‘Right here,’ said Sergeant Prattle, lifting a brown envelope and removing a small stuffed toy with a pair of plastic tweezers. It was Penny Mouse.
‘This toy was found inside the wardrobe of the royal bedroom,’ said Inspector Clyde. ‘Mr Singh has confirmed this mouse belongs to his daughter. Mr Singh took Gordon Goulde’s key to the royal compartment and gave it to Marlene, who concealed herself in the royal wardrobe at Ballater. When the princess boarded the train, the girl waited until she was getting changed and switched the diamond pendant for the glass fake.’
A phone went off. Everyone turned to look at Steven Pickle, but it was Inspector Clyde who answered her mobile.
‘Hello? Speaking. As we thought. Thanks.’ She hung up. ‘That was confirmation that Marlene Singh’s fingerprints were found on a key to the royal compartment discovered on the floor by the door.’
Hal sat down with a bump.
‘What about my brooch?’ Lydia Pickle asked.
‘We believe the train driver and his daughter have used their intimate knowledge of the train to hide the jewels,’ Inspector Clyde explained. ‘Our dogs have been unable to find anything. But once the train has returned to London, we will find your jewellery.’
Hal stood up again. ‘Lenny would never steal anything,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Then I’m sure you can explain why we found the lock to Milo Essenbach’s compartment broken and Marlene Singh inside,’ Inspector Clyde said triumphantly.
‘My room?’ Milo was surprised.
‘We searched the suspect and found nothing, but should you notice anything missing when you return to your compartment, please report it to me. I’m afraid she made quite a mess in there.’
‘But, she didn’t—’ Hal began, but Uncle Nat spoke over him.
‘What about the tour of the Highland Falcon?’ he asked in a clear voice. ‘If the train driver is—’
‘The prince would like the tour to continue as planned,’ Inspector Clyde interrupted, and the prince nodded. ‘Marlene Singh is being held in the luggage car until we reach London. Regrettably, we are unable to replace her father, as there are few people qualified to drive the Highland Falcon. He will continue to drive the train under police guard until we reach Paddington, where he will be formally charged and placed under arrest.’
Hal opened his mouth to protest, but Uncle Nat gripped him by the shoulder, making him sit down, and shook his head in warning.
‘We ask that you keep this information to yourselves until the Highland Falcon arrives in London, at which point Scotland Yard will take control of the investigation.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
STATIONERY OBSERVATIONS
‘The police are wrong! You have to tell them,’ Hal demanded as Uncle Nat closed their door. ‘They’d listen to you. She can’t have stolen the necklace, because I was with her in the generator room.’
‘If we tell them you were with Marlene, then they’ll say you lied in your interview and think you’re guilty as well.’ Uncle Nat shook his head. ‘And what on earth was she doing in Milo’s compartment?’
‘Looking for clues,’ said Hal. ‘I would have been in there too, but I was too scared to climb out the window.’
‘Well thank goodness you were. Or you might both be locked up in that luggage cage.’
‘Everything’s going wrong.’ Hal flopped down on the sofa, covering his face with his hands. ‘Milo isn’t even the thief.’
Uncle Nat fell silent, waiting for Hal to go on.
‘That note we found? It was a love letter. Milo’s in love with Sierra, but they’re trying to keep it a secret. Lucy’s been their go-between, hiding notes in books in the library.’
Uncle Nat sat down at his desk. The lakes and trees flashing past were replaced by houses and car parks as they approached the outskirts of Manchester. ‘We’ll be in Crewe in a few hours,’ he said.
Hal’s heart jumped at the mention of his home town.
‘Given everything that’s happened –’ Uncle Nat looked at him – ‘I wonder if I shouldn’t call your dad and ask him to come and get you.’
‘No!’ Hal felt the world falling away from under him.
‘You never asked to be dragged into any of this, Hal. You didn’t even want to set foot on this train.’
‘But I’m glad I did. Please don’t call Dad. I don’t want to leave the Highland Falcon, not till the end. Please! Lenny’s my friend – I have to help her. Dad’s got enough to worry about with Mum and the baby. Please, Uncle Nat?’
Uncle Nat hesitated. ‘All right. But no more sneaking about in other people’s rooms.’
Hal nodded. ‘I promise.’
Uncle Nat shook his head. ‘How on earth are we going to help Mohanjit and Lenny?’
‘By finding the real thief,’ Hal said, pulling out his sketchbook and putting it on the desk. ‘All the jigsaw puzzle pieces are in here. I know it. We’ve got to be able to figure out who the real Magpie is.’
As the train clattered through the outskirts of Manchester, slowing to a crawl for the waving crowds in Piccadilly station, Hal and his uncle talked through what they knew about the day the necklace was stolen.
‘It’s no good,’ Hal said. ‘We’re going around in circles.’
‘Maybe we should take a break. There’s a royal reception at Crewe that I have to cover. Do you want to come?’
‘Why didn’t we stop in Manchester for a royal reception? That’s a much bigger city than Crewe.’
‘Crewe is an important railway town.’ Uncle Nat tutted. ‘Surely you know that? You live there.’
Hal shook his head.
‘If you think of the railways spread out over the country like a spider’s web –’ he held up his balled fist – ‘then Crewe is like the knot at the centre that ties London, Manchester, Birmingham and Liverpool together. The town grew up around the station. The railway works, the marshalling yards, factories, and houses for the workers to live in. If it weren’t for railways, your home would be a field.’
Hal blinked. He’d spent his whole life in Crewe and hadn’t known it was a railway town.
‘So, do you want to come to a party to celebrate your home town? There’ll be cake.’
‘I can’t go to a party while Lenny’s locked in the luggage cage. This might sound strange, but I’d like to find somewhere quiet to sit so I can draw. Drawing helps me think.’
‘It doesn’t sound strange at all, Hal. There are lots of different ways of thinking.’ Uncle Nat pulled on his jacket. ‘Why don’t you go to the observation car? You’ll be able to see the party from there, and I can slip you a piece of cake if you get peckish.’
Hal entered the observation car, clutching his sketchbook and pen, and found a seat concealed from view by a wide-leafed tropical plant. He needed to slow his brain down, and drawing had that effect on him. Jumping to conclusions was how he and Lenny had come to believe Milo was the Magpie. Thinking slowly was the key.
Hal opened his sketchbook to a double blank page, flattening the spine with the palm of his hand.
The Highland Falcon steamed into Crewe. The sandy bricks and lattice of white iron girders Hal had known all his life were strung with red-white-and-blue bunting. He felt a peculiar wrench to be surrounded by so much that was familiar, while sitting in the Highland Falcon – experiencing a world from the past. It was like being in a time machine.
Outside, a choir of children was singing ‘The Runaway Train’. Hal thought of his mum and wondered if she’d had the baby yet. Closing his eyes, he fiercely wished that they were both OK. He opened them again and watched the guests disembark. He heard the cheer for the prince and princess, and his wrist twitched, his pen skittering across the page: the hard lines of the Crewe signage appeared; the soft lines of people. As his pen moved, his mind opened like a flower, and he began seeing patterns.
Ernest White, standing with a cup of tea, back bowed, biting into a piece of Battenberg – four small squares of cake making up a b
igger square. What did Hal know about the old man with the half-moon glasses? Ernest had retired after dedicating his life to managing the royal train. He knew the Highland Falcon inside out and the habits of the royal family. He could still have a key to the royal compartment.
Hal drew a key with a question mark beside it. The man had no obvious motive other than money. He loved the steam train. Hal smiled, remembering the fluffy microphone he’d clamped to the window in the dining car to record the chuffing of the train. It didn’t seem so odd to him now. The microphone! It had been in the dining car all this time. What if Ernest had recorded an important clue? He sketched a fluffy microphone by Ernest’s head.
He looked up. There was Lucy Meadows, a pear shape, eating a fairy cake beside a banner for the Women’s Institute. Hal liked Lucy. She had a warm smile and blushed easily, but she wasn’t a pushover. Could she have stolen the necklace as a way to escape working for Sierra?
Hal drew Sierra in elongated rectangles, a pea-sized head with big hair. She posed beside the Mayor of Crewe, her lips pursed as if she were about to kiss him. Isaac, a solid square, knelt down in front of them with his camera. Sierra grabbed Milo’s arm, dragging him into the picture. Hal smiled as he drew the brooding Milo, hooded eyes and snarling lip. Their secret love was taking its toll.
Sierra is vain, he thought, drawing a row of ticks to make the frilly hem of her skirt, but why would she steal a necklace that belonged to her friend? He sketched in the princess, standing on the other side of the mayor: a small upside-down equilateral triangle above a larger one the right way up, an oval face, long straight hair and a hat the shape of Saturn. Sierra’s career was soaring. Would she really risk her fame for a necklace she could never wear in public?
The Pickles were sat together, two dumplings on a bench by the brick wall of the waiting room. Mr Pickle looked angry. Hal drew the collar of his shirt and an enormous beetroot for his head, with tiny eyes and a flat line for a mouth. Would a multi-millionaire entrepreneur gain anything by stealing the Atlas Diamond?
Lydia Pickle was eating the cake off her husband’s plate. Like a series of balloons, she was all bosoms, bottom and big hair. She smiled at everyone and said things without thinking, but Hal thought she was funny and kind. She’d been the first to lose jewellery to the Magpie, which made her an unlikely suspect, and she didn’t seem smart enough to mastermind the stealing of the Atlas Diamond.
The prince, an upright, chiselled man with an easy smile, was hardly going to steal his own wife’s necklace. Lady Lansbury was stood beside him, immaculately dressed in a navy gown covered in twinkling crystals. Hal drew a bell shape, focusing on the accessories dripping from her ears, neck and wrists. It was unlikely a woman so wealthy would steal the Atlas Diamond, and he couldn’t imagine her hiding in the princess’s wardrobe.
Baron Essenbach had legs like saplings and a chest like a bass clef. He was stood beside Uncle Nat admiring the Highland Falcon. The baron was a wealthy man and longstanding friend of the royal family. He was an unlikely suspect.
And then there was his uncle. Hal drew the looping infinity sign of his tortoiseshell glasses. Uncle Nat had no alibi. He’d been stood beside Lydia Pickle when her brooch went missing. Hal remembered him mentioning being at the Duchess of Kent’s party where the Magpie had struck before the Highland Falcon began her journey. Hal lifted his pen, rolling it over his index finger. Could Uncle Nat be the Magpie? Surely not?
Glancing across the page, Hal realized the party was one person short. Rowan Buck was missing. Since the incident at Balmoral, Lady Lansbury hadn’t let the dogs out at public events. The gentleman-in-waiting was probably with them in their compartment. Hal realized he had never drawn Rowan – always preferring to sketch the dogs. He drew a man with a blank face holding five taut leads, at the ends of which he sketched ten triangle ears.
He had considered every one of the guests. Could it be someone else? Gordon, perhaps? Or Amy? Hal twirled his biro between his fingers, then circled the fluffy microphone beside Ernest White.
Perhaps his recording would produce a clue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SOUND AND VISION
‘Mr White, could I talk to you?’ Hal had been waiting for Ernest to get back on the train.
‘Of course, Harrison. How can I help you?’
‘You know the recordings you make with your microphone in the dining car? Have you listened back to any of them?’
‘A few.’ Ernest gave him a watery-eyed smile. ‘And the Highland Falcon sounds tremendous.’
The guard’s whistle signalled that all the guests were aboard, and the dining-car doors were closed.
‘Do you know, every time I hear a train whistle, I think of the prince’s father.’
‘Really? I wanted to ask you—’
‘When he was five, the Highland Falcon was at Wolferton station – in Norfolk – and the prince was seeing off Queen Mary, his great grandmother.’
‘That’s interesting … I was wondering—’
‘He asked the guard if he could look at his whistle, and as soon as he was given it, the rascal gave it a great blow, and the train set off by mistake. The poor guard had to run and jump on the moving train, and he never got his whistle back.’ Ernest chuckled. ‘Little rapscallion!’
‘Your recorder,’ pressed Hal. ‘Is it running all the time?’
‘I have two machines. I swap them over every six hours. I have a listen and enter the date and time in my book, and which part of the route the recording is from. If you come to my room, I’ll show you.’
Ernest walked briskly in front of him. Hal noticed that despite his years, the old train manager had impressive rail legs, his body swaying with the motion of the train. ‘Have you noticed your microphone picking up conversations in the dining car?’
‘That’s not my intention,’ said Ernest sternly. ‘The microphone is placed outside the window, but some people are horrendously loud.’
‘Like Mr Pickle?’ Hal grinned.
‘Yes – that bilious baboon has ruined the sound of steam pushing pistons on a number of occasions.’ Ernest rolled his eyes. ‘He complains loudly, and he boasts about Grailax, trying to get people to invest in his awful company.’ He lowered his voice. ‘When he told Lady Lansbury, and then the baron, that he was having cash-flow problems, it was hard not to smile.’
‘I thought he was rich.’
‘Rich people can have money troubles too, you know.’
They’d reached Ernest’s compartment. The old man entered and sat on his sofa.
‘I miss my old place in the service car, you know. It wasn’t much, but it suited me.’
‘I was hoping you might have heard something on your recorder that would help clear Lenny and Mr Singh – a clue, maybe.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Ernest pointed to a small black book on his desk. ‘That’s where I write everything down. You can borrow it if you like. You’re welcome to listen to the recordings, but it would take days.’
Hal picked up the book and opened it. Each page was divided into four columns: Date, Time, Route and Notes.
‘Have you heard anything that Lady Lansbury’s gentleman-in-waiting has said?’ Hal asked.
‘You can hear Lady Lansbury talking to him twice, but Mr Buck is too quiet. I must say, for a woman of such high standing, she uses some ripe language to describe those dogs of hers.’
‘Thanks, Mr White. You’ve been a great help,’ Hal said.
‘Anything to help Mohanjit. He’s an honourable man,’ Ernest said. He pointed at the black book. ‘I will be wanting that back. It contains precious information.’
‘I promise to take good care of it.’ Hal went to the door. ‘I don’t suppose you know where Isaac went?’
‘I believe Mr Adebayo returned to his compartment for batteries.’
On his way to Isaac’s compartment, Hal thought he heard the sound of a dog whining and stopped to listen. He realized it was actually a woman crying. The sobs were comi
ng from the bathroom at the end of the corridor. He wondered if he should knock, but decided it was best not to intrude and hurried past.
Isaac’s door was open. He greeted Hal with a smile.
‘Harrison Beck,’ he said. ‘Come in. You are just the man I wanted to see.’
Glossy pictures were attached by bulldog clips to string zig-zagging across the room. Hal spotted one of himself glaring at Mr Pickle.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ Isaac said, gathering a bundle of old photographs from the floor and handing them to Hal. ‘Could you take these to your uncle? He asked me to dig out a few historic pictures of the royal train for his article. That top one is for you.’
Hal took the bundle and looked at a black-and-white photo of a group of people standing in front of the Highland Falcon at Ballater station.
‘It’s from a royal Christmas nearly twenty years ago,’ Isaac said.
A young Ernest White stood proudly at the picture’s edge, in the uniform Gordon Goulde now wore. Next to him was Gladys from Balmoral. And in the middle, a boy about Hal’s age stood smiling at his grandmother, the Queen.
‘It’s the prince, wearing my awful itchy blazer and bow tie!’
Isaac laughed. ‘Not only must you suffer the indignity of wearing another man’s clothes, but fashion that is twenty years out of date.’
‘Is that Lady Lansbury?’
‘And her husband, the count,’ said Isaac. ‘That’s Beatrice and Terrence, their children.’ He tutted. ‘It was sad when the Count of Arundel died. The family fell apart.’
‘What happened?’
‘The count lived life to excess, throwing lavish parties whenever he could. His children were the same.’ He pursed his lips, choosing his words carefully. ‘They broke some laws and are now paying for their crimes.’
‘Poor Lady Lansbury.’
‘She’s made of strong stuff, that woman. A tsunami couldn’t knock her over. Anyway, tell your uncle if he needs more pictures, I have plenty.’
The Highland Falcon Thief Page 13
