A mier the car came to a silent halt outside a public library. The old man held open the door on his side, so that Lyra had to climb past his ko get out. There was a lot of space, but somehow it was awkward, and she didnt want to touch him, nice as he was.
"Dont fet your rucksack," he said, handing it to her.
"Thank you," she said.
"Ill see you again, I hope, Lizzie," he said. "Give my regards to your friend."
"Good-bye," she said, and lingered on the pavement till the car had turhe er and go of sight before she set off toward the horrees. She had a feeling about that palehaired man, and she wao ask the alethiometer.
Will was reading his fathers letters agai oerrace hearing the distant shouts of children diving off the harbor mouth, ahe clear handwriting on the flimsy airmail sheets, trying to picture the man whod pe, and looking again and again at the refereo the baby, to himself.
He heard Lyras running footsteps from some way off. He put the letters in his pocket and stood up, and almost at once Lyra was there, wild-eyed, with Pantalaimon a snarling savage wildcat, too distraught to hide. She who seldom cried was sobbing with rage; her chest was heaving, her teeth were grinding, and she flung herself at him, clutg his arms, and cried, "Kill him! Kill him! I want him dead! I wish lorek was here! Oh, Will, I done wrong, Im so sorry—"
"What? Whats the matter?"
"That old ma nothing but a low thief. He stole it, Will! He stole my alethiometer! That stinky old man with his rich clothes and his servant driving the car. Oh, I done such wrong things this m—oh, I—"
And she sobbed so passionately he thought that hearts really did break, and hers was breaking now, for she fell to the ground wailing and shuddering, and Pantalaimon beside her became a wolf and howled with bitter grief.
Far off across the water, children stopped what they were doing and shaded their eyes to see. Will sat down beside Lyra and shook her shoulder.
"Stop! St!" he said. "Tell me from the beginning. What old man? What happened?"
"Yoing to be so angry. I promised I wouldnt give you away, I promised it, and then ..." she sobbed, and Pantalaimon became a young clumsy dog with lowered ears and wagging tail, squirming with self-abasement; and Will uood that Lyra had done something that she was too ashamed to tell him about, and he spoke to the daemon.
"What happened? Just tell me," he said.
Pantalaimon said, "We went to the Scholar, and there was someone else there—a man and a woman—and they tricked us. They asked a lot of questions and then they asked about you, and before we could stop we gave it away that we knew you, and then we ran away—"
Lyra was hiding her fa her hands, pressing her head down against the pavement. Pantalaimon was flickering from shape to shape in his agitation: dog, bird, cat, snow-white ermine.
"What did the man look like?" said Will.
"Big," said Lyras muffled voice, "and ever s, and pale eyes ..."
"Did he see you e back through the window?"
"No, but..."
"Well, he wont know where we are, then."
"But the alethiometer!" she cried, and she sat up fiercely, her face rigid with emotion, like a Greek mask.
"Yeah," said Will. Tell me about that"
Between sobs ah grindings she told him what had happened: how the old man had seen her using the alethiometer in the museum the day before, and how hed stopped the car today and