The sergeant paused in the doorway. “Right ye are, marm. Ben, Alex, bring the dishes out. You’re with the men now, ye ken!”
Amy handed her brother a cup and saucer. “Here you are, sir.” Alex took them, giving her a stern glance. After all, he was classed as one of the men now.
In the gathering dusk, Gripper jammed on the brake, throwing the motorcar’s occupants forward. “Flash, nip back ’n’ see wot it sez on that signpost we just passed. Go on, move yerself!”
Flash blinked, rubbing his eyes. “Go easy, willyer, Gripp. I was jus’ takin’ forty winks there.”
Gripper raised a threatening fist. “I’ll forty winks yer. Get goin’, yore supposed t’be the one keepin’ watch.”
Flash slouched off moodily back down the road. Gripper unfolded the sketch of Chapelvale, which had been supplied by Maud Bowe’s father, squinting at it in the half-light.
“Can’t be too far from the spot now, eh?”
He was answered by Chunk’s stentorian snore from the backseat. Using the leather gauntlet he had removed, Gripper turned and belabored the two sleepers vigorously. “Am I the only one wid ’is eyes open ’round ’ere? Wake up!”
The blows bounced off Chunk’s stolid face, and he opened one eye. “Wot’s the matter, are we there?”
Chaz snuffled, wiping a grimy sleeve across his upper lip and complaining as he inspected it. “Y’b started bee dose off bleedin’ again. Wodjer doo dat for?”
Flash interrupted further complaints by climbing back into the front passenger seat. “It sez ’Adford. Any good?”
Gripper explored the sketch with a grimy finger, repeating, “Hmm, ’Adford, ’Adford, lemme see . . . Hahah! There ’tis!”
Up in the far corner of the drawing, a road leading out of Chapelvale was marked “Hadford Rd.” Gripper realized that it was totally the wrong way to be approaching their destination. Hadford Road was at the north side of Chapelvale. Coming up from London, they should have entered by the south road, which ran parallel to the railway line. But he did not offer this information to the others.
Instead he announced proudly, “See, I wasn’t lost. Told yer I knew the way, didn’t I, eh?”
He continued driving, assuming that they agreed by their silence, until Flash spoke his thoughts over the chugging engine noise.
“But you said it was a four-hour drive. We been on the road since five this mornin’!”
Gripper had an explanation, as he always did. “Oh yerss, but lookit all the times we ’ad to stop. When that farmer was goin’ t’chuck a rock, when those cows blocked the lane, when we turned inter that farmyard by mistake, when youse ’ad ter push the motor backwards, when we asked the post office lady the way. It all adds time ter the trip y’know, all adds time!”
Chunk sighed wistfully. “I liked the post office lady, she was gonna give me some water. Wish I ’ad a glass now.”
Flash laughed mirthlessly. “Worrabout a glass o’ beer, that’s wot I need. An’ a good plate o’ steak ’n’ kidney pie. I’m starved, I only ’ad a slice o’ toast fer breakfist.”
Chaz dabbed the scarf to his injured nose. “Yuh, bee too, I’b huggry, you nebber stopped for food, nod once!”
It was rapidly going dark. Gripper clenched his teeth as he bumped over a fallen branch lying in their path. “Sharrap about food, you lot! Eat, eat, that’s all youse think about. One more word outta you, Chaz, an’ I’ll stop this motor an’ give yer a knuckle sandwich. How’ll that do yer, eh, eh?”
“Whoo!”
Gripper did not realize it was a nearby owl that had hooted. “You, that’s who, Chaz. Now, shut yer gob!”
“Bud I nebber said nothig, Gripp.”
Gripper nodded. “Just as well y’never, loose-lips. Aye aye, is that lights, up on that ’ill ahead?”
Chunk replied, “That’ll be ’Adford, can we get summat to eat when we gets there?”
Gripper kept his eyes riveted on the road. “We could if we was stoppin’ there, but we ain’t. Mister Bowe’s daughter’ll be wonderin’ where we’ve gotten to.”
Flash pulled a face. “Oh, that one, liddle miss snotty nose. My daddy sez you got to do this, my daddy sez you gotta do that. An’ she looks at yer like yer sumthin’ she stepped in!”
Gripper sniffed. “She can look at us any way she wants to, as long as ’er daddy pays up. Five guineas apiece fer puttin’ the frighteners on some old dame, just so she’ll leave ’ome. Not bad money fer a small job like that!”
Chunk’s stomach gurgled so loud it could be heard above the growl of the engine. He patted it sorrowfully. “Don’t know about five guineas. I’d settle fer a paperful of fish an’ chips right now, wiv salt an’ vinegar on ’em.”
“Can’t you think of nothin’ but yer stummick, y’great lump!”
A further abdominal gurgle almost drowned out Gripper’s statement. Chunk gazed mournfully at the passing countryside. “Well, I can’t ’elp it if me stummick’s bigger’n yours, Gripp.”
“Aye, if yer brains was as big as yer stummick, you’d be in charge o’ the country, Chunk, doin’ the prime minister out of a job. That’s wot you’d be doin’, mate!”
“Why, ’as the prime minister got a big stummick, Gripp?”
“The prime min . . . Jus’ go back t’sleep, willyer, Chunk!”
Flash propped his feet up on the dashboard. “Kin I ’ave a snooze, too, Gripp?”
Gripper let go of the steering wheel with one hand. He gave Flash a numbing punch on his shin. “No, y’can’t. You keep yer eyes open fer more signs!”
41
“ ‘ B E OF GOOD HEART,LIKE A FLAME pure and true, May the light of St. Mark bring my words unto you. E.D.W.’ ” Mr. Braithwaite and the ladies sat in the gathering gloom, staring at the paper as Amy read the rhyme for the third time.
Ben entered the room with a lighted taper. “Jon told me to bring some light to you before you ruin your eyesight staring at that paper.”
Mrs. Winn had neither gas nor the new electric light, favoring the old ways, and kept four ornate oil lamps in her sitting room. The boy lit them all, one on the mantelpiece, two on the window ledges back and front. He touched his taper to the wick of the largest lamp with its tall glass chimney and a cream-hued bowl. This lamp stood on the same table as the paper and gave off a wonderfully soft glow.
Ben chuckled. “Now you can see to think properly. Miz Winn, I’m going out with the men.”
A worried frown creased the old lady’s brow. “So that’s what you were all discussing in the kitchen. I knew as soon as the sergeant read out the telegram about the four men coming here in the motorcar. Be careful, Ben, and do exactly as Sergeant Patterson tells you—they could be dangerous.”
There was something in the blue eyes of the strange boy from the sea that told the old lady he had faced danger many times. His hand felt reassuring as he touched her shoulder lightly. “We can take care of this, Jon, Will, Mr. Mackay, Alex, the sergeant, and myself. No need for you to worry.
“Don’t open the door to anybody until you’ve looked through the window to see who’s there. I’ll leave Ned with you, just in case.”
Little Willum had played himself out and lay on the sofa, surrounded by cushions. As his mother covered him with an old plaid traveling rug, Ned came to sit by her.
Eileen patted the big dog’s head. “I’d like to see anyone try t’get past Ned if he didn’t want ’em to come in. You go on, Ben. We’re safe enough. Tell my Will not to forget Delia’s nosebag an’ water bucket.”
Amy touched the boy’s hand. “Be careful, Ben, and good luck!”
He paused at the door, tossing hair back from his keen blue eyes. “Good luck to you, too, pal. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on Alex for you. Stay, boy!”
The black Labrador winked at Ben. “All right, shipmate, I’m only coming to the door to see you off.”
When they had departed, Mr. Braithwaite suddenly began pacing the room earnestly. Hetty whispered to her friend, “Lookit that
ole buffer scratchin’ away at ’imself, Winnie. The shoulders of that gown look as if ’e’s been sprinklin’ ’em with talcum powder!”
Mrs. Winn suppressed a smile. “Ssshh, he’s deep in thought.”
Mr. Braithwaite stopped, holding up a finger, like an orator about to deliver a speech. “Hmph! It, er, occurs to me, er, ladies, that we should, er, light a candle in one of those holders, as it were. Yes, very good, to see if the light of St. Mark brings any, uh, er . . . words to us. Yes?”
Mrs. Winn opened a drawer in the table. “It can’t do any harm, I suppose, I keep some candles in here.”
Mr. Braithwaite took a candle. Using his library key, he scraped the wax at its base until it fit the socket of one golden candlestick. When he had lit it, the old scholar stood holding the candlestick in one hand and the paper in the other.
“Right, er, very good so far. Er, er, hmmmmmm.”
He was at a loss what to do next. Will’s ma, Sarah, came to his rescue, her voice mounting with excitement. “Give it to me now, I think I might know the answer!” She practically snatched both candlestick and paper.
The young girl watched curiously as Sarah held the paper over the flame. “Be careful, you might burn it!”
The old woman moved the paper back and forth across the flame confidently. “When I was a little girl, me ’n’ my pals used t’send messages to each other, invisible notes. All you need is some white vinegar or lemon juice to write with, even an egg white’ll do. See! I knew I was right, somethin’s showin’ on the paper. Here!”
Heat from the candle flame had caused markings to appear! They were rather faint, but still discernible.
The excited maidservant hugged the younger girl with a sob in her voice. “Oh, I ’ope it’s somethin’ that’ll put a spoke in ole Smithers’s wheel. What does it say, Mr. Braithwaite, sir? What does it say?”
Scanning the paper, the old scholar shook his head. “Er, nothing really, just shapes and, er, dots, so to speak!”
The women gathered around the table to view the odd markings.
Hetty was both angry and disappointed. “I never learned to read or write, but that ain’t no writin’. I can see that. An’ it ain’t nothin’ a body could read, I’m sure!”
Will’s ma glanced at Mr. Braithwaite. “What d’you think, sir?”
He stared at the markings blankly. “I, er, tend to agree with Miz, er, hmmm!”
Sarah turned her attention to Amy. “An’ you, girl, what d’you make of it, eh?”
Amy picked up the thin sheet of paper with the lines and dots on it.
“I’d place this paper over that paper and see if it matches up.”
The dairyman’s wife clapped her hands. “So would I, m’dear, try it!”
Amy placed the thin paper over the thicker one, lining up the first dot over the one beneath.
Mrs. Winn kissed Amy. “Thank you, you clever, pretty girl!”
The black Labrador stood with his paws upon the table, passing a thought to Horatio, who had prowled in. “We mustn’t forget to thank good old Edmund De Winn, too, eh?”
“Mrrrowr! Sardine, milk, waaiow! ’Ratio hungry!” Ned stared down his nose at the cat. “Don’t think too hard—you’ll damage that amazing brain of yours!”
The librarian-schoolteacher flopped down in an armchair, shaking his head. “Thin paper over thick paper and join up the marks. Well, I, er, never. Hmmm, must be getting, er, er, old if I can’t see that, er, ah yes . . . old.”
42
WITH THEIR WINDOW BLINDS PULLED down, the village square shops looked as if they were sleeping. Dust had settled on the leaves of the hawthorn trees, without even the faintest breeze to stir it.
In the window of Mr. Mackay’s office, the clock showed ten minutes after midnight. Dark clouds obscured a pale, crescent moon; the air was still and warm from the long summer’s day.
A villainous-looking man, his matted beard showing beneath a battered slouch hat, sat holding the reins of a horse and gig in the shadows. He turned this way and that, watching every possible entrance to the village square.
Concealed in some bushes at the side of the Hadford Road, Ben and Alex were first to hear the distant chug of a motorcar. Without a word, side by side, they ran back to Chapelvale.
The villainous man looked up as the boys came panting up to him. “Did you see them?”
“No, but we heard the motorcar!”
“It’s coming in on the Hadford Road, be here soon!”
The man nodded. “Good, boy, collect Mr. Mackay from Station Road. Alex, get Will from School Lane. Make your way up to the police station, see you there. Now go, an’ remember, lads, keep out of sight!”
Gripper stopped the motor just short of the square. Flinging off his gauntlets and goggles, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel and sighed thankfully. “Chapelvale at last!”
Chunk sounded slightly doubtful. “You mean we’re ’ere, Gripp? ’Ow d’yer know that?”
Flash shook his head in amazement at Chunk’s ignorance.
“ ’Cos we passed a sign on the road that said Chapelvale. But I suppose you was kippin’ again.”
Chunk straightened his bowler and stretched. “Nuffin’ wrong wid sleepin’, is there? It is nighttime, y’know. I got pains in me guts wiv ’unger. Where d’we get sumthin’ to eat? You promised us, Gripp.”
Gripper massaged his temples with both hands. “Chunk, give it a rest, willyer. Forget yer stummick for a minute. Chaz, you ain’t asleep, are yer?”
“Huh, ’ow cad I sleeb wid be dose bleedin’ like a tap? You shuddena told hib to hid be, Gripp, id hurds!”
Gripper raised a single finger in warning. “One more word outta you, Chaz, just one more!”
Flash began tugging at Gripper’s sleeve. “Gripp, Gripp!” Gripper shook him off. “I’m ’ere. Y’don’t ’ave to tear the coat off me. Wot is it?”
Flash pointed. “Some ole geezer sittin’ watchin’ us, wiv an ’orse an’ cart. Over there, look!”
Gripper got out of the vehicle and nodded to his crew. “There’s four of us an’ one of ’im, let’s see wot ’e wants.”
The villainous-looking man, who was in reality the old ship’s carpenter wearing a disguise, stared down from his perch on the gig at the four toughs. His voice held a sneer. “So, yew got ’ere finally. Wot time d’yer call this t’be rollin’ up fer the job, eh?”
“We got los . . . Oof!”
Flash had the wind knocked from him by Gripper’s elbow. Gripper did his best tough stare and spat in the dust. “None of yer business, Granddad, we ’ad a few problems, that’s all. Now, where’s this old biddy’s place? We’ll do the job. Don’t get yer whiskers in an uproar about that. Show us the way.”
Jon shook his head pityingly, looking them up and down. “Company toughs, eh, huh! It’s too late t’do anythin’ tonight, Mr. Smithers an’ Maud wants to see yer up at the ’ouse.”
“Do they ’ave food up there, you know, eats?”
The old seaman winked at Chunk. “All yer likes, tons of it!”
“Ad hab dey got bandages an’ thiggs, too?”
Jon chuckled wickedly. “Probl’y, but they mightn’t ’ave enough to go ’round yore big ’ooter. Fell on it, didyer?”
Gripper fished a leather-bound cosh out of his pocket and began smacking it ominously in his palm. “Lissen, ole man. Yore too nosy fer yer own good, but I can soon fix that. Now, are y’takin’ us up to the ’ouse, eh?”
Jon indicated the cart. “Cummon, ’op in. I’ll take ye.”
Gripper grabbed the back of Flash’s coat as he began to mount the gig. “We got a motorcar, you get goin’. We’ll foller yer.”
Secreted with Ben and Alex in the rosebushes to one side of the police station door, Mr. Mackay, armed with Sergeant Patterson’s long pacing stick, whispered hoarsely through the open charge office window. “They’re coming!”
Gripper stared suspiciously at the greystone building. “This don’t look like no to
ff’s big ’ouse!”
The shipman climbed down from the gig. “ ’Cos it ain’t, it’s my ’ouse. Mr. Smithers don’t want you lot t’be seen ’round ’is mansion. Well, are you big, brave ’ooligans goin’ to sit out ’ere in yer motorcar all night?”
Gripper silenced the engine and got out, pointing a finger. “Watch who yer callin’ ’ooligans, Granpop. Cummon, youse lot!” They swaggered up the path nonchalantly, letting Jon see that they were not the least bit afraid, while he followed them.
Gripper was about to raise the lion’s-head knocker on the door when it was flung open and Sergeant Patterson pulled him inside. As he did, he roared, “Now!”
Will sprang forward and grabbed Chunk, charging from the rear, as Jon and Mr. Mackay bulled Chaz and Flash into the station with their two companions. The boys watched through the window as the sergeant locked the door.
Gripper was pale with shock and indignation. He immediately recognized the interior, having been in many police stations. “Wot’s all this, then? We ain’t done nothin’ wrong. I’ll see our lawyers about this!”
The sergeant towered over Gripper and folded his arms, smiling. “Colonel Busby Hythe Simmonds, ah presume.”
Gripper sensed the policeman had made a mistaken identity. “You’ve got the wrong man, Sergeant. I ain’t Colonel Bubsy Wots’isname, neither are me friends. Never ’eard of ’im afore!”
Patterson nodded understandingly. “Well, ah’m glad we’ve got that cleared up, sir. Perhaps you’d like tae tell me what ye are doing in possession of the colonel’s motorcar, number BLH 98, which was stolen from outside his house at South Hampstead Crescent in London last evening?”
Flash groaned. “Told yer we should’ve took the train, Gripp.”
Gripper shot him a murderous glance, silencing him. He turned back to the sergeant. “You can’t ’old us ’ere. We ain’t committed no crimes, we found the motorcar, see.”
The sergeant’s voice still retained its pleasant tone. “Found it, sir, where, in Church Haven outside the post office?”
[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman Page 23