The Firebird Mystery

by Darrell Pitt

  ‘I will teach you,’ Scarlet interrupted. ‘I will tell you everything I know about classical music.’

  ‘That’s spiffing,’ Jack said. ‘Really spiffing.’

  While Scarlet regaled him with the entire history of Western music, Mr Doyle made a reconnaissance to the rear of the building to ensure Flint had no other escape, but he came back reporting that the property was enclosed by a high wall.

  Afternoon slid into evening. Jack dozed off somewhere after the birth of Mozart. He woke to find that Scarlet was also asleep. Mr Doyle’s eyes were still locked on the property. Jack asked him what he expected to happen.

  ‘The best scenario is that Professor M comes here to meet Mr Flint. If he does, we’ll pounce.’

  Another two hours passed. Airships eased across the sky, their brass gondolas reflecting the last light of day. The streets grew quiet. The few shops closed, and the owners pulled their curtains across before departing. A block away the distant ruckus from a pub echoed around the empty street. A woman sang out of tune and the crack of broken glass tinkled in the night.

  Next time I’m bringing a book, Jack thought dismally. Maybe two.

  A gunshot rang out.

  ‘What on earth?’ Mr Doyle drew his weapon as they warily crossed the street. ‘Stay behind me,’ he said. ‘Scarlet. Let me do the shooting.’

  ‘As you wish,’ she said.

  They made their way up the front steps of Flint’s building. Mr Doyle tried the handle. The door opened with a creak. They paused before starting down the hall. The faint glow of lamplight emanated from under the door of Flint’s room.

  Mr Doyle eased the door open with his gun at the ready. Jack peered inside. An oil lamp sat on a table, casting a shivering glow. There was no other furniture in the room. The chamber was as dilapidated as ever.

  The big difference now was that the body of Flint lay facedown in the middle of the floor. Mr Doyle crossed to the man and turned him over.

  ‘Dead,’ he pronounced. ‘Shot in the heart.’

  Jack glanced around. ‘Who could have killed him? We’ve seen no-one all afternoon.’

  ‘This reminds me of a Brinkie Buckeridge story,’ Scarlet said. ‘The killer was catapulted onto a moving train via a giant slingshot.’

  ‘What an interesting idea,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘We might test that with Jack one day.’

  ‘Mr Doyle!’ Jack said.

  ‘But I don’t believe that is what happened on this occasion. In fact, I think the answer lies at our feet.’

  Some of the floorboards in the corner were loose. Mr Doyle grabbed the nearest board. To Jack’s surprise, it was attached to the others around it and lifted in one smooth action. A trapdoor! A set of stairs led into darkness.

  ‘Grab that lamp,’ the detective said to Jack.

  ‘A secret passageway,’ Scarlet said. ‘How exciting!’

  ‘Not if there’s a murderer waiting to kill us,’ Jack said.

  Her face fell. ‘That would rather tarnish the experience.’

  They descended the stairs, Mr Doyle leading and Jack holding the lamp. At the bottom was a tunnel. It stretched away into the distance with a sound of footsteps echoing faintly towards them.

  ‘They’re getting away!’ Mr Doyle exclaimed. ‘Quickly!’

  They raced down the tunnel. Ahead they heard the footsteps break into a run. The sound of a metal grate reverberated. A moment later they reached a ladder stretching up above them. Mr Doyle climbed and pushed open a trapdoor.

  ‘It’s another old house.’

  Jack and Scarlet followed him into a derelict room not unlike the one they had just left. A door slammed.

  They hurried from the room and found a passage- way leading to the front door. As they burst through Jack caught sight of a man racing away. The person turned and pointed at them.

  ‘Down!’ Mr Doyle grabbed Jack and Scarlet, pushing them to the ground as a pistol cracked and a bullet thudded into the timber over their heads.

  The figure ran along a dark lane in the direction of a well-lit thoroughfare. Jack and the others gave pursuit. For the first time, Jack was able to get a closer look at the man’s mode of dress. A slouch hat. Ebony coat.

  ‘That’s the man we saw at Scarlet’s apartment,’ Jack cried. ‘Do you think it’s M?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ the detective said.

  The alley opened on to a road occupied by a few pubs, a street vendor selling chestnuts and couples walking out in the early evening.

  ‘M has a habit of killing those closest to him,’ Mr Doyle explained, scanning the vicinity. ‘He leaves no witnesses.’

  Jack saw a figure turning a nearby corner. ‘There!’

  They raced to the corner and saw the man heading for a bridge that crossed another thoroughfare. The stranger turned again and fired. The bullet zinged off the pavement. The man kept the gun pointed at them—but nothing happened.

  ‘I think he’s out of bullets,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘I believe you’re correct.’ Mr Doyle was sweating and breathless in the cool night air.

  The killer had stopped running, staring now at the road beneath the bridge. He raced across to the opposite side.

  No! Jack thought. That’s barmy!

  ‘He’s going to jump!’ he cried.

  ‘No!’ Scarlet yelled.

  The man leapt to the railing, balanced for a moment, and fell. Jack and the others headed over. A steamtruck had passed beneath the bridge, and the person now lay spread-eagled on the roof, watching them as the vehicle turned a corner and disappeared.

  ‘Damnation.’ Mr Doyle gripped his leg, wincing. ‘If I were twenty years younger we may have caught him.’

  They were all exhausted by the chase. Jack and Mr Doyle dragged off their rubber noses as Scarlet pulled off the grimy top hat. Her red hair splashed across her shoulders.

  ‘I don’t think anyone could have caught him,’ she said.

  ‘That jump was one in a million,’ Jack said.

  ‘Regardless,’ Mr Doyle said, ‘we’ve lost our best lead and we’re no closer to finding the bomb.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jack rose the next morning, washed, dressed and found Mr Doyle and Scarlet eating a hearty meal with Gloria Scott. He had slept for twelve hours; the last few days had been an exhausting whirlwind of activity. Now he felt ready for the next stage of their adventure.

  Scarlet had been installed in the guest room. Her father had sent over some clothing the previous night and she had quickly made herself at home. Some of the room’s former contents had been moved out into the hall. These included a set of skittles, a five-foot-tall penny made from timber and cloth, a stuffed eagle and a complete set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica—in Braille.

  Sitting down at the table, Jack felt ravenous as he faced the selection of sausages, eggs, kippers, muffins and toast. A large silver pot of tea sat in the middle of the table.

  ‘Bazookas,’ Jack said. ‘I wasn’t expecting all this.’

  ‘You’re lucky you arrived in time,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Scarlet was so hungry she almost bit off one of my fingers in her frenzy!’

  ‘Mr Doyle!’

  The detective gave a few dead crickets to Bertha. She made short work of them. Jack wondered what else she ate when no-one was around. Small cats. Dogs. Children...

  Gloria asked, ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Well?’ Jack smiled. ‘I slept like the dead.’

  ‘A note arrived early,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘We must attend the prime minister’s residence this morning.’

  ‘The prime minister…’ Jack’s voice trailed off. ‘The prime minister of what?’

  ‘Great Britain, Jack,’ Mr Doyle frowned. ‘There’s only one.’ He scoffed down a piece of toast. ‘It seems they have received Professor M’s demands at Number 10.’

  Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle finished breakfast and hailed a steamcab to take them to the heart of London. The day had turned cold again. Fog filled the streets. The mist s
hifted and tumbled around them as their vehicle navigated to Downing Street.

  They climbed from the cab outside Number 10. A number of constables guarded the door. Jack guessed some of the curious onlookers, who waited to catch a glimpse of the prime minister, were probably security guards in disguise.

  Jack found it impossible to believe he was about to meet the prime minister. He hoped he looked all right. He wore his green coat, white shirt and dark pants. Mr Doyle was dressed in his trademark bowler hat, brown chequered cape and long black coat. Scarlet had put on a slim-fitting red dress, a black leather bustier and green-feathered hat for the occasion.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ Scarlet whispered to him.

  ‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘How about you?’

  Scarlet had gone pale. ‘Not at all. I plan to bring up the rights of women,’ she said, ‘if the opportunity presents itself. Or I may invite him to the next meeting of the Young Ladies Primrose Society.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Mr Doyle introduced himself at the front door. The three of them entered and were immediately frisked by two security agents. A butler ushered them into a grand room. Jack recognised the three people already there: General Churchill, Thomas Griffin from MI5 and Prime Minister Horatio Kitchener.

  ‘Hello, Ignatius,’ Mr Griffin said amiably. ‘Jack. Scarlet.’

  ‘May I introduce you to the prime minister,’ General Churchill offered.

  Horatio Kitchener was tall and thin. He had a high forehead with hair parted on the right, bushy eyebrows and an even thicker moustache that curled up at the ends. His eyes were as piercing as a hawk’s. His whole countenance suggested efficiency and readiness; he held himself like a bow ready to let loose an arrow.

  Jack felt nervous shaking the hand of the man in charge of the United Kingdom, but Mr Doyle appeared at ease. Scarlet attempted a curtsey, but only succeeded in lurching headfirst into the floor.

  ‘My dear!’ the prime minister said, assisting her to her feet.

  ‘Sorry.’ Scarlet’s face was as red as her hair. ‘New shoes.’

  ‘Thank you for coming so promptly.’ Mr Kitchener waved them into seats. ‘You can appreciate the level of this crisis.’

  ‘We can indeed,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I understand you have received a communication from M?’

  Mr Kitchener opened a folder and placed a letter and large yellow envelope on the desk. Mr Doyle briefly donned his goggles to examine the pieces of paper.

  ‘Indeed,’ he murmured. ‘This is the hand that penned the original ransom note we found pinned to Paul Harker’s chest. How was it conveyed to you?’

  ‘A boy was given five shillings to deliver it,’ General Churchill said. ‘Apparently he was approached on the street by a stranger.’

  ‘And a description of the man?’

  ‘Medium height. Slim build. Dressed in a hat and coat, but he had one outstanding feature—he wore a porcelain mask.’

  Jack listened intently as the general described the nondescript features of the mask. The appearance matched that of the stranger they had confronted in Scarlet’s apartment.

  ‘A porcelain mask,’ Mr Doyle mused. ‘I believe we can now make a supposition about the wearer of that mask. I believe it is M himself.’

  ‘I thought M killed everyone he encountered,’ Churchill said.

  ‘He does. I believe Scarlet, Jack and myself are among the first to have survived the experience.’ He turned to the page. ‘Now we should refer to the actual contents of the note.’ His eyes narrowed as he read the page, then anger blazed in them. ‘This is outrageous.’

  ‘What is it?’ Jack asked.

  Mr Doyle shot him a look. He turned to General Churchill. ‘We cannot allow this to happen.’

  Churchill stirred uncomfortably. ‘I don’t believe we have any choice.’

  ‘What does it say?’ Scarlet asked.

  Mr Doyle picked up the letter and handed it to Jack and Scarlet to read.

  Mr Prime Minister,

  By now your scientists have evaluated the power of the atomic weapon found at the Berlin Metrotower. I’m sure it pains you to realise that I have an identical device and I am prepared to use it unless you follow my instructions.

  You will arrange the payment of the Josephine Diamonds to me. They will be delivered to the monument of King George the Fourth at King’s Cross Station at midday today. After I receive the diamonds, I will release Lucy Harker and the bomb into your care.

  If you do not deliver the diamonds to me, I will kill Miss Harker and destroy London at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.

  If you attempt to capture me or refuse to pay the ransom, I will destroy London.

  If you do not follow my instructions to the letter, I will destroy London.

  But it was the following final words that made Jack’s mouth fall open.

  You will send Scarlet Bell and Jack Mason with the diamonds.

  Once again, if my demands are not followed, I will reduce London to a landscape of burning cinders. And Lucy Harker will die just as her father did.

  M.

  Jack re-read the message twice before he stared into Scarlet’s face. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ he said. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘If you go,’ Scarlet said, ‘then so do I.’

  Mr Doyle appeared ashen. ‘Neither of you will go. It’s too perilous…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘There’s no other way around it,’ Mr Griffin said. ‘And we will watch their every move. They will never be out of our sight.’

  ‘Still…’ Mr Doyle looked worried.

  ‘I understand your concern,’ Churchill said. ‘Believe me, I would never use children to deal with a monster like M if I had a choice.’

  ‘But we do not have a choice,’ Horatio Kitchener interrupted. ‘The lives of millions of people are at stake.’

  ‘We will be fine,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll make sure Scarlet is safe.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ Scarlet retorted. ‘And I’ll make sure you’re safe.’

  ‘Scarlet,’ Mr Churchill said. ‘We have not told your father.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ she said. ‘He would worry.’

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ Ignatius Doyle said, ‘it has occurred to anyone that there is more to this request than meets the eye?’

  The room fell silent.

  ‘Professor M has chosen a famous location for this exchange,’ the detective continued. ‘He has no intention of being caught, so why has he done this? And there is no guarantee he will release the bomb to us—if the bomb is even in England.’

  ‘Do you think it is still on the continent?’ Thomas Griffin asked.

  ‘Isn’t it true that, from the moment this crisis began, every airship port and shipping terminal across England was closed?’ Mr Doyle said. ‘You have effectively made England a fortress. Nothing in. Nothing out.’

  General Churchill shook his head. ‘All it would take is one ship to deliver the weapon.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But if no ships are being allowed in...’

  ‘It would only take one to slip through,’ Mr Griffin said. ‘Do you really want to weigh up the lives of two young people against that of millions?’

  Mr Doyle’s chin went hard. ‘This is how it always is. Men like you make orders and others do your dirty work.’ He clenched his fists. ‘And for what? So you can be safe in your beds?’

  Mr Griffin tried to soothe him. ‘Ignatius. We’re all doing what we must.’

  ‘No.’ The detective was angry. ‘You could evacuate London.’

  ‘The entire city?’ Churchill said. ‘That would not be practicable.’

  ‘It would not be easy, you mean.’ Mr Doyle’s eyes glistened and his voice faltered as he said, ‘You send the best and brightest of our nation into danger like sending lambs to the slaughter...’

  Scarlet laid a gentle hand on the detective’s arm. It silenced him. Mr Doyle stared at them, as if he was staring into the past.

  ‘It’s
just that I won’t be with you,’ he said. ‘And anything could happen.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Mr Doyle,’ Jack said, displaying a bravado he did not feel. ‘We can handle M. He’ll wish he brought the rest of the alphabet with him!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Shortly before noon, Jack and Scarlet were dropped off at a street near King’s Cross in a steamcar occupied by Mr Doyle and General Churchill.

  ‘Be careful, team,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Don’t take any unnecessary risks.’

  ‘We won’t,’ Jack said.

  ‘We’ll keep London safe,’ Scarlet added.

  ‘Good luck, you two,’ General Churchill said. ‘We’ll be close by every step of the way.’

  Their car moved off and a second vehicle chugged along the street towards them. Mr Griffin and another person—a square-jawed man—sat inside. The man produced a small pouch containing the diamond necklace.

  He handed it to Jack. ‘Place this around your neck,’ he said. ‘And stuff the bag down the front of your shirt.’ Jack did as instructed.

  ‘Keep your wits about you,’ Mr Griffin said.

  Jack shivered. Mr Griffin had given him exact instructions: only hand over the diamonds in exchange for Lucy and the bomb.

  ‘We will,’ Scarlet promised.

  The steamcar took off, leaving Jack and Scarlet alone on the busy road. They started down the footpath. The fog had thickened over the last hour. A few people strode past—an elderly man, a lady with a dainty umbrella, two children. Jack supposed there were MI5 agents all over the place, but he doubted he would recognise them. Likewise, he supposed, M had accomplices hiding in the wings.

  If it appeared their lives were in danger, Mr Griffin assured him, MI5 agents would swoop in and save them.

  Jack was anxious about Scarlet, but she read his mind. ‘You needn’t worry about me, Jack,’ she said. ‘I am a capable woman.’

  ‘You’re only fifteen.’

  ‘Then I’m a capable fifteen-year-old. Between the two of us we can handle M and save London.’

  They had the monument in sight now, just a short distance from the bottom of the stairs to King’s Cross Station. It occurred to Jack how ludicrous this whole episode was—men and women going about their daily lives while he and Scarlet negotiated with a madman.