by Darrell Pitt
‘Who was George the Fourth anyway?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Scarlet said. ‘I suspect he came after George the Third.’
‘People must have loved him.’
‘Why?’
‘To put up such a monument.’
The monument was a hexagonal stone structure with a statue on the top. It loomed above the sea of fog. It was not an attractive sight. Jack’s heart began to race a little faster as they approached. Only fifty feet to the statue. He hoped dozens of agents were watching their every move. His mouth went dry. No sign of the porcelain-faced figure. The clock tower at King’s Cross Station showed five minutes to the hour.
They reached the bottom of the statue. A bird sailed overhead. A steamcar chuffed down the road. An elderly couple emerged from the mist in the direction of the station. They climbed the steps and disappeared. A steamtruck roared towards Jack and Scarlet. The driver glanced at Jack. He stared back. The vehicle drove past.
Jack’s heart pounded as he sunk his hands into his coat, feeling the compass and picture. He knew his parents were with him. The clock chimed. Twelve o’clock. A line of sweat ran down Jack’s face and gathered at the point of his chin. Two boys ran down the road, chasing each other. The clock continued to chime. Nearing Jack and Scarlet, one of them yelled something rude and they sprinted away.
‘Horrible little boys,’ Scarlet said.
The last chime faded away. The fog shifted around them. It was getting thicker by the moment. A vehicle moved through the haze, invisible except for the chugging of its engine. The sun struggled to break through without success.
Another trickle of sweat found an avenue down Jack’s face. He let out a long breath. He heard a train pull into the station behind them. He glanced back and saw ghostly figures in the fog. A whistle shrieked.
‘Where is he?’ Scarlet said.
‘I don’t know,’ Jack answered.
He peered long and hard in both directions. Everyone seemed to be ignoring them.
Where was M?
‘So,’ a voice said from behind him. ‘We meet again.’
Jack knew the voice. Though distorted, it was the same voice he’d heard back in Scarlet’s apartment. But when he spun around, there was no-one there. Behind them lay the stone foundation. Quickly, they rounded the structure, but there was no-one there either.
‘Look down,’ the voice said, ‘you will see a bronze box with an antenna sticking out the top.’
The box, as described, lay at their feet. A fine grill decorated the top. A red button jutted out from the top-left side.
‘Now pick it up,’ the voice ordered.
Jack’s mouth fell open. The voice was coming from the box!
‘What is it?’ Scarlet asked.
‘It’s amazing,’ Jack said, ‘is what it is.’
‘To reply to my instructions,’ the voice continued, ‘you must press the button on the left-hand side of this device and then release it to listen. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Jack said automatically, then realised the speaker could not hear him. He pressed the button and repeated himself.
‘Good. You hold in your hands a radio transmitter. We will be using it to communicate with each other. Is Scarlet Bell there?’
‘I am.’
‘Who are you?’ Jack said to the box. ‘To whom am I speaking?’
‘You know who I am,’ the voice said.
Professor M!
‘Where are you?’ Jack asked.
‘We will meet after you follow my instructions. Now, climb the stairs to the station, buy tickets for Hackney, go to the platform and wait for the 12.05 train.’
Jack, with Scarlet at his side, walked on shaking legs. Scarlet purchased the tickets with a coin from her small pocket and they headed to the platform. There were few people about. A train pulled in and the doors opened with a puff of steam. They climbed on.
The steam train was divided into first and second class. It seated hundreds, but now, in the middle of the day, it was almost empty. A man boarded the carriage at the far end. He glanced at them, but made no indication of recognition. Was he MI5?
‘Let’s remain here,’ Scarlet said, ‘in case we need to alight.’
‘Good idea.’
They stood in the vestibule area and gripped a pole as the train accelerated. The next stop was on the new Barnshill line. A man moved past them into the carriage and took a seat some distance away. The train started again.
The box crackled. ‘Get off at the next stop.’
Jack glanced up at a railway map attached to the wall. ‘The next stop is Sabre Field.’
Three minutes later the train drew to a halt. The doors opened and Jack and Scarlet got out.
‘There is a train departing on platform four,’ the voice snapped. ‘You have one minute to catch it.’
Jack sighted a set of stairs to his left. They ran up them, crossed the overhead bridge and followed the directions to the platform below. A train had just arrived.
‘Blimey,’ Jack muttered under his breath.
‘This dress was not made for athletics,’ Scarlet puffed.
The doors were closing. Jack and Scarlet made a running jump through, and the doors sealed shut behind them. Gasping for breath, Jack peered down the carriage. He was not sure if the man from the other train had made the switch. He swallowed. In one single move, they may have already lost their protection.
The train started again. Half-a-dozen stations flew past without any instructions from M. They pulled into another station—Hammermouth.
‘I am starting to feel slightly concerned,’ Scarlet said. ‘I think we’re on our own.’
‘It’s nothing we can’t handle,’ Jack said, not feeling the confidence he espoused.
Scarlet frowned. ‘There was a Brinkie Buckeridge novel where she constructed a gun from parts of a washing machine.’
‘I didn’t bring my washing machine with me. Did you?’
‘Hmm. No, I left mine at home.’
The radio crackled. ‘Change trains,’ M instructed. ‘Platform five.’
Jack flung open the door as the train pulled into Hammermouth. A train was pulling into the other platform. He took the stairs two at a time with Scarlet behind him. As they sprinted across the overhead bridge, Jack crashed into a man in a suit.
‘Oof!’ he cried.
‘So sorry!’ Scarlet yelled.
‘Impudent, young rascals...’
Jack did not hear the rest of it. They scrambled down the stairs. The guard blew his whistle as Jack landed badly on a step, twisting his ankle. He sprawled down the stairs.
Argh!
‘Jack!’ Scarlet yelled.
‘Keep moving!’
He rolled down the remaining steps and climbed to his feet as the doors started to close.
No!
Scarlet shrieked. She jammed her body in between the closing doors. Jack staggered across the platform and leapt inside. Scarlet let the door close.
An elderly woman gave them a severe look. ‘That’s a foolish thing to do.’
‘Yes, we know,’ Jack said.
He stumbled through to the carriage with Scarlet, breathless, behind him. When he was halfway down the aisle, the radio crackled again. A seated man gazed at them strangely and they retreated to the far end empty of passengers.
‘Jack and Scarlet,’ the voice rasped. ‘Prepare to disembark.’
‘We barely made this train,’ Scarlet protested. ‘My attire was not made for jumping from train to train.’
‘You have almost reached your destination,’ the voice said. ‘Disembark at the next station. Go to the south side and take the next steambus to the end of the line.’
Jack wiped sweat from his face as the train chugged in to the next station. It was a stop called Bigglesworth. The doors slid open with a puff of steam. They stepped out and hobbled up the stairs.
The fog had cleared, the day had grown warmer and the exertion had pushed Jack
to the limit. Scarlet appeared equally exhausted. Her face was red, her dress smeared with dirt and her splendid hair was in disarray.
Crossing to the south side of the station, Jack saw a bus chuffing down the road in their direction. Scarlet paid money to the driver and they sat near the exit.
‘Do you think M is the bus driver?’ Jack asked.
‘I don’t believe the greatest criminal mind of our time is driving a bus in Bigglesworth. Still, we had best be on our guard.’
The bus stopped three more times before the driver turned to them.
‘Last stop, people,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ Jack said.
They exited the bus and saw a river on the other side bordered by shrubbery. The waterway was thirty feet across. Small houses lined one side of the road. A tiny barking dog ran circles in a front yard. Ducks drifted down the river.
The radio hissed. ‘Walk to the centre of the bridge.’
‘Over there,’ Scarlet said.
Jack saw an old stone bridge further up the bank. He approached it with a feeling of dread. They had been promised they would be followed every step of the way. Mr Griffin had told him they would be safe. Nothing could be further from the truth. Whatever MI5 agents had been following them had been lost long ago.
They were on their own.
Jack checked his pockets. His picture and compass were still there. He thought of his parents. He might be seeing them shortly if this meeting went wrong. What sort of advice would his father offer in this situation? Keep a cool head. Don’t let fear control your actions.
It was wonderful advice, but his body was determined to ignore it. He was literally shaking with terror as he walked along the riverbank. He hoped Scarlet didn’t notice, flashing a glance at her. She looked just as worried. A small crease divided her forehead. Jack wished MI5 had allowed them to carry guns.
‘Do you see anyone?’
‘No,’ Scarlet replied. ‘But I suggest we keep an eagle eye.’
They walked to the middle of the bridge. Looking in both directions, Jack saw no-one approaching the crossing. A forest lay on the other side. He became aware of the bag containing the diamond necklace pressed hard against his chest. The pouch had seemed so light before—now it weighed a ton.
A low humming reverberated across the water—the sound of a steam engine. His eyes searched the river, but couldn’t see a boat. The humming grew louder.
A shadow crossed his face. Jack glanced up. A small airship was coming in to land. It had no registration number on the bow. The windows of the gondola were shrouded in curtains. The vessel slowed, hovering overhead.
‘Good heavens,’ Scarlet cried.
A familiar figure appeared at the glass. The man with the porcelain face peered down at them, his hat pulled low. He leaned over the side and dropped a basket on a rope. It fell, almost hitting Jack in the head.
‘Put the diamonds in the basket,’ M called.
The airship’s engines almost drowned out his voice.
‘Where is Lucy Harker?’ Jack asked. ‘And where is the bomb?’
‘I will send instructions later. Give me the diamonds.’
‘We must have Lucy and the bomb first,’ Scarlet said. ‘Then we will give you the necklace.’
‘You impudent child!’ M snapped. ‘I can destroy London with the flick of a switch.’
‘You’ve given no proof the bomb is even in England,’ Jack said. ‘For all we know it’s still in Europe.’
‘You’ll have to trust me,’ Professor M rasped. ‘Now give me the necklace.’
‘No.’
‘You dare to speak to me like this?’
‘We dare,’ Scarlet said, her voice high with fear. ‘Now where are Lucy and the bomb?’
Whatever reply M was about to make was stifled by the distant chugging of another steam engine. An airship was arrowing towards them. M let out a cry of rage.
‘You fools!’ he screamed. ‘You have just signed your own death warrants!’
M sprang back from the window and Jack stood back, expecting the airship to take off at full speed. Instead, it dropped like a stone. Scarlet and Jack leapt backwards as the gondola crashed into the bridge.
Scarlet fell over the railing into the water. The door of the airship flew open and the criminal leapt out. Jack made a grab for him, but M spun around with a flying kick to his stomach. He gasped as M moved in with two swift blows to his jaw.
Jack hit the ground. He saw M standing over him before he lost consciousness.
‘Tell your masters that Lucy Harker’s life is over,’ he rasped. ‘Today she will die, and at midnight so too will London.’
Jack’s world turned to darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
An hour later the quiet bridge across the river was the heart of a massive manhunt. Hundreds of police, MI5 agents and men with tracker dogs were spreading out in all directions in search of M.
‘They won’t find him,’ Mr Doyle predicted.
Jack, his jaw aching, looked up at the great detective. The criminal’s airship had been combed for clues without success. The police had located an old sewerage tunnel that led away from the river to a nearby town. It seemed likely that M had used the tunnel as an escape route.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
‘I am fairly sure,’ Mr Doyle replied. ‘Professor M has planned this operation to the letter. The only factor in our favour is that he does not already have the bomb.’
‘He doesn’t have the bomb?’ Jack tried to make sense of the detective’s words.
‘No. If the bomb were in England he would have already detonated it, but he’s allowed himself time for it to arrive.’
A red-headed figure appeared from the back of a police van wearing a change of clothing. She charged towards them.
‘Do you like my new outfit?’ Scarlet asked.
It appeared to have been borrowed from a washerwoman. Scarlet wore a long grey dress. Around her shoulders was an old shawl and her sleeves were pushed back to her elbows. She wrung out her damp hair.
‘Very fetching, my dear,’ the detective said. ‘I’m just pleased that you’re safe.’
‘What happened to the Josephine Diamonds?’ Scarlet asked.
‘Gone.’ Jack felt miserable. ‘M stole them from me when I was unconscious.’
‘Don’t be hard on yourself, Jack,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘All is not lost.’
‘What will we do?’
‘We still have the clue of the paper—the page we found on Paul Harker’s body.’
Jack nodded. He had forgotten about the paper. Mr Griffin and General Churchill appeared.
‘We haven’t found M,’ Mr Griffin said, pushing back his black-rimmed glasses. ‘He’s given us the slip.’
‘The prime minister will be making an announcement this afternoon,’ Churchill said, looking more like a bulldog that ever. ‘He’s going to follow your advice, Ignatius. He’s decided to order a general evacuation of London.’
‘And what will you gentlemen do?’ Mr Doyle inquired.
‘Our best to find M,’ Churchill said. ‘We will continue to track him until we find him, or until…’
‘Until we no longer can,’ Mr Griffin finished.
‘Jack, Scarlet and I have a lead to follow,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘We will be in contact with you as soon as we know something.’
General Churchill cleared his throat. ‘Ignatius,’ he said. ‘How do you rate our chances?’
‘I believe in human intellect and our capacity for good,’ the great detective replied. ‘Don’t give up hope.’
Mr Doyle turned and led Jack and Scarlet to the Lion’s Mane, parked on the riverbank. A few minutes later they were heading in the direction of the East End. The sky ahead was bright and clear with a single clot of clouds cresting the far horizon. London lay beneath them, the sprawling metropolis covering the landscape like an enormous quilt.
‘You were very brave on the bridge,’ Scarlet said to Jack.
<
br /> ‘Brave?’ His voice went up a notch. ‘I was terrified.’
‘You certainly didn’t show it.’ The girl nudged him with her elbow. ‘My father has a saying about courage. He says it’s not the absence of fear but the conquering of it.’
‘Your father sounds like a wise man.’
She sighed. ‘Not wise enough to stay out of the Phoenix Society.’
‘He didn’t know what he was getting into.’
‘I suppose not. I hope he’s all right after this. I don’t know what I’d do if he went to jail.’
‘I don’t think that will happen.’
As quickly as they had risen into the sky came the time to descend. Mr Doyle navigated the ship into a back alley leading off Stepney Way. Disembarking, the trio steered through the crowded streets until they arrived outside a tiny shop wedged between a bakery and book store.
The sign above the door said: DeGroot and Sons Paper Supplier.
A bell jangled as Mr Doyle led them into the shop. He wasted no time marching up to the counter. The man staffing the business was about seventy. He was five feet high, had thinning grey hair and an angular face that ended in a weak chin. He peered at them.
‘Good morning. How may I help you?’
‘You are Mr DeGroot, I presume,’ Mr Doyle said.
‘I am.’
‘I am Ignatius Doyle. These are my assistants, Jack Mason and Scarlet Bell. We are looking for a customer who purchases paper from your shop.’
‘And who might that be? I have many customers.’
‘We don’t know the name.’ Mr Doyle cast his eye over the shelves and selected a sheet. ‘They buy this from you, but in the larger size.’
‘Ah, the Cambershire Royal,’ Mr DeGroot said. ‘Very good quality.’
He stood, smiling and nodding. He seemed to have forgotten about Jack and the others.
‘So we would like to know who buys this paper.’ Scarlet flashed a smile. ‘But in the larger size.’
‘All kinds of people purchase the Cambershire Royal,’ the man said. ‘But not in a larger size, of course.’
‘Why of course?’ Mr Doyle inquired.
‘It is delivered in this size only. Never larger.’
