The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Disappearing Detective (9 page)

Just being on the train was so exciting that for the moment the Boys quite forgot how urgent their journey was. Luckily they had been able to get a compartment to themselves, so they were free to explore and investigate it. They bounced up and down on the padded seats. They stared in wonder at the framed photographs of seaside resorts screwed to the walls above the seats, and at their own faces in the narrow mirrors fixed between the pictures.

Wiggins thought he looked very good in the porter’s cap, and the others laughed when he tilted it rakishly over one eye, like a fashionable young man-about-town. Gertie, however, was so shocked at the sight of her shaggy, scraggy, red hair and the hundreds of freckles on her nose and face that she screwed her eyes tight shut and refused to look again.

Sparrow was not interested in how he looked – he had seen himself many times in dressing-room mirrors at the theatre. He was having fun climbing up into the luggage rack, which was like a long net above the pictures and mirrors. When he lay down in it, he could pretend to be a sailor in a hammock, though it really wasn’t very comfortable.

Shiner was the most excited of them all. He could hardly believe that he was on a train at last, and he pressed his face against the window, staring out at the railway world sliding past. First they passed other trains steaming slowly into the station at the end of their journeys. Then the goods yard and the sidings, where small shunting engines huffed and puffed and pulled carriages and freight wagons. They steamed past the tall signal box, where Shiner could see men heaving at long levers to operate the signals above the track, and the “points” that moved whole sections of rail to switch trains from one line to another. For Shiner, this was heaven.

As the train picked up speed, the sound of the wheels changed to a regular “clickety-click, clackety-clack”. Shiner discovered how to lower the window in the door by releasing the leather strap that held it up, and stuck his head out to try and see the engine. He was thrilled by the feel of the wind on his face, and the sight of the trailing plume of smoke and steam. Suddenly there was a loud “whoosh”, and the whole carriage shook as another train roared past in the opposite direction. Shiner let out a yelp of pain and fell back into the carriage, clapping one hand over his left eye.

“What happened?” Gertie asked, rushing to his side. “Did it hit you?”

“If it had,” Wiggins laughed, “it would have knocked his block clean off.”

“Ow, ow! Don’t laugh – it hurts!” Shiner moaned.

“Here, let’s have a look.” Wiggins gently pulled Shiner’s hand away, and peered into his eye. “You’ve got a speck of dirt in your eye from the engine.”

“A speck? Blimey, it feels like a dirty great rock.”

Wiggins pulled out his handkerchief, rolled one corner into a point and used it to fish out a tiny piece of black grit. “There you are,” he said, showing it to Shiner. “There’s your rock. You ain’t gonna go blind yet awhile. Next time, just be more careful, right?”

He pointed to a sign painted over the door:
“DO NOT LEAN OUT OF THE WINDOW”
.

Shiner, whose reading was not very good at the best of times, nodded miserably, clutching his sore eye, which was red and watering. There were obviously plenty of things he still had to learn about trains.

Soon they had left the outskirts of London and were passing through open country. The last traces of the city’s fog vanished and the air was clear and fresh. Shiner and Sparrow had never seen green fields before, and were completely amazed by them. The biggest open spaces they knew were Regent’s Park and Hyde Park in London, but this was something very different. These fields seemed to go on for ever, with just an occasional farmhouse or village sitting quietly amid the peace of the countryside. The few people they saw were all at work, usually with giant carthorses pulling wagons or strange pieces of agricultural equipment, and not strolling at their leisure, like the people in the parks.

When they saw herds of black and white cows and the flocks of woolly sheep, the two boys shrieked with delight. But Gertie stayed very quiet, gazing out of the window with a sad face.

“What’s up, Gertie?” Wiggins asked, noticing a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Reminds me of me dad,” she sniffed. “We used to live in the country when I was little.”

Shiner and Sparrow stared at her in awe. Gertie had never said much about her past. Almost the only thing any of them knew about her was that her father was an Irishman, who’d had to go away.

“In the country?” Sparrow asked. “Honest?”

“Honest.”

“What was it like?” Shiner asked. “Was it scary? All them animals?”

Gertie laughed. “No,” she said. “There was lots of trees to climb, and rivers and lakes to swim in. It was smashin’.”

“Did you live on a farm?”

“No, in a caravan. We was always on the move.”

The two younger boys were green with envy.

“Why don’t you still live in a caravan, then?” Sparrow wanted to know. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would give up such a life.

“The coppers took me dad away and locked him up in prison. They wanted to lock me up as well, in an orphanage. So I run away.”

The others nodded sympathetically. This was something they could understand. But before they could think too much about it, they were interrupted by a shout from Wiggins.

“Look!” he cried, pointing through the window.

There, on the distant skyline, they saw the outline of a great building. A wide, circular tower, with roofs and turrets stretching away to either side of it behind a long stone wall. They could just make out a flag, flying above the tower on a tall flagpole. Windsor Castle!

A few minutes later, the train pulled into a station and stopped.

“Slough. This is Slough,” a man’s voice announced. “Change here for Windsor!”

“This is us. Everybody out!” Wiggins opened the door and they all poured out onto the platform. Wiggins grabbed the first porter he saw – a large man with a red face.

“Windsor. Where’s the train for Windsor?” he asked.

“There ain’t one, mate,” the man replied. “Not this morning, anyroad.”

“But we gotta get there. Quick. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“Oh, is it?” The man grinned at Wiggins’s eagerness. “You’ll have to run, then. Line’s closed till the Queen’s opened the new station. Ain’t you heard about that?”

“Course we have. That’s why we gotta get there! Somebody’s trying to blow her up!”

“And you’re gonna stop ’em? A porter and three kids?” He started laughing. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years!”

“I ain’t a porter.”

“And we ain’t just kids,” Shiner shouted.

“We’re the Baker Street Boys,” said Sparrow.

“And we work for Mr Sherlock Holmes!” Gertie added.

The porter laughed even harder. “Ooh,” he cackled. “And I’m the prime minister. This gets better and better. ’Ere, Charlie,” he called to another porter, “come and ’ave a listen to this. Fair beats the music hall, this does.”

“It’s true. It’s all true, I tell you,” Wiggins protested. “If we don’t get to Windsor Station in time, they’ll kill the Queen.”

“And Mr Holmes,” Sparrow cried.

When the porter laughed again, Shiner screamed with frustration and kicked him on the shin. Hard. The man let out a yell of rage and tried to grab him.

He was stopped by a loud voice, full of authority. “Biggs! Stop that at once!”

The speaker was a middle-aged man with curly, grey side-whiskers, wearing a shiny top hat, a black frock-coat and striped trousers. He was advancing along the platform, accompanied by two burly policemen, one of them with a sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve.

He pointed at the Boys and beckoned them imperiously. “You!” he ordered. “Come here.”

“Oh, blimey,” Shiner muttered. “The Stationmaster! Now we’re for it. They know you never had no ticket, Wiggins.”

“And pinched that uniform,” Sparrow chipped in.

“Borrowed,” Wiggins corrected him.

“Quickly, now!” the Stationmaster continued. “Is your name Wiggins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought so. Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard telegraphed me. He’s coming on the next train, and we’re to give you every assistance.”

“They did it!” Wiggins beamed at the other Boys. “Beaver and Queenie and Rosie – they did it!”

“You need to get to Windsor, right?”

“Yeah. And fast. But that porter says there ain’t no trains.”

“That’s right. We can’t get you there by train. It’s a single-track line, you see, and the royal train is already in the new station.”

“We’re done for, then. We ain’t got time to walk.”

“Never mind that,” the Stationmaster said firmly. “Come along with me. Hurry now. Right, Sergeant, Constable.”

He turned on his heel and marched out of the station as briskly as his dignity would allow. The Boys and the policemen followed. Outside, the Boys’ mouths dropped open in amazement. Standing at the entrance were two gleaming motor cars, each with a driver wearing peaked cap and goggles at the wheel. The car engines were ticking over, ready to go.

“Don’t stand there gawping!” the Stationmaster bellowed, waving them forward with both hands. “Have you never seen a horseless carriage before? Get aboard! No time to lose! Get aboard!”

The Boys needed no second bidding. What a day this was turning out to be! They scrambled into the first car – Wiggins in front by the driver, the other three in the rear seat – while the Stationmaster and the two policemen climbed into the second car.

“Full speed ahead, drivers!” the Stationmaster shouted, exchanging his top hat for a baggy cap with flaps, which he fastened under his chin. “To Windsor – and don’t spare the horsepower! A sovereign for the first across the bridge!”

The drivers tooted their horns and engaged forward gear, and the race was on. Through the little town they sped, forcing pedestrians to leap on to the pavements for safety, scaring old ladies, frightening horses and rousing sleeping dogs who rushed into the road after them, barking furiously. For the Boys, this was even more exciting than the train ride. They clung on for dear life as their car rattled and shook over the cobbled streets.

Once they were clear of the town, they trailed a huge cloud of dust behind them from the unmade road. As the car following had to drive through this, the policemen’s uniforms quickly turned from blue to grey. Coughing and spluttering, the Stationmaster grabbed the top of the windscreen, half stood up in his seat and urged his driver to overtake. But the road was too narrow and the Boys’ driver too determined, and so they stayed in front. Ahead of them, the distant bulk of the castle grew steadily bigger and bigger as they got nearer. To one side, across the fields, they could see the railway line, raised on a long row of brick arches, leading to the foot of the castle.

Soon they were entering another small town. The castle towered over the far end of its High Street, divided from it by a wide river. To the Boys’ astonishment, the streets were filled with boys, wearing shiny top hats, striped trousers, short black “bum-freezer” jackets and big, stiff, white collars. They were all heading towards the bridge that crossed the river. The cars had to slow down to avoid hitting them.

Wiggins leant over to the driver. “Is this Windsor?” he asked.

“No,” the man told him. “Windsor’s the other side of the river. This is Eton, where the toffs go to school.”

“Cor, fancy having to dress up like that every day to go to school!”

“Out of the way! Get out of the way!” the driver yelled, tooting his horn frantically. But the large number of schoolboys and other people in the street slowed the car to a crawl. By the time the cars had reached the tollgate on the other side of the bridge, they were forced to stop.

“It’s no good,” the driver said. “Too many people going to see the Queen.”

The other car had pulled up behind them. The Stationmaster and the two policemen jumped out, dusted themselves down and hurried over.

“It’ll be quicker on foot!” the Stationmaster shouted. “And anyway, the motors would never make it up the hill. This way! Come on!”

The Boys clambered out and followed him onto the bridge, pushing through the crowd.

“What’s this river?” Wiggins asked as they crossed.

The Stationmaster looked at him as though he were stupid. “Why, the Thames, of course,” he said.

The Boys stared over the side of the ancient stone bridge at the clear water running below. It did not look much like the great, grimy waterway that flowed through London, bustling with tugs and barges and river traffic. Led by the Stationmaster and the policemen, all puffing heavily, Wiggins and the Boys hurried across the bridge, then along the promenade that ran alongside the river. The boats here all seemed to be pleasure craft – launches and skiffs and dinghies. A hundred yards upstream another, more modern, iron bridge with two boats moored underneath it carried the railway across. It made a peaceful scene, but there was no time to stand and admire it.

The little party turned into the steep street that led up from the river, under the shadow of the immense outer wall of the castle. The shops facing the castle were gaily decorated with bunting and flags. So, too, was the entrance to the new station at the top of the slope, where guardsmen in their red tunics and tall, black bearskin hats lined the pavements. The Boys felt very important as they hurried between them onto the station concourse, where a military band was playing rousing tunes.