitely not who you think he is."
Losing his temper, Riccio freed himself from Hornet's grip. Prosper managed to get hold of him again, but only after he had punched Victor in the nose.
"Stop it, Riccio!" Prosper shouted. He had Riccio in a headlock. "Let him finish. And you," he barked at Victor, "can stop talking in riddles. Or I'll let go of Riccio."
"What a threat!" Victor grumbled. "Bo, please hand me your handkerchief."
Bo quickly pulled a grubby rag out of his pocket.
"Fine, let's talk straight," Victor agreed, wiping his stinging nose. At least it wasn't bleeding. "How did you meet Scipio?" Without looking at the children's baffled faces, he gathered a few screws and threw them into Mosca's toolbox.
