As though she was reading her mind, Tilly spoke up from across the room: ‘It’s not safe here any more. We’ve got to go, Sophie. We can’t risk staying here any longer, not now Ziegler’s spies know who you really are.’ She was already beginning to toss their things – a chemistry book, the blue dress Sophie had worn the previous night, her boy’s cap – hastily and untidily into one of the big trunks. ‘Besides, we’ve done it. We’ve solved the case. We know who killed the Professor, and we know why.’
‘Yes. It was Ziegler’s spies, on behalf of the Fraternitas Draconum. Perhaps even the grey man himself – or Herr Grün – or both of them together,’ said Sophie. She’d sat up very late the previous evening thinking it all out: now, as she often used to do in the Taylor & Rose office, she got up from her chair, and began walking up and down the room. The motion was calming: it helped her to think.
‘I suppose they must have forced the Professor to open the safe and hand over his research, and then they killed him,’ said Tilly, even as she bundled more things into the trunk. She gave a little shiver. ‘It’s horrible.’
Sophie nodded gravely. ‘They probably only left this letter behind because it was written in invisible ink. They must have thought it was just blank paper. But perhaps they realised there might be more information in the apartment, and that was why they came back.’
She fell silent again, wondering why C hadn’t given her even an inkling that the Professor had been researching the Fraternitas Draconum. Of course, it was possible that it hadn’t been his only assignment, or that C did not think it had any connection to his death. But he knew her own history. He knew that the Fraternitas Draconum had been responsible for her parents’ death. He no doubt knew too that she and her friends were members of the Loyal Order of Lions, sworn to oppose the Fraternitas Draconum. After all, the Chief always knew everything about everybody. But then, she reasoned, perhaps that was exactly why he hadn’t told her. He might have guessed she’d find it hard to be cool and logical and cautious if she knew the Fraternitas were involved. Anyway, that was the way the Chief worked, wasn’t it? Each case kept so carefully neat and separate. In just the same way that he had kept her from knowing anything about Lil’s assignment, he’d made sure she did not know any more than she needed to about the Professor’s work.
‘All the more reason for us to leave – now,’ said Tilly briskly. ‘If Ziegler’s spies have guessed we’ve got these documents, they might try and take them from us. We need to get them back to London and back to the Chief, so hurry up and get dressed and help me pack,’ she went on, rather tartly. ‘If we hurry we can catch the twelve noon express from the Gare Du Nord.’
But Sophie ignored her, and paused, gazing out of the window. Her eyes were following the red air-balloon as it cruised across the sky. There was something about it that was bothering her.
‘What about the air race …?’ she murmured aloud.
‘The air race?’ Tilly stared at her incredulously. ‘What are you talking about? I know I said I’d love to see it – and I jolly well would have done too – but it’s hardly important now, is it? We have to go and report all this to the Chief !’
‘I know that, but I can’t stop thinking about this. ’ Sophie jabbed a finger at the the third sheet of paper, with its wild scribbled message. ‘If the German spies – Grün and the grey man – have the Professor’s notebook, then they’ll need to get it back to Ziegler and the Fraternitas Draconum, won’t they? And once they have it, they’ll have all the missing information they need to get hold of this weapon the Professor writes about.’
‘If they can crack the Professor’s code that is,’ Tilly reminded her.
‘Yes. But first, they’ll need to get it back to Berlin, and I think I know how they’ll do it. Grün is one of the pilots in the air race – what if he’s planning to use that as cover to fly the Professor’s research secretly out of the country?’ Thinking of it now, Sophie remembered how the French authorities had searched their trunks on their arrival at the Gare Du Nord, and then thought of Sir Chester saying: They will allow our pilots to pass across their borders without hold-ups. The air race would offer the perfect way to smuggle a secret notebook over the border without any risk of discovery.
Tilly groaned, realising what Sophie was getting at. ‘But you can’t possibly know that,’ she protested. ‘What if he’s already packaged it up and sent it to Ziegler in Berlin by post, or something like that?’
‘But I don’t believe they’d risk that. The information is too important. Look – I know Ziegler’s spies. I know how they operate. I’ve been working to try and intercept their messages and telegrams and parcels for months! They’re clever, and using the air race as cover would be a jolly clever way of smuggling some highly important secret information out of the country. It’s exactly the kind of thing they would think of.’ She took up the newspaper, flicking quickly past the front-page stories about the attempted kidnap of the royal children in Arnovia and the upcoming coronation of George V to find the information about the Aerial Tour. ‘The first stage of the tour goes to Liège … and yes, from there they go on into Germany. I’ll bet you anything that’s how Grün is planning to deliver the Professor’s notebook back to Ziegler.’
‘But even if that’s true, what are you proposing? Going to the air race and somehow … getting the notebook away from Grün?’ Tilly crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. ‘It sounds jolly well impossible.’
‘It would be difficult, but not impossible,’ Sophie said. ‘He’d only need to put it down for a second. I’ve managed something like that heaps of times before after all – getting parcels or documents away from Ziegler’s spies.’
‘But Sophie, this time he knows who you are, and so does the grey man. If they see you again, who knows what might happen. These are terribly dangerous people!’ Tilly stared at her for a moment and then said rather bluntly: ‘If they killed the Professor, you may be sure they wouldn’t even hesitate to harm you, especially if this research is as important as we think it must be. Going after them would be idiotic. We have to go back to London. Let’s take the Professor’s letter back to the Bureau and let the Chief decide what to do next.’
But Sophie shook her head. She knew that Tilly was right, of course. Taking the letter back to the Bureau was the sensible thing, the rational thing, the careful thing to do. But this was the Fraternitas Draconum, and she could not afford to be careful any longer. She was a member of the Loyal Order of Lions, sworn to do whatever she could to oppose the Fraternitas Draconum. These were the people who had murdered her parents – her mother, who had once been an innocent young girl, exploring Paris for the first time.
All of a sudden, she found herself thinking of what her own first visit to Paris could have been like, had her mother been with her. In a rush, she saw them together: sitting outside pavement cafés sharing a strawberry tart, choosing books from the book stalls on the Left Bank, looking at hats in the windows of the grands magasins or poring over a map outside Notre Dame. Perhaps they’d sit with sketchbooks on the streets of Montmartre like the English ladies she’d seen, or drink citron pressé at the Café Monique, or they’d walk in the park below, arm in arm, under the shade of the trees. The Fraternitas Draconum had taken all that away from her. She was not about to sit back and let them take the Professor’s research. She would not wait for the Chief and risk that information falling into their hands for good.
‘If this powerful weapon does exist and the Fraternitas get hold of it, who knows what they might do with it,’ she said aloud. She picked up her mother’s diary from where it lay on the table nearby, and grasped it like a talisman. ‘I have to go to the air race. If there’s even the smallest chance that I can stop them getting their hands on this weapon, then I simply must try.’
Tilly let out a long breath, and then let the trunk fall shut. ‘Very well,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I must say, I think it’s completely mad. But if you’re doing this, I’m jolly well c
oming to help you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The Grand Hotel Continental, Paris
Anna threw herself down on the grass. Tears rushed into her eyes, hot and terrible.
She’d longed to come down and explore the park, but now she was here, the light and brightness was overwhelming. From close by came the jingling, creaky old tune of the carousel, whirling on and on in a dizzying circle, pink-and-white as an iced birthday cake. Children in sailor hats sat aboard the painted horses, their faces sticky with sweets. The air smelled of box hedge and cut grass, and the sun beat down on her head, and the music went on, a relentless jangle.
She’d run out, through the rush and rumble of the traffic, and straight into the park, desperately trying to catch up with the motor car that had sped away in a cloud of smoke, with Alex inside it. She’d run and run, until her sides ached, and her feet were skidding on the hot gravel. Spots had burned before her eyes and one or two elegant Parisian ladies had turned to look at her disapprovingly, and she’d fallen back onto the grass, defeated. She was too late. The car was gone, and Alex was gone with it.
What was she to do? They’d come so far – escaping the castle, walking through the mountains, travelling halfway across Europe – and it had all been for nothing. It was all her own fault for opening the door – Lil had told her not to – how could she have been so stupid? Now the Countess had Alex and who knew what she planned to do with him? The terrible word whispered in her ears again, soft and slithering, twining itself close about her. Assassination. She let out a ghastly sob.
Just then she felt something damp and cold pushing against her hand, and then a kind of snuffling sound. Surprised, she pushed back her plaits and looked down. Something was nosing against her – something small and furry and very familiar.
‘Würstchen! ’ she gasped. The dog gave a short yap, as though he was answering her. ‘Würstchen, you followed me!’
The feeling of the dog’s silky fur was very comforting as she picked him up and cuddled him close, trying to blink away the hot tears. At last, she found the strength to scramble to her feet. She knew she must not sit here any longer: she had to let them all know what had happened.
As she approached the hotel, she saw Lil running towards her, looking around wildly. ‘Anna … Anna … oh, thank goodness!’ she burst out. ‘Where’s Alex?’
Anna hardly knew how to begin to tell her, but in painful gasps, somehow she managed to relate the story. As she listened, Lil’s face turned deathly white. ‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?’ she kept saying. ‘Did you see what kind of car? Did you see the number plate? Who was the woman who helped them?’ The questions came so fast that Anna could hardly answer her, and then there was a horrible silence in which she said nothing at all.
Anna clung to her arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
Lil looked up at her sharply. ‘This isn’t your fault, Anna. If it’s anyone’s at all, it’s mine.’ But all at once, she seemed to be burning with a new energy. ‘Come inside. We have to get a message to your grandfather.’ She pulled Anna into a quick, fierce hug. ‘Buck up. I’m not giving up on Alex. We can still rescue him, but we’ll have to move fast.’
They rushed back into the hotel, where Lil made a dash for the reception desk, pushing in front of a fashionable young gentlemen who gave an outraged tut at her bad manners. But Lil did not give him so much as a second glance. ‘Get me Monsieur Martin, the hotel manager, at once,’ she demanded of the man behind the desk. ‘It’s extremely urgent!’
A moment later, the manager appeared, and then things began to happen. They were rushed into an office: M. Martin sent a bell-boy to summon Captain Forsyth, but he was not in his room. ‘Probably off enjoying the bright lights of Paris again,’ muttered Lil crossly. ‘Blow! Why is he never here when I need him?’
But she didn’t really seem to need the captain at all, Anna thought, as Lil made several rapid telephone calls, her face growing graver and graver.
‘That’s right … No, we don’t know for sure … M. Martin has identified the woman who helped them. We think it was the Countess von Stubenberg – yes, she’s a distant relation of the Countess’s. She was staying here at the hotel – she could have alerted them …’
A moment later she had set down the receiver. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said to Anna, who had been sitting nervously watching and listening, holding Würstchen in her lap. ‘I think the Count and Countess must have been somewhere nearby – watching and waiting for the right moment to sweep in and grab Alex. If Würstchen was with them, there’s an outside chance that he might be able to lead us to their hideout.’ She bent down to the little dog. ‘Now you listen, Würstchen,’ she said sternly. ‘Can you take us to the Count and Countess, and Alex? Because if you do, I promise you can jolly well have bacon for breakfast for the rest of your life.’
She wanted Anna to stay behind at the hotel while she and M. Martin went out with Würstchen, but Anna had no intention of being left behind, and Lil did not take much persuading. ‘I don’t feel I want to let you out of my sight ever again,’ she declared. ‘But stay close beside me, just in case.’
Anna did as she was told, her heart thumping. Not that she felt that she herself was in any danger. The Countess had made it perfectly clear that she was of no importance to them. After all, princesses could not inherit the Arnovian throne – Alex was the only one who mattered.
Just the same, she found herself gripping Lil’s arm rather tightly as the two of them walked down the street with M. Martin. Allowed to make his own way, Würstchen trotted briskly forward, past the park, around a corner. He stopped for a moment to sniff a lamp-post, but then went on, down another street and then into a narrow cobbled alleyway between two tall houses. Anna’s heart began to pound harder, but they soon saw that there was nothing there but an old shed. Würstchen raced towards it, barking happily, but Anna felt confused – surely this dark back alley was not somewhere that the Countess would ever go?
Lil was peering through the dusty window of the little shed. ‘I say, there’s a motor in there!’ she exclaimed. ‘Anna, is that the car you saw?’
Anna stood on tiptoes to look. Behind the dirty windows, she could see an enormous black motor car. ‘That’s it!’ she gasped. ‘I’m sure of it!’
Lil darted to the door and shook it. It was locked fast, but the wood was old and rotten.
‘Let me fetch some of the men from the hotel – they will break it down,’ said the hotel manager. But Lil shook her head. ‘There’s no time for that. Stand back, both of you.’
To Anna’s amazement, she hiked up the hem of her skirt and gave the door a swift firm kick, just below the handle. The wood splintered at once, and the door gave way.
M. Martin looked astonished, and perhaps a little shocked, but Lil was already inside the shed. Anna scrambled quickly after her, half hoping that they’d find Alex shut inside, a prisoner waiting to be rescued. But instead there was only darkness. The motor car was empty.
‘They must have changed cars to prevent anyone recognising them,’ said Lil, examining the vehicle. ‘Well, it’s a clue at least. We can find out who this shed belongs to, and we can trace the car registration number. I say – what’s that?’
Anna followed her gaze. On the back seat of the car was something small and white. It was a handkerchief and Anna recognised it at once. She saw her own embroidery – the slightly wonky crest of the Royal House of Wilderstein. ‘It’s Alex’s!’ she cried out at once.
‘Look – there is something else here,’ said M. Martin, who had picked his way after them, careful not to dirty his immaculate trousers. In a patch of dust at the back of the car, a message had been written as though with a fingertip. They all stared at it: the shape of a letter T followed by six numbers.
‘It must be a message!’ exclaimed Lil. ‘Oh, well done, Alex! He’s left us a clue to follow!’
‘But what does it mean?’ murmured M. Martin.
‘He mu
st have thought it would help us find him,’ said Lil. ‘Could it be a clue to where they were taking him? A house number … or a car registration?’
‘Or I wonder – could it be perhaps a telephone number?’ suggested M. Martin tentatively.
Lil clapped her hands together in excitement. ‘Of course! T must stand for telephone! Gosh, it must be a number that he overheard while he was in the car. Perhaps if we find out who it belongs to, we could learn who is helping them, or even where Alex is being hidden! M. Martin, you’re a genius. Do you have a telephone directory? Can you find me a car, and spare one of your men to drive me there?’
‘I will come with you myself,’ said the hotel manager, carefully copying down the number on a piece of paper he produced from his pocket, before they hastened back to the hotel.
‘Anna, you really must stay here this time,’ said Lil, whilst M. Martin swiftly identified the address and summoned a motor. ‘I don’t want to leave you by yourself, but I certainly won’t risk putting you in any more danger. Go back up to the suite with Würstchen. Lock the door behind you and don’t let anyone in except me – anyone at all, no matter what happens – do you understand? We’re leaving a message at the reception desk for Captain Forsyth.’
‘But –’ Anna began hopelessly. The thought of being left alone to worry in the hotel room while Lil raced across Paris in a desperate attempt to rescue Alex was almost more than she could bear. Lil paused and gave Anna another quick hug. ‘I’ll do everything I can to find him – I promise.’
And then she was gone, and Anna was alone again in the window of the suite, still holding the paper with the number on it. She watched Lil and M. Martin drive away at top speed in a motor. She watched two other young ladies, who also seemed to be in a terrific hurry, come out of the hotel and climb into another. She watched carriages and omnibuses going up and down the street, just as if nothing unusual was happening; she watched people promenading arm in arm; and children going to play in the park, carrying balls or hoops or toy boats to sail on the lake. She watched a black crow on a roof opposite, and she thought again of Alex’s wild eyes. She looked down again at the paper she was holding, scribbled with his message in M. Martin’s French handwriting:
Peril in Paris (Taylor and Rose Secret Agents) Page 16