The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Ranjipur Ruby (7 page)

“He had a big black moustache. Stuck out either side of his face. Wobbled when he walked.”

“Uncle Sanjay!” Wiggins and Beaver exclaimed.

“Who?” asked Sparrow.

“Ravi’s uncle,” Queenie told him. “No need to worry ’bout him.”

“I dare say he was looking round to make sure the Thugs weren’t after him,” said Wiggins. “Where’d he go?”

“Into a tobacconist’s shop,” Sparrow said. “I looked in through the window, but he was only buyin’ cigars and stuff.”

“Well, there you are then. Let’s have something to eat, eh?”

It had been a long day, and the Boys were all tired and hungry. Queenie had used Madame Dupont’s money to buy the ingredients for one of her special stews – scrag-end of mutton with potatoes and turnips and the like. She set to work preparing it, while Wiggins stoked the fire in the old stove. Beaver took a big enamel jug to the pump in the yard, to fetch water to top up the big stone jar by the stove. He worked the big iron handle up and down until cool water gushed out. It looked so good, he stuck his head under the pump’s spout and let it splash over his face, opening his mouth and taking big gulps to quench his thirst.

He had just straightened up and started to fill the jug with water when he heard the sound
of running footsteps. A moment later, Shiner appeared, excited and out of breath.

“I seen ’im!” he gasped. “I seen ’im!”

“Who?” asked Beaver. “Who’d you see?”

“Moriarty!”

The Boys gathered round Shiner in great excitement as he began to tell them what he had seen.

“I was walkin’ down the street just behind Baker Street station, handin’ out leaflets and keepin’ my eyes open, like you said. I just give one to this bloke, what was standin’ there like he was waitin’ for somebody, when this carriage stops right there. And this bloke steps past me and climbs in. I didn’t take much notice at first, then all of a sudden I see the sign on the door,” he said.

“M!” said Rosie. “M for Moriarty!”

“Who’s tellin’ this?” Shiner snapped.

“You are,” said Queenie. “So just get on with it.”

“Could you see who was in the carriage?” Wiggins asked.

“Sort of. He was sat right back in the corner. But it was him right enough. The perfessor.”

“How d’you know?” asked Gertie.

“I could see his bald head. Like a big boiled eggit was.”

“That’s him, all right,” Beaver said. “Professor Moriarty his self.”

“Well done, Shiner,” Wiggins congratulated him. “That proves he really is about.”

“Yeah, but we still don’t know what he’s up to, do we?” Queenie asked.

“Quite right,” admitted Wiggins. “We
think
he’s after the ruby, but we can’t know for sure. Not yet, anyway.”

He thought for a moment, then turned back to Shiner.

“Tell me about the other bloke, the one what got into the carriage with him. He wasn’t Indian, was he?”

Shiner shook his head. “No,” he said. “He was English. A proper toff. But I reckon he was ’ard up.”

“How d’you know?”

“His boots. Been mended a few times. Very posh, they was, though – hand made.”

“How d’you know that?” Gertie demanded scornfully.

“I know all about boots,” said Shiner. “I clean enough of ’em every day. These was good ’uns – but they was very old and worn.”

“Like he couldn’t afford to buy new ones, you mean?” Wiggins asked.

“Exac’ly.” Shiner grinned as he used Wiggins’s favourite saying. Wiggins nodded and smiled.

“Well spotted, Shiner,” he acknowledged. “We’ll make a detective of you yet.”

“But we still don’t know who he is, do we?” Sparrow insisted. “What good’s knowin’ he needs new boots if we don’t know who he is?”

“But if we did know who he is,” Beaver said, “then we’d know he needed new boots and then we’d know he might be a bit hard up, and then we’d know somethin’ about him, and then we’d know—”

“Beaver!” Wiggins stopped him before he got completely carried away.

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Beaver apologized.

“S’all right, Beav,” Wiggins said. “It could be useful. You never know. Mr Holmes says knowledge is never wasted.”

“D’you think we should tell somebody?” Queenie asked.

“No use telling Inspector Lestrade,” Wiggins answered. “He’d just say there’s nothing illegal in a bloke giving another bloke a ride in his carriage.”

“Doctor Watson, then?”

“I dunno. He was a bit put out when the carriage wasn’t in the Bazaar. Seems to me the only person worth telling is Mr Holmes – and he’s not here to tell.”

“Well, let’s have some supper first. Then we can think what we’re gonna do next.”

“I know what
I’m
gonna do,” said Sparrow. “I gotta get to the theatre.”

Wiggins took his battered old watch from his pocket and consulted it.

“Yeah,” he said. “You better get a move on or you’ll be late for work. Don’t want Mr Trump sacking you again, do we?”

Sparrow pulled a face, and looked hungrily at the stew pot on the stove.

“Don’t fret. I’ll save you some for when you get home,” Queenie told him. “Now, off you go!”

When Sparrow got back from the music hall, most of the others were already fast asleep. Only Wiggins and Queenie were still awake. Queenie had waited up for him, to warm up his supper and be sure he got home safely. She always worried about Sparrow coming back so late on his own, but tonight she was especially worried, knowing that the Thugs were out there somewhere. To be honest, Sparrow had been a bit nervous himself. He did his best not to show it, but he had run most of the way home, avoiding dark doorways and alleyways and hurrying between the pools of light cast by the street lamps.

Wiggins was sitting in his special chair, thinking hard and trying to work out what Moriarty might be planning. He leapt up in alarm as Sparrow came in, puffing and out of breath.

“What’s up?” he asked. “Somebody after you?”

“No,” Sparrow panted. “I just … wanted to get home. For my supper.”

“Oh, right,” said Wiggins, knowing that Sparrow wouldn’t admit to being scared. He winked at Queenie, who nodded and smiled.

“Here you are then,” she said. “I saved it for you, like I promised.”

She plonked the plate on the table and gave Sparrow a spoon to eat with.

“Ta. I been waitin’ for this all night,” he said, tucking in. Running all the way home had given him extra appetite, and he emptied the plate in no time at all. And in no time at all after that, he was snuggled up in bed, fast asleep and dreaming of treasure chests full of fabulous jewels, and banquets of steaming sausages and chops and sticky sweet puddings and ice cream.

Queenie went to her bed as soon as Sparrow was settled, but Wiggins stayed up to think. Eventually he fell asleep in his chair, but he was woken in the middle of the night by the sound of someone entering HQ. Although Wiggins was wide awake in an instant, he could see nothing: the candle by his chair had burnt out, and it was very dark. The intruder seemed to be blundering about, bumping into things. There was a loud clang as Sparrow’s empty tin plate was knocked off the table.

“Who’s there?” Wiggins asked. “What d’you want?”

“Wiggins?” an urgent voice called. “Is that you? Where are you?”

“Over here. Stand still!”

He found a box of matches, struck one and held it up. By its light he could see someone standing in the middle of the room. It was Ravi.

“Hang on,” Wiggins told him. There was a candle on the table, stuck in the neck of a bottle. Wiggins lit it. By the light of its pale flame, he stared at Ravi. The Indian boy looked frightened. His hair was wild and his clothes were untidy and only half fastened.

“Ravi?” Wiggins said. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s Ram Das,” Ravi replied, in a trembling voice. “The dewan. They’ve murdered him!”

A M
URDER
M
YSTERY

Ravi was still shaking from shock as the rest of the Boys climbed out of their beds and gathered round him. Queenie wrapped him in a blanket and sat him in Wiggins’s chair.

“I’ll make you some cocoa,” she said. “You’ll feel better with a nice cup of hot cocoa inside you.”

She bustled over to the old black kettle, which was sitting on the stove as usual, singing quietly, and reached for a mug to make a drink for Ravi.

Wiggins crouched down beside the chair and spoke quietly to the young Raja.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I was asleep in my room as usual,” Ravi said, “when I was woken by loud noises. It sounded as if things were being knocked over. They came
from the dewan’s room, which is next to mine. Then there was a scream. A truly terrible scream. It ended suddenly, as though someone was being choked.”

He stopped and put his hands over his face, trying to shut out what he had heard and seen. The Boys’ faces, pale in the flickering candlelight, reflected the horror of what they were hearing. They were all silent apart from Rosie, who only just managed to stifle a sob.

“So what did you do?” Wiggins asked. “Dive under the bedclothes?”

“No. I heard other people come running, so I went to see for myself. The dewan’s door was open. He was lying on the floor. Captain Nicholson was already there, bending over him. One of the maids, Annie, came running along the landing, and William, the footman. But they were all too late.”

“The dewan was dead?”

“I’m afraid he … yes, he was.”

“How? Could you tell?”

“Captain Nicholson told me. He said he’d been strangled.”

The Boys all gasped.

“The Thugs!” said Beaver. “Did they take the key to the safe?”

Ravi shook his head. “No,” he said. “It was still round his neck. Captain Nicholson was checking it when Annie and I got there.”

“The captain must have scared ’em off,” said Queenie. “Before they had time to get the key from him.”

“So they had to run for it,” said Beaver.

“Empty-handed,” said Sparrow.

“That’s what Captain Nicholson said. He said there were two of them, but they pushed past him and ran off into the house somewhere. It’s a big house.”

“And he didn’t chase after ’em?” Wiggins asked.

“No. He said he stayed to look after the dewan. But when he saw that he was dead and we were there, he set off to search the house, with William and Mr Hobson.”

“Did they find anything?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stay to find out.”

“You legged it, eh?”

“What?”

“Legged it. You know – scarpered. Vamoosed. Ran for it.”

Ravi grinned. Wiggins was pleased to see that he was recovering from the shock. He was clearly feeling better now that he had his friends around him, and Queenie’s cocoa helped too.

“I didn’t want to stay in that house with two murderers on the loose,” Ravi said. “So I legged it through the kitchen door.”

“Don’t blame you, mate,” said Shiner. “I’d’ve been outta there quick as a flash.”

“Me too,” Sparrow agreed.

“Quite so,” said Ravi. “Discretion is the better part of valour, as they say!”

“Do they?” asked Rosie, looking puzzled.

“What’s that s’posed to mean then?” asked Gertie.

“It means being brave ain’t always the best thing to do,” Queenie explained.

“Exac’ly,” said Ravi, sounding just like Wiggins – who gave him a funny look.

“So you came to us?” Wiggins asked.

“I ran all the way. I feel safe here. You said the Baker Street Boys always look after their friends.”

“We do,” said Beaver. “You did right, Rav.”

“Pity you couldn’t have brought the ruby with you,” said Wiggins.

“I did the next best thing,” said Ravi. He pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the key to the safe. “I wasn’t going to leave this lying around.”

“Where d’you get that?” asked Beaver.

“I took it from the dewan.”

“Cor,” said Rosie. Like the others, she was deeply impressed that Ravi could have touched a dead body.

“That was brave,” said Queenie. “I don’t think I could have done that.

“Good lad,” said Wiggins. “They can’t get at the ruby without that.”

“Not unless they got a safe-cracker,” said Beaver. “You know – a crook what knows how to open safes. I don’t suppose they has safes in India, do they? So they’d have to find a safe-cracker in London, and that’d be hard, ’cos they’re strangers here. Course, I dare say Professor Moriarty would know somebody, but then they don’t know Professor Moriarty, do they?
Mind, we don’t know that for sure—”

“Beaver!” cried Wiggins. “Hold it! I’m trying to think.”

He began pacing across the floor. He had his thoughtful face on again, and he stroked his chin as he paced. The others watched him, and waited. At last he stopped, and turned to face them, looking serious.

“What if…” he said, “what if it weren’t the ruby they was after.”

“What d’you mean?” asked Shiner. “It’s worth a fortune. You said so.”

“Yeah, it is. But Ravi didn’t have it with him when they tried to strangle him in Clarke’s Court, did he?”

The others stared at Wiggins, trying to fathom out what he meant. But Ravi knew.

“You’re absolutely right, old chap,” he told him. “They couldn’t have been after the ruby that time.”