by Anthony Read
“Oooh,” he groaned. “Look what you made me do!”
“Never mind that,” Wiggins admonished him. “We got more important things to worry about.”
Sparrow stared at the Indian boy.
“Cor,” he exclaimed. “What show’s he in? Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves? Aladdin and his Magic Lamp?”
“Less of your lip,” Queenie scolded. “Can’t you see he’s Indian? And he’s had a very nasty shock, so you better be nice to him.”
“Oh. Sorry. Does he talk the lingo?”
The Indian boy was looking around the Boys’ hideaway in amazement, taking in the various bits and pieces with which it was furnished: the makeshift beds, the big table propped up with a block of wood, and Wiggins’s special armchair. Now he smiled, and spoke for the first time.
“I say,” he said, in perfect English, sounding like a lord, “what a spiffing place. Do you actually live here?”
The Boys stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Oh, forgive me,” he continued. “I haven’t thanked you chaps for rescuing me. I really am most awfully grateful.”
“That’s all right, old chap,” said Wiggins. “Who was them geezers anyway?”
“Geezers?”
“Yeah, you know, blokes. Chaps. Men.”
“Ah, geezers…” the boy rolled the word around his mouth, testing the sound of it. “Must remember that. Geezers…”
“Was they tryin’ to rob you?” Beaver asked.
“I rather think they were trying to murder me.”
Sparrow let out a whistle, and regarded him with more respect.
“Why?” asked Wiggins.
“Because of who I am, I suppose.”
“Who are you, then?”
“Oh, I do beg your pardon. I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Ravindranatharam.”
“Crikey,” said Sparrow, “that’s a mouthful and no mistake.”
“Yes I know, it is rather. You can call me Ravi.”
“That’s better.”
“My father is the Raja of Ranjipur…”
“The ruby!” Wiggins and Queenie shouted together.
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Heard of it?” Wiggins said. “We was looking at it, this very afternoon.”
Ravi looked shocked. “You mean it’s been stolen?” he asked. “Oh my goodness! Do you know who took it?”
“Nobody took it,” Wiggins told him. “No need to panic.”
“We seen a copy of it,” Beaver explained.
“In Madame Dupont’s waxworks,” Queenie said. “Come to think of it, there was two wax people there that was likely s’posed to be you and your dad.”
“That’s right!” Wiggins said. “Presenting the ruby to Her Majesty.”
“You think that was really him?” Beaver asked, staring at Ravi with fresh interest. It was exciting to know someone who had actually had a waxwork made of them and put on public display.
Ravi looked puzzled. “But we haven’t presented it yet,” he said. “We have to wait for Queen Victoria to come back to London. I believe she’s staying in her house on the Isle of Wight at the moment.”
“That don’t matter,” Wiggins told him. Then he and Queenie explained about the waxworks exhibition, and the copies of all the precious stones that went into the crown jewels, and the places they came from.
“I say!” Ravi said when they had finished. “That sounds jolly interesting. Will you take me to see it?”
“Course we will, love,” said Queenie.
“Now? We could go now?”
“Er, hang on a minute, Ravi,” Wiggins chipped in. “Ain’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“Them two blokes…”
“Ah, yes. The geezers.”
“That’s right. The geezers what was trying to murder you?”
“Yeah,” Beaver joined in. “They’re still out there.”
“And like as not,” added Queenie, “they still want to do you in.”
Ravi smiled trustingly at them. “But I have you to protect me now,” he said.
Beaver straightened his back, proudly. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re with the Baker Street Boys.”
“The Baker Street Boys?”
“That’s us,” Queenie said. She introduced herself and the others, and explained who they were and what they did. Ravi was fascinated.
“And you live here on your own, with no one to boss you about, looking after yourselves?” he asked.
“And lookin’ after our friends,” Beaver added. “You stick with us and you’ll be all right.”
“All the same,” Wiggins cautioned, “you can’t be too careful. Them two geezers looked like a couple of tough nuts. You got any idea who they were?”
“No idea at all.”
Wiggins put on his deep-thinking expression, and stroked his chin as he had seen Mr Holmes do.
“They looked like they was from your country,” he said.
“It’s possible,” Ravi replied. “There are some in Ranjipur who do not approve of my father giving away the ruby.”
“How about you? What do you think?”
“Personally, I can’t wait to get rid of the wretched thing. They say it carries a curse, you know.”
The Boys stared at him in wonder. This could turn into a really exciting adventure. But Queenie had other thoughts.
“The ruby’s got a curse on it,” she said, “and you’re givin’ it to Her Majesty? Strikes me that ain’t a very nice present.”
Ravi shook his head. “The curse only applies to men who own the stone, not ladies.”
“Oh, well, that’s all right then,” Wiggins grinned.
Ravi grinned back. “To tell you the truth, I believe my father can’t wait to get rid of the ruddy thing, even though it’s worth a king’s ransom.”
“Well, if Her Majesty don’t want it, you can tell your dad to give it to me,” Queenie joked. “I’d be all right with it!”
They all laughed, but stopped when Wiggins’s sharp ears heard a sound from outside.
“Quiet!” he said, holding up one hand. “Somebody coming…”
They fell silent. Wiggins was right – they could hear footsteps on the stairs.
“More than one of ’em,” whispered Sparrow.
They all held their breath, waiting nervously. The footsteps came nearer and stopped. The door burst open – and Shiner, Rosie and Gertie tumbled through it. They stopped at the sight of the others standing there.
“What’s up with you lot?” Gertie demanded. “You look like you seen a ghost or somethin’.”
“And who’s ’e?” Shiner asked, pointing at Ravi. “What’s he doin’ ’ere and why’s he all dolled up in fancy dress?”
Ravi glanced down at his opulent clothes, then at the Boys’ scruffy rags.
“Yes,” he laughed, “I suppose they do look rather fancy. I’m Ravi. How d’you do.”
He stepped forward, took Shiner’s hand and shook it, to the little boot-black’s astonishment.
“Is ’e tryin’ to be funny?” he asked, looking as though he might punch Ravi on the nose.
Queenie quickly intervened. “Manners!” she admonished Shiner. “Ravi’s a prince. Come all the way from India, to give Queen Victoria a precious jewel.”
“Why?” Shiner wanted to know. “Ain’t she got enough already?”
Queenie turned to Ravi with an apologetic smile. “This is my little brother, Albert. We call him Shiner, ’cos he shines shoes at Paddington Station. And this is Rosie, she sells flowers to ladies and gents.”
Rosie smiled shyly and, because he was a prince, gave Ravi a little curtsy that made her blonde curls dance around her face.
“And this is Gertie…” Queenie continued.
“Gertie?” Ravi looked at the short ginger hair escaping from beneath Gertie’s cap, and the ragged trousers ending just below her knees, and shook his head, puzzled. “I thought Gertie was a girl’s name.”
“She is a girl,” said Queenie. “Though she don’t like to admit it.”
Gertie beamed, delighted at being mistaken for a boy.
“Ah, I see,” said Ravi. “She is what one would call a tomboy.”
“Anythin’ a lad can do, Gertie can do.”
“And better,” Gertie said, with a broad grin.
“Well, I’m very pleased to meet you, Gertie.” Ravi took her hand and shook it, heartily. “Are there any more of you?” he asked.
“No,” said Queenie. “That’s it. The gang’s all here.”
“Jolly good. What shall we do now?”
“Well,” said Wiggins. “I s’pose the first thing we gotta do is get you back home safe and sound.”
“Oh, do I have to? Can’t I stay here with you? My tutor wants to send me to Eton College, and I really don’t want to go to school.”
“You got any money?” Shiner asked.
“Shiner!” Queenie rebuked him.
But the young prince was not offended. “I don’t carry money with me,” he replied.
“Nor do we,” joked Sparrow. “We ain’t got none!”
“We’d love for you to stay with us,” Queenie told Ravi gently. “But it just wouldn’t be right. ’Sides which, your folks’ll be startin’ to worry about you and wonderin’ where you got to.”
“Queenie’s right,” Wiggins said. “I dare say they’ll be sending out search parties if you ain’t back soon. So where’re you staying?”
Ravi sighed in disappointment. “If I go, may I come back and see you all again?”
“Only if you don’t tell nobody where this place is,” Wiggins told him.
“This is HQ, and it’s secret,” Beaver added.
“I won’t breathe a word. I promise.”
“All right. Now, where are you living?”
“We’re staying in Lord Holdhurst’s house, on the corner of Baker Street and Dorset Street.”
“That’s not far. We’ll come with you. Not you lot,” he told the younger Boys. “It don’t need all of us. Just Beaver and Queenie.”
The other four Boys moaned at being left out, but Wiggins shook his head firmly.
“Be too much of a crowd,” he told them. “We don’t wanna draw attention to ourselves, not if Ravi here’s in danger.”
“Let’s go then,” said Queenie, taking Ravi’s hand again. “Your dad’ll be pleased to see you back.”
“My papa’s not there,” Ravi replied. “He’s taken his guns to Scotland, with Lord Holdhurst.”
“Are they gonna shoot somebody?” Rosie asked, looking worried.
Ravi laughed.
“Not somebody. Something. Deer and stags and birds. At home he shoots tigers.”
“That’s terrible,” said Rosie. “Poor things.”
“Not when they’re man-eaters,” Ravi replied. “Sometimes they attack villages and kill people and carry off their children.”
“Oh! I’m glad we don’t have man-eating tigers in this country.”
“No,” Queenie agreed. “In this country it’s people what kills people. Come on, let’s get goin’.”
THE STRANGLERS
There was no sign of the two men as Wiggins, Beaver and Queenie left HQ with Ravi. But the Boys were taking no chances as they made their way through the streets. Queenie walked a little way ahead, acting as lookout. Wiggins and Beaver kept Ravi between them and stayed close to the buildings, nervous that at any moment the men might leap out at them and try to murder them all.
Fortunately, there were plenty of people about as they entered a busier street. The muffin man passed them, balancing a tray of warm muffins on his head and ringing his hand bell to attract customers – a steady stream of maids and cooks came out to buy his wares for tea. Further down the street, scullery maids brought cutlery to a knife-grinder who crouched over his barrow at the edge of the pavement, creating showers of sparks like fireworks on Guy Fawkes night as he sharpened knives and scissors on his spinning grindstone.
“We should be all right now,” Beaver said. “Too many people about for ’em to try anythin’ here.”
“All the same,” Wiggins replied, “we can’t be too careful. Keep your eyes open.”
They reached Lord Holdhurst’s house safely. Ravi climbed the steps to the front door and tugged at the brass bell pull. After a moment, the door was opened by a maid aged about sixteen, wearing a uniform of blue dress, white apron and frilly white cap.
“Oh, Prince Ravi!” she exclaimed. “Where’ve you been? Captain Nicholson’s been going on something awful. He wants to see you at once. In the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Annie,” said Ravi. “And I want to see him. I want him to meet my new friends.” He turned and beckoned to the three Boys. “Come on,” he urged. “This way.”
He bounded up the broad marble stairway leading from the imposing hall. The Boys hesitated, awed by the oil paintings and gilt mirrors and rich velvet drapes, then followed him. Annie watched them curiously, a little smile on her lips. As they passed her, she quickly reached out and plucked Wiggins’s and Beaver’s hats off their heads, gently shaking her head and tutting quietly.
In the drawing room at the head of the stairs, two men were waiting. One, a slim, handsome Englishman in his late thirties, smartly dressed in a long black jacket and pinstriped trousers, was leaning against the marble mantelpiece, stroking his fair moustache. He was standing on a large rug, made from the skin of a magnificent tiger, complete with head. Its jaws were open wide in a snarl that showed its fearsome fangs. At first sight it looked as though it were still alive. When Queenie saw it she shrank back nervously for the second time that day.
The other man in the room was older and fatter, an Indian wearing a dark grey coat, buttoned to the neck, and tight white trousers. Both men had stern expressions on their faces, but the Indian’s was much more sour. His mouth was pinched tight, as though he had been drinking vinegar. He got to his feet as Ravi entered the room.
“Ravi!” the Englishman snapped. “Where have you been? I gave you strict instructions that you were not to leave this house without an escort. Anything could have happened to you.”
“It very nearly did,” Wiggins said as he followed Ravi into the room.
The man stared at him.
“What the—? Who are these ragamuffins? What are you doing with them?”
“These are my friends: Wiggins, Beaver and Queenie. They’re the leaders of the Baker Street Boys.”
“They are disreputable guttersnipes—”
“’Ere, hold on, guv’nor!” Wiggins protested. But the man continued without a pause.
“—and they have no place in a respectable house filled with valuable things. What on earth are you thinking of, bringing them in here?”
“The captain is indubitably correct,” the other man added in a heavy Indian accent, wagging his finger angrily at Ravi. “Your father would by no means be giving his approval.”
“My father is not here,” Ravi replied calmly. “But if he were, I’m sure he’d be giving my chums a big thumbs-up. They saved my life, don’t you know!”
“What tommyrot is this?” the captain asked.
“It ain’t tommyrot, your honour,” Queenie blurted out. “It’s the God’s honest truth. Ain’t that right, lads?”
Wiggins and Beaver nodded earnestly.
“Cross my heart and hope to die!” said Beaver. “If it hadn’t been for us, Ravi would’ve been a goner, and that’s for sure.”
“Oh my goodness!” the Indian man exclaimed. “An accident?”
“It wasn’t no accident, guv’nor,” said Wiggins. “It was ’tempted murder.”
“Murder?! Oh my goodness, gracious me!”
“Now then, let’s all keep calm, shall we?” the captain said. “Tell me exactly what happened. I’m Captain Nicholson by the way, Prince Ravindranatharam’s tutor, and this gentleman is Mr Ram Das, the Raja’s dewan.”
“His what?” Wiggins asked.
&
nbsp; “His dewan,” Ravi said, carefully pronouncing it dee-wan. “It’s like a prime minister. He runs things for my father.”
The dewan inclined his head solemnly, and sat down. The captain sat down too, facing the four youngsters, and gestured to Ravi to begin.
“Well, it was like this,” Ravi started. “I decided to do a little exploring – it gets awfully boring, you know, being cooped up in here, and you’d gone off somewhere—”
“Yes, yes, I had business to attend to. Get on with it, boy.”
“I was in the street, and there were these two geezers…”
The captain’s eyebrows shot almost to the top of his forehead.
“I beg your pardon?” he said sharply.
“You know – geezers. Fellows. Men,” Ravi explained impatiently. Captain Nicholson covered his mouth with his hand and coughed – Wiggins was sure he was hiding a smile. Ravi continued, describing what had happened and how the Boys had come to his rescue. The two men listened with shocked faces. When Ravi had finished, the captain turned to the Boys.
“Well,” he said, “it seems we owe you chaps an apology. And a vote of thanks.”
“We was only doing our duty, Captain,” Wiggins said. “It’s our business, you know, fighting crime.”
“Is it, indeed? Well done, anyway. Tell me, these men – these, er, geezers. Did they have knives? Cudgels? What?”
“No,” Wiggins told him. “They was trying to strangle him.”
“With a sort of scarf, like a neckerchief,” Queenie added.
The dewan leapt to his feet in alarm.
“No!” he exclaimed. “It’s not possible! Not here.”
The others stared at him, surprised by his look of fear.
“What isn’t?” the captain asked.
“The stranglers. The Thugs. They were all destroyed fifty years ago. How can they be here, now, in London?”
The dewan was so agitated that Captain Nicholson had to ring for some tea to help him calm down. Supervised by the butler, Mr Hobson, Annie brought in a large tray laden with fine china cups and saucers, a silver teapot and a milk jug. Another maid brought a tray of plates filled with little cakes and tarts, which the Boys eyed hungrily. While the dewan was drinking his reviving cup of tea, Annie served Wiggins, Queenie and Beaver.
