The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Ranjipur Ruby

by Anthony Read

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.”

  “You said the dewan’s room was next to yours,” Wiggins went on.

  “You think they went into the wrong room in the dark?”

  “Could have.”

  “So they killed Ram Das by mistake?”

  “Exac’ly.”

  “You mean it was me they really wanted to kill.”

  There was silence for a moment as the rest of the Boys took this in.

  “The curse of the Ranjipur Ruby strikes again,” said Beaver lugubriously. “Or at least it would have, if Ravi had been in the other room, or the dewan had been in his, or if it hadn’t been so dark, ’cos now that Ravi’s dad’s dead—”

  “Beaver!” Queenie stopped him.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean … I mean I didn’t want to upset Ravi about his dad…”

  “It’s quite all right,” Ravi reassured him. “My father and I were never very close,” he explained. “He was always off shooting things, or playing polo or visiting other princes. So I never saw much of him.”

  “Course, that’s only an idea,” said Wiggins. “They could have been after the ruby. We know how much they want it. They could have killed the dewan to get the key.” He paused as another thought entered his mind, then went on: “But how’d they know he’d got it?”

  “P’raps Moriarty told ’em,” said Beaver. “He knows everythin’.”

  The others nodded gloomily. It did seem as though their arch-enemy was always ahead of them, and always shrouded in mystery.

  “Yeah, but who told Moriarty?” Wiggins asked. “If we could find that out, we’d find the murderer.”

  “How we gonna do that?” asked Queenie.

  Wiggins shook his head. “Dunno,” he replied. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Well, what are we gonna do?”

  “I know what I’d like to do,” said Ravi. “I’d like to stay here with you. May I?”

  The Boys looked at each in surprise. Ravi was rich and could live anywhere in comfort. Why would he want to join them in a draughty old cellar where they never had enough to eat? Besides which, what could he do to earn his keep? He wouldn’t be much good at foraging for food or doing odd jobs – no one could imagine him sweeping crossings or holding horses’ heads. On the other hand, Shiner thought, the Boys’ first rule was that they shared everything; if Ravi were to share his money with them, none of them would ever have to do any of those jobs again.

  Wiggins, however, had other thoughts. “You’d be very welcome, Ravi old son,” he said. “But I don’t think it’d be a good idea. When they realize you’re missing, your uncle and Captain Nicholson and everybody’ll start looking for you. And it won’t take long afore they twig where you are. They know we’re your friends. You ain’t got no other friends in London, have you?”

  Ravi shook his head glumly. Wiggins went on.

  “Like as not they’ll get the coppers in on the hunt. And even old Lestrade might be able to put two and two together and reckon as you’re with us.”

  “But this place, HQ, it’s secret.”

  “And we’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Wiggins is right,” Queenie said. “It’s only secret because the coppers have never had to look for it.”

  “If they did,” Beaver joined in, “it wouldn’t take ’em long. They know we live round ’ere somewhere.”

  “You see,” said Wiggins, “they wouldn’t bother with most folks, but seeing as how you’re a prince, they won’t stop till they find you.”

  Breakfast was barely on the table at Number 221b Baker Street next morning when Wiggins rang the doorbell. He and the other Boys had spent most of the night wondering what they should do. If Mr Holmes had not been away, they would have hurried round to ask his advice: he would certainly have known what to do. Finally, they had decided that in his absence they would have to talk to Dr Watson, even though he had doubted them over the business of Professor Moriarty’s carriage.

  A bleary-eyed Billy opened the door and glared at the three scruffy street urchins standing on the step.

  “Not you lot again,” he growled. “What do you want, disturbing decent people at this time of day?”

  “We wanna see Dr Watson,” Wiggins said. “That’s if Mr Holmes still ain’t back.”

  “No, he ain’t,” said Billy. He stared at them, curious that one of them seemed to have a very dark face beneath the tattered cap pulled low over his eyes.

  “And who’s he?” he demanded, pointing at Ravi.

  “That’s none of your business,” Wiggins replied.

  “It is if I’m letting him into this house,” Billy shot back. “Mrs Hudson’s very particular about who we let in.”

  Beaver leant towards him confidentially and spoke quietly.

  “This is the Raja of Ranjipur,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Billy shot back, grinning at the ragged figure standing before him. “And I’m the Prince of Wales. Get out of here!”

  Ravi stepped forward and gave the pageboy a haughty stare.

  “My name is Prince Ravindranatharam and I am the Raja of Ranjipur,” he said in a lordly voice. “Now, boy, hurry along and inform Dr Watson that my friends and I wish to speak with him on a matter of great urgency.”

  Billy’s mouth dropped open at the tone of Ravi’s command. He stood rooted to the spot until Ravi clapped his hands imperiously and ordered: “At once, miserable boy!” Then he scuttled away as fast as he could, to the delight of Wiggins and Beaver.

  Dr Watson was in his dressing gown again when Billy showed in his three visitors.

  “I shall have to start getting up earlier if this goes on!” he greeted them. “What is it this time? Have you seen our friend Professor Moriarty again?”

  “Yes,” said Wiggins. “As a matter of fact we have. But that ain’t why we’re here.”

  “We’re here because there’s been a murder done,” Beaver told him.

  “Oh, dear,” said Dr Watson. “Not your friend Ravi, I hope?”

  “No, guv’nor. This is Ravi.”

  Ravi smiled at him and held out his hand.

  “How do you do, Doctor,” he said. “I’m glad to meet you.”

  Dr Watson shook his hand but stared in puzzlement at the Indian boy’s ragged clothes and his face carefully smudged with dirt.

  “But why…?” he asked. “Why is he dressed like that?”

  “We thought it advisable,” Ravi said, “with Thugs and murderers on the loose.”

  “I see,” said the doctor, looking as though he didn’t see at all.

  “So I lent him some clobber,” Wiggins said.

  “The Boys thought my normal clobber would have drawn attention to me when we were legging it along the street,” Ravi explained.

  “And we didn’t want that,” Beaver added. “Not with them two bloodthirsty Thugs on the lookout for him after they killed the dewan by mistake.”

  “Course, we don’t know that for sure,” Wiggins said. “They could have been after the ruby.”

  “Only, the dewan had the key round his neck,” said Beaver. “So they couldn’t get it ’less they done him in. See, if he hadn’t had the key round his neck, and if it hadn’t been pitch dark in the house in the middle of the night so they couldn’t tell Ravi’s room from the dewan’s—”

  “Stop! Stop!” Dr Watson cried, shaki
ng his head in confusion. “Now you really have lost me. Perhaps you’d better sit down and start at the beginning.”

  So, with the help of Ravi and the occasionalhindrance of Beaver, Wiggins explained all that had happened. Dr Watson listened carefully, looking more and more serious as the tale progressed. When Ravi described seeing the dewan’s body lying on the floor, he let out a low whistle.

  “My goodness,” he said. “That must have been terrible for you. No wonder you took fright and ran away.”

  “That’s right,” said Ravi. “I legged it as fast as I could, round to my friends at HQ.”

  “Hmmm,” said Dr Watson. “I’m not sure that was the wisest thing to do, but never mind, you came to no harm and here you are.”

  “The thing is, guv’nor,” Wiggins said, “what do we do with Ravi now?”

  “Oh, there can be no question about that,” the doctor told him. “He must go home.”

  “Back to that house?”

  “It will be quite safe. It’s daylight now, and the police will be there. I’ve no doubt they’ll have searched the house from top to bottom.”

  “Do I have to?” Ravi pleaded.

  “Your uncle and your tutor will have been worried sick about you. They’re not to know you haven’t been abducted, or worse. You must go back at once, and face the music.”

  AN INSIDE JOB

  There was a large, comforting London bobby standing guard outside Lord Holdhurst’s house when the Boys and Ravi arrived. At first he did not want to let them go up to the front door, but fortunately Dr Watson had come with them, and he was soon able to convince the policeman that Ravi really was a prince, in spite of his scruffy appearance, and that he lived there. But when Annie, the maid, opened the door and saw him, she found it hard not to laugh.

  “Ooh, Prince Ravi!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn’t have recognized you in them togs.”

  “That’s good,” Wiggins said. “If you didn’t know him, then maybe the Thugs wouldn’t neither.”

  “Where have you been?” Annie asked Ravi. “Everybody’s been going frantic trying to find you.”

  “Never mind that,” said Ravi. “Did they find the murderers?”

  “No, sir. There wasn’t any sign of them in the house. They got clean away.”

  “How did they escape? Does anybody know?”

  “Captain Nicholson found a window open upstairs. He says they must have got out that way and jumped down to the street. But how they got in is a mystery. Mr Hobson says all the doors were locked tight.”

  “I see. Where is the captain now?”

  “In the drawing room, sir, with your uncle. They’ve got a policeman with them.”

  “Excellent. Come on, chaps. We’ll go right up.” And he raced up the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, “Oh, this is Dr Watson, by the way. He’s our friend.”

  Dr Watson smiled at Annie, handed her his top hat and cane and followed the three boys up the stairs rather more slowly. Annie watched them go, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Inside the drawing room, Captain Nicholson and Uncle Sanjay gasped in surprise as Ravi burst through the door and rushed in.

  “What the Dickens…?” the captain exclaimed.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” Uncle Sanjay asked indignantly. “Who is this ruffian?”

  “It’s me!” Ravi shouted. “Ravi!”

  “It is I,” Captain Nicholson corrected him automatically. “Good heavens! Where on earth have you been?”

  “And what are you doing in those disgusting clothes?” Uncle Sanjay asked, wrinkling his nose as though he detected a bad smell.

  “Do I take it that this is the missing prince?” There was a third man in the room, standing with his back to the fireplace. Inspector Lestrade. He stared in amazement at Ravi, then groaned when Wiggins and Beaver followed him into the room.

  “Oh, no,” he sighed. “I might have known you lot would have a hand in all this.”

  “Morning, Inspector,” said Wiggins cheerfully. “Glad to see you’re on the case.”

  “I am,” said the inspector. “And don’t you forget it. Oh, I see Dr Watson’s with you! Good morning, Doctor. What brings you here?”

  “I’m making sure Prince Ravi is safe.”

  “No Mr Holmes?”

  “No. He is away, on a case.”

  The doctor introduced himself to Captain Nicholson and Uncle Sanjay. He explained how he came to be involved, and how he had accompanied Ravi and the Boys to make sure they got him home safely.

  “I thank you, Doctor,” said Uncle Sanjay. “You acted wisely.”

  “Which is more than can be said of our young prince,” said Captain Nicholson sternly. “What on earth were you thinking of, Ravi, disappearing like that?”

  “I was scared,” said Ravi. “Those geezers had already tried to do me in once.”

  “That’s right,” said Wiggins, giving Inspector Lestrade a hard look. “If it hadn’t been for us…”

  The inspector gave a loud cough.

  “Yes, yes,” he said testily. “We are now investigating a real murder. Not some fabrication about a phantom professor.”

  “It weren’t a fabri-whatsit,” said Beaver. “Our friend Shiner seen him again yesterday.”

  “Who?” asked Captain Nicholson.

  “The professor. Moriarty. And he ain’t no ghost.”

  “I can vouch for that, Inspector,” said Dr Watson. “And so can Mr Holmes. Professor Moriarty may be the Devil incarnate, but I assure you he’s as real as you or I.”

  “And what exactly did your young friend see?” the inspector asked sarcastically. “Another empty carriage?”

  “No. This time he seen the professor his self, sittin’ in it. And he stopped to pick up somebody else.”

  “Did he get a good look at the other man?” Captain Nicholson asked.

  “Yeah. But he didn’t know who he was, ’ceptin’ he was a toff.”

  “But would he recognize him if he saw him again?”

  “Course he would. He’s bright as a button is our Shiner. Don’t miss a thing.”

  The captain nodded thoughtfully.

  “What has this Moriarty person to do with the murder of Mr Ram Das?” asked Uncle Sanjay. “Are you suggesting that he killed him?”

  “Oh, no,” Wiggins replied. “The professor’s the brains. He gets other people to do the dirty work while he lurks in the shadows, pulling the strings. Ain’t that right, Doctor?”

  “That is how it appears to be,” Dr Watson agreed.

  “Skulkin’,” said Beaver dramatically.

  Lestrade cleared his throat again. “That’s all very fanciful,” he said. “Like something from the pages of a penny dreadful. But we are dealing with reality here, not make-believe.”

  “Quite right, Inspector,” said the captain. “I think we’ve heard enough of this nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense,” Ravi cried. “You must listen to them!”

  “What we have here,” the inspector said impatiently, “is a failed robbery. A jewel robbery that went wrong, with tragic results. Nothing more.”

  “Which reminds me,” the captain said to Ravi. “The key. I presume you took it from poor Ram Das’s body?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “To keep it safe.”

  “While you ran around the streets of London in the middle of the night? Really, Ravi, that was not very clever of you.”

  “I thought the murderers might still be in the house. I ran to the Baker Street Boys’ hide-out. The Thugs would never find me there.”

  “Well, you are not to go there again. Ever. Do you hear me?”

  Ravi glowered at his tutor but said nothing. The captain went on.

  “These boys are not suitable companions for you. You are not to see them again.”

  “They are my friends. I’ll see them if I want to!”

  “That’s enough! You are not to set foot outside this house without your uncle or
me. And your so-called friends are not to come here again. Now go to your room and get changed out of those revolting rags. I’ll tell Annie to run you a bath – no doubt you need one. But first, hand over the key. I’ll take care of it now.”

  He held out his hand. But Ravi did not move. Instead, he stood up very straight and looked the captain in the eye.

  “Captain Nicholson,” he said coldly, “you are forgetting who I am. Now that my father is dead, I am the Raja of Ranjipur – and, until I present it to Her Majesty Queen Victoria, the ruby belongs to me. So I will keep the key.”

  The captain glared at Ravi as though he would like to box his ears. But with both Inspector Lestrade and Dr Watson watching, there was nothing he could do except back down. He lowered his head slightly in a curt little bow. Uncle Sanjay nodded and gave Ravi a rather oily smile.

  “His Highness is totally correct,” he said. “He most certainly is the Raja.”

  “As you say,” the captain agreed through gritted teeth.

  “I do say,” said Uncle Sanjay. “Now, Ravi my boy, why don’t you run along and have your bath, and then you can put on some more suitable attire?”

  When Dr Watson left them and headed back towards Number 221b, Wiggins and Beaver stood on the pavement outside the house and looked back up at the windows. They seemed very high, and Wiggins wondered how anyone could have jumped down into the street without breaking a leg or at least an ankle. And in any case, they would have had to jump outwards as well as down: on either side of the steps to the front door was the basement kitchen area, fenced off from the pavement by black-painted iron railings topped with fierce spikes, like spears.

  “I wouldn’t like to take my chances of missing them spikes,” Wiggins told Beaver.

  “They could have been acrobats, like in the circus,” Beaver said. “If they was used to the flying trapeze…” He tailed off as Wiggins gave him a withering glance.

  The policeman on duty outside the house plodded towards them.

  “Now then, lads,” he said. “You can’t hang about here. Clear off.”

  Wiggins was about to tell him that he was not hanging about but investigating a murder. But he thought better of it, and pulled Beaver away round the corner. The house had no basement here and no dangerous railings, but the only windows were very high up and he doubted if even an acrobat would have dared to leap from them.