Then began the story-telling, the moment that Borribles love above all others. They wanted to know who had done what and how, and in what order, and to whom. Bingo wanted to know what had happened to Vulge, Vulge wanted to know what had happened to Torreycanyon, and Torreycanyon wanted to know how Chalotte and Sydney had fared. Napoleon told his story to Orococco, and Orococco told his story to Knocker, and Knocker's voice trembled as he recounted, almost as a penance, how Adolf had opened the safe. And there were tears in their eyes and lumps in their throats as they remembered the German and his mad, jolly voice and the way he had hooted at them. No one said anything to Knocker directly but there were looks and silences during the story of the safe and Knocker looked at the ground between his feet.

But the stories went on and past quarrels began to be forgotten because the Borribles looked at each other and realised how lucky they were to be alive. Never had Borribles had such an adventure and they even began to chuckle a little at their exaggerations, because exaggeration is an essential part of name-winning storytelling.

They were still talking when Napoleon suddenly stood up. "I can hear a Wendle scouting us from the other side of the river," he said.

Napoleon told them to switch off their torches and he went to the railings that bordered the river. He whistled softly, a slight variation on the normal Borrible whistle, and he was answered within two seconds. The others then heard him in conversation with a voice across the river.

"I'm going across," he announced when he returned. "Got to see Flinthead. You're to wait here; better get some sleep. You're quite safe, there's night patrols of Wendles all around. I'll be back before dawn. Be ready to leave. Don't try to go anywhere. You know they, we, don't like that." Then without a word of goodbye he turned his back and disappeared into the night.

"He's a funny bloke," said Bingo, "you never know where you are with him; nice and friendly one minute, saving your life and fighting with you, and then all of a sudden as cold and as straitlaced as the North Pole."

"I think," said Knocker with a worried expression, and looking at his box, "that he's just remembering he's a Wendle after all."

Napoleon came back as promised just before dawn and the others rolled over in their sleeping bags and, without getting up, looked at him. The tall shapes of the buildings on the far side of the Wandle were dark against the sky. Napoleon was just a darker shape. They couldn't see his eyes or his expression; only his voice told them that he was tense and tired.

"We're to stay here until it is nearly light," he began, "then I am to lead you across the Wandle, along the bank and then underground. We can rest, as we did before, for as long as we like, Flinthead said, and then they'll take us to where they've hidden the boat. Then we can go—you can go—as long as we tell our stories, all of them."

"What," said Knocker, asking the question that was in everybody's mind, "about the money?"

Napoleon hesitated, then he said, "Flinthead didn't mention it, nor did I," and he went over to his sleeping-bag, unrolled it and slipped inside.

There was quiet for a long while. The sky lightened. Knocker got up stiffly and went and sat by Napoleon. After a while he touched the Wendle gently on the shoulder. He could see Napoleon's eyes now, they were open and staring at the sky.

"Flinthead said nothing about the money, eh?" he said.

Napoleon blinked and said, "That's right. I didn't tell him about it, did I?" and he tried to roll over on his shoulder but Knocker stopped him.

Bingo came over and joined them. Since the Battersea Borrible had saved Napoleon's life and escaped with him from the Library he had got closer to the Wendle than any of the others, and he wanted to get between Knocker and Napoleon if trouble started. Knocker spoke again, low and even, and everyone listened. "I don't believe you. I think that we ought to go home some other way.

The silence deepened a notch or two. Napoleon sat up brusquely and grasped Knocker's arm.

"I've told you—you've got no bloody option," he said, between his teeth. "You're stuck, all of you, there's Wendles all round. There's only one way out, and that's down the Wandle, the way we came."

Knocker was not put off. The others waited for the outcome, holding their breath.

"When you say you," he said to Napoleon, "does that include you in or out?"

Napoleon did not answer. A great struggle was going on in his mind and he could not speak while it continued. Lights came on in the building opposite and the sky was grey now. Soon they would have to make a move, one way or the other.

"Tell us what really happened," insisted Knocker. "Come on, straight up."

"You owe us the truth," said Bingo.

Napoleon got up and stepped over to the railings and looked at the surface of the Wandle as it floated by under its quilt of rubbish. Bingo thought for a second that the Wendle was going to run away.

At last Napoleon turned and spoke to them all, in a low voice so he wouldn't be overheard beyond the group. His words came all in a rush.

"I am telling the truth. I know you do not trust Flinthead, Halfabar or Tron, or even me," he began. "I know you do not like the Wendles, even though they are Borribles like yourselves, but remember the threat we have always lived under. I swear that Flinthead will ask only to hear your stories, will see that you get rest and food. He will take nothing from you, he is proud of us. After all, he's out of danger from the Rumbles for years to come. He told me how . . . how grateful he was . . . really."

There was silence and the others watched as Bingo walked over to the box and said, "Wish we'd never set eyes on the thing. Been a good Adventure apart from that."

Knocker spat. "My job is to take the box back and I'll do it even if I die."

"Even if we all die," said Chalotte.

"The trick," said Torreycanyon, "is to get it back without dying."

"They won't take it from us," insisted Napoleon. "They will wait to get their share. I'll be coming back to Battersea with you so that I can bring the Wendle share back to Wandsworth."

"It's only fair to share it out amongst everybody," said Chalotte. "I'm sure they'll see that."

"Yes," agreed Vulge. "They won't attack us, Napoleon is right. It would be Borrible against Borrible."

"It's happened before," said Orococco. "I'm for fair shares, let's hope we get them."

Napoleon raised his head. The blood had gone from his face and there were mauve patches under his eyes. He shook his head sadly at them. "If they wanted to take it, they would have taken it already—but you won't listen. They don't want it. Everything will be all right."

Napoleon's companions recognised the force of his argument, but they had been made uneasy by the discussion and looked about cautiously. There was not a Wendle to be seen.

"Come on," said Chalotte, forcing a laugh, "have we journeyed so far and survived so much that we are now going to jump at shadows?"

The others agreed with her but Knocker shook his head and quoted a dark proverb. " 'The shadow cast by a Wendle is twice as long as his body'," and he stared hard at Napoleon and tried to read the truth in the Wendle's eyes, but Napoleon's eyes wandered and looked elsewhere.

"We shall have to move soon," said the Wendle. "I can hear the early buses in the streets and it is nearly daylight."

Within a few minutes they were ready and they filed past Sam to give him a last pat and a stroke. They were subdued by the uncertainty that lay before them, by the sadness that lay behind them, and they hated themselves for deserting the horse who had helped them through so many dangers. Sydney was the last to squeeze through the gap in the railings. She had lingered to gather a handful of fresh grass for Sam, she wanted to wish him farewell alone.

"Goodbye, old Sam," she said, and she felt very mournful. "We can't take you any further because of the river, but I tell you, Sam, if I ever get out alive on the other side I'll find out where you are and I'll come back, however far it is, and I'll steal you away one night and you'll come back with me and you won't work again, Sam, ever."

When she had gone Sam ambled over to the railings and stuck his head over to watch the tiny figures marching along the towpath towards the dark and semi-circular hole where the Wandle disappeared under the streets of Wandsworth.

Napoleon led the way but his step was not springy or light. He looked unhappy, not at all like a Borrible returning home covered in glory.

Knocker and Torreycanyon followed along with the box and the others came behind them. They were still in a bad condition despite their night's rest and their appearance would no doubt give the Wendles more cause for derision than sympathy.

The silence along the towpath was uncanny and they saw not a soul, at least to begin with. It was only when they glanced over their shoulders that they saw how the path had become crowded with heavily armed warriors who had materialized from the very bankside. Across the river they could see more Wendles rising mysteriously from the mud to stand watching as the Borribles marched by.

Bingo, who felt that his companions were allowing themselves to be over-awed by the Wendles, raised his voice in song and that London voice, bright and defiant, rang out over the river.