by Simon Brett
‘That’s a bit of a candle-snuffer,’ said Blotto.
‘So have you any ideas what we should do?’ asked Twinks.
‘Well now . . .’ The McCluggan of McCluggan stroked his beard sagely. ‘I do have a wee plan. It’s a risk, but we’re in a position where whatever we do is going to be a risk, so . . .’ And he spelled out his plan for their escape.
Both Blotto and Twinks thoroughly approved of the notion, and the four of them moved as silently as they could into the interior of Glenglower Castle.
The McCluggan of McCluggan’s plan appeared to work perfectly. As proposed, he took them a back way through the kitchens to a small chamber off the dining hall, where they discovered a bleary Gerhardt Sachs once again working his way down a bottle of brandy.
With speed surprising for a man of his age, The McCluggan of McCluggan quickly had one arm around the pilot’s neck, while the other hand held the point of his sgian dubh against the man’s throat. Gerhardt Sachs was too shocked for speech.
‘Richt,’ said the laird. ‘We’re ganging oot tae the courtyard, Sachs, with ye as our hostage. If any o’ the League o’ the Crimson Hand’s guards raise a weapon tae us, my sgian dubh will slit your throat as easy as a pig’s in an abattoir. I ken weel that the League willnae let ye die, because ye are the only body who kens the details o’ their next major ootrage. So tae your feet and come wi’s!’
Still silent, Gerhardt Sachs rose from his chair and let himself be led along the corridor to a large door which opened out on to the castle courtyard.
The space was full of League of the Crimson Hand guards. Close to, Blotto and Twinks could see the insignia of their organization on the front of their dark grey uniforms. The moment the guards saw the emerging party they raised their rifles to their shoulders and took aim.
‘Hauld your fire!’ cried The McCluggan of McCluggan. ‘One wee shot and mae hostage dees!’
The guards lowered their rifles, but still looked threatening. Tension was etched on the faces of four of the party which advanced across the courtyard. Only Blotto looked cheerful. In fact, he looked more than cheerful. He looked as though he had just been beatified by a particularly benevolent God. He saw nothing else in Glenglower Castle except, in the middle of the courtyard, his precious Lagonda. He couldn’t prevent himself from murmuring an awestruck ‘Toad-in-the-hole . . .’
It seemed as if it was the Lagonda towards which the laird was leading his hostage. In both Blotto and Twinks’s minds the same image formed – of them inside the car with the two prisoners they had released, speeding southwards to the haven of Tawcester Towers.
But just before they reached the car, The McCluggan of McCluggan stopped still. He released his hold on Gerhardt Sachs, lowered his sgian dubh and looked around at the assembled guards with a smile.
‘Well,’ he said in a voice of the British upper classes, ‘I think it’s time for me to drop that dreadfully phony Scots accent.’
The guards roared with laughter, as they once again raised their rifles towards the intruders.
‘Time too,’ The McCluggan of McCluggan continued, ‘to drop this little charade we’ve been playing.’ He and Gerhardt Sachs moved away from the others as his acolytes laughed again. Then he bellowed out the order, ‘Guards, put them in manacles and take them back down to the dungeons!’
‘You mean,’ asked a shell-shocked Twinks, ‘that you . . .?’
The laird turned to face her and, favouring her with a thin smile, confirmed her worst fears by announcing, ‘Yes. I, The McCluggan of McCluggan, am the Crimson Thumb!’
28
The Crimson Thumb
Following the instructions of their master, guards manacled the three intruders and led them back towards the interior of the castle. Just as they were about to enter, a call came out from The McCluggan of McCluggan – or, as they now should know him, the Crimson Thumb. ‘Take the Melmont girl back to her cell! Leave the others with me. There is something I wish to show them.’
Blotto and Twinks may briefly have entertained hopes that they might be left alone with their adversary, giving them a greater chance of overpowering him in spite of their manacles, but such illusions were quickly dashed. A contingent of ten armed guards provided an escort as the pair were led in the wake of the Crimson Thumb into the castle by another door, and soon down a long spiral staircase. The deceitful laird led the way; five armed men between him and Blotto ruled out any possibility of attacking him. Five armed men behind Twinks equally effectively cut off the possibility of her escaping.
The spiral staircase went down deep into the solid crag on which Glenglower Castle had been built. Twinks was estimating that they must be at the same level as the cave through which they had entered the premises when suddenly the stairs ended. They passed through a thick metal door and found themselves on a smooth stone platform which looked out over another, larger cave.
This one too had a semicircular opening through which they could see pale moonlight shimmering on the waves outside. But this new cave was full of water, on whose surface floated large objects which could not be identified in the gloom.
‘Let us allow our guests to see our pride and joy!’ The Crimson Thumb’s words were graciously phrased, but there was no doubt they represented a command.
And a command which was instantly obeyed. A guard must have flicked a switch, because the cave was suddenly flooded with light and revealed to be a natural aeroplane hangar. The large floating objects were revealed to be seaplanes, at least thirty of the beasts, all bristling with guns.
‘Toad-in-the-hole!’ said Blotto, impressed in spite of himself. ‘Those are all Frimmelstopf Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels!’
‘I congratulate you, Lyminster, on your skill in aircraft recognition. You have identified our air resources correctly. All of these belong to the League of the Crimson Hand, for us to use for whatever missions we see fit.’
At that moment Blotto and Twinks both noticed that on the fuselage of each seaplane was printed the large image of a Crimson Hand.
Blotto turned to face the evil genius of Glenglower Castle. ‘What murdy devilment are you plotting, Thumb?’
His sister joined in. ‘Yes, Thumb, what is the outrage that we heard Gerhardt Sachs and Wellborough Choat discussing at Llanystwyth House?’
Her question was answered by a mirthless laugh. ‘I would not have replied to that question a few hours ago. But now my moment of triumph is so near, and your remaining time on earth is so short that, yes, I don’t mind blowing my own trumpet a little. Guards!’ he shouted. ‘Chain the prisoners to the wall, retreat up the stairs, closing the door behind you – and do not return until I sound the siren!’
This time thoughts of staging an escape had hardly time to form in Blotto and Twinks’s minds before they were dashed. The chains which were passed through their manacles and padlocked to the walls were heavy and strong.
When the three of them were alone, the Crimson Thumb chuckled again, with all the charm of a cobra taking a bead on a mesmerized mouse. ‘I do not need to share my plans with everyone in the League. The pilots who will be flying these planes out in the morning know their duties. The rest of the riff-raff – those who are merely prepping the planes and guarding Glenglower Castle – are better kept in ignorance.’
‘So what villainy are you planning?’ demanded Twinks.
‘Oh, very simple villainy, but very effective villainy. Presumably by now you know the aims of the League of the Crimson Hand?’
‘To destroy the aristocracy of Europe and unsettle the governments of all its nations.’
‘You are right, milady. How well you have done your research. So, given that that is the League’s aim, where should they go to attack the aristocracy in this country?’
‘Well,’ replied Blotto, ‘I suppose you go round all of the country houses, like you did at Snitterings and you . . . Well, I’ll be snickered! You’re not thinking of attacking Tawcester Towers, are you?’
But Twinks w
as, as usual, ahead of him. ‘The House of Lords!’ she said. ‘You’re thinking of attacking the House of Lords!’
‘How quick you are, milady,’ the Crimson Thumb acknowledged. ‘You have a fine mind. A pity that an organ of such exquisite deductive powers will so soon be destroyed.’
‘But just a minute – tomorrow! It’s the Wednesday before Christmas! Tomorrow is the day when the highest number of members of the House of Lords will be present there! It’s the day of the House of Lords Christmas lunch! Why, even our brother Loofah turns up for that!’
The Crimson Thumb nodded his head modestly. ‘I too, you see, have done my research.’
‘So,’ demanded an astounded Blotto, ‘you are planning to fly all these Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels down to London to turn their fire on the House of Lords?’
‘Not just their fire. The planes down there have all been fitted with bomb bays.’
‘You’re going to bomb the spoffing House of Lords?’
‘Exactly,’ replied the Crimson Thumb with quiet satisfaction.
‘But why?’ asked Twinks. ‘Why are you doing it? Someone in your position has nothing to gain from such an outrage. It’s a betrayal of your own class. It goes against all the principles you have grown up with. The Marquis of Godalming told me that you loathed the very idea of Socialism.’
‘And so I do. Socialism is not something I believe in.’ There was a manic gleam in his eye as he grew more excited. ‘The idea that everything should be shared equally – faugh, I almost retch to think of it. No, Socialism is simply the means by which I will achieve my ends. All of this riff-raff who surround me – this League of the Crimson Hand – oh, they all are obeying my orders because they believe that when the aristocrats are all dead, they will inherit the world. A just, equitable world in which everyone starts in life with the same privileges and potential.’
He laughed at the incongruity of the idea. ‘Socialism will never be more than a sop that the rulers of the world throw to their disaffected commoners. But the League believes in me at this moment. They believe enough to carry out my plans to annihilate every member of this country’s aristocracy. What they do not believe – or do not know – is that when they have served their purpose, when the new regime is in power, every man jack of them will be jailed for sedition and summarily executed.’ The McCluggan of McCluggan let out an evil, self-congratulatory laugh.
Blotto was speechless. He tried to come up with words to express his outrage at what he was hearing, but was unable to do more than splutter.
His sister was more articulate. ‘When you speak of the new regime, presumably you refer to a regime headed by yourself?’
He bowed his head in mock-compliment. ‘Once again I admire your perspicacity. Yes, this country has a long tradition of being ruled by the nobility. Most of its people still have the mentality of serfs. They would no more know how to run a country than they would know which knife and fork to use at a formal dinner. They like kowtowing to the aristocracy. It’s an instinct that is in their blood. So, when every other aristocrat in this country is dead, they will turn to the one who remains. And that one will be me – The McCluggan of McCluggan! First I will take over Great Britain – then the world!’
Twinks turned on him the full beam of her azure eyes. ‘You’re mad,’ she said. ‘Do you know that? You’re stark staring mad.’
‘And the murdiest kind of stencher,’ added Blotto who had finally found his tongue.
The McCluggan of McCluggan did not reply. He turned to a row of buttons and pressed one. A siren sounded. As instructed, the guards returned. The McCluggan of McCluggan said nothing as they unchained his prisoners and manhandled them away up the spiral staircase.
He just looked with pride at the armoured fleet of seaplanes in the covered loch beneath him. And thought of the next day, the day that would bring the realization of all his ambitions.
29
Despair!
At least the three prisoners were put in the same cell. While this gave them the advantage of some company, it did also suggest the possibility that their planned incarceration would not be of long duration. And conjectures about what might end that incarceration were not ones that Twinks was about to share with Laetitia Melmont. No point in shattering the mood of ecstasy the girl derived from the idea that her beloved had risked life and limb to rescue her. And that the current interlude in a dungeon was merely the start of their new, inseparable life together.
The three of them were not actually chained to the wall, which was a minor blessing. But the manacles on their wrists and the locks on the door ruled out any possibility of escape.
‘I’m really vinegared off,’ Blotto kept saying. ‘Absolutely fumacious. We’re in the deepest gluepot yet created.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Laetitia cooed volubly. ‘Your heroism will see us through this challenge too, Blotto.’
He exchanged a wry look with his sister. Neither of them underestimated their current predicament. Even Twinks’s normally unshakeable optimism was wobbling a little bit. But Blotto tossed a cheery ‘Tickey-tockey’ towards Laetitia to avert any potential hysterics.
He noticed the pensive expression on his sister’s face. ‘What’s the bizz-buzz in that brainbox of yours, me old pineapple?’
‘I was just trying to work out the timing.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of the Crimson Thumb’s attack on the House of Lords.’
‘He said “in the morning”, so I assume he meant first thing.’
Twinks shook her head. ‘No. He will not want the Seefeuergewehrfliegflügels to land anywhere between here and the Thames outside the House of Lords. He certainly won’t want them to have to refuel. So they will fly straight from here to London. A trip which would take a standard Seefeuergewehrfliegflügel around two hours, though loaded with bombs they may fly a fraction slower. Well, the Lords never sit down to their Christmas lunch until at least one thirty.’
‘How do you know that, Twinks me old umbrella stand?’
‘I know that because Loofah has frequently told me how many whisky and sodas he has in the bar before going through to the dining room.’
‘Tickey-tockey.’
‘So, say two and a half hours . . . that means the seaplanes won’t take off until about eleven. They may well come out of the cave into the open sea of the Firth before that, but I reckon their battle orders will be to take off at eleven.’
‘I’m sorry, what are you talking about?’ Laetitia Melmont’s voice reverberated in the cramped space of the cell.
Blotto knew that holding back the information about the evil plans of the Crimson Thumb would be the chivalrous thing to do. But he also knew that, if Laetitia ever did find out about that particular act of chivalry, she would regard it simply as another demonstration of his undying love. So he told her.
She looked suitably shocked. ‘What kind of a rotter would bomb the House of Lords while they’re all having their Christmas lunch?’
‘The kind of rotter we’re up against. The Crimson Thumb, no less.’
‘But good heavens!’ Laetitia wailed loudly. ‘My brother the Duke will be there tomorrow!’
The hysterics which Blotto had sought to avert were now unleashed at full volume. He looked at his sister and in both of their eyes was an unfamiliar look. It was one of despair.
‘What’s the time?’ said Twinks.
He consulted the Accrington-Murphy Admiral Chronometer on his wrist. ‘Just after midnight.’
Twinks’s beautiful face screwed up with concentration. ‘So we’ve got less than eleven hours to get ourselves out of this swamp-hole and thwart the villainies of the Crimson Thumb. Any thoughts how we’re going to do it?’
Laetitia Melmont had by now managed to control her hysterics, and there was silence in the cell. It lasted for nearly an hour, the longest time that Blotto and Twinks had ever been awake in each other’s company without speaking. Which was a measure of how close to despair they were.
And what finally spurred them to speech was sadly not one of them thinking of a way out of their predicament. It was the sound of footsteps approaching along the corridor.
‘Rodents!’ muttered Blotto. ‘The stenchers are coming to get us. I’ll try hiding behind the door, see if I can take some of them out. Oh, broken biscuits, I wish I had my cricket bat with me. Or even,’ he continued with an affection he had never expected to feel for the object in question, ‘my second-best cricket bat.’
The two girls were silent as he positioned himself. He wasn’t going to be much use with his hands restrained, but at least the weight of his manacles might allow him to get in a few powerful blows at the Crimson Thumb’s guards.
The footsteps outside stopped, and they heard the ring of keys being lifted from its hook on the wall. Then the key was inserted into the lock of their cell. An eternity seemed to pass before they heard the key turn in the lock, saw the door slowly open as a man stepped in.
Blotto leapt forward with manacled hands upraised.
‘Great dithering dragonflies!’ said a familiar voice.
It was Jerome Handsomely.
‘How on earth did you get here?’ asked Twinks.
‘I saw that kite you’d left flying for me. Used it as a marker. Very crumpety that you’d left it by that flat field. Perfect tarmac-tickling area for me to land my crate. Well done, whoever thought of that little wrinkle.’
Blotto looked across at his sister and saw a sight which he had very rarely witnessed before. Twinks actually looked embarrassed. She may have kept her views mostly to herself, but he knew she’d thought his idea of the kite was complete guff. And now he was in the unusual position of being superior to her.
In his moment of glory Blotto could not restrain himself. Reverting to the language of their nursery, he thumbed his nose and said, ‘So snubbins to you, Twinks!’
30
The Battle in the Air
Jerome Handsomely, it transpired, had checked through Glenglower Castle before coming to their rescue. ‘Absolutely snuffled-up to tell you that all the slimers are busy prepping the seaplanes. None of the bally stopcock-twiddlers are guarding anything.’