by Simon Clark
‘We do have some timings, sir.’ Lionel referred to his notebook. ‘The last sighting I have that convinces me most of its accuracy comes from the boy who cleans the boots, Wilfred Emsall. He’d been sitting opposite the grandfather clock in the hallway, polishing shoes, when Bertie Trask arrived with a piece of apple pie for Emsall. Emsall is certain that this happened at eight o’clock last night, because Bertie Trask performed a comical dance as the chimes rang out.’ He turned to his colleague. ‘Do you have a later time, Harry?’
‘My witness is much more vague and doesn’t have a precise time. However, the cook states she saw Bertie dragging a mattress across the kitchen floor. He said he’d sleep next to the pantry. Of course, this isn’t usual for staff to sleep in the kitchen but there are so many people in the palace that every corner is being used. That would have been after nine o’clock, she insists, because she only returned to the kitchen between nine and ten in order to check that the kitchen maids had cleaned the pots.’
Abberline had been listening carefully. ‘Did the cook see Bertie bed down for the night?’
‘No.’
‘Did she notice if Bertie left the kitchen?’
‘She says that she was busy checking if the pans had been cleaned properly. When she turned back the boy had gone. She assumed he’d gone back upstairs.’
Thomas asked, ‘Was there any sign that the mattress had been slept on?’ Immediately he regretted asking the question. Abberline’s fellow police officers could be touchy, to say the least, when he asked them questions like this.
However, Harry didn’t seem to mind at all. ‘No. A blanket was left neatly folded on the mattress. And in my experience young boys don’t neatly fold blankets. He must have been given the blanket from a laundry room and taken it and the mattress into the kitchen.’
Abberline mulled this over. ‘Then it appears that Bertie vanished between nine and ten o’clock last night. Until we have information to the contrary, this is now a case of kidnap.’
Abberline and the two detectives organized a thorough and this time coherent search of the palace. Rather than having everyone in the building look for Bertie, small groups led by either a detective, or one of the three constables on loan from Hull, conducted the search. Normally, Thomas would be at Inspector Abberline’s side but not this time. Abberline asked Thomas to question the cook again, just in case she remembered anything else about Bertie’s visit to the kitchen last night that might prove useful. Thomas felt a stab of disappointment. It seemed as if the policemen preferred to work together. Thomas had to admit to himself that he felt left out. He knew the feeling was a childish one. However, he no longer seemed part of the investigation team that he and Abberline had created.
Thomas chatted to the cook as she ran the kitchen, just as a captain runs a consummately well-ordered ship. She efficiently gave orders to her staff as they kneaded mounds of white dough. Consumption of bread had become formidable now that so many people were staying in the palace. Thomas couldn’t help but picture the deserted cottages and the fisherman’s silent village now that the entire population of the island had been moved to the palace.
The cook tried to be helpful. In truth, however, she simply did not recall anything else relevant to the case. Bertie had brought the mattress and blanket into the kitchen. That had been the last anyone had clapped eyes on the lad – unless one of the people interviewed wasn’t telling the truth.
Inspector Abberline came down to the kitchen to look at where Bertie Trask had been seen for the final time. He examined the floor. He even searched the pantry.
‘If a boy wants to hide himself,’ he explained, ‘it’s astonishing the places they can tuck themselves away. Up chimneys, in cupboards. I even found one in the bottom drawer of a desk: he’d decided he didn’t want to go to school.’
The search of the kitchen revealed nothing new. Thomas and Abberline returned to the refectory where coffee was being served, and it was there that Abberline’s conversation centred on what the boy had been doing yesterday. Thomas told him about Jo’s examination of the boy’s skull and what amounted to her diagnosis that the boy had been born bad.
Abberline’s face turned crimson. ‘What a blasted crock of nonsense! Phrenology has been chucked out by the scientific world. Why the woman persists with such cock-and-bull beliefs is beyond me.’
‘She upset Bertie when he heard her say that he would grow up to be a criminal.’
‘The woman should be arrested.’ Abberline turned to glare at Jo, who sat at the far side of the room with Mr Feasby. ‘The trouble is she hasn’t actually broken any law that I can think of. Blast her.’
‘Bertie certainly made off quickly after he’d heard what she had to say.’ Thomas paused. ‘He was extremely distressed. I wonder if he decided to run away. So maybe he hasn’t been taken after all?’
‘He can’t run far. This is an island. The ferry won’t be sailing until later today at the earliest. One of the fishermen said that the full moon is producing unusually high tides.’
‘The poor little chap. I hope we can find him soon.’
Abberline withdrew into his thoughts for a moment. At last, he said, ‘Thomas, before the boy left you and Jo last night, how was he? His manner? His mood?’
‘As I said, he was upset to hear Jo accuse him of being … well, to put it bluntly, naturally evil. He had tears in his eyes.’
‘Did he say anything in response to the accusation?’
‘Yes, he started shouting that she was right. I don’t know if he thought he should agree with what an adult told him, even if it was unpleasant.’
‘Please tell me his exact words. This could be important.’
Thomas closed his eyes for a moment. He brought to mind the memory of the boy sitting on the high stool. He’d plenty of experience as a journalist in recalling the exact words of people who he interviewed. He did this now. He pictured the boy’s frightened face and the words that had poured from his lips. Thomas opened his eyes again. ‘He said: “She’s right. I am bad, sir. I’m very bad. I put salt in Mrs Rice’s tea …” No, that should be: “Mrs Price’s tea. I hid Wilf’s shoes. I spied on him taking away that big dog. I shouted rude words at the milkmaid.” That’s all he said before he ran out of the refectory.’
‘I see.’
‘Probably every boy in this room could make a similar confession. Bertie can get up to mischief. To say he’s evil, however, is evil in its own right.’
‘Agreed.’ Abberline rubbed his forehead as he thought about what he’d heard. ‘Those words of Bertie’s are interesting.’
‘They were just the outburst of a little boy. Surely they aren’t relevant to the case?’
‘I disagree. They could be extremely relevant.’
‘I don’t see how.’
Abberline held up three fingers. ‘In three instances Bertie identifies the three people he played tricks on – Mrs Price, Wilf and the milkmaid.’
‘But he didn’t say who he spied on.’ Thomas felt a tingle run down his backbone; he sensed that this conversation was about to become extremely interesting.
‘Exactly. Now … why didn’t he name that person or identify them in some way?’
Thomas felt baffled. ‘He simply didn’t choose to, that’s all.’
‘Imagine I told you a story about four people. Three of the people aren’t in the room with us so, naturally, I’d name them. However, if the fourth person in the story was actually there with us then I might …’ He allowed his voice to trail off, leaving Thomas to complete the train of thought.
‘Then you might find it unnecessary to name the person because they’re in the room with you. You’d simply say “he did such-and-such a thing”, and I’d know who you referred to.’
‘Examine the words Bertie used. He said, “I spied on him taking away that big dog.”’
‘I took it that Bertie had watched someone take away a dog. Though it’s hard to see such an incident would be important.’
&n
bsp; ‘Break it down, Thomas. Look at particular words in detail. Bertie admits to “spying” on “him”. That means he secretly watches a man or a boy. Why is he “spying”?’
‘He doesn’t want to be seen.’
‘Why?’
‘He might get into trouble if he’s found spying on someone.’
‘Why?’ Abberline used the word ‘why’ like a hammer to crack open the hard shell of the mystery.
‘Perhaps he realized that someone should not have been taking the dog, so he watched in secret.’
‘Why? Which dog was taken?’
‘A big dog.’
‘No, he used the words “that big dog”. The big dog was special in some way.’
‘Ah …’ Thomas understood at last. ‘It wasn’t a big dog at all. It was Sir Terror. The wolf with the eagle’s wings.’
Abberline leaned forward to whisper the next words so nobody else in the refectory could possibly hear. ‘To be a detective is to be infuriatingly pedantic. We must not just look at the surface of things, we must bury deep and examine every word of a statement, every inflection in a voice.’ For the first time in days the man wore an expression of relief as if he, at long last, had begun to make progress in a mystery that had steadfastly refused to reveal useful clues. ‘Those nine words the boy spoke have just given me vital evidence.’
Thomas repeated that potentially key part of Bertie’s statement: ‘I spied on him taking away that big dog.’
‘That’s the most important sentence I’ve heard uttered on this island. Do you see why?’
Thomas felt an exciting flash of revelation. ‘Bertie admitted to seeing a man or boy take the stuffed wolf from the Feasby cottage. The same wolf that was hidden in the tree in order to draw Benedict Feasby out along a branch and into the open so the bowman could kill him with the arrow.’
‘What’s more, when Bertie Trask made that admission to you last night, he didn’t have to name the man or boy who took the wolf, because he could see that person was here in this room.’ Abberline turned to look at the men and women in the refectory: they were all busily talking amongst themselves. Abberline nodded as he let the implications of what he discovered sink in. ‘In fact, the boy was probably looking at the murderer at that very moment he spoke.’
Abberline moved quickly. He now suspected that the killer had been in the refectory last night. Thomas had not been able to identify many people who’d been there. After all, there had been at least fifty or so. Some had been eating supper. Children had been scampering about. The butler had been scolding them. Thomas had been engaged in the heated conversation with Jo as she declared that Bertie Trask had a skull formation that suggested an inborn malevolence. So, at that moment, he hadn’t been looking back at the crowded room. He couldn’t even begin to guess who Bertie had been looking at when he said: ‘I spied on him taking away that big dog.’ This, Abberline maintained, was the boy confessing to secretly watching another boy, or a man, making off with the stuffed wolf creature known as Sir Terror.
Abberline walked briskly into the hallway. For a moment, he gazed at the front door, which was guarded by Richard. The young man peered out through a small window at the forest.
Abberline spoke to Thomas. ‘It would be a waste of time examining the door. It was guarded last night. It’s unlikely Bertie, and whoever abducted him, would use that route.’
‘There are plenty of windows at the back of the building.’
‘A corridor runs alongside them. They were all visible to the sentries there.’
‘All the other doors were locked and guarded too. Professor Giddings has done an excellent job of turning this place into a fortress.’
‘So how would the kidnapper remove a child from the palace?’
‘An upper window?’
‘Much too exposed. And wouldn’t we have found a rope or a ladder?’
They passed a room where the two detectives, Lionel and Harry, sat at a table. They both used fountain pens as they worked.
Abberline said, ‘I’ve asked them to write up the case notes while the details are still fresh in their minds.’
‘They’re good men. I don’t think I’ve seen such dedicated policemen. Apart from yourself,’ Thomas added quickly.
‘Thank you, my friend. Yes, they have plenty of energy as well as dedication. I think I’ll soon be testing them to their limits.’
In the next room, King Ludwig stood watching a man of about forty turn the silver wheels of some apparatus that rested on four metal legs.
Abberline murmured to Thomas, ‘I see the academy work goes on.’
‘The annual assessment. The king and the academy members take it very seriously.’
‘More seriously than a missing boy.’
‘It would seem so.’
Abberline stopped abruptly. ‘Let me think. Bertie was last seen at ten o’clock last night at the latest. It was only at seven this morning that staff realized he was missing.’
‘Which means the kidnapper could have removed him at any time during the night.’
‘So they had ample time to carry the boy to the other end of the island, if need be, and still return here before he was missed.’
‘Do you think that the person who took Bertie overheard him telling Jo and myself that he’d seen someone steal the wolf?’
‘I’d say it’s most likely. They realized they must make Bertie vanish before he revealed anything that would lead us to identifying the killer.’
‘They’re going to do away with Bertie, too, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they will, if they haven’t already.’ Abberline’s expression was grimly determined. ‘Which means that while there’s a chance we might find the boy alive we have to devote every moment to searching for him.’
‘We must organize a search party.’
‘You’re absolutely right. Just wait here, won’t you? I’ll be right back.’ Abberline hurried to the room where the detectives sat writing at the table. Abberline soon returned. ‘I’ve told them to gather the able-bodied men. We’ll begin searching the island twenty minutes from now.’
Jo swept along the corridor towards them. She was conventionally dressed in long skirts and a white blouse. ‘I’ve heard about Bertie.’ Her manner was brisk, almost cold. ‘Have you any idea where he is?’
Thomas glared at her. ‘Why? Do you intend to arrest him for possessing the wrong shaped head?’
‘I want to help,’ she told him.
Abberline’s expression was an unhappy one. ‘I regret to say that I haven’t even been able to discover how the kidnapper took the boy from here.’
Thomas added, ‘All the doors and windows have been in sight of the guards all night.’
‘Even the entrances to the basement?’ Without waiting for a reply, she strode towards a doorway. ‘Follow me.’
At the top of a staircase she used a match to light a candle. After that, she hurried down the stairs. Thomas and Abberline followed her into the shadows.
‘The place is used mainly to store firewood and coal,’ she explained. ‘I sometimes use it as a darkroom when I develop photographs.’
She led them past mounds of coal. A rat scuttled within inches of her feet. Even though she saw the creature, she didn’t react.
Abberline said, ‘I expect that nearly everyone on the island will know about these cellars?’
‘Yes. Some of the fishermen are hired to carry sacks of coal up from the ferry to the palace. It’s tipped down a chute. And there –’ She raised the candle to illuminate another set of steps, leading upwards ‘– is a door that wasn’t guarded last night.’
Abberline climbed the steps to the door. ‘There is no lock,’ he said. ‘It’s merely secured from the inside by bolts.’
‘There you have the kidnapper’s exit, gentlemen.’ Triumph flashed in her eyes. ‘He took the boy through that door, left it unlocked, and returned later to close the bolts. And nobody in this building was any the wiser.’
Abberline
looked her straight in the eye. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I have an imagination, too. Though I believe I have imagined the sequence of events accurately, don’t you?’
Abberline gave a sharp nod. ‘There’s no time to lose. We have to search the island. Find the boy before it’s too late.’
Abberline descended the steps before moving quickly away across the basement. He was desperate to send the men out in the hope of locating the child.
Jo walked alongside Thomas, holding the candle high so it illuminated the way for all three. She lightly touched Thomas’s arm.
‘Thomas. I’m going to look for Bertie, too.’
‘You feel remorse for what you said about him?’
‘What I said about his innate criminal tendencies is true.’ She shot him a meaningful glance. ‘I must also make another statement that is true: We’re playing into the killer’s hands. He wants us out there in the open. Just as he lured Benedict Feasby into the open with that monstrous wolf, so he’s luring us out into the forest.’
Jo went to change into her outdoor clothes. Perhaps she was keen to make amends after all? But was she really going to admit that her belief in the quack ‘science’ of discovering personality by feeling the curves of a human skull was pure nonsense? Thomas doubted it. There were so many qualities in the woman that he admired, however. If only she didn’t devote her life to the mean-spirited doctrine of phrenology. The phrase ‘fly in the ointment’ came to mind. The meaning of that homely phrase attained a new clarity as he pictured a jar of fragrant balm spoilt because a small yet ugly insect floated there. Jo’s radiant personality was marred by her vile dogma. Thomas clenched his fists. He realized that thinking about Jo had become a habit. No, thinking about the woman had gone beyond habit – it was an obsession.
Thomas followed Abberline to the refectory. Around two dozen people sat at the tables. A little child stood at the piano, hitting keys at random and smiling as the plinking notes echoed around the room. The butler sat with his collar undone and feet splayed out. The man was exhausted from having to cater for so many people.
Abberline pointed to the alcove. ‘That is where Jo examined Bertie Trask last night?’
