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him, Barbu was flanked by his hefty sidekick, Tully, who at that precise moment was struggling with his master’s top hat and sizeable black velvet cloak, and his young charge, Janty.
    A pang of regret shot through Wilma. It was only a matter of weeks ago that Wilma had encountered this dreadful man for the first time, having previously only read about his dastardly doings in the Cooper press. She couldn’t stand him. He was rude, foul, and malignant. And, what was worse, he was leading Janty astray. During the Case of the Frozen Hearts, Janty’s poor father, Visser Haanstra, had died a horrible death and Theodore, on finding the boy, had offered him his friendship. But Janty, determined to lead a life of crime like his father, had fallen for the devilish promises of D’Anvers and rather than turning his back on a life of wrongdoing, he seemed set to embrace it. Wilma glared at Barbu. As far as she was concerned, it was all his fault.
    â€œWhat’s he doing here, Mr. Goodman?” whispered Wilma, gripping her mentor’s forearm.
    â€œSadly,” replied Theodore with a stern look toward his old enemy, “anybody can come to the theatre. Even if they are rotten to the core. I’m sure he wants to see the show. But we shall keep an eye on him nonetheless. You can never be too sure when Barbu D’Anvers is around.”
    â€œBarbu D’Anvers?” asked Inspector Lemone, mouth full of biscuits. “The very rogue! He’s the dirtiest sort of skunk! Don’t even look at him, Wilma. Just give me a chance to knock him down, Goodman!”
    â€œWell, well,” sneered the tiny villain as he swaggered toward them. “If it isn’t Theodore P. Goody-Goody-Goodman. And that revolting girl of yours.”
    â€œWilma Tenderfoot,” said Janty, curling his lip.
    â€œYes, I remember you,” added Barbu, poking at her pinafore with his cane. “Which is never a good thing. You and I have some unfinished business.”
    â€œI’m not afraid of you!” Wilma burst out, pushing past Mr. Goodman’s protective hand on her shoulder. “I’m an official apprentice detective now. I’ve got a badge to prove it!”
    Barbu screwed up his face. “Got a badge to prove it?” he mimicked. “Did you hear that, Janty? She’s got a baaaaadge. Oooh. I’m terrified!”
    Janty laughed cruelly.
    â€œWhy don’t you pick on someone your own size!” answered Wilma, now almost nose to nose with the villain as Pickle growled protectively. “Oh, hang on a minute,” she added with a twinkle, “you are!”
    Barbu’s jaw tightened. If there was one thing he couldn’t bear, it was being told he was small. “Our time will come, Wilma Tenderfoot,” snapped the diminutive criminal. “Of that you can be sure.” And with a toss of his hair, he swept off toward the auditorium.
    Theodore shook his head. “It’s not sensible to provoke our enemies, Wilma,” he chided. “You must take better care.”
    â€œAll the same,” added Inspector Lemone with a small wink. “That was quite good. Anyway, shall we take our seats? We’ve been standing up for ages. At least five minutes. My legs are killing me.”
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    As the lights went down and the first deep chords struck out from the orchestra pit, Wilma was on the edge of her seat. Pickle was also on the edge of his, but that was because he couldn’t quite get the hang of it and every time he tried to sit farther back, the chair folded up on top of him. With the grand curtains across the stage parting to a smattering of unenthusiastic applause, Wilma’s heart thumped with excitement and out from the wings stepped a hunched man with a face that looked as if it couldn’t quite be bothered.
    â€œThat’s Gorgeous Muldoon,” whispered the Inspector. “He’s the compère. That’s the fellow who keeps