The Firebird Mystery (6 page)

A writing pad lay on one of the lower shelves. None of them had noticed it before because of the gloom.

Mr Doyle picked up the pad. ‘I think we need to examine this properly.'

They exited to the main parlour. Mr Doyle held the first page up to the light and threw on his goggles. He activated the magnification switch. ‘I can make out some impressions. They appear to be an address, a date and a time. Scarlet, could you assist me?'

‘Of course.'

Mr Doyle continued to peer at the page. ‘A pencil should bring out the impression on this piece of stationery.'

Scarlet sneezed.

‘Bless you, my dear,' Mr Doyle said.

‘It's turned right cold,' Jack said.

‘It has rather, hasn't it?' Mr Doyle said. ‘Is the front door open?'

They turned to see a figure in the doorway. He wore a long ebony cloak with a high-backed collar that shielded most of his face. The rest of his clothing was unremarkable: black pants, white shirt and red vest, a charcoal slouch hat pulled low across his brow. Only upon closer examination did Jack realise he was not looking at a human face but at a porcelain mask.

CHAPTER SIX

The mask was perfect in every detail. It was not a handsome face. Nor was it ugly. It had a plain nose. The lips were ordinary. At a glance, it looked like any other face on the street. Slits in the porcelain would allow sight and speech, but the mask would have allowed the wearer to blend with any crowd. He was hidden in plain sight.

‘Give me that!' he said.

The man had a gravel voice. He did not wait for a reply. Instead, he moved like lightning, crashing into Mr Doyle and grabbing the page. The detective fell to the floor as the assailant turned and ran.

‘The paper!' Mr Doyle yelled. ‘We must not lose it!'

Jack gave chase. The assailant headed down the stairs two and three at a time. Jack matched him step for step.

He's so fast
, he marvelled. The man moved like an athlete as he reached the bottom and sprinted towards the street.

Outside, Jack saw the thief moving at great speed. The storm had now broken and the rain fell in a mighty downpour. Jack splashed through enormous puddles, spraying water in all directions. The man raced through a tunnel ahead. An old drunk wandering in the opposite direction got in his way and the thief gave him a shove, sending him flying.

Jack willed himself to run faster. The thief had assaulted Mr Doyle and the detective had been so kind. Now he had to repay that kindness.

The thief raced up a set of stairs. Jack followed him. The stairs led up to a railway platform. The thief pushed his way through a crowd recently disembarked from a train. A whistle sounded up and down the platform.

No! The train was due to depart!

Jack would not make it through the gate in time. He only had one chance. Building up speed, he sprinted towards the metal railing. With a single leap, he pulled himself over the top and landed lightly on the other side, just as the automatic steam-powered doors of the locomotive slid shut.

Blooming hell!

A station attendant yelled at him, but Jack ignored him as he ran towards the train. It was a Vincent 700 locomotive, a new class that could carry up to a thousand passengers. Steam and smoke billowed out from underneath as it started to pull away from the station. Jack raced to the nearest set of sliding doors.

Landing on the narrow ledge, he pulled hard at one of the handles and the door drew back a few inches. It shut again—steam pistons and cogs were designed to keep the doors closed during transit. He pulled back on the handle with all his might and this time it opened enough for him to push his shoulder into the gap.

Open up!

Calloused fingers gripped the edge of the door. ‘What're you up to, mate?'

A big factory worker, clad in blackened overalls and a cap, jerked the door open, allowing Jack to spill into the vestibule. ‘In a bit of an 'urry?'

‘Yes. Thanks.'

Breathing hard from the chase, Jack stumbled past the man and peered down the aisle. He was in second class. Rows of brass-trimmed timber seats, decorated in blue-and-red floral upholstery, faced each other all the way down the carriage. His heart pounding, Jack navigated the aisle.

What would he do when he saw the man? Grab him? Try to wrestle him to the floor? What a ridiculous idea. Maybe he could cause a ruckus. Tell everyone about the theft and start yelling for someone to call a constable. Jack swallowed hard. Would they believe a kid, or would they think he was crazy?

A door slammed shut behind him.

Jack spun around. The thief stood at the far end of the carriage. His blank face communicated nothing, but seeing Jack he took a step back.

Do something
, Jack told himself.

But instead of launching into some sort of daring plan that would bring the villain down, Jack found himself gazing dumbly at the man. An instant later the thief turned and disappeared.

Bazookas!
Jack cursed himself.
I'm an idiot!

Jack raced after him. A woman started to rise from her seat and Jack tumbled into her.

‘Sorry,' he grunted.

‘Excuse me!'

Jack hurried on. He reached the end, slid the door across and stepped onto the open walkway leading to the next carriage. The path, made from metal planks, swayed as the locomotive screamed along the track. Jack gripped the chain-link handrail on both sides for balance as he crossed. He stumbled into the vestibule of the next carriage just as the thief disappeared through the far door.

Too late. Again.

Jack sprinted down the aisle, surprised faces staring after him. He was halfway across the swaying gangway leading to the next carriage when the door opposite him flew open. A fist appeared out of nowhere and slammed into his eye. Jack cried out, dazed, and fell against the chain handrail. His assailant grabbed the seat of his pants.

‘No!' he screamed. But the rattling of the steam engine swallowed his cry as he was tipped headfirst over the edge.

He grabbed blindly. One hand caught the base of the metal bridge as his assailant escaped, banging the carriage door behind him. Jack brought his knees up to his chin. As he reached up with his other hand, he began to slip.

No!

His other hand grabbed the gangway and for a long moment nothing else existed—not the chuffing of the engine, not even the thunderous rattling as the train charged along the tracks at full pace.

I will hold on
, he thought.
I will not fall. I will be all right.

His head may have believed it, but his heart was still pounding so hard it felt ready to burst from his chest. He glanced upwards. His hands were secure. Jack judged the distance to the swaying handrail and reached up with his free hand. When he knew his grip was steady, he pulled himself back onto the metal gangway.

He was alive. But he had forgotten how to breathe. Now he sucked in lungfuls of air as his legs threatened to collapse under him. He thanked his parents, wherever they were.

‘Practise, practise, practise,' his father had told him. ‘One day it will save your life.'

Today was that day.

Jack slid the door open. His legs were still shaking as if he was staggering about on stilts, but he was more determined than ever to catch the assailant. Looking across the rows of timber seats, Jack spotted the man, sitting alone in the seat furthest away, the porcelain face effectively hiding his identity. He was staring straight ahead into space, seemingly contemplating his cleverness at throwing a fourteen-year-old boy under the wheels of a moving train. As Jack entered the carriage, the man's head jerked backwards with shock.

That's right
, Jack thought.
I don't die that easily.

The man leapt to his feet, turned tail and exited through the end door. As Jack started down the aisle, another train drew parallel. Jack heard the faraway grinding of cogs as an exterior door was forced open.

A terrible suspicion started to form in the back of his mind. He hoped he was wrong. Running the length of the carriage, Jack opened the door to the vestibule. He was right. There was no exit at this end. Jack pounced on the door to his right and tugged it open with all his strength.

He looked across to the other train. Passengers always complained about the condition of the exit doors—the steam-powered mechanism often failed, leaving the doors to slide open without warning.

And the door in the train running parallel to his carriage was wide open.

Oh blimey
, Jack thought.
I was afraid of that.

The thief had jumped across the gap. Jack had performed somersaults, double and triple, hundreds of times, but always with a net. Jumping between moving trains was like asking for a trip to the hospital—or more likely the morgue.

He eased his head out and jerked it back in as an upright metal stanchion whizzed past him at great speed. When it was safe, he peered back out again. Both trains were about to enter different tunnels.

It was now or never.

The thief would escape if the trains separated. A wall blanketed in black soot flashed past. The two locomotives drew parallel again—but now the other train started to increase speed.

No!

Jack undid his belt and dragged it from his pants. Looking to his left, he drew back again, struggling to hold the door open with his free hand. Another metal stanchion flew past. This time he leaned out and swung the belt in a tight loop.

Come on!

Now!

Jack cracked his belt like a whip and the end wrapped around the handrail of the open door. He pulled down hard on it, creating a tighter grip, and then he jumped.

His whole attention remained on the handrail as he jerked on the length of leather. For an instant he saw his mother's face, smiling from the high platform at the circus, encouraging him to swing to her. A second later Jack grasped the outside handrail of the other train. He swung through the doorway and slammed into the opposite wall.

A cigarette fell out of the mouth of a man standing nearby. ‘Blimey,' he said. ‘Are you people completely daft?'

Jack picked himself up. ‘Where did the other fellow go?'

The man pointed wordlessly into the carriage. Jack retrieved his belt and glanced down the corridor. The interior was almost empty, but the criminal's hat poked above the top of the seat a couple of rows to his right. The man had his back to him.

His gut churning, Jack opened the door and stepped in. As he climbed into the seat behind the thief, he glimpsed the piece of paper clasped between the man's slim fingers.

Jack sat down. He had made it this far. Now what? He had his doubts about winning a fist fight with an adult, especially since the fellow had already decked him with a single punch. With shallow breathing, he slumped further into the seat. A drizzle of sweat traced a path down his cheek. He was reminded of an act he had once seen at the circus. Two friends, Frankie and Helen Shore, did a clown act involving a series of chairs placed one behind the other. As Frankie went to sit, Helen whipped his chair from under him. Jack realised he did not have to attack the villain. He only had to retrieve the page.

Jack slid onto the floor where the carriage seats were attached with metal braces. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the string Mr Doyle had given him. What was it the detective had told him?

String has a thousand uses and I know you will find it invaluable.

Jack reached under the seat and looped the string around the thief's right shoe.
Careful
, he thought. He tied it to the nearest metal brace and climbed back onto his seat, sweat now streaming down his face.

The train slowed as it pulled into a station.

Time to go
, Jack thought. He stood. The thief glanced out the window then returned his gaze to the sheet, angling it to the light. The train drew to a halt. Jack bent forward and in one smooth action pushed the man's hat down low over his mask and snatched the paper from his hand. The man gave a high-pitched cry of rage. Jack stepped into the aisle and dragged open the door to the vestibule. He caught sight of his assailant falling face first onto the floor as he attempted to leap from his seat.

People began streaming into the carriage.

‘Excuse me!' Jack cried. ‘My aunt's waiting for me! Excuse me!'

The people parted. A stairway led up from his left. He flew up the steps to the dome-shaped passenger terminal. A mural commemorating the war decorated the ceiling. Brass clocks circled the outside. The departure gates had uniformed inspectors checking tickets. He darted through the crowd, looking for a quick escape. People were everywhere. But he could not exit via the main gates. He had to board another train to put some distance between himself and the thief.

Jack glanced back.

Bazookas!

The thief was shoving people aside only a few feet behind him!

Jack felt dizzy with terror. He pushed desperately through the masses. A man holding a wallet was on his right. Grabbing the wallet, Jack reefed out all the notes and held them high in the air.

‘Hey!' the man exclaimed. ‘What the devil?'

‘Money!' Jack cried. ‘Free money! Free money for all!'

He hurled the bundle of notes high into the air. Even before they had begun to fall, he was fighting his way towards a set of stairs, packed with travellers.

‘That man's giving money away!' Jack pointed over his shoulder. ‘He's giving away a thousand pounds!'

Mayhem erupted. People fell over one another, trying to snatch money off the ground. Like a football scrum, men and women of all ages threw themselves into the human pile, while the owner of the cash unsuccessfully tried to retrieve his notes.

Jack raced down the stairs leading to another platform. A train, an old Spaulding 66, had just started to depart.

Not again
, he groaned.

Reaching the edge of the platform, Jack's eyes darted left and right. An open door lay about twenty feet ahead. He could do it. One last time. He darted between two old ladies and broke into a sprint. Clutching the paper in one hand, he reached out with the other, grabbed the handrail and leapt aboard.