In his panic the boy had stopped sucking his thumb, but now he obediently did as he was told. No sooner was the thumb in when the back door was flung violently open, and before Jack and Mary could even blink, a wild-eyed figure in crimson trousers leaped in brandishing a giant pair of gold scissors. With expert precision the tips of the scissors closed around Conrad’s thumb, and the Scissor-man would doubtless have snipped it off and been gone again in a flash if Jack hadn’t shouted, “HOLD IT!”

The Scissor-man froze. His bloodshot eyes darted toward Jack with a mixture of fear and insanity. He looked gaunt and pale, with an untidy shock of nicotine-stained hair; a tailor’s tape measure hung from the pocket of his bottle green jacket.

“DCI Spratt,” continued Jack as he held up his ID, “Nursery Crime Division. You’re under arrest. Step away from the thumb.”

The Scissor-man glared at Jack, then at the thumb, then at Mary. His eyes twitched, and his long, bony fingers clasped the outsize scissors even more firmly. Jack could see that the tips of the scissors were clasped around Conrad’s thumb; the flesh was white where the blades held it tight. Even the slightest pressure would take it off.

“I’m not kidding,” said Jack slowly in his best authoritarian voice. “Drop the scissors. We can plea-bargain this down to possession of an offensive weapon.”

“Snip!” snarled the Scissor-man, a wild grin on his lips revealing several rotten teeth. “Snip-snap! The thumbs are off—alas, alack!”

He tensed, ready to cut.