by Matthew Ward
“Charlotte!” he yelled, scrambling toward the edge. “Dad—come quick!”
Mr. Whipple sprang to his feet. “Wilhelm—get the little ones down! Mahankali—assist Mrs. Whipple. Henry and Simon—help where you’re needed. We’ll be just behind you!”
Arthur’s father rushed to the front of the stage while Wilhelm scooped the other seven octuplets into his arms and led the rest of the family to the stairs.
Arthur grabbed his little sister’s left arm as her legs dangled over the orchestra pit, its floor strewn with abandoned instruments and jagged music stands fifteen feet below.
“Help!” Charlotte cried again, looking up at her brother with eyes full of terror.
“Hold on!” Arthur shouted.
He strained to lift her, but their father arrived a moment later, clutching both of Charlotte’s arms and pulling her back onto the stage.
“All right, you two,” said Mr. Whipple, holding Charlotte to his chest, “let’s get out of here!”
They were ten feet from the stairs when the third blast struck. Charlotte spilled from Mr. Whipple’s arms as he hit the floor.
Arthur looked up just in time to see a large chunk of the set crash down on his father. “Dad!” he cried.
From beneath the rubble, Mr. Whipple groaned weakly. “Get—get your sister off the stage. . . .”
“But Dad, what about—”
“Arthur, go—now!”
“Daddy!” cried Charlotte.
Arthur turned away from the wreckage and grabbed his sister, then ran for the stairs. “Come on, Charlotte!” he yelled.
As he and Charlotte reached the steps, Henry and two bearded gentlemen—one in a top hat and the other in a bowler—rushed past them.
“Get Dad!” Arthur called to Henry.
“We’re on it,” Henry replied. “Just get Charlotte down to Wilhelm with the others!”
Arthur nodded and bounded down the stairs, his little sister clasped in his arms.
He caught up with Wilhelm and the rest of the family ten yards up the aisle, then turned with the others to watch the rescue effort taking place atop the stage.
Lighting cans and hunks of scenery rained down around the three rescuers as they struggled to free Arthur’s father. Henry and the man with the top hat hefted the fallen piece of set off the floor, while the man with the bowler reached down to grasp hold of Mr. Whipple’s arms.
Just as the stranger pulled Arthur’s father clear of the debris, another blast sent a lighting rig crashing to the stage in a shower of sparks, obliterating the space where Mr. Whipple had been trapped.
“Charles!” Arthur’s mother cried in panic. “Get down here this instant!”
Henry and the benevolent strangers lifted the dazed man to his feet. They now stood on the only section of stage that had not been demolished. One more blast was all it would take.
As Arthur watched the men limp for the stairs, something caught his eye in the private balcony near the curtain at stage right.
There, standing on one of the seats, was a tiny man with a crooked mustache, cursing and pounding his fist on a small black box with a silver antenna.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Rayford,” he spat. He turned to the others, pointed upward, and shouted, “There—in the opera box! He’s got a remote! We’ve got to stop him!”
Wilhelm glanced overhead and cried, “Mahankali—stay vith the others! Keep them avay from the stage!” Then he dashed down the aisle, leapt onto the giant crimson curtain, and began to climb.
At the sight of this, the dwarf let out a shriek and hopped off his chair, then scurried through the doorway at the back of the compartment.
The butler swung himself up and over the balcony railing and chased after him.
Henry and the pair of hat-wearing good Samaritans walked Mr. Whipple down the stage steps as Wilhelm reappeared at the balcony’s edge, holding the dwarf in one hand and the remote detonator in the other.
“And just vhere did you think you vere going, mein kleiner Freund?” smiled the butler.
“Put me down, you brute!” screeched the dwarf.
“Very vell,” replied the butler. “Let’s get down together, shall vee?”
And with that, Wilhelm vaulted over the rail.
“No—wait—what are you doing—you barbariaaaaaaaan!”
A moment later, the butler landed on his feet in the aisle below, the dwarf clutched safely in his arms. Rayford’s face, however, had turned several shades paler.
“There vee are,” said Wilhelm, setting the little man on the floor beside Henry.
Henry crouched down and grasped Rayford’s shoulder. “You might want to think twice before making any more requests of the family you just tried to blow up. I’d say your best bet is to hold still and keep quiet till we can get you to the police. Understand?”
His lip quivering with rage, the dwarf nodded.
Just then, the stage’s sprinkler system came on behind them and began to put out the scattered flames.
Arthur’s parents rushed to meet each other.
“Charles!” cried Mrs. Whipple. “Don’t frighten me like that! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, dear. No more than a scratch.”
“Argh,” Mrs. Whipple grumbled. “If I never see another stage on fire again, it’ll be too soon!”
“Agreed,” replied her husband. “I must say, we’re still too close to this one for my liking. The crowd certainly seem to have the right idea; shall we join them?” He offered her his arm.
“Please,” she said, and took it.
“Come, children,” called their father, “we’ve had enough catastrophe for one evening. Let’s get out of here.”
Mr. Whipple led the group toward the rear of the still-retreating crowd, then turned to the two men who had helped save his life. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it is a rare thing indeed to be the recipient of such selfless heroism—and from complete strangers, no less. I am truly in your debt.”
“Don’t mention it, my good man,” replied the top-hatted gentleman in a cheerful, aristocratic tone. “It’s the very least we could do for a chap such as yourself. Though I must tell you—”
At that moment, Arthur noticed a curious sight up ahead. While the rest of the crowd hurried up the aisle and through the lobby doors, one man stood stationary in the shadows.
It took another moment for Arthur to realize the man’s identity—and yet another for Arthur to spot the gun in the man’s hand.
As Rex Goldwin raised the pistol out of the shadows and aimed it at Mr. Whipple, Arthur cried out at the top of his voice.
“Dad!”
But it was too late. The shot echoed through the auditorium before the man could heed his son’s warning.
And yet, Arthur’s father did not fall.
The moment Rex squeezed the trigger, something struck his hand and threw the gun from his grasp.
“Leave them alone, Rex!” shouted Ruby, clutching a long-handled pair of opera glasses.
The already retreating crowd screamed and ducked for cover.
Amidst the chaos, Rex glanced to his pistol, lying on the carpet a few yards away—then fixed his eyes on the girl standing between them. “You . . .” he hissed.
Ruby had stared into the eyes of many savage reptiles that day, but none of them could have looked half so cruel as her father’s did then.
She raised the metal opera glasses a second time, but Rex swiftly knocked them to the floor. Before she could recover them, Rex struck her across the face with the back of his hand.
“Ruby!” Arthur cried from twenty yards away. He raced toward her, though he knew he would never reach her in time.
The girl fell backward into a row of seats, then crumpled to the floor. Gasping for breath, she watched Rex pick up the opera glasses and step clos
er. The next moment, he was towering over her, thumping the heavy-framed glasses against his palm.
“After all I’ve done for you in spite of your obvious defects,” Rex sneered, “this is how you repay me? It’s time I taught you some gratitude, you little freak. . . .”
He raised the opera glasses into the air—then brought them down with as much force as he could muster. There was a loud crunch as the lenses shattered from their frames on impact. Ruby, however, remained unharmed.
When Rex tried to raise the weapon again, he discovered he could not. It was then he noticed the giant hand clasped around the end of it.
Rex turned to see a hulking figure crouching over him.
The figure plucked the metal handle from Rex’s grasp as if removing a pinwheel from a petulant child, then opened its massive fist and emptied out the contents. Twisted bits of metal and glass spilled to the floor.
A look of terror came over Rex.
Then, the figure spoke.
“You should know better, Father,” said Royston.
Ruby’s face filled with surprise at the sound of her brother’s voice.
And with that, the giant grabbed Rex by the throat and lifted him off the ground.
The dangling man gasped for air, clutching and clawing at Royston’s hand. But his son’s grip was too strong.
Rex’s struggling slowed as his face turned purple.
“Royston,” cried Ruby, “Royston, no!”
The giant looked down at his sister, then back up at the bulging, bloodshot eyes of their father.
“You’ve got to let him down,” Ruby pleaded.
Royston closed his eyes and nodded—then began to lower his arm. But before he could return Rex’s feet to the floor, a voice called out behind him.
“Stop, villain—in the name of the Law!”
Ruby and her brother spun around to see a team of twelve uniformed policemen burst through the lobby doors and into the aisle.
At the head of the pack strode Inspector Hadrian Smudge.
“Unhand that man at once, Mr. Overkill!” cried Inspector Smudge. “You have already attempted to shoot one innocent man; I shall not let you strangle another!”
At that moment, Arthur and his family rushed up from the opposite direction and halted beside Ruby and Royston.
The giant released his father’s throat and Rex fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath.
“I,” Rex wheezed, “I saw him aim the gun at Charlie, and I tried to stop him—but he’s just too big for me. To think he’d turn on his own father. . . .”
“His father?” the inspector gasped.
“I’m afraid so,” coughed Rex. “He—he’s out of control, Inspector. Surely you can see why I was too ashamed to admit he was my son. . . .”
“He’s lying!” shouted Ruby. “He’s the one who tried to shoot Mr. Whipple—Royston was only protecting me from him!”
“Pardon me, miss,” the inspector frowned, “are you not the same girl who, only a few months back, would have had me arrest the prestigious presidents of the Global Guild of Dwarves and Giants simply because you and your friend Angus thought they fit the description of a particular pair of party clowns? Oh, I don’t think I’ll be taking your advice any time soon. And besides—isn’t this precisely what you wanted all along—for these villains Overkill and Undercut to be arrested? I should think a simple ‘thank you’ might be more in order here.”
“But Inspector,” cried Arthur, “they were only working for Mr. Goldwin! He’s the real culprit!”
“The children speak the truth,” said Mr. Whipple. “Mr. Goldwin has clearly been the mastermind from the beginning. Please, Inspector—as the one who hired you in the first place, I beg you—do not arrest the wrong man a second time.”
“Mr. Whipple,” said the inspector, “I’m afraid the Law cannot be hired or unhired at your every whim. Do you honestly believe you can call it off now, simply because it has chanced to find an offender whom you regard as inconvenient? I doubt you are so naive. Your chef and his associates must pay the price for their misdeeds—and it is my duty to ensure it. Now,” he said, turning to the task force behind him, “please take the tall man into custody. You may let Mr. Goldwin go free.”
The officers stepped forward and handcuffed Royston—paying no regard to the giant’s father.
“No!” cried Arthur. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Mr. Whipple looked helplessly at his son.
“Thank you, Inspector,” Rex said coolly, ignoring the boy’s outburst. “It’s a good thing someone so reasonable was here to protect a man so cruelly slandered and falsely accused as myself. My daughter, unfortunately, is a very troubled girl. Seems she’ll say anything for a bit of attention—no matter who it harms. Perhaps a bit of attention from her father will finally straighten her out.”
Rex held his hand at his side, clenching it so tightly it began to shake.
Arthur looked to Ruby with a desperate glance. After all their hard work, Rex Goldwin had managed to escape justice once again. There would be no one to protect Ruby from his retribution. Arthur’s heart sank. He had never felt so powerless.
“Please, Mr. Goldwin,” the inspector insisted, “I am happy to do my part in the molding and instruction of today’s youth. It pains me to see someone of your position saddled with such defiantly wayward offspring. You, sir, are free to go.”
The inspector gestured toward the exit.
“Not so fast, Smudge!” came a voice from the crowd.
At that moment, the bearded man in the top hat leapt into the center of the aisle.
The inspector, as well as the surrounding crowd, reeled around in surprise. It was then that the bearded man in the top hat tore off his beard and top hat.
“Greenley!” cried the inspector. “What on earth are you doing here—and in that ridiculous costume?! Have I not made it clear you were to stop purchasing those dreadful things?”
“You have indeed, sir,” said D.S. Greenley. “I’m afraid, however—you will have to come with me.”
“What?!” squealed the inspector. “Go with you where?”
“To the station, sir.”
“To the station?! Have you gone mad? How dare you speak to me this way, you insolent little cuss!”
“My apologies, Inspector—but I’m afraid you’ve been under investigation by the Yard’s Inspector Inspection Squad for some time now.”
“What the devil are you talking about?!”
“I hate to say it, sir, but it seems your record for Most Solved Cases in History has been achieved through unlawful means. The IIS have discovered that in each of your cases for the past decade, you have ignored vital evidence in order to make a quick arrest—instead of diligently pursuing the truth. Indeed, it appears you’ve broken a new record, sir—for Most Innocent People Wrongly Convicted.”
“Preposterous!” cried Inspector Smudge. “I’ll not have my conduct appraised by some insignificant sergeant— a sergeant who, I might remind you, is meant to be my assistant!”
“I understand it makes for an awkward situation, sir—but I’m afraid neither of us has any choice in the matter. Top brass, you see, have personally ordered me to inform you of the charges and bring you in.”
“You ungrateful little rat!” the inspector snarled.
“Oh, on the contrary, sir,” said Greenley. “I truly appreciate all you’ve done for me these past months. Indeed, I’ve learned more from you than you know.”
He retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his coat.
Inspector Smudge’s eyes grew wide. He froze for a moment like a hunted fox—then whirled around and fled back up the aisle.
He had not taken two steps, however, before he was stopped and seized by the wall of uniformed officers he had commanded only a moment earlier.
Gr
eenley took hold of the inspector’s arms and slapped the first cuff onto his wrist.
“No!” the inspector whimpered. “I’ve done nothing wrong! I’m innocent!”
Greenley sighed. “You can’t hide from the Law, sir.” He clapped the other cuff shut and announced, “Inspector Hadrian Ulysses Smudge—I am arresting you on suspicion of criminal negligence and perverting the course of justice.”
“This is outrageous!” cried the inspector. “I can’t be arrested! I am the recipient of the Golden Magnifying Glass Award!”
Greenley shrugged. “I reckon the Academy of Qualified Award Givers will be wanting that back, sir.” He transferred his hold on the captive’s wrists to a nearby officer and said, “Take him away, lads.”
A pair of policemen escorted Smudge through the small crowd of brave theatergoers and intrepid reporters that had gathered around the commotion.
Greenley then turned to Ruby’s father, who had begun inching his way into one of the rows. “Now, as for you, Mr. Goldwin,” he said, “I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere.”
The sergeant nodded, and a second pair of policemen closed in and handcuffed Rex, who immediately began struggling against his bonds.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Rex shouted. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with here! I’ll have your badge!”
“Rex Goldwin,” Greenley said calmly, “you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Charles Whipple, as well as multiple counts of conspiracy, aggravated assault, sabotage, fraud . . .”
At that moment, Rita Goldwin pushed her way through the crowd to see her husband in handcuffs. “What—what’s happening?! Rex!”
The Goldwin children arrived beside their frantic mother as Greenley turned to her and said, “Ah, Mrs. Goldwin—glad you could join us. Lads—you can go ahead and put the bracelets on this one as well.”
Two more policemen stepped forward and flanked Rita Goldwin, whose face filled with panic.
“Wait—why are you arresting me?!” she shrieked as the officers clapped a matching set of handcuffs around her wrists. “I had nothing to do with any of Rex’s business dealings!”
“That remains to be seen, Mrs. Goldwin. But in the meantime, we have a charge that will more than suffice.” Greenley touched his fingertips together and narrowed his eyes. “This morning, you see, I had a chat with a friend of your husband’s—a Mr. Neil McCoy: the infamous forgery expert. As it happens, Mr. McCoy has been the focus of a longstanding Scotland Yard investigation—which has only just yesterday been brought to a successful close. Though we’ve known of your husband’s connection to McCoy for some time now, we’ve as yet been unable to glean the precise nature of their dealings. That is—until today. In exchange for a reduced sentence on his other forgery convictions, Mr. McCoy has provided us with copies of a certain series of documents he’s been commissioned to produce for your family over the years—the first dating back nearly two decades and the last, not quite twelve months.”
