The clock on the mantelpiece read ten minutes to nine and the gas lamps were on when Ralph arrived home. As soon as he had sat down on the worn fabric sofa, both his parents appeared suddenly in front of him.

'Oh, Ralph!' said Mary. 'I was so worried about you. Don't you know the sorts of things that happen after dark?'

'It's all right, Mum,' said Ralph, sounding almost as tired as he looked. 'I came home through well-lit, well-populated areas. It's only after eleven you have to worry about roads like that.'

John bristled at Ralph's answer. 'You've no right to go worrying your mother like that. And what d'you think's become of your dinner, hmm?'

'Oh, I can warm that up again, John,' said Mary. 'I'll do it now, shall I, Ralphie?'

'Thanks, Mum,' said Ralph.

Mary went off to the kitchen, leaving Ralph alone with his father.

'Now, look here, son,' said John, in gentler tones than before. 'It's like I keep saying: that newspaper job's no good. They're working you too hard.'

'No one made me stay late, Dad,' said Ralph. 'I just want to do my job the best I can.'

'Your mother's right, you know,' John went on, as though Ralph hadn't spoken. 'It isn't safe, you walking through London so late. And even if it is, you know she worries about the newspaper business not being reputable, and now with you roaming the streets at night...'

'Actually, Dad,' said Ralph, 'I've been thinking about that, and I've decided. I'm going to move out.'

John gaped at him. 'Move out? What do you mean, move out?'

'I mean rent a room or a little flat somewhere near the paper.'

'Oh-ho! Do you indeed? And who'll make your dinner then, I'd like to know?'

'I will, of course,' Ralph said confidently, but then he looked pensive, and his shoulders drooped a little. 'Or... maybe I'll get a little pie on my way home. I don't really need much dinner, Dad. I have lunch at my desk.'

John was horrified. 'Lunch at your desk! I said journalism was no good, didn't I?'

'Yes, very often,' Ralph said with a sigh, sliding off the sofa. 'I think I'll go and break the news to Mum.'

When the weekend came, Ralph found himself standing in an empty room with both of his parents hovering over him. Mary was wide-eyed with horror, while John looked disapprovingly around at the cobwebs, cracked plasterwork and wonky floorboards. A smartly-dressed weasel stood nearby, watching the three squirrels hungrily and lacing his fingers together.

'Oh, Ralphie,' said Mary. 'You can't live in a place like this.'

'It's not that bad, Mum,' said Ralph. 'It could do with a dust and a lick of paint, and maybe Dad could knock those floorboards back into place. Mr Grasper would pay you, of course,' he added hastily, glancing over to the weasel. 'Wouldn't you, Mr Grasper?'

'Mmm,' said Mr Grasper, grinning unpleasantly. 'But then, of course, I'd have to put the rent up.'

'Oh, yes, of course,' Ralph agreed. 'Perhaps we could negotiate.'

'Mmm hmm,' Grasper said breathily. 'Well now. An extra ten shillings a week, say?'

Ralph frowned at that. 'I was thinking more along the lines of two or three.'

'Hmmmm... haha,' wheezed Grasper, grinning and nodding as though in perfect agreement. 'Well then. Ummmm... Nine and eightpence.'

'It smells damp, Ralphie,' said Mary, wrinkling her nose.

Ralph took a sniff, glanced over at the slavering Grasper, and then said, 'Thank you, Mr Grasper. I'll have to think about it.' He and his parents then left with all due haste.

The next place looked much more in order, with a neat pair of curtains flapping in the window and a cosy-looking female dormouse smiling benevolently on the squirrels' conversation.

'Well, Ralphie,' Mary was saying, 'this is a nice place, and I don't think I'd worry with Mrs Dormer to look after you.'

'No, indeed, my ducks,' chuckled Mrs Dormer. 'I make sure all my tenants have a good, hearty meal when they come in of an evening.'

In spite of all this, Ralph looked ready to leave. 'It's too far from the paper,' he said.

'Well, of course it is,' said John. 'You couldn't afford a place like this within ten miles of Fleet Street, my boy!'

'Then why are we here?' said Ralph.

'Because everywhere close was so...' and Mary finished the sentence with a shudder, as words were clearly inadequate.

'But then I'd have to walk through the dark streets at night, wouldn't I?' said Ralph. 'And you'd still worry about me, Mum, and I'd get home even later than I do now!'

Mary and John looked chastened.

'Hmm... I must admit, I didn't think of that,' said John.

'And I'm sure Mrs Dormer wouldn't want me coming in for my hearty meal after eleven at night.' Ralph turned to the landlady. 'Now, would you, Mrs Dormer?'

'No, duck, I must admit,' said Mrs Dormer. 'I lock the door at half past six and get myself to bed by nine.'

'Thank you for showing us the room, Mrs Dormer, but it's just not practical,' said Ralph, with an apologetic smile. Then he turned back to his parents. 'Let's try Camden Town and Walworth and Paddington. There's absolutely no point in me living any further from Fleet Street than that.'

The next place they looked at was just one room with a table and chair, a stove, a bed and a single shelf, all of which added up to more than the space could take.

'Oh, Ralphie, you can't live here!' said Mary. 'There isn't enough room to do anything!'

'It's got everything I need, Mum,' said Ralph.

'But there's no room to cook at that stove!' said Mary.

'Nor to pull the chair out from the table and sit on it,' added John.

'Of course there is,' said Ralph, and he squeezed round his parents to give a demonstration of the table and chair. Finding there was just about room, he squeezed onto the chair and then went on, 'And there's three of us in here, don't forget. Once it's just me, there'll be acres of room!'

John looked doubtful about this, but said, 'You're keen on this place, eh, son?'

'It's clean, affordable and close to the paper,' said Ralph. 'That's all I want, Dad.'

'Well then,' said John, 'we'd better go and talk to the landlord.'

Ralph wriggled down from the chair, tucked it under the table and made for the door. John followed him, and then Mary, who was muttering, 'I'll talk to the landlord all right!'

This landlord, as it turned out, was a Dobermann Pinscher and would not have fit into the squirrel-sized room even if it were empty. He was waiting for them outside in a corridor which suggested a greater size to the building than the room had done.

'Excuse me, Mr Pincher,' said Mary, 'but that room really is rather small, and it looks as if your building has some larger ones. Would you be able to show us one or two of those, please?'

This seemed to make Mr Pincher nervous. 'All taken, I'm afraid,' he said.

'Look here, Pincher,' said John, 'how do you explain that ceiling height? Have you made it into two rooms, and some small chap's renting the space above?' He looked up, and saw that there was in fact a door above the room they had been in. 'Hmm... a bit inconvenient for the chap having no steps up to his door, isn't it?'

'No, no,' said Mr Pincher. 'That's just a cupboard. Not really space there for another room, and since there's ceiling height enough in there for a small fellow, I thought I'd make use of the space.'

'You've got a few cupboards like that, I notice, Mr Pincher,' said Ralph, who was peering down the corridor with a thoughtful look on his face.

'Indeed,' said Mr Pincher, 'they're very useful. Now, if you don't want the room...'

Ralph looked at him sharply. 'I haven't said I don't want the room.'

'Haven't you?' said Mr Pincher. 'But your mother and father seem... well, reluctant.'

'It's my decision,' said Ralph, 'and I haven't said anything yet.'

'Well,' said Mr Pincher sharply, 'do you want the room or not?'

Ralph studied Mr Pincher's expression. It was nervous, and he seemed to be holding his breath.

'I have a few more places to see,' said Ralph. 'I'll have to let you know.'

Mr Pincher looked peeved at this, and said nothing as the three squirrels exited the building.

Outside on the street, John turned to Ralph and said, 'What was that all about? I thought you wanted to take the room.'

'I would,' said Ralph, still looking pensive, 'if it weren't for all those cupboards.'

John stared at him. 'Eh?'

'He means it's too small, John,' said Mary, as they all began to walk home, 'and I agree with him. Taking up living space with private cupboards, indeed!'

'That's not what I mean, Mum,' said Ralph. 'Why does anyone need that many private cupboards? There could be something funny going on, like... well, for instance, there's been that spate of burglaries in Saville Row lately...'

John huffed at this. 'Jumping to conclusions. You've no evidence whatsoever against the chap. Having a lot of cupboards doesn't prove a thing.'

'Yes, I know,' said Ralph.

'I wouldn't be surprised,' said Mary. 'He was a rude, unpleasant sort of man. But you mustn't go poking around in there, Ralphie, trying to find things out. You could get into all sorts of trouble.'

'But Mum,' said Ralph, 'it's my job to go poking around and find things out!'

'You won't get lucky like that twice, my boy,' said John. 'It was just a coincidence you ended up in the path of that art thief, wasn't it? Well, you can't expect it to happen again in one lifetime.'

'I've got to come back anyway,' said Ralph, 'to have another look at the room. I really might take it, but then if the landlord's going to get locked up for fencing stolen goods or something, it might end up being more trouble than it's worth.'

'It's not worth much, son, the size of it,' said John.

'Maybe,' said Ralph. 'But I hope I'm wrong about the landlord and his cupboards, because I don't think I can afford anything better.'

When Mr Weston went into work on Monday morning, he strode past Ralph's desk without really looking at him and said, 'Here bright and early again, eh, Ralph? That's good to see.'

'Yes, Mr Weston,' Ralph said dejectedly, and Mr Weston turned to see that his shoulders were slumped and his whiskers were drooping.

'Now, what's all this?' Mr Weston said bracingly. 'You aren't your usual cheery, industrious self today, Ralph.'

'I've been flat-hunting, Mr Weston,' said Ralph, 'but I can't afford anything decent round here. There was this one place that might have been all right, but –'

'Ah! Say no more,' said Mr Weston. 'I know just the fellow for you.'

Ralph looked up. 'What d'you mean, Mr Weston?'

'I have a friend who sometimes has a room going spare,' Mr Weston explained. 'He lives nearby, and he's always happy to lodge young journalists who are just starting out for what they can afford. Even if he hasn't got a room today, we can ask him to let you know when one becomes available.'

Ralph brightened up suddenly. 'Oh, Mr Weston, thank you!'

'Don't thank me yet,' said Mr Weston. 'I'll take you along there at lunchtime if you've given me something decent for the next edition. What have you got brewing for me today, hmm?'

'Well,' said Ralph, beginning to shuffle through the papers that were scattered on his desk, 'Lady Beatrice is always happy to give me something for the society pages, and I've started doing some research on all the new public transport that's around now. But I haven't got enough for anything interesting.'

'Best forget about that one, then,' said Mr Weston. 'Give me your society rigmarole for now.'

'Yes, Mr Weston,' said Ralph, and he picked up his pen.

When lunchtime came around, Ralph and Mr Weston left the office to find Tommy, the rabbit paper boy, hanging about outside. Mr Weston eyed him suspiciously.

'What are you doing here, lad?' he asked. 'It's a long time yet before the evening edition.'

'It'd better be more interesting than the morning edition,' said Tommy, scowling. 'I hardly sold enough to break even. I can't afford nothing to eat now, Mr Weston, not if I'm to buy the next lot off you and have something to take home to me mum.'

Mr Weston looked peeved at this, but Ralph was all sympathy.

'Poor Tommy!' he said. 'I wish the morning edition had sold better. We'll have to get something really mind-blowing this afternoon, won't we, Mr Weston?'

'Yes, well...' Mr Weston looked uncomfortable. 'I'll admit, it's been a bit quiet lately.'

'You're a con man, you are!' said Tommy, and Mr Weston's demeanour changed from uncomfortable to angry. 'You know you can fill your papers with nothing but rubbish and still flog 'em to me, but what am I supposed to do when nobody wants to buy 'em?'

Mr Weston was furious. 'Now, look here –'

'It's terrible bad luck, Tommy,' Ralph said kindly. 'I'll tell you what. I'm getting my lunch after Mr Weston and I've been to see someone. If you tag along, I'll get you a bit of something to make up for not selling your papers.'

Tommy looked pleased for a moment, but then suspicious. 'What's in it for you?'

'I just don't want to see a child go hungry,' said Ralph. Then he turned back to Mr Weston, smiled politely and held out a hand to suggest they get going. 'Shall we, Mr Weston?'

Mr Weston frowned down at Tommy for a second or two, then led the way along the pavement towards the home of his generous friend.

Ralph looked happy as he stood in a clean, well-proportioned room that was furnished with a small stove, cupboards, table and chairs. Tommy was peering into one of the cupboards while Mr Weston stood by with his friend, a water vole whose face wore a friendly expression.

'And through there,' the water vole was saying, indicating a doorway to his right, 'is your bed and washstand. You'll have to get all your water from the pump outside, I'm afraid.'

Tommy had already closed the cupboard he was looking at and gone to have a nose about in the bedroom.

'Oh, Mr Suffield,' said Ralph, beaming broadly, 'it's cheap at the price without luxuries like running water. When can I move in?'

Mr Suffield chuckled at his enthusiasm. 'Why, tomorrow, if you like.'

'I will!' said Ralph. 'Thank you, Mr Suffield!'

'Hold on now, Ralph,' said Mr Weston. 'You can't possibly move all your things into this place by tomorrow. You've got work to do, don't forget.'

'I'll move in as soon as I can, anyway,' said Ralph. Then he began feeling about in his pockets. 'One month's rent in advance, wasn't it?'

'Don't you want to check the bedroom first?' asked Mr Suffield.

'Just so long as there's a bed in it, that's all I care about,' said Ralph, but he went into the room anyway, and found Tommy sitting on the edge of the bed and bouncing experimentally.

'This place is a palace!' he said, as Ralph walked in.

'It's a bit of all right, isn't it?' Ralph smilingly agreed. 'I'll just see if Mr Suffield wants me to sign something, Tommy, and then we'll go to lunch, all right?'

Tommy's eyes looked eager, but his tone was nonchalant as, sliding down from the bed, he said, 'Yeah, all right then.'

Soon enough, Ralph and Tommy were sitting at a table inside a pie shop, sharing a very large pie. Tommy was tucking in hungrily, while Ralph ate at a more conservative pace. At first, Tommy didn't seem to be particularly aware that anyone else was with him. Then suddenly, he halted in his movements, looked up and said, 'Look here... I mean... thanks for this, Mr Kent.'

'Not at all, I'm sure,' said Ralph. 'And please, call me Ralph.'

Tommy made a derisive sound, and returned to his eating. With his mouth full, he said, 'My mum'd gimme a backhander if she thought I was calling newspaper men by their first names.'

'Well,' said Ralph, 'I'm not up there with the likes of Mr Weston, Tommy. I'm only just starting out.'

Tommy stopped eating again, and narrowed his eyes across the table. 'Look here, Mr Kent. You got to find a way to sell lots of copies of every edition of the paper.'

Ralph looked remorsefully back at him. 'I'm sorry it's been a slow news week, Tommy. As soon as I find something, I'll give it to Mr Weston. We all will.'

'How hard have you been looking?' demanded Tommy.

'Oh, well... as hard as I can, Tommy.'

'No you haven't. You been sitting at that comfy desk for hours at a time, keeping your whiskers warm.'

'I'm sorry, Tommy,' Ralph said humbly. 'I'll try harder.'

'Try harder where? What have you got brewing right this minute?'

'Nothing. Well, no, not nothing. I'm working on something... but I don't think you'd find it very interesting.'

'Will it sell papers?'

'I hope so.'

'We need more sensational stuff,' said Tommy. 'Crime, scandal, that sort of thing.'

Ralph frowned at him. 'I don't report scandals, Tommy. Just malicious gossip, that's all they are. I report the news.'

'Crime, then,' said Tommy. 'We could find some this afternoon, couldn't we? You and me?'

Ralph was startled. 'You and me? This afternoon?'

'Why not? I haven't got nothing else to do 'til the evening edition comes out, and when it does, it's got to be worth my while buying it.'

'But we can't just sniff out a crime, Tommy. Although, I suppose...'

Tommy looked eagerly up at this, then his face slowly fell into a frown as Ralph's silence grew until, at last, he said sharply, 'Well?'

'I saw a chap the other day who's using more cupboards than he needs,' said Ralph. 'But it sounds silly when I say it out loud.'

Tommy cheered up at once, and laughed. 'When you say it like that, it does! But what made you think of it, eh? Why's this chap using so many cupboards? Oh, I know!' and his face lit up with excitement. 'The Saville Row burglaries!'

Ralph smiled at that. 'That was my first thought, too. But really, what are the chances?'

'No one's seen hide nor hair of that jewellery since it was taken,' said Tommy. 'They might just as well be in your bloke's cupboards as anywhere else. Or, if not, it could be something else. Like... like white slavers!'

Ralph laughed. 'I think it would have been a bit more obvious if there were people in those cupboards, Tommy.'

'All right,' said Tommy, 'maybe it's not people, but let's find out what is in there! Today. After lunch. You can take me there.'

'Well, all right,' said Ralph, 'but don't get your hopes up. I doubt we'll get anything in time for the evening edition.'

Tommy shrugged. 'Worth a try, anyway.' Then he popped the last piece of pie into his mouth and got to his feet.

Ralph soon found himself being ushered back into Mr Pincher's cramped room by the man himself. Pincher, of course, could not fit into the room, and his legs could be seen disappearing down the tall, narrow corridor as he said, 'Let me know when you've decided, Mr Kent.'

'Thank you!' Ralph called after him. Then he nipped over to the small, dusty window, lifted the sash and helped Tommy to scramble inside.

'See?' Tommy said quietly, as he dusted himself off and straightened his cap. 'No trouble at all.'

'I don't know why you couldn't just come in the front door with me,' said Ralph, looking anxiously over his shoulder.

Tommy shrugged. 'That's not how I find things out. Cor!' He was now taking in his surroundings. 'There's miles of room! Not as much as the other place, I'll grant you, but this'd do nicely for someone living on his own.'

Ralph looked uncomfortable. 'Well, given we suspect the landlord of being a criminal of some kind...'

'That's right!' Tommy suddenly seemed to remember why they were there, and looked up at the ceiling. 'And you say there's cupboards up there, not another room? Who'd waste a lot of space like that? No one, that's who. Mr Kent, this must be where the stuff from Saville Row's being hidden!'

'Hold on, Tommy,' said Ralph. 'It really is more likely to be something else, if it's anything at all.'

'Like what?' said Tommy. 'No one knows where that stuff is, do they? And no other priceless jewellery or anything's gone missing round here. And what else is all that space good for, to someone with no kids? So, it stands to reason there must be piles of gold and diamonds and stuff!'

'Tommy,' said Ralph, 'there's any number of things it might be! Like stolen goods from further away, or some sort of black market, or illegal opium, or it might not even be –'

'I'll find out,' said Tommy, suddenly ducking out of the room as footsteps sounded somewhere outside. Moments later, Mr Pincher was crouching down in the doorway, peering in at Ralph, now alone and confused.

'Now then, Mr Kent,' said Pincher. 'Have you decided to take the room yet?'

'I haven't really quite decided to take it yet, Mr Pincher, no,' said Ralph, going to join him in the corridor. 'The truth is, I've been wondering why we can't have a bit more ceiling height in there. It seems like you've got more cupboard space than room space. People'd probably pay quite a bit more, if you gave them an upstairs.'

Mr Pincher snarled a little at that. 'How I use my space is none of your concern, Mr Kent.'

'No, I suppose it isn't,' said Ralph, 'as I've decided not to take the room. I might, you know, if I could have a bit more space. And you could rent them out to bigger people, too... increase your market to dogs and cats and deer and people like that.'

'My smaller tenants find my rooms a relief from the outside world, which is built for larger people,' said Mr Pincher. 'If you are not such a one, Mr Kent, you have no need to be here any longer. Come, I shall escort you from the premises.'

'Very kind, I'm sure,' said Ralph, smiling politely as he followed Mr Pincher down the corridor. 'Thank you for showing me the room again, Mr Pincher.'

'Not at all,' said Mr Pincher insincerely.

'I still think it makes good business sense to rent out that space,' said Ralph, looking anxiously around for Tommy as he chattered away behind Mr Pincher. 'I reckon you ought to think about it, but in the meantime, if I come across anyone looking for a very small room, I'll be sure to recommend this place to them. If you wanted to advertise, might I recommend the Chronicle newspaper? The office isn't far from here, you know. Well, none of the newspaper offices are, of course, but you know me now. You could just pop along to Fleet Street and ask for – Tommy!'

'Who?' said Mr Pincher.

'Me,' said Tommy, who was leaning against the front door frame, his hands held casually in his pockets and one leg crossed in front of the other. He was looking up at Mr Pincher with a strange expression on his face.

Mr Pincher bristled at the sight of him. 'Who are you? How did you get in here?'

'I have me ways,' said Tommy, looking up at Mr Pincher with penetrating eyes that belied his casual stance. 'And I have a feeling I'm not the only one.'

Mr Pincher glared down at Tommy, and Ralph stared at him in puzzled astonishment.

'One or two of my older brothers could do with a room of their own,' Tommy went on, still looking steadily at Mr Pincher, and sounding like he meant something other than what he was saying. 'I might come back here some time and... have another look round.'

'Oh, you will, will you?' said Mr Pincher, eyeing Tommy warily. 'Well, be sure you talk to me about it before anybody else, won't you? No need to bother about the, er... Chronicle or anything like that... for advertisements,' he added, turning a strange look onto Ralph.

'Right you are,' said Tommy. 'I think we understand each other.'

'Yes, well,' said Ralph, whose discomfort was obviously increasing, 'we'd better be getting to work, Tommy. Goodbye, Mr Pincher, and thank you again.'

With that, Ralph hustled Tommy out of the front door, which was slammed so quickly and firmly behind him that it almost took the fur off his heels. They walked several steps away from the building, Tommy with a peculiar, distant look on his face, and Ralph looking concerned.

'What was all that about, Tommy?' he asked.

'All what about?' Tommy asked innocently.

'Well, all that... that!' Ralph looked expectantly at Tommy for a moment, got nothing, and so changed tack. 'Did you get anything we could use for the paper?'

'I'm not sure,' said Tommy.

'Now, Tommy,' Ralph said sternly, 'there's something funny going on here.'

'There's something funny going on most places in London.'

'Well, just suppose there are. You wanted to find them out for the paper, didn't you? So's more people would want to buy it.'

'Yeah,' muttered Tommy, thrusting his hands into his pockets and frowning down at his feet as they dragged along the pavement. 'That is why I came here. But one story's only worth one edition of the paper, isn't it?'

'Not necessarily,' said Ralph. 'If it's something big, there might be one or two or even three follow-up stories.'

Tommy gave a mirthless laugh. 'One or two or three follow-up stories. Six kids. It don't add up, Mr Kent, does it?'

'Tommy,' said Ralph, coming to a stop and putting a hand on Tommy's shoulder, so that he stopped as well. 'Can I tell you something? I like you, and I want you to be my friend.'

Tommy frowned at him. 'You what?'

'And I don't want to see you getting into any trouble,' Ralph went on. 'Selling newspapers is good, honest work, you know.'

'I know,' said Tommy. 'It's not the selling that gives me trouble; it's the buying.'

'The Chronicle normally sells all right, doesn't it, Tommy?'

'Pretty much, yeah. But this isn't the first slow news day it's had.'

'If you ever want to have lunch with me again,' said Ralph, 'just ask, all right? I enjoyed having you with me today.'

'Oh,' mumbled Tommy. 'Well, that's... that's nice. Look here,' he went on more loudly, 'you'd better get going, hadn't you? You won't half cop it for being out so long and not even getting a story.'

'Is there really no story here, Tommy?' Ralph asked gently.

Tommy looked away. 'Well, I don't know, do I?'

'Anyway, you're right,' said Ralph, suddenly brisk. 'I have to get back to the office. Are you coming with me?'

'No point yet, is there?' said Tommy. 'I'll be there for the evening edition.'

'All right,' said Ralph, setting off again reluctantly while Tommy stayed where he was. 'I'll see you later, then.'

'Bye,' said Tommy, and then he stood there, watching Ralph walk away until he became just another one of the crowd.