Their next journey was to Munich, but the night before they left Paris
an unexpected thing happened.
To reach the narrow staircase which led to their bedroom it was
necessary to pass through the baker's shop itself.
The baker's wife was a friendly woman who liked the two boy lodgers who
were so quiet and gave no trouble. More than once she had given them a
hot roll or so or a freshly baked little tartlet with fruit in the
center. When Marco came in this evening, she greeted him with a nod and
handed him a small parcel as he passed through.
"This was left for you this afternoon," she said. "I see you are making
purchases for your journey. My man and I are very sorry you are going."
"Thank you, Madame. We also are sorry," Marco answered, taking the
parcel. "They are not large purchases, you see."
But neither he nor The Rat had bought anything at all, though the
ordinary-looking little package was plainly addressed to him and bore
the name of one of the big cheap shops. It felt as if it contained
something soft.
When he reached their bedroom, The Rat was gazing out of the window
watching every living thing which passed in the street below. He who had
never seen anything but London was absorbed by the spell of Paris and
was learning it by heart.
"Something has been sent to us. Look at this," said Marco.