Free The Black Room by Gillian Cross

fuss about the bag getting stolen, I’ll tell the police where to find you.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t do that,” Tom said, trying to pull his arm free. “Not to me.”
    â€œOh no?” Robert raised his eyebrows. “We’re past all that, Tosh. You changed the rules when you threatened to dig up the cavern.”
    â€œBut I didn’t actually mean—”
    Robert’s face didn’t change. Tom had never seen that calm, determined expression before. He didn’t fancy his chances if he tried to run off.
    â€œYou really want to find this girl,” he said. “Don’t you?”
    â€œI have to find her,” Robert said. “Before it’s too late. It’s very, very important—and I’ll do whatever it takes.”
    â€œOK,” Tom said slowly. “We’ll go back and look. As long as I don’t have to talk to him.”
    â€œThat’ll do.” Robert began walking across the garden, pulling Tom along with him. “All you need to do is show me the right person.”
    â€œHe’s probably gone by now.”
    â€œThen we’ll go back next Saturday,” Robert said steadily. “And the one after that and the one after that, until we find him.”
    Tom tugged at his arm again. “You don’t have to keep hold of me. I said I’d come.”
    Robert gave him a sharp look and then let go. “OK,” he said. “But it’s the same deal.”
    Tom marched along without saying anything else. He just wanted to get it over with. All they had to do was go to the square and take a quick look around. He was pretty sure the boy would have cleared off by now.
    But he hadn’t.
    He was standing over on the other side of the square, with his back to them, talking to a big man with a gray, heavy face. And he was making excuses. Tom could tell he was, even without hearing his voice. He kept shifting from foot to foot, leaning forward to speak in hesitant bursts and then stopping short.
    The man wasn’t saying anything. He was standing very still, and his face was without any kind of expression apart from a terrible close attention. Whatever the boy said, the man didn’t make any kind of reply. He just let the boy go on and on with his jerky excuses. It was like watching a worm writhing on the end of a hook.
    Tom shivered and stepped back slightly.
    Robert was watching him. “You can see him, can’t you?” he said quickly. “Where is he?”
    Tom looked at the man’s cold face and his narrow, closed mouth. “Don’t try and talk to him now, Robbo. His dad’s there. ”
    â€œSo?” Robert made a small impatient movement. His eyes traveled slowly around the square until they reached the right place. Then he glanced around. “That’s him. Isn’t it?”
    â€œHe won’t tell you anything,” Tom said. “Not while that man’s there. He’s afraid of him.”
    The man was talking now, but only his lips were moving, like wet, red worms. His face was heavy and unhealthy, like something bodged out of dirty white clay.
    Robert watched him for a moment. “You don’t know,” he said. “Not just from looking. He might be fine when you talk to him.”
    â€œBut suppose he’s not fine.? Suppose he just takes the bag and walks off? What are you going to do then?” Tom shook his head and edged backward. He had no intention of going anywhere near that man.
    â€œHang on a minute.” Robert caught hold of Tom’s sleeve. “Maybe he’ll go off somewhere. Then we can get the boy on his own.”
    But it didn’t happen like that. Almost as he said it, the man did turn around and walk off. He went briskly out of the square and down the road toward the parking lot. But the boy went with him, almost jogging as he tried to keep up.
    Robert tugged at Tom’s sleeve and pulled him across the square. But as they