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“What are you doing, running off like that?” Scipio scolded him, holding on to his arm. Bo freed himself from Prosper’s grip and stood next to Scipio.

“Come with me!” Scipio said and without another word he pushed the two of them into the nearest souvenir shop. Riccio, Mosca, and Hornet squeezed in after them.

“Act as if you’re looking at something!” Scipio whispered. The shop assistant looked at them suspiciously. “If that guy in St. Mark’s Square really was that detective then it won’t do any good to just run away,” he said to Prosper under his breath. “With all those people around you’d never notice him following you!” He crouched in front of Bo and put his hands on his shoulders. “That Victor — did he ask you any questions?” he asked. “When you were feeding the pigeons back in the square?”

Bo crossed his arms behind his back. “He asked me my name …”

“Did you tell him?”

Hesitantly, Bo nodded.

“What else did you tell him, Bo?” Hornet whispered.

The shop assistant looked toward them more frequently now, but luckily a party of tourists came in and kept her busy for the time being.

“I don’t remember,” Bo mumbled and looked at Prosper. “Did Esther send the detective?” His lips began to tremble.

Scipio sighed and got up again. He looked at Prosper. “What does this detective look like?”

“But that’s just it!” The tourists turned around, and Prosper immediately lowered his voice. “This time he looked completely different! He had no beard and he wore glasses, and I could hardly see his eyes because he wore a cap. I only recognized him because he ran away. He moves his shoulders in a strange way when he walks. Like a bulldog.”

“Hmm.”Scipio felt for the Conte’s envelope. It was still tucked, unopened, inside his jacket. Then he looked thoughtfully through the shop window. “If that really was the detective,” he murmured, “and if he really is following us, then we’re leading him straight to the hideout.Unless we can get rid of him first.”

The others looked at one another uneasily. Mosca lifted the Conte’s basket and peered through the lid.

The pigeon was growing restless in its prison. “It’s about time we let it out of there,” Mosca whispered.

“It’s probably hungry. Does anybody know what pigeons eat?”

“Ask Bo, he’s just fed dozens of the creatures.” Again, Scipio felt for the envelope in his pocket. For a moment, Prosper thought he was going to open it, but to his surprise Scipio suddenly slipped out of his jacket, pulled the ribbon off his hair, and took the cap off Mosca’s head.

“Two can play at that game,” he said and pulled the cap over his own head. “It’s not that hard to change the way you look.” He threw his jacket at Prosper. “You stay here, Bo. If the snoop is really after you then he’s probably outside, waiting for you to come out. You just stand by the window so that he can see you through the glass. Mosca, you take the pigeon and the envelope back home.”