The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Disappearing Detective (6 page)

“What they do that for?” Shiner asked indignantly. “I thought they liked you.”

“The Great Gandini don’t. It was him what got me chucked out.”

“The great what? Who’s he when he’s at home?”

“Gandini – magician magnificent, escapologist extraordinaire.”

“Blimey! That’s a bit of a mouthful, ain’t it? What’s it mean? Esca-what-you-call-it?”

“Escapologist. Means he escapes.”

“Like from prison, you mean? He’s an escaped convict?”

“No,” Sparrow replied scornfully. “He gets out of handcuffs and chains and locked boxes and things.”

“Oh.” Shiner was disappointed. An escaped criminal would have been exciting. “So what happened?”

“He caught me lookin’ at his props.”

“His what?”

“Props. Things what artistes use on stage, in their acts.”

“To prop ’em up, so they don’t fall down?” Shiner grinned at the picture this conjured up in his mind.

“No, stupid. It’s short for ‘properties’.”

“And what’s that mean?”

“How should I know? It’s just what they’re called. You gonna listen now? This is important.”

Sparrow sat up. He had stopped crying as he remembered what he had discovered. His eyes, though still red, were bright with excitement as he described Gandini’s escape from the locked chest. To his surprise, however, Shiner was not impressed.

“You mean it was all a trick?” he asked.

Sparrow sighed impatiently. “Course it was a trick, you dummy!” he almost shouted at Shiner. “It’s all a trick. He ain’t even Italian, he just pretends to be.”

“Who you callin’ a dummy?” Shiner snapped, mightily offended.

“You, of course,” Sparrow snapped back. “Can’t you see what I’m tellin’ you?”

“What?”

“I know how it works!” Sparrow crowed triumphantly.

Shiner stared at him dully. “What good’s that?” he asked. “All that’s done is get you the sack.”

Sparrow let out a cry of exasperation and beat one hand against his forehead. “I’m talkin’ about the mystery door, you dope. I reckon it works just like Gandini’s trick chest. I know how to open it!” And he went on to describe exactly how the trick chest worked.

Shiner found it hard to understand – which was not really surprising, since Sparrow’s explanation was rather garbled. But, being Shiner, there was no way he would admit this. “Garn!” he scoffed. “You’re makin’ it all up.”

“I ain’t!”

“You’re makin’ it all up, so you can look clever.”

“You callin’ me a fibber?”

“We all know how you likes tellin’ tall tales.”

This was perfectly true: Sparrow did like a good story, and he was not above spicing up his tales to make them more exciting. But this time he did not need to, and he was very upset when Shiner refused to believe him. The disagreement became a quarrel and the quarrel became more and more heated, until Sparrow could stand it no longer and stormed out into the night.

“I’ll show you!” he hurled back over his shoulder. “You’ll be sorry!”

Shiner shrugged, and went to bed. Before long he was fast asleep.

The night seemed darker than usual as Sparrow made his way along the street. The shadows between the pools of light cast by the gas lamps were deep black. Anyone, or anything, could be hiding in them. But Sparrow was a boy with a mission. He swallowed hard and hurried on, until he reached the entrance of the alleyway leading to the iron door. His eyes were becoming used to the dim light, but the alley itself was even darker and gloomier than the street. He wished he had had the sense to bring the bull’s-eye lantern that Wiggins kept at HQ, but he couldn’t go back for it now.

Sparrow took a deep breath and started walking down the alley, feeling his way cautiously. But just before he reached the bend where it turned to the right, he heard a sound from the alleyway ahead of him, the dull clang of the metal door being closed. It was followed by voices, speaking very low. Sparrow looked around desperately, but there was nowhere to hide. Suddenly the men came into view round the corner, lighting their way with a bull’s-eye lantern of their own. There were two of them – one middle-aged, the other much younger. Both were short and wiry, and both wore dark suits, flat cloth caps and white silk scarves knotted around their necks.

The light picked up Sparrow as he turned to run.

“Hey, you!” the older man called, and then stopped. “Ah, sure and it’s only a kid.”

“Yeah,” his companion replied. “Just some little ragamuffin.”

“Get outta here, kid!” the first man shouted. “And don’t come back. There’s nuttin’ for youse down here.”

The voices sounded Irish, or American – Sparrow was not sure which. But he didn’t stay to find out. Once in the street, he dived into the first doorway for cover. From there, he watched the two men emerge from the alley and look furtively around before moving off.

Now Sparrow was faced with a quandary: should he follow the men and find out where they were going? Or should he take advantage of the fact that they had left, and try his luck with the door? He was eager to test the lock, but he might learn more of what they were up to if he followed them. He decided to follow them, dodging from doorway to doorway so as not to be seen.

He did not have far to go. After only a few hundred yards, they stopped and entered a pub, and when Sparrow peeped through the window he saw the two men buying large glasses of ale at the bar and then settling themselves down in a corner. They looked as though they intended to stay there for some time. Sparrow thought fast. Now was his chance. He turned and hurried back to the alley.

It was so dark at the far end of the alley, cut off from even the tiniest glimmer of light from the street, that Sparrow only found the door by feeling for it with his arms stretched out like a blind man. Once again, he cursed himself for not thinking to bring a lantern. He moved his hands over the cold, rough surface of the door, trying to make out the padlock and bolts, and the hinges. It was impossible, and he could have cried with frustration. But then he felt something scrunch under his feet, and as he moved there was a sharp fizzing sound, and a familiar smell. Could it be? Hardly daring to hope, Sparrow bent down and felt along the ground. Yes! It could. Matches! The matches that Sherlock Holmes had dropped! He gathered a handful, stood up and struck one against the rough wall. It burst into flame, allowing him to see the door quite clearly.

Sparrow needed three matches before he finally managed to work out how the lock worked, trying to remember exactly what he had seen at the theatre. But suddenly he had done it. Sparrow swung the door open, then nervously stepped inside.

He found himself in a large storeroom, dimly lit by two oil lamps that the men had left burning but turned down low. Along the far wall, there was a workbench scattered with tools and odd pieces of equipment. To one side stood two camp beds, covered with rumpled blankets, showing they had been slept in, and a bulging carpet-bag. A square kitchen table was littered with used mugs, glasses, bottles, plates and cutlery. There were two wooden packing cases pushed against the opposite wall, one large and the other smaller. A large cabin trunk with a rounded lid stood on its end in the centre of the room, looking as though it was ready for a journey.

Sparrow did not know what he was searching for, but he poked around the room, hoping to spot a clue. He wished Wiggins were there – he would know exactly what to look for. Perhaps whatever was in the packing cases would give him an idea. But when he lifted the lid of the first one, it turned out to be empty, apart from a heap of wood shavings. The other contained a mixture of odds and ends, including a box filled with cardboard tubes and coils of what looked like thick string. Sparrow moved on to the cabin trunk, which had labels pasted on it picturing an ocean liner and the name “White Star Line”. This was more like it. Sparrow began to examine the trunk more carefully. Curiously, it had a number of small holes drilled in the lid.

Suddenly he heard something that made him freeze with fright. It was the sound of breathing. Steady breathing, like someone in a deep sleep. And it was coming from inside the trunk. With trembling fingers, Sparrow started to unfasten the big brass catch to open the lid, when he heard something that scared him even more: the sound of the iron door opening. He looked around desperately. Where could he hide? Remembering the wooden packing cases, Sparrow rushed across the room, pulled open the larger one and climbed in, sliding the lid over the top of him.

Sparrow had barely closed the lid when he heard someone entering the room. The gaps between the boards of the packing case were just wide enough to let air in, but too small to let him see out. It sounded as though there was only one person, moving quietly about. Sparrow thought he heard the catch on the trunk being snapped undone, followed by a slight creak that could have been the lid opening. And then a low, sinister chuckle, so evil it made his skin prickle. A moment later, he heard the unmistakable sound of a cork being pulled out of a bottle, and a sickly sweet smell reached his nostrils, making him feel quite woozy. He fought off the feeling. If he should go to sleep, he might miss something – or he might snore and give himself away, which would be even worse.

The unseen man laughed again. “Enjoy your sleep, my friend,” Sparrow heard him murmur. “It will be your last.”

Sparrow heard the trunk being closed, and then, to his horror, he heard the man’s footsteps approaching his packing case. Sparrow waited in terror for the lid to be opened. His heart was thumping so loudly he was sure it would give him away. But instead of opening the packing case, the man sat down on it, using it as a seat.

After that, there was silence for what seemed to Sparrow like a very long time. Eventually, however, he heard the scraping of the bolts on the iron door, and then the voices of the two men. They stopped abruptly.

“Professor!” one of the men said nervously. “You’re early.”

The response came as a venomous hiss. “Where have you been?”

“Er, we went to get refreshments,” the man stammered.

“That’s right,” the second man added. “We needed refreshments, your honour.”

“You left him alone!”

“Sure, and he’s not goin’ nowheres,” the first man replied.

The man they had called Professor spoke with cold anger. “You fools!” he spat. “Do you not realize with whom you are dealing?”

“Now then, Professor,” the second man said, soothingly. “There’s no harm done, to be sure. He’s still here, is he not? And everything’s ready.”

“Everything?” the Professor asked.

“Everything. All prepared and ready to go for our meeting with the widow. Come see for yourself.”

The packing case creaked as the Professor stood up. The three men moved away to the far corner of the room, and Sparrow found it hard to hear what they were saying, as they talked to each other in low voices. He could only catch the occasional word or phrase, as the Professor gave what were obviously instructions to the two men. There was something about a train, and then a boat. Sparrow could not make out exactly what, but he did hear him say, quite clearly, “over the water”.

Straining to listen, Sparrow tried to twist himself round to press one ear against the side of the case. As he did so, the muscles of his left leg, which was screwed up beneath him, suddenly cramped. The pain was excruciating. He wanted to scream, to straighten up and stretch the leg, but somehow he managed to control himself, clenching his teeth really hard and holding his breath until the cramp gradually eased. The men were still talking. Sparrow did not know how much he had missed, but he heard one of them say something about a grand opening going with a bang, which made the other men chortle. Then he heard the Professor’s voice, quiet but full of menace, saying “utter disgrace … the end of Mr Sherlock Holmes”. This was followed by a particularly nasty laugh.

After a short pause, the Professor announced, “It’s time to go. Anything you need, take it now. There’ll be no coming back to this place after tomorrow.”

Sparrow heard the noise of things being dragged across the floor. The packing case shook, as something was dumped on top of it. There was a dull rumble, as a heavy weight was wheeled away. And then the iron door clanged shut and all was quiet.

In the silence, Sparrow could hear a loud ticking, like a clock, just above his head. He rubbed the leg that had had cramp, which was still sore. He needed to stand up and stretch it, before the cramp came back again. But even more than that, he needed to get out and run to find Wiggins and the others, to tell them what he’d heard.

Sparrow pushed on the lid. It wouldn’t open. He tried again. It was impossible. Whatever had been put on top of the packing case was too heavy. The ticking above his head seemed to get louder and louder. He was trapped – and nobody knew where he was.

The Great Gandini towered over Sparrow, his face contorted in fury.
“I’ll teach you to keep your nose out of my business,” he snarled. He wrapped a chain round the helpless boy, pinioning his arms tightly to his side, and fastened it with a huge padlock. Sparrow suddenly noticed that the magician had grown taller, and was wearing a wide-brimmed black hat and a heavy coat with a curly fur collar. He was now, Sparrow realized, the big man they had been trailing earlier. Another man stood behind him, laughing coldly. Sparrow could not see his face, but he knew that it was the evil Professor.