The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Captive Clairvoyant

by Anthony Read

  “Ooh, Wiggins!” protested Beaver. “What you doing that for? It’s still dark.”

  “Yeah, I was havin’ a smashing dream,” Shiner grumbled. “Eatin’ mutton chops and plum pudding and peppermint gobstoppers and—”

  “What, all at once?” Rosie interrupted. “Yuck!”

  “Oh, I dunno,” said Gertie. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Don’t you never think of nothin’ but food, Shiner?” Sparrow asked.

  Shiner shook his head.

  “Not when I’m ’ungry,” he replied.

  “You’re always hungry,” said Queenie, opening the larder cupboard to see if there was anything for breakfast. There were only a few stale crusts of bread and a hunk of cheese. She sighed. They had all been so busy yesterday that she had not had time to go foraging for food. She began putting the bread and cheese on the table. The others would have rushed to grab it, but she held up her hand to stop them.

  “Oi!” she shouted. “Manners! Ain’t you forgetting something?”

  Five faces regarded her blankly, wondering what she was on about.

  “We got a guest,” she reminded them, nodding to Mary, who was just rising from a heap of blankets like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. “Morning, Mary love, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Mary smiled at them all, still a little nervous. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

  “Well you are, and you’re safe and sound,” Beaver assured her. “Come and have some brekker.”

  “It ain’t much, I’m afraid,” said Queenie. “But help yourself all the same.”

  “Thanks, but I’m really not hungry,” she replied.

  “Can I have yours, then?” Shiner asked, quick as a flash, reaching for a piece of bread.

  “No, you can’t,” said Queenie just as quickly, slapping his hand. “You can have your share and that’s all.”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Wiggins called out over the hubbub as everyone grabbed at the food. “Don’t anybody want to know what we’re gonna do?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Beaver sheepishly. “Sorry, Wiggins.”

  “I should think so,” Wiggins said. “I been up all night, you know, thinking. Now, this is what we’re gonna do…”

  “About finding Mary’s family?” Sparrow asked eagerly.

  “There’s not much we can do about that just yet.”

  “Why not?” Queenie wanted to know. “Poor girl needs to find ’em, don’t you, love?”

  Mary nodded, biting her lip.

  “Trouble is, you see,” Wiggins explained patiently, “we don’t have no clues, do we?”

  “I dunno,” Queenie said, turning to Mary. “Do you?”

  “Only this,” Mary replied, fingering the gold locket round her neck. “Marvin gave it to me – about the only kindness he ever showed me. He told me it belonged to my mother, though I don’t remember seeing her wear it.”

  “Ain’t that the one he uses to pretend to hypnotize you?” Sparrow asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He told me to keep it with me always and never let go of it. It’s got a picture inside, see?”

  She unlooped the chain from around her neck and pressed a little catch on the side of the locket. It opened, to reveal a tiny portrait of a lady.

  “Is that your ma?” asked Queenie.

  Mary shook her head. “I think it must be my grandma. But I can’t be sure. My ma never talked about her family, ’cept to tell me they disowned her for marrying my daddy. And that’s why she and Daddy ran away to America, before I was born.”

  “There you are,” said Queenie. “That’s a clue.”

  “Right,” Wiggins agreed. “But first, we gotta find out what Marvin and Moriarty are up to. It’s my guess that Mary won’t be safe while Marvin’s still on the loose.”

  “How are we gonna do that?” Beaver asked.

  Wiggins looked around to make sure he had everyone’s full attention, then spoke very slowly and carefully.

  “Mary said as how the mind-reading is all a trick, right?” he began.

  “Sure is,” Mary said.

  “And how anybody could learn how to do it in no time, right?”

  “That’s right. It’s all to do with codes. Easy when you know how.”

  “So you could teach one of us – Rosie, say – how to do it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why me?” asked Rosie.

  “Because you’re near enough Mary’s size, so you could fit into her costume,” Wiggins told her.

  Rosie still looked bemused.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “To take her place in the act.”

  There was silence as the Boys tried to take in what Wiggins had said. Beaver gazed at him in admiration, but Queenie looked quite shocked.

  “What?” she demanded. “You want our little Rosie to go with that terrible man?”

  Rosie, though, was more scared of the audience than of Marvin.

  “Me?” she gasped. “You want me to go on-stage in front of all them people?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  Sparrow could hardly believe his ears. What he would have given for such a chance. If only he were a girl! But since he wasn’t, he felt he had to encourage Rosie.

  “Course you can,” he told her. “Me and Mary will show you what to do. Won’t we, Mary?”

  “Sure,” said Mary. “There’s nothing to it. Honest. Anyways, you can’t even see the audience when you’ve got the blindfold on. All you have to do is sit there, and remember the codes.”

  Reluctantly, Rosie allowed herself to be persuaded. Wiggins’s idea was for Sparrow to introduce her to Marvin and tell him that she used to work in a mind-reading act with her uncle, and knew how it was done. She could offer to stand in for Mary until Mary was found so that the show could go on. Once she was planted, Rosie would keep her eyes and ears open for any clues about what Marvin was up to, and report back to Wiggins anything she saw or heard. Mary, meanwhile, would need to lie low in HQ until it was safe for her to leave.

  It was a daring and dangerous plan.

  Once the scraps of bread and cheese had disappeared, Sparrow and Mary took Rosie off into a corner to start rehearsing her role. Between them, they described the act to her and told her what she would have to do, warning her about the pin and the blindfold and the fake hypnosis. Luckily, she was a quick learner and soon got the hang of it. But it was harder when they came to the codes.

  “See, what happens is,” Mary explained, “Marvin goes down into the audience and asks people to give him stuff. People always have the same sorts of things in their pockets or their purses, so there’s not all that much to learn. You just have to listen carefully to what he says. If he says ‘Right, Mary…’ then you know it’s a pen that he’s holding.”

  “How do I know?”

  “Because that’s what a pen does: it writes. OK?”

  Rosie still looked puzzled, but Sparrow’s face lit up as he twigged.

  “Oh, I got you!” he said. “Right, write – it ain’t the same but it sounds the same.”

  “That’s it. You see, Rosie?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Rosie answered, a bit worried about how much she would have to remember.

  “And if he says ‘Take your time’, or even ‘This time…’, then you know it’s a watch. You get a lot of watches – every gentleman has one in his pocket.”

  “Ooh, that’s an easy one,” said Sparrow, who was starting to enjoy this. “Give us some more.”

  “OK. If he says ‘around’ – like ‘I have my hand around an object’ – then it’s a ring.”

  “’Cos a ring’s round!” Sparrow chirped excitedly.

  “Sparrow,” Rosie chided. “I’m the one what’s supposed to be learning all this!”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Got a bit carried away.”

  Mary smiled at him, pleased by his enthusiasm. He blushed, and she continued listing all the
code words. “Stick at it” or “stick with it” meant a brooch, because of brooches having pins at the back to stick into dresses or jackets; “wipe”, as in “wipe everything from your mind”, meant a handkerchief; “hold on” meant a wallet or pocket-book, since a wallet holds money; a snuff box was indicated by the phrase “who knows?” – “knows” signifying “nose”; a cigarette-case was signalled by a cough followed by “pardon me”; and so it went on.

  Rosie’s head was spinning as she tried to remember everything, but they went on practising all through the morning, and by early afternoon Mary and Sparrow pronounced her ready for a trial performance in front of the Boys. Wiggins had a watch, but they had no brooches or cigarette cases, or coins like sovereigns or half-crowns, or indeed most of the things that audiences regularly lent to Marvin. So Mary wrote the names of the objects on scraps of paper, which she gave to the other Boys. Then, when Rosie was “hypnotized”, Mary moved among them, took the pieces of paper, one by one, and called out the code words. To the delight – and amazement – of the Boys, Rosie responded with the right answer every time. It was a triumph. The only question was, could she do it for Marvin, and in front of an audience?

  It was teatime before Sparrow and Rosie arrived at the theatre, and wisps of fog were starting to swirl around the streets and alleys. Old Ant, the baked potato man, had set up his barrow near by, and the smell of the hot potatoes and the warmth of the oven were very tempting as they passed. But Wiggins, who was walking just behind them with Beaver, told them there was no time to linger, and hurried them along.

  “You’re early, young ’un,” Bert greeted Sparrow as he passed through the stage door. “There’s hours to go afore the show.”

  “I know,” Sparrow replied. “I gotta see Mr Trump. And Mr Marvin.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. They’re both in the office. Mind, you’ll have to tread very careful,” he warned. “The guv’nor ain’t in the best of tempers, and you know what he’s like when he’s roused.”

  “Yeah, but I might be able to cheer him up.”

  “Found Miss Mary, have you?”

  “Next best thing,” Sparrow told him, jauntily. “Come on, Rosie. This way.”

  Rosie had never been backstage, and Sparrow had to whisper to her not to stare at everything but to try and look as though she had seen it all before. She did her best, but still gazed wide-eyed around her as he led her behind the scenery and up the staircase to the manager’s office. The sound of angry voices from inside the room made her even more nervous, and Sparrow squeezed her hand tightly as he knocked on the door.

  “What do you want?” Mr Trump barked at Sparrow when he poked his head round the door. “Can’t you see I’m busy? I’ve got no star turn for tonight’s show!”

  “That’s what I’ve come about,” Sparrow replied, noticing that in the manager’s agitation he had quite forgotten his usual flowery phrases and was speaking plain English.

  “Oh, yes?” Mr Trump said with heavy sarcasm. “Offering to go on instead of Marvin, are you? Fancy yourself topping the bill?”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes I do, but not just yet.”

  Mr Trump turned to look at Marvin, who was slumped in a chair looking fraught and dejected, and jerked a thumb at Sparrow.

  “What do you think of your replacement, then?” he sneered.

  “I got no time for jokes,” Marvin snapped. “Get him outta here.”

  “You heard the man,” Mr Trump said. “Hop it!”

  “No, wait,” said Sparrow.

  He opened the door wider and pulled Rosie into view. Queenie had raided the clothes chest in HQ and had dressed Rosie up in a long skirt and a frilly blouse, with a lacy shawl round her shoulders and a battered straw hat on her head, all much too big for her and all in bright, clashing colours. She had done her best to brush her hair, but Rosie’s fair curls still fell in a tangle around her face. Mr Trump stared open-mouthed at this apparition.

  “This is Rosie,” Sparrow announced.

  “So what,” said Marvin. “We don’t have time for this…”

  “Ah, time!” Sparrow interrupted, raising a lordly hand. “Now then, Rosie, take your time. What is this object I am holding up?”

  “It is … it is a watch,” Rosie replied.

  Marvin sat up, suddenly alert. Sparrow continued in his best showman style.

  “Very good, my dear,” he said. “Now, what is this in my right hand?”

  “It’s a gold coin,” Rosie answered, remembering that “right hand” meant gold and “left hand” meant silver.

  “What sort of a gold coin? Think carefully, now. Think very carefully.”

  Rosie put her fingers to her forehead, pretending to be concentrating. In the code, one “think” meant a half-sovereign, two “thinks” a sovereign.

  “It is a sovereign,” she declared confidently. “A gold sovereign.”

  Marvin was on his feet now.

  “Where did you learn that?” he asked.

  “I used to do a mind-reading act with my uncle,” Rosie told him.

  “Where?”

  “Up north,” Sparrow chipped in hurriedly. “Right up north.”

  “So why did you stop?” Marvin looked at her suspiciously.

  Rosie bit her lip as she tried to think of what to say. This was not something they had thought of.

  “I, er … I ran away,” she said finally. “He was very cruel.”

  Sparrow kicked her ankle to stop her going any further.

  “And he drank, didn’t he?” he said quickly. “Drank something terrible.”

  “Oh, er, yeah. Yeah. Like a fish.”

  “Well, that’s as may be,” Mr Trump said, beginning to look and sound more like his usual self. “But your relative’s misfortune is exceedingly serendipitous in relation to our good selves.”

  “Eh?” Rosie looked at him blankly. He sighed.

  “Bad luck for your uncle, good luck for us,” he translated.

  “Oh, right. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I did.”

  “Never mind all that,” Marvin butted in. “Can you remember the codes?”

  “Course she can,” Sparrow said. “Go on – ask her anything you like.”

  “Oh, I will,” said Marvin. He circled Rosie, inspecting her carefully.

  “Well?” Mr Trump asked him. “Does she appear to be satisfactory?”

  Marvin took off Rosie’s hat, and fingered her tangled hair. Then he nodded.

  “She’ll do,” he said. “Till Mary shows up again.”

  “Have you given consideration to her apparel?” asked Mr Trump. “She can’t go on like that.”

  “She can wear Mary’s costume. She’s not that much smaller.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Sparrow.

  “Did you indeed? You appear to have thought of everything,” said Mr Trump. “Enlighten me – how did you locate this fair maiden?”

  “Oh, er, she’s my cousin, sort of. Ain’t you, Rosie?”

  Rosie nodded nervously, but before the manager could ask any more awkward questions, Marvin cut the conversation short.

  “C’mon, kid,” he said. “We gotta lot of work to do, and no time to do it in.” And he led her away to start rehearsing.

  Mr Trump watched them go, then turned back to Sparrow with a mistrustful expression on his face.

  “I have a powerful presentiment,” he pronounced, “that you are up to something. It is immaterial to me, as long as I have a show tonight. But I warn you, my lad, if anything should go amiss, you’ll be for it in a big way.”

  Hocus-Pocus

  Rosie sat on Mary’s little gold chair in the centre of the stage, staring out at the rows and rows of empty seats in the theatre. She could not help but imagine them as they would be that evening, filled with people, all with their eyes on her. It was a terrifying thought. Her mind froze. Marvin’s voice sounded far away, as though he was speaking to her from the other end of a very long tunnel.

  “Rosie?
Rosie!”

  When she did not respond, he took hold of her shoulders and shook her.

  “What’s up, kid?” he demanded. “You scared or something?”

  Watching from a dark corner in the wings, Sparrow bit his fingernails anxiously. Stage fright – it was something he had not counted on. If Rosie was stricken with stage fright the whole plan would collapse. He willed her to be brave.

  “I … I’m always nervous before a show,” he heard her say.

  To his surprise, Marvin did not seem to be angry.

  “OK, kid,” he said. “Take it easy now. I can fix that – after all, we don’t want you getting nerves and forgetting your codes, do we?”

  Rosie shook her head.

  “I can stop you feeling scared.”

  “How?”

  “By hypnotizing you.”

  “Oh, no,” Sparrow muttered. What if Rosie let out the truth once she was hypnotized?

  “All you have to do is relax, and leave everything to me,” Marvin told Rosie. “Trust me, I can make you remember things.”

  And forget things, Sparrow thought.

  He watched helplessly as the American put Rosie into a trance and told her that she would not be scared of facing the audience: they were all her friends. He added that she had nothing to worry about. If she seemed to be forgetting the codes or getting too nervous, he would put her under hypnosis again very simply.

  “All I have to do,” he said, “is say the magic words and snap my fingers, like this.” He demonstrated with a loud click. “Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Rosie answered in a flat voice.

  “Excellent. The magic words are ‘hocus pocus’. Hocus pocus,” he repeated. “Have you got that?”

  “The magic words are hocus pocus,” Rosie replied.

  “Good. Now, I shall count down from five to zero, and when I click my fingers again, you will wake up.”

  Outside the theatre, Wiggins and Beaver were huddled in a doorway near the baked potato barrow, trying to keep warm by the heat of the coke fire under the portable oven. They had managed to wheedle a couple of hot potatoes and a lump of salt out of Old Ant earlier, but they were still feeling the chill of the raw day and could hardly wait to get back to HQ. While there was still no news from inside the theatre, though, they had to stay put and wait for Sparrow to report. And while they were waiting, they couldn’t help but notice that they were not the only ones keeping an eye on the stage door.