When Andrew turned back, looking for Mr. Dennison, he was gone. He stood there for a moment, thinking. Ahead of him he saw the green of Regent’s Park, and he decided he would go there, possibly to the Zoological Gardens. As he started toward it, three disreputable looking boys of about his own age and a girl who was somewhat younger came hurrying down the street. One of the boys rang the bell next to the door of a brick and stone house, the door opened and the boys went in, leaving the girl outside.
Andrew studied her as he approached. She was about eleven or twelve, pale and quite thin, with large grey eyes and long straight hair. Though her dress was faded and seemed a little large for her it was clean and freshly ironed.
“Got your eye full?” she asked aggressively.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Who you staring at?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was.”
“Well, you were. I’ve as much right to be here as anyone.”
“Of course you have.”
She relaxed a little.
“You do talk funny.”
He had been thinking the same thing about her, for her speech was flat and rather nasal and she said “Oo” for “who”, dropping her h’s. But he saw no point in saying so.
“Funny how?”
“Almost like a toff. But you don’t look like one. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No. I’m from Cornwall.”
“Where’s that?”
“South and west as far as you can go.”
Her large eyes widened.
“Near the sea?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen the sea.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ve never seen London before.”
“But you’re seeing it now.”
“Well, yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Andrew. What’s yours?”
“Screamer.”
“Screamer?”
“That’s what they call me. It’s not my real name. That’s Sara. Sara Wiggins.”
“I think I like Sara better.”
“I don’t mind Screamer. I’m used to it. Where you off to?”
“Regent’s Park. The Zoological Gardens.”
“What’s that?”
“Where the animals are.”
“Animals?”
“Yes. Lions and tigers and elephants. Haven’t you ever been there?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Screamer shrugged. Andrew was fairly sure the reason was that she didn’t know it existed, but she couldn’t bring herself to say so. Instead she dropped her eyes.
Because he had asked the wrong question, their conversation had suddenly come to an end. But Andrew was reluctant to leave. She was the first person anywhere near his own age that he had talked to in some time—not just since he had come to London but even before that. For when, much against his will, he had left the local school to study with Mr. Dennison, he had found himself cut off from all his former friends. From then on they had either avoided him or treated him with outright hostility.
As Andrew hesitated, the house door slammed open and the three boys came out. The tallest, a boy in a ragged coat whose closely cut hair stood up in spikes, looked at Andrew and then at Screamer.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“Andrew,” said Screamer. “This is my brother, Sam. And Alf and Bert.”
The three boys looked Andrew up and down and then ignored him.
“We’re off,” said Sam to Screamer. “We’ve got a job to do for Mr. Holmes. You cut along home.”
“No,” said Screamer.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I don’t want to go home and I’m not going.”
Sam scowled. “Now look, Screamer,” he began, moving toward her threateningly.
Screamer looked at him calmly, steadily, and made an ominous noise deep in her throat.
“Don’t!” said Sam, drawing back. “Not here!” Then, giving up, “All right. Don’t go, then. I’ll see you later.” And he and his two companions went running off.
Andrew looked at her with respect as well as interest.
“Who’s Mr. Holmes?” he asked.
“Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
“You say that as if I should know who he is.”
“Well, you should. He’s the most famous detective in London. Maybe in the world.”
“You mean he’s with the police?”
“No, no. He doesn’t have nothing to do with the police. He doesn’t even like them. He’s a private detective.”
“Oh. And your brother works for him?”
“Yes. Him and Alf and Bert and one or two others. Not all the time but when he needs something special done. He calls them the Baker Street Irregulars.”
“I see.” Then, making up his mind, “Would you like to come to the zoo with me?”
Her eyes widened. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course.”
“Then … yes, I would.”
“Come on, then.”
They went up Baker Street, crossed Marylebone Road and entered the park, walking past a lake and carefully tended gardens to the south entrance of the zoo. Andrew was a little disconcerted to find that there was an admission charge, but he had almost five shillings, money he had saved from what Trefethen had given him for helping out at the forge, and he did not want to disappoint Screamer. So, even though she protested, he paid, and they went in and entered the first building to their left.
“Coo!” said Screamer, staring. “What are those?”
“Different kinds of deer,” said Andrew. “Those are red deer. That’s a moose and that’s an elk.”
“You’ve been here before, then?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because the signs tell you what they are.” He glanced at her. “Can’t you read?”
She looked away. “I know the letters, but I can’t always put them together.”
“Of course you can. What does that say?”
“B-i-son.”
“That’s right. Bison. They’re also called buffaloes.”
“Oh.” She stared at the shaggy beasts. “They’re awful big.”
“Yes, they are. But the American Indians used to hunt them. They’d chase them on horseback and shoot them with bows and arrows.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read about it.”
“You do know a lot, don’t you?”
“Not really.” But he was pleased, enjoying himself thoroughly. It was fun just to be there, seeing animals he had only read about before. But to be there with someone who listened so intently to everything he said made it even more memorable. Still he continued to insist that Screamer try to read the signs, helping her when she had difficulty.
When they stood in front of the open enclosure behind the Lion House and a large, maned male woke from his morning nap and came close to the bars to blink at them, Screamer took his hand and, for most of the rest of the morning, she held on to it.
Screamer was so enchanted by the seals and penguins that shared a pool—the seals diving, swimming, and barking and the penguins strutting about like little men in dress clothes—that he had difficulty in getting her to go on. By the time they had looked at the giraffes, the hippopotami and the elephants, it was long past noon.
“Are you hungry?” asked Andrew.
“Fair starved.”
“So am I. Let’s get something to eat.”
He started toward a refreshment stand, but Screamer said, “Wait. You paid to get us in. I’ll pay for lunch.”
“Have you got any money?”
“No, but I’ll get some. I’ll do a lucifer drop.”
“A what?”
“A lucifer drop. Mum and Sam say it’s mumping and I shouldn’t do it, but what they don’t know won’t hurt ’em. Wait here.”
/> “But …”
“I said, wait here. It’s no good if I’m not alone.”
She looked around, then walked back to the Elephant House. There she took a box of matches out of her pocket, partially opened it and, standing next to the doorway, said in a small voice, “Lucifers, tuppence a box. Lucifers.”
Andrew watched, puzzled. People coming out of the Elephant House or pushing their way in paid no attention to her, but that didn’t seem to disturb Screamer. A well-dressed, elderly man accompanied by a young woman and two small boys came out, and Screamer edged forward. The man brushed against her, and the box fell to the ground, spilling most of the matches. Screamer looked down at them and burst into tears.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked the elderly man.
“Can’t you see what you done?” said a beefy man in a cap. “You knocked the blooming matches out of ’er ’and.”
“Oh. I am sorry, my dear,” said the elderly man. “I didn’t see you. Here.” And he gave her a coin.
“A tanner!” said the man with the cap scornfully. “Don’t beggar yourself!”
“Are you presuming to tell me how much to give her?” said the elderly man, drawing himself up.
“I ain’t presuming nothing,” said the man with the cap. “Here y’are, ducky. Here’s a bob.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” said Screamer.
“Father, I really do think …” said the young woman.
“Oh, very well,” said the elderly man. “Here.” And he gave Screamer another coin.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you kindly.”
Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she bent down and began picking up the matches.
A small crowd had gathered.
“Poor child,” said a matronly looking woman.
“Probably hasn’t had a decent meal in days,” said another. “Here, pet.”
Three or four more people pressed money on Screamer, then went on or into the Elephant House. Screamer finished picking up the matches, then returned to Andrew.
“Three and six,” she said. “That should do it.” Then as Andrew looked at her, “Why are you looking at me that way? I didn’t ask for nothing, did I?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing.”
“All right, then. Let’s eat.”
They went over to the refreshment stand and she paid for sandwiches, buns and tea for the two of them.
They left the zoo late in the afternoon, tired by all the walking they had done and bemused by all that they had seen. They sat for a while on the grass near the lake watching the rowers, most of whom, Andrew thought, did not handle their boats particularly well. When they finally got up, Screamer said, “Let’s go this way,” and led him out through Park Square and along Portland Place.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“No place. I just like walking through here. There ain’t no shops to look at like on Baker Street, but it’s even fancier.”
“It is nice,” said Andrew, looking at the elegant facades of the houses that lined the street. Then, pointing to an imposing stone building, “What’s that?”
“A hotel. The Hotel Langham. I once saw a dutchess going in there.”
“How’d you know it was a dutchess?”
“How do you think? I asked.”
That was logical. Though Screamer had been subdued, even a little uncertain, when they had first gone into the zoo, later on, and especially when they were back in the streets that were so familiar to her, she was completely sure of herself.
As they approached the hotel a growler, piled high with luggage, drew up. The uniformed attendant seemed to be expecting it, for when he had glanced inside, he touched his hat and beckoned. Three page boys came hurrying out of the hotel and lined up beside him. Then he opened the cab door, and the most beautiful lady Andrew had ever seen stepped out.
Her hair was tawny, her skin very white and her eyes were a startling cornflower blue. She wore a large hat with ostrich feathers on it and a long traveling cape. She was very gay, smiling at the cabby as she paid him and chatting with the commissionaire while the luggage was handed down. Several people had stopped and were watching, and Screamer and Andrew joined them.
“Who is she?” asked Andrew as the lady followed the commissionaire into the hotel.
“I dunno,” said Screamer. “I’ll find out.”
She worked her way through the crowd, talked to one of the page boys who was carrying the luggage into the hotel, then came back again.
“Her name’s Verna Tillet and she’s an actress,” she said. “She’s been in America and she’s going to be opening at the Adelphi next week.”
Andrew nodded. He had never seen either an actress or a dutchess before, but he would much rather see the former than the latter, especially since she looked just the way he had imagined an actress would look.
“It’s getting late and I should be getting back,” he said. “Are we far from York Street?”
“No. This way.”
Screamer led him through quiet, tree-shaded residential streets where maids in caps and white aprons were drawing the blinds of elegant houses. They reached Baker Street and were just starting north when Screamer paused.
“What is it?” asked Andrew.
“There’s Alf and Bert.”
Glancing up the street, Andrew saw the two boys who had been with Screamer’s brother standing in front of number 221B. The door opened, and Sam came out. He gave his two friends a thumbs up sign, and they talked for a moment, their heads together. Then Sam saw Screamer and he came toward them.
“I was just going to start looking for you,” he said. “Where you been?”
“Oh, places. The zoo. How’d you do?”
“All right. Mr. Holmes wanted us to find someone for him. It took us all day and we had to go clean to Bermondsey to do it, but we did.”
“A criminal?”
“I’ve told you before, when you work for Mr. Holmes you don’t ask questions.” As before, he ignored Andrew. “Mum’ll be home soon. Come on.”
“Half a tick,” said Screamer. “I want to say goodbye to Andrew and …”
“I said, come on!” said Sam and taking her by the arm, he hurried her off.
Andrew watched them go, suddenly feeling very much alone. He had felt a twinge of jealousy when he saw Sam talking to his two friends. It must, he had felt, be pretty exciting to be a Baker Street Irregular and work with a famous detective, and he couldn’t help wondering who they had had to find and why As for Screamer, there had been things he had wanted to say to her too—or rather ask her. For though she was younger than he was and rather odd, he had enjoyed being with her and would have liked to see her again. But she had told him nothing about herself, and he had no idea where she lived.
He started home slowly. It must have been well after tea time, for though it was still light the streets were almost deserted. He turned into York Street and there, some distance ahead of him, he saw Mr. Dennison. He was walking quickly but there was no mistaking him even from the back.
Andrew was too tired to hurry, and besides—though it was unlikely that Mr. Dennison would question him—he wasn’t ready yet to talk about Screamer or what he had done all day. So he stepped behind a stoop, intending to wait until after Mr. Dennison had gone into Mrs. Gurney’s before he went in himself.
But just as Mr. Dennison reached for the bell pull, a growler drew up and a man got out. At the same time the cabby climbed down from the box, and they both approached Mr. Dennison. Andrew was too far away to hear what they said to him, but Mr. Dennison seemed to shrink back. Then the man had him by the arm and was leading him to the curb. The two men got into the growler, the cabby climbed back into the box, cracked his whip and the horse broke into a trot. As the growler clattered past, Andrew saw that the cabby, a heavyset man with a crooked, broken nose, was grinning.
Puzzled and a little uneasy, Andrew watched the four-wheele
r turn the corner and disappear. Who was the man who had spoken to Mr. Dennison? Was he a friend? From the way the schoolmaster had acted, Andrew didn’t think so. On the other hand, Mr. Dennison had come to London on business. Perhaps the stranger was the man he had come to see and they had not met before this. Yes, that must be it. If it wasn’t, how would the man know where Mr. Dennison was staying? In any case, there was nothing he could do about it until Mr. Dennison returned. Then, though he never discussed his affairs with Andrew, he might explain.
“Oh, there you are,” said Mrs. Gurney when she opened the door. “I was starting to worry about you. Where’s Mr. Dennison?”
“He just went off somewhere.”
“Oh? Will he be here for supper?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“Well, I like to be accommodating,” she said, frowning, “but I must say this is a little too much. I mean, if he’s not going to be here, don’t you think I should be told?”
“Yes, of course. But I’m not sure he knew himself. It all happened very suddenly.”
“Sudden or not, it’s not right. But it’s not your fault. What I’ll do is give you your supper now and keep something for him. If he’s not too late, he can have it when he gets home.”
“Fine, Mrs. Gurney.”
He went up to the room, ate his supper and then stretched out on the couch. After all the walking he had done, he was even more tired than he had been the day before, but he was determined not to go to sleep until Mr. Dennison returned. Fixing his eye on the gaslight, he began to think about everything that had happened that day; all the pleasant things like his meeting with Screamer and their visit to the zoo. But always in the background there was something that was not so pleasant. That was, in fact, very disturbing and that he kept pushing away and trying not to think about. Suppose the man in the growler, the man who had driven off with Mr. Dennison, wasn’t a friend? Suppose he were an enemy or a criminal, and Mr. Dennison didn’t come back? It was ridiculous, of course. Things like that couldn’t happen in London. But if that’s what had happened, what would become of him, Andrew? With no friends or money, where would he go? What would he do?
The Case of the Baker Street Irregular (Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt Book 1) Page 2