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Ringmore’s house, he paid the driver and turned to find Clay already standing in front of his door.
    â€˜I take it you’re in the habit of locking your front door when you leave,’ said Clay.
    â€˜Of course,’ replied Lord Ringmore. ‘Why?’
    The cab driver whipped his horse and drove away.
    â€˜It’s open.’ Clay pushed the door.
    Lord Ringmore smiled. ‘It’s rather late for your tricks, Harry.’
    â€˜Unfortunately this is not a trick. Not one of mine, at least.’ Clay stepped over the threshold.
    Lord Ringmore rushed up the steps and pushed past him. The whole place had been turned over. Drawers had been pulled out and rifled through. Items collected on his travels that had adorned his shelves and mantelpieces had been removed, but there was only one object that Lord Ringmore cared about. He took the stairs two at a time, not caring when his cloak caught and ripped on an empty hook where an oil painting had hung.
    At the top of the stairs he found the door to his upstairs study. From his pocket he drew a key but as his eyes settled on the oak bureau, the key fell to the floor. The bureau’s lid had been prized off. It was empty.
    Clay stood behind him. ‘The book was in there?’ he asked, already knowing the answer. ‘Any idea who could be behind this? Someone knew you were out.’
    â€˜The orphans,’ snarled Lord Ringmore.
    â€˜You think they came for the book?’ asked Clay.
    â€˜No. My guess is that these thieves were after the valuables,’ said Lord Ringmore. ‘But I have no doubt the orphans were involved. The boy asked about my lack of servants. He saw the opportunity of an empty house. It was my own fault.’
    â€˜I can retrieve it for you,’ said Clay.
    â€˜How can you?’ replied Lord Ringmore, feeling all hope drain from him. ‘We have lost it. I should never have left it here. I thought it safer than carrying it around. What was I thinking?’
    â€˜You can spend your time asking yourself such questions or you can place your faith in me,’ replied Clay. ‘Mark my words, I will find that book. I know more of these thieves’ world than you might expect.’
    â€˜You, Harry?’
    â€˜I was not born the Remarkable Harry Clay. My beginnings were humble enough. Now, I noticed downstairs a bottle of brandy overlooked by the thieves in their hurry. I think this would be as good a time as any to open it, wouldn’t you say?’

Chapter 16
Bloodstone
    Tom and Esther walked in silence to the address off Coldharbour Lane where they were to meet Hardy. Esther was too angry to talk. Working for Lord Ringmore, even for such a short amount of time, had given her a glimpse of another world. Sister Eucharia used to say that God had a plan for everyone. Esther liked that idea. What if Lord Ringmore was that plan for Esther? Hardy hadn’t just stolen Lord Ringmore’s possessions. He had robbed Tom and Esther of any hopes of a better life.
    The house was hidden away under the shadow of a grimy railway bridge that rattled each time a train went over. The orphans stopped under the bridge and looked for signs of life. They had been here once before. The house belonged to a filthy old miser named Max Bloodstone, who exchanged stolen goods for hard cash. Bloodstone wasn’t his real name, but he was so called because the chance of getting a fair price from him was often compared to extracting blood from a stone.
    â€˜You don’t need to come in if you don’t want to,’ said Tom.
    â€˜We may as well get something out of all this,’ said Esther.
    â€˜I mean, you don’t need to come in the house with me. I can go and collect our cut if you like.’
    A train rattled past overhead, its clattering carriages shattering the quiet of the night. Tom was Esther’s best friend. If she couldn’t trust him, who could she trust? She refused to believe that he would