by Anthony Read
“Unless I am very much mistaken, these are the missing plans. Which means that Sir Charles White must be the traitor who stole them and sold them to the Russians, through Orlov.” Mr Holmes turned to Murray and held out his hand. “I congratulate you, Mr Murray. Your suspicions were correct and I am deeply sorry that you suffered such a grievous loss because of them.”
“Thank you, sir. You are very kind.”
“Wait a minute,” said Beaver, looking worried. “What about the other bloke – Mr Redman?”
“Completely innocent,” said Mr Holmes. “All he has done is support a group of Russian exiles – our friends here – who seek justice and freedom from tyranny for their homeland.”
“But how does Moriarty come into it all?” asked Queenie.
“In his usual way, I have no doubt. He finds someone who desperately needs money or is greedy for more than they have, or someone who has a guilty secret that would ruin them if it were to come out. He then turns them into his puppet, doing whatever he wants while he pulls their strings. But he always operates out of sight, in the shadows, where no one can touch him.”
“One of these days we’ll get him,” said Wiggins.
“One of these days, maybe. But now it’s time to go home. You have done well once again, and you deserve your usual reward. Where shall we hold our feast this time?”
“There’s only one place we could have it,” piped up Shiner.
“That’s right,” agreed Queenie. “Luba’s Russian Tea Room!”
Luba’s usually stern face broke into a wide, beaming smile. “Yes!” she promised. “I make you real Russian banquet. You eat so much you will not be able to move!”
As an extra reward before they returned home, Murray took the Boys back to the fair and paid for them to go on all the rides and into all the sideshows. In fact, because Gertie’s dad worked on the fair, most of the showmen let them ride for free, which made it all the more special. The one thing they couldn’t see, of course, was the Ghost Show, which was now out of action. They found the owner busy clearing up the broken mirror, but when Murray and Wiggins went to apologize, he seemed remarkably cheerful.
“Don’t worry,” he told them. “I’ve been plannin’ to make some changes anyway. The old ghost shows have had their day. I’m goin’ to show something new, the latest invention – movin’ pictures. They’ll be the wonder o’ the modern age. Folk will flock to see ’em, just you wait and see. Moving pictures! They’re the future!”
Murray wished him luck, then turned to Wiggins. “Time we were heading back,” he said. “We still have something to do – something very important.”
Madame Dupont was in the Dungeon of Horrors, carefully cleaning the models at the end of the day with a feather duster. She was just tidying the hair on the waxwork of Alwyn Murray, when she heard a sound behind her. She turned – and found herself looking into the identical face of Selwyn Murray. She let out a scream, dropped her duster and fainted.
“Would you like a glass of brandy?” Wiggins asked her when she had come round.
“Ooh, yes, please,” she said, still shaking. “I need one!”
“Just like Sarge did,” Wiggins reminded her.
“I am very sorry,” said Murray apologetically. “I really didn’t mean to give you such a shock.”
“But you… You’re real? Not a ghost?”
“No, a twin. Real flesh and blood.”
“It was this Mr Murray what Sarge saw the other night,” Wiggins told her. “So he didn’t see a ghost and he wasn’t drunk.”
“At least, not until afterwards,” added Murray. “I’m afraid it was all my fault.”
Wiggins brought Madame Dupont a glass of medicinal brandy, and between them he and Murray explained everything. Murray assured her that Sarge had played an important part in the unmasking of the real murderer of his brother and the capture of a Russian spy, and Wiggins persuaded her to relent and let him keep his job. When they told him the news, Sarge was delighted – but decided that this time it was probably better not to celebrate with a drink.
Later that evening, the Boys celebrated with the banquet that Luba had promised them in the Russian Tea Room. She had pushed the little tables together to make one long table down the middle of the room, and it was heaped with dozens of dishes piled high with different foods in the best Russian tradition. All the food was delicious, and the Boys ate and ate until even Shiner could eat no more.
After they had finished their meal, there was a moment of sadness when Gertie left, though all the Boys were happy to see her reunited with her father. Queenie and Rosie both sobbed their hearts out, and even Wiggins and Beaver found themselves blinking back tears. The six of them stood in the doorway to the café and waved goodbye as Gertie walked off down the street, having promised to come back and see them whenever the fair was in London. Each of the other Boys secretly wished that it was him or her going home with a father or mother, but it made them all the more glad to have each other.
Queenie noticed Luba looking wistfully at Shiner.
“Why are you so fond of my brother?” she asked.
“When I was young,” Luba said, “I also had little brother. He look just like Shiner.”
“Where’s your brother now?”
“He took sick and die, many years ago, in Okhrana prison camp. But every time I look at Shiner, I see him.” She squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You come see Luba again. Any time, yes? I give you lots blini, and tea with plenty sugar lumps. OK?”
Back in HQ, the Boys crashed wearily into their beds and were soon all fast asleep. All, that is, except for Queenie and Beaver. Although she was tired out after the events of the day, Queenie could not help staring at Gertie’s empty bed with a mixture of sorrow and happiness. She was also watching Beaver as he took an exercise book and sat down at the table, sucking his pencil, ready to start writing. Tiptoeing across to him, she looked over his shoulder at the empty page.
“Can’t think what to call this one?” she whispered.
“It’s hard to choose,” he replied. “There’s so much that’s happened, what with spies and traitors and secret messages and murders and twins and everythin’.”
“Well, it all started with a ghost in Madame Dupont’s Dungeon, didn’t it? So how about ‘The Haunted Horrors’?”
Beaver thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. ‘The Case of the Haunted Horrors.’ That’ll do nicely.”
And he bent over his exercise book and began to write.
THE SPANIARDS INN AND HAMPSTEAD
THE SPANIARDS INN is a real pub on the northern edge of Hampstead Heath. No one is sure how it got its name, but at nearly three hundred years old it is one of London’s oldest inns. During the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries it was well known as the haunt of highwaymen and cut-throats preying on travellers heading into or out of London across the Heath: the notorious Dick Turpin is said to have been one of them. The inn is supposed to have had a number of secret tunnels leading from its cellars onto the Heath, to allow highwaymen to escape unseen in the event of a raid by the law.
Hampstead still has the feeling of a village, even though it is now simply part of north-west London. The Heath remains a largely natural and unspoilt open area where city dwellers can enjoy walking, swimming in one of its natural ponds, and various other leisure activities. A travelling fair has traditionally been held there for centuries and still takes place on most public holidays, attracting large crowds.
Anthony Read studied at the Central School of Speech and Drama in London, and was an actor manager at the age of eighteen. He worked in advertising, journalism and publishing and as a BAFTA-winning television producer before becoming a full-time writer. Anthony has more than two hundred screen credits to his name, for programmes that include Sherlock Holmes, The Professionals and Doctor Who. He has also written non-fiction, and won the Wingate Literary Prize for Kristallnacht.
The Baker Street Boys books, The Case of the Disappearing Detectiv
e, The Case of the Captive Clairvoyant, The Case of the Ranjipur Ruby, The Case of the Limehouse Laundry and The Case of the Stolen Sparklers, are based on Anthony’s original television series for children, broadcast by the BBC in the 1980s, for which he won the Writers’ Guild TV Award. The series was inspired by references to the “Baker Street Irregulars”, a group of young crime-solvers who helped the detective Sherlock Holmes in the classic stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Other Baker Street Boys adventures:
The Case of the Disappearing Detective
The Case of the Captive Clairvoyant
The Case of the Ranjipur Ruby
The Case of the Limehouse Laundry
The Case of the Stolen Sparklers
The Case of the Racehorse Ringer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
First published 2009 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
Text © 2009 Anthony Read
Illustrations © 2009 David Frankland
The right of Anthony Read and David Frankland to be identified as author and illustrator respectively of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:
a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-4236-9 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
