"Social workers first," he agreed, then looked at us with a glint in his eye. "Of course, if you gave them a hard time, we'd have to call in the police next, and who knows where it would end."
I took that information on board, nodded grimly, then faced Mr. Crepsley. "You know what this means, don't you?" He stared back uncertainly. "You'll have to start making packed lunches for me!"
CHAPTER THREE
"MEDDLING, SMUG, stupid little…" Mr. Crepsley snarled. He was pacing the hotel room, cursing the name of Mr. Blaws. The school inspector had left and Harkat had rejoined us. He'd heard everything through the thin connecting door, but could make no more sense of it than us. "I will track him down tonight and bleed him dry," Mr. Crepsley vowed. "That will teach him not to come poking his nose in!"
"Talk like that won't fix this," I sighed. "We have to use our heads."
"Who says it is talk?" Mr. Crepsley retorted. "He gave us his telephone number in case we need to contact him. I will find his address and—"
"It's a mobile phone," I sighed. "You can't trace addresses through them. Besides, what good would killing him do? Somebody else would replace him. Our records are on file. He's only the messenger."
"We could move," Harkat suggested. "Find a new hotel."
"No," Mr. Crepsley said. "He has seen our faces and would broadcast our descriptions. It would make matters more complicated than they already are."
"What I want to know is how our records were submitted," I said. "The signatures on the files weren't ours, but they were pretty damn close."
"I know," he grunted. "Not a great forgery, but adequate."
"Is it possible there's been… a mix-up?" Harkat asked. "Perhaps a real Vur Horston and his son… sent in the forms, and you've been confused with them."