by Darrell Pitt
“What’s wrong, Mr Doyle.”
“Actually, there’s something I need to speak to you about.” The detective entered and sat down heavily on Jack’s bed. Jack pulled the chair out from his desk and sat down.
“What is it?” Jack asked nervously.
“It’s about you assisting me in my cases,” Mr Doyle said. “You see, I did not realise the dangers involved. Perhaps I was foolish. Well, they say there’s no fool like an old fool.”
“You’re not old, Mr Doyle.”
The detective shot him a smile.
“That’s very kind of you, my boy,” Mr Doyle said. “But the truth is that you’re a young man with your whole life ahead of you. I think it might be better if other employment were found for you. Possibly an apprenticeship with a tradesman -.”
“No!” The word exploded from Jack’s mouth. “Mr Doyle! No! You can’t send me away.”
“But, my boy -.”
“No.” Jack said the word firmly. “Mr Doyle. You need me and I need you.”
“But this is dangerous work,” Ignatius Doyle said. “We deal with unpleasant things. Violent people -.”
“There are unpleasant things in life,” Jack said. “And violent people. I know that.”
“But your safety -.”
“I appreciate your concerns, Mr Doyle,” Jack said. “But I can’t hide away from the unpleasantness of life. No-one can.”
I didn’t know how bad things could get, he thought. Not until the accident. But losing my parents was like his world being pulled out from under me.
“But if anything were to happen to you -,” Mr Doyle’s eyes glistened with moisture.
“Mr Doyle.” Jack sat on the bed next to the great detective. “No-one can stop terrible things from happening in life. No-one.”
A long silence followed between them.
“There must be some other possibility,” Jack said.
“This is a dangerous line of work for someone who is unprepared,” Mr Doyle paused. “So you would need to be prepared. You need to be trained.”
Jack held his breath.
Mr Doyle continued. “I would have to train you in everything I know.”
“I can learn.”
Mr Doyle sniffed. “It’s a lot of training.”
“Alright.”
“I’m talking about martial arts, the science of detection, biology -.”
“I’m ready,” Jack said.
“Astronomy, physics -.”
“When do I start?”
Mr Doyle took a deep breath. “This may be a long and difficult challenge for you, but -.”
“Yes?”
“Eventually you would be ready,” Mr Doyle said. “Which is only appropriate. After all, it is my responsibility as your guardian to raise you to be strong and healthy and -.”
“As my…,” Jack interrupted. “As my guardian?”
“Well, yes,” Mr Doyle frowned. “I thought Mr Daniels from the orphanage would have explained that to you. If you stay here, it means you will become my ward.”
“You mean, like family?”
Mr Doyle nodded. “Like family. But if you don’t want that -.”
“No,” Jack said firmly. “I like that. I like that very much indeed.”
Epilogue
Gloria Scott prepared cake and tea as Jack, Mr Doyle and the Bells settled around the living room.
“What will happen to the bombs now?” Scarlet asked.
“Secreted away,” Mr Doyle explained. “Atomic weapons, like the many other weapons devised by the Phoenix Society, are years ahead of their time. The government has placed them into storage until we reach a point where we can deal with atomic power – if that day ever comes.”
“And what will happen to the laboratory in Switzerland?” Jack asked.
“Already destroyed,” Mr Bell said briskly. “Apparently the Swiss were so fearful of the technology contained within the lab, they decided it safer to blow it all to kingdom come than let it remain intact.”
“That’s a terrible waste,” Jack said. “But at least the other labs still exist.”
Mr Bell shook his head. “The other labs were only used for partial research. The real technology existed within the Swiss lab. With it gone, the society is finished.”
“What about the other members, father?” Scarlet asked gently.
“Like all secret societies, Phoenix was very good at keeping the membership a secret – even from each other. The few other people I knew have all gone into hiding. Like rats deserting a sinking ship.”
“What about you, Mr Bell?” Jack asked. “Are you, well, the police…”
His voice trailed off.
Joseph Bell smiled. “Technically, I broke no laws. It is not a crime to belong to a secret society. Or to invent. And I have co–operated fully with the authorities. Thankfully, I will not be spending time ‘at her majesty’s pleasure’. In fact, my name has not appeared in the papers at all.”
“Nor ours,” Mr Doyle said.
“I would have expected medals for you and Jack,” Scarlet said. “After all, you did save London.”
“I wanted one,” Jack pretended to be grumpy. “But Mr Doyle wouldn’t let me have it.”
Mr Doyle smiled. “Consulting detectives require a certain amount of anonymity.”
“And what about Lucy Harker?” Scarlet asked.
A silence fell among the group.
“What indeed?” Mr Doyle looked troubled. “She’s a sick and evil woman. She escaped London even though a net had been thrown up around the city to apprehend her. The assets of her father’s empire have been seized by the government, so she has lost that financial lifeline. But as to the future…”
“There’s always tomorrow,” Jack said.
Mr Doyle nodded. “There’s always tomorrow. The search for Lucy Harker will continue. I believe she will be caught. One day.”
“Probably by us,” Jack said.
Mr Doyle shot a look at him and smiled, his eyes twinkling. “I like your confidence, by boy.”
“Well, I think you both deserve something special for your wonderful efforts,” Scarlet said. She leaned over and planted a kiss on both Mr Doyle and Jack’s cheeks.
“Bazookas,” Jack said, his face turning bright red.
“Bazookas,” Mr Doyle echoed, hurriedly sipping his tea.
They all laughed. Jack realised he had to change the subject. “I would like to propose a toast,” he said, raising his cup.
“To whom?” Mr Doyle asked.
“To Leonardo da Vinci,” Jack said. “The greatest inventor who ever lived.”
“And to family,” Mr Doyle said.
Jack’s eyes met those of the great detective.
“To family,” they chorused.
As they sipped their tea, Mr Doyle said, “And we must not forget that Mr da Vinci was one of history’s greatest artists. He did, after all, paint the Mona Lisa.”
“I’ve always wondered what that smile was all about,” Scarlet said thoughtfully.
“Who’s smile?” Mr Doyle asked.
“The Mona Lisa’s.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Mr Doyle said. He took another sip of his tea. “I once investigated a case involving the Mona Lisa, a seven per cent solution of cocoa and a man with three arms. Now, let me tell you about it…”
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