The Baker Street Boys

by Brian Ball

  BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY BRIAN BALL

  The Baker Street Boys: Two Baker Street Irregulars Novellas

  The Evil at Monteine: A Novel of Horror (Ruane #2)

  Mark of the Beast: A Novel of Horror (Ruane #1)

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Copyright © 1983 by Brian Ball

  Published by Wildside Press LLC

  www.wildsidebooks.com

  DEDICATION

  For Elisabeth

  THE CASE OF THE CAPTIVE CLAIRVOYANT

  CHAPTER ONE

  If Mr. Sherlock Holmes had been in the country when the Baker Street Irregulars stumbled across the mystery which I have called “The Case of the Captive Clairvoyant,” then no doubt he would have given immediate assistance.

  But Mr. Holmes was in Switzerland engaged in a deadly duel of wits with his most feared opponent, the evil Professor Moriarty; and so the Baker Street Irregulars, the gang of ragamuffins who sometimes assisted Mr. Holmes in his investigations, had to rely on their own wits. I, Sergeant Hopkins, had taken it upon myself to record the investigations in which the great Sherlock Holmes was employed to only a limited extent—those not described by Dr. Watson.

  It all began—and ended—in the theatre where Sparrow was employed, Trump’s Music-hall.

  That week there was a mixed bag of acts. There was Signor Maccarelli, who threw knives; Gorgeous Gertie, who sang sentimental ballads, Madame Pompadour the comedienne; and a magician; but the star of the show was The Amazing Marvin, as he was described. “Marvel at the Mystic Powers of Marvin,” so the poster invited passers-by: “Hypnotist Extraordinary! Mentalist Supreme!”

  “Ah, excellent!” beamed Mr. Trump to Bert the doorman as he saw the packed house. “Marvin’s still bringing them in. Another week of this and who knows—I could get him to play to royalty!” And he clicked his heels as he rocked backwards and forwards with satisfaction.

  “Marvin’s good,” agreed Bert. “Sparrow!” he yelled. “Placards for Mr. Marvin—he’s on in fifteen minutes!”

  “Right, Bert!” called Sparrow.

  “Get me a drink!” yelled a large lady from one of the dressing-rooms. “Be quick, Sparrow, darling!”

  Sparrow sometimes thought he needed three sets of legs and hands. He was a general dogs-body for the artistes, as well as a sweeper-up and an assistant scene-changer, but his principal job was to make sure that the placards which announced each act were properly displayed on the stage before the artistes began their acts.

  “Gin and polly coming up!” he cried to Madame Pompadour, who was in need of a drink before her act. “I got the placards ready, Bert!” he yelled back to the doorman.

  “How’s the new boy shaping up, Bert?” Mr. Trump asked.

  “Sparrow?” said Bert. “He’s a good lad, very obliging and quick, and he’s popular with the artistes, especially young Mary.”

  “Is that so?” Mr. Trump said, frowning.

  “I’ll tell him to keep away from her if you like, sir,” said Bert, anxious to oblige his employer.

  “No, don’t do that,” said Mr. Trump. “He isn’t doing any harm. Anyway,” he said, catching sight of the small figures “she might need cheering up.”

  Bert saw the small pale face of the girl, whose bright red dress emphasised her pallor. Then Bert looked at her huge, staring eyes.

  “No,” agreed Bert, swallowing nervously. “She do stare so, don’t she, Mr. Trump?”

  Mr. Trump shrugged.

  “Marvin needs her in the act—but she’s a trouper and she’s got to bear up. The theatre’s a hard place, Bert, but it’s our living and Marvin’s and the girl’s too. But you can let the boy talk to her. And Bert,” he added.

  “Yessir?”

  “Let me know if he hears anything interesting from her, will you?”

  “Such as what, Mr. Trump?”

  “Oh, little things, you know. Nothing special—I just feel rather concerned for her. But you’ll remember what I said?”

  “You can rely on me, Mr. Trump,” said Bert as Mr. Trump went to the front of the house. “Now, what does Sparrow talk to her about?”

  Sparrow was listening, not talking; and as he listened he realised that Mary was the unhappiest girl he had ever known. He hadn’t sought her out that evening—by chance he heard her sobbing in a darkened doorway where she had gone to hide her tears. And, so it seemed, from Marvin.

  “He’s getting ready for the act,” she told him. “He’ll call me soon—and I sometimes think I shall go out of my mind when he sends for me!” Sparrow had spoken to Mary on a dozen occasions, but no hint of her mental torment had come out before tonight. He was totally perplexed now, for there seemed to be no reason for her misery.

  “It isn’t all that bad,” said Sparrow. “Cheer up, Mary!” But her sobs shook her body.

  “No one knows what it’s like, being with Marvin!” she sobbed. “He puts on a kind face when there’s anyone around, but I think he really hates me!”

  “But he can’t!” said Sparrow in astonishment. “He’s your dad!”

  “He’s not, he’s my stepfather, and my name’s Mary Ashley, and I’ve been with him for only a few months—he met and married my mother in New York and learned the act from her, then she died almost as soon as he learned the routines. And he keeps me because he needs me, but he’s cruel, terribly cruel!”

  “I can’t say as how I likes him much,” said Sparrow. “He’s got a nasty look about him.”

  “He’s evil! I know it!” cried Mary Marvin.

  “’S’trewth!” said Sparrow. “It is bad, ain’t it?”

  “I wish with all my heart I could get away from him!” the girl cried, and Sparrow was shocked by the force of her feelings.

  “Well, I should leave him!” he declared.

  “Leave him?” said the girl slowly, and her great eyes stared back at Sparrow, so that he felt uncomfortable and somehow afraid. She put her hands to a silver locket on a chain round her throat. “How can I leave Marvin?”

  Sparrow had never known his parents, so he told himself he wasn’t in a position to offer advice; not at the time, anyway.

  “No, I see it would be difficult,” he said. “Him being your dad, your lawful dad anyway. And you being a successful star and all that. And anyway, you’re American, ain’t you?”

  But Mary was staring past Sparrow now. He looked behind him quickly and saw the tall figure of the hypnotist.

  “None of those reasons keep me with Marvin,” replied the girl in a dead sort of whisper. “You don’t understand the power of a man like him—how could you? But he is evil!”

  And, as she spoke, Marvin beckoned.

  Like a well-trained animal, Mary silently went towards the tall, sinister figure, then they disappeared into their dressing-room.

  “Now what was all that about?” whispered Sparrow.

  He remained where he was in the shadows for a few moments, then he walked softly along the corridor.

  Their dressing-room door was open slightly, showing a chink of light and allowing Sparrow a view of Marvin and the girl. It was Marvin’s voice, though, that caught his attention.

  “You will keep it safe,” Sparrow heard, and Marvin’s strange, deep, vibrant voice made him shiver. “Always safe—and secret!”

  Sparrow’s natural inquisitiveness was reinforced by his concern for the girl, so it was inevitable that he remained to watch and listen. Marvin’s voice was strange enough, but his actions were stranger.

  He was facing Mary, who was seated with her back to Sparrow, but Sparrow could see her face in the big dressing-room mirror. In his hand, Marvin held Mary’s silver locket by the chain.

  It swung before her in a glittering arc, backwards and forwards. “Remember!�
�� came that weird, deep voice. “Remember, Mary—you will stay with me and keep our secret. Do you understand, Mary?” Sparrow could not have entered the dressing-room, not, as he told Wiggins and the others later, for a handful of gold.

  And when he heard Mary speak in a strange, unnatural voice, he wished himself outside in the chilly, rain-soaked streets—anywhere rather than in the music-hall. For Mary looked as if she were possessed by demons.

  “I obey you,” she said. “The secret is safe!”

  Then, in a moment, Marvin smiled a tight-lipped smile and snapped his fingers.

  “Wake, Mary!”

  The girl jolted forward and put her hands to her head.

  “It’s almost time for the act,” Marvin said. “You’ve been asleep, Mary—now, snap out of it, you little idiot, and put some makeup on. We don’t want people thinking you’re some kind of dummy, do we! Hurry it up, kid! Here, put your Ma’s locket back on!”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Mother’s locket,” she said, tears in her eyes.

  “Ah, The Magical Marvin!” cried Mr. Trump as the hypnotist appeared with Mary. Sparrow jumped back from the doorway instantly.

  “Just giving Mr. Marvin a call, sir!” he cried, and Mr. Trump nodded to him.

  “Good, good—don’t forget what I told you, Marvin,” he went on to the hypnotist. “You could be playing before the Prince of Wales himself soon!”

  “I’m not too sure about that,” muttered Marvin.

  “But you have a wonderful career ahead of you!” Mr. Trump enthused. “And you too, my dear,” he told Mary.

  “Chin up, I’ll think of something,” hissed Sparrow as Marv went past him.

  But Mary stared in front of her like a sleepwalker, and it was obvious that she had not heard him.

  From the auditorium, Sparrow heard the loud applause as Marvin began his mystifying act.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” called Marvin, in his deep, vibrant voice. “I have made the study of Mentalism my life’s work, and tonight I shall show you the amazing powers of Hypnotism!”

  There was a roll of drums and the crash of a cymbal, and Sparrow snorted loudly, for Marvin was passing his hands before the painted face and staring eyes of Mary, his stepdaughter.

  “I shall show you,” declared Marvin, “when I have put Mary here into a deep trance and blindfolded her, how I can communicate with her by the transfer of thoughts—by mind-reading!”

  Sparrow watched as Mary apparently became drowsy.

  “Now for the blindfold!” Marvin cried. “And, if you are ready, ladies and gentlemen, I will ask you to find some object you carry about your person for Mary to identify!”

  Mary appeared to be in a deep trance, though she was smiling straight back at Marvin.

  “Mary, are you asleep?” called Marvin, and in a slow, deep tone quite unlike Mary’s normal voice she answered:

  “I am asleep, Master!”

  “Oh no, you’re not!” muttered Sparrow from the wings where he was watching the act. “You were in a trance in the dressing-room, but you ain’t in one now!”

  But the audience was impressed. There was a deep, sighing sound, and in the silence Marvin’s voice rang out:

  “Who will be the first, if you please? Who will ask Mary to identify an object—which she cannot see!”

  Someone stirred. Then another, and another. Marvin pointed at a man who held up a watch:

  “You, sir! I can see what you are holding, but Mary cannot. Mary!”

  “Yes, Master?”

  “Tell me what the gentleman is holding in his hand! Concentrate, Mary.… Take your time. Are you ready?”

  “I am ready, Master!” Mary said, putting her hands to her temples.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s a—a watch!”

  The audience gasped, then they clapped and finally they cheered. Mary identified a wallet correctly; and a ladies’ purse; a handkerchief; and a gold ring. She was right every time.

  “I reckon,” whispered Sparrow to himself as the curtains closed, “that I know how you work it, Marvin—and it ain’t Hypnotism or Mentalism, it’s just plain faking!”

  Gorgeous Gussie brushed past Sparrow.

  “Get my placards up, duckie!” she called. “Why are you staring at her?”

  Sparrow jumped to fetch the placards. “She’s in trouble, that girl is,” he told the singer. “I just wish I could do something to help her.”

  “How sweet of you, duckie!” cried Gorgeous Gussie. “Whoops—there’s my cue, I’m on!”

  She tripped on to the stage and left Sparrow still looking down the corridor which led to the artistes’ dressing-rooms.

  “I will do something to help Mary!” he promised himself. “But I’m all at sixes and sevens over this business. Maybe Wiggins will know what to do!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  But later that night over hot peas and faggots in the cellar of the derelict house which was the home of the Baker Street Boys, Wiggins for once had little to say.

  Normally he would have been excited by the thought of a fresh puzzle. When he got the smell of a mystery, he would look up at the picture of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and say something like, “Now, what would he do?” or better still, “We have our methods, Mr. Holmes and me, so we do!”

  All he said, however, when Sparrow had finished telling him of Mary’s hatred and fear of her stepfather was:

  “It ain’t much to go on, is it, Sparrow?”

  “What!” cried Sparrow, swallowing rapidly and burning his throat in the process. “She’s in mortal terror of her life!”

  “Blimey!” shivered Rosie, who was the youngest of them all. “Who’d want a stepfather what does that to you?”

  “Not me!” said Queenie. “And if Mr. Holmes was here, he’d soon do something about it!”

  “Yeh!” Beaver cried. “Mr. Holmes always helps those what’s in danger, especially young ones and females. Sparrow ain’t stupid, and if he says the girl’s in mortal fear, then she is! And we’ve got to do something—so there!”

  The rest of the Baker Street Boys joined in loudly, but Wiggins stayed silent for what seemed like hours.

  “What do you think, Wiggins?” said Rosie, for Wiggins was staring at the features of the Master and she sensed that he was coming to a conclusion. It took some time in coming, though.

  “I dunno,” said Wiggins at last. “But I can tell you one thing for certain.”

  “What’s that?” said Sparrow.

  “We’ve got to get Mary away from Marvin.”

  “Wow!” they yelled, delighted that Wiggins had finally decided to act, especially Queenie and Rosie; for there was something particularly horrifying about Mary’s plight which they felt they understood better than the boys.

  “But that’s not all we’re going to do,” Wiggins went on. “Mr. Holmes and I have our methods. We like to find out what’s at the bottom of the mystery, and that’s what we’re going to do. If Marvin’s got some nasty secret, like Sparrow says he has, then we’re going to find out what it is.”

  “Pheww!” said Sparrow. “So what we going to do, Wiggins?”

  It didn’t take Wiggins long to explain. There was a lot more to the Amazing Marvin than met the eye. When Sparrow said he wasn’t going to try to meet Marvin in the eye because he’d seen what Marvin could do, Wiggins agreed that they should be extra cautious.

  “Yeh,” agreed Queenie. “This hypnotism business is dangerous, Sparrow. You watch out for yourself in case he gets his nasty eyes on you!”

  “You’re going to have to be very careful too, Queenie,” said Wiggins.

  “Me?” said Queenie.

  “Yes,” said Wiggins.

  “Why, what’s Queenie got to be careful for?—She ain’t going to get Mary away from Trump’s Music-hall, is she?” said Rosie.

  Queenie gazed at Wiggins for a while.

  “You’re planning something nasty, ain’t you, Arnold Wiggins?” she said, but Wiggins wouldn’t tell her anymor
e.

  All he said was:

  “We have our methods, me and Mr. Holmes.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sparrow was kept even busier the next evening. Everyone seemed to want him to run some errand or other. Bert made sure that he helped the stage-hands, and Mr. Trump too seemed to be checking up on him continually.

  “So you like working here, boy?” Mr. Trump said, as Sparrow waved to Gorgeous Gertie who was about to begin her first song. “I see you’re a friendly sort of fellow—the artistes seem to like you.”

  Sparrow tried not to let his glance stray to a large basket which usually held the magician’s stage-effects.

  “Yessir,” said Sparrow, who for once was almost at a loss for words.

  “And Mr. Marvin’s daughter, er, Sparrow,” said Mr. Trump, “I believe you talk to her sometimes.”

  “Yessir!”

  Sparrow trembled. What was Mr. Trump getting at? Had he heard Mary telling him that she was desperate to get away from the hypnotist’s evil power? But Mr. Trump merely nodded approvingly.

  “I like to see a boy that tries to get on with people,” he said.

  “How does Mary like it here in England—does she speak much of New York?”

  “Nossir!” said Sparrow. “I didn’t know she come from New York.”

  Mr. Trump frowned and clicked his heels. “Get on with your work,” he ordered, and he walked away.

  Mary was already searching for him backstage.

  “Sparrow!” she called, in a low, tearful voice. “I can’t stand it any longer! But every time I try to run away, my head starts to swim around and I can’t drag myself away from the dressing-room! And yet I must go. I know that Marvin’s about to do something dreadful! He keeps yelling out for no reason at all, and he stares out of the window all the time, wherever we are.…”

  “Careful!” Sparrow gulped as he heard footsteps, but he glimpsed Madame Pompadour’s green chiffon dress and went on:

  “I gotta be quick—I know how he keeps you with him, and it’s to do with your head swimming all the time.”

  Mary’s white face looked haunted.

  Unconsciously her hands wandered to the locket at her throat.