Free The Three Thorns by Michael Gibney

his way.
    Sebastian followed the blunt order of the elderly stranger and hurriedly took a step to the side, behind a row of theater seats.
    Mr. Jennings and Mr. Porter arrived accompanied by several police officers, including a mysterious Inspector who entered the theater’s side door at the same time.
    Viktor was clearly outraged at the sudden intrusion on his celebration. “Who in blazes do you think you are? I demand an explanation for this unlawful trespassing,” he rambled, carrying his weight toward the wide-eyed principal and the Inspector who stood side by side.
    “Quiet, Mr. Cain. We are not intending to cause you or your family any problems,” replied the Inspector, raising a glove covered hand to silence Viktor’s ranting.
    “Not yet anyway,” Mr. Jennings threatened.
    “We are investigating several runaways belonging to this gentleman,” the Inspector said. Clicking his fingers, the Inspector ordered a constable to stand behind him, ready to take handwritten notes.
    “What makes you think I know anything about missing runaways?” Viktor sniggered, puffing at his lit cigar and crudely blowing smoke rings in the Inspector’s face.
    The Inspector smiled, taking off his spectacles to wipe them clean. “Because you recruit them, Mr. Cain. They are your actors, your cleaners and your workers. We have turned a blind eye to your cheap labor for far too long,” the Inspector explained, stepping closer to the large man.
    “Surely a man of your copious wealth and status wouldn’t want to have an unexpected visit from the taxman, let alone the press. You know how reporters are, always itching for a scandal,” the Inspector teased.
    “What do you want from me?” Viktor replied, unable to take his eyes off of Mr. Jennings’ glare.
    “Just some simple co-operation. These runaways managed to slip past my men… twice, ” the Inspector informed, slowly walking back and forth to gaze upon the grandness of the theater’s interior. “They’re of great importance to this gentleman.”
    “And this is?” Viktor sighed.
    “Mr. Jennings, he runs the borstal home for boys at Gatesville,” the Inspector replied, fixing the wire-rimmed legs of his spectacles around his ears.
    This time, a large smoke ring fell across Mr. Jennings’ face, from Greta, who walked slowly over to her husband’s side to involve herself in the conversation.
    “Tell me…what is so special about a bunch of runaway strays, Mr. Jennings?” asked Greta, raising her cigarette holder up to her lips once more, her eyes filled with morbid curiosity. “Surely this isn’t the first time a child has escaped that prison you call an orphanage.”
    Mr. Jennings’ smirk flumped when he fixed his sight upon an equal set of dark cold eyes. “Gatesville is not a prison, Madam,” he replied, forcing a smile.
    “There must be hundreds, if not thousands, of runaways in this city alone. Why on earth would you expect to find any answers here, Mister…?” asked Viktor impatiently.
    “Inspector will do fine.”
    The Inspector silently passed a piece of neatly folded paper to Mr. Porter who persisted to unfold it at a snail’s pace and then held it in front of his own face for the Cains to see. It was a carefully sketched map of routes from Gatesville to London’s city center and beyond, which included three distinctly marked destinations. One of the locations marked with the ‘X’ mark had the name ‘Gatesville’ written beside it. The other was a particular area in the north countryside that bore the name ‘Jacob’ beside the mark. In between the two marked areas was the biggest ‘X’ of all three and outlined by a circle around the name ‘Viktor’ written over the Royal Opera House.
    “My men found this in the coat pocket of one of the runaways when they caught him at the central train station, half a mile from here,” the Inspector uttered. “Do you have any idea why your name would be marked on this map, Mr. Cain?”
    Viktor