by Darrell Pitt
‘I’ve been of assistance to the prime minister and His Majesty on a number of occasions,’ Mr Doyle said.
Jack recalled their meeting with Prime Minister Kitchener on their first adventure together.
‘They know I would have nothing to do with terrorism.’
They made their way to the Operations room, which was a windowless square clad in timber. A coat of arms hung on the wall above a speaker’s stage. Police officers were already packed inside, leaving standing room only.
Greystoke got the briefing up and running. ‘There have been some new developments in the case,’ he said. ‘I want to invite Ignatius Doyle up here first to quickly brief us on his investigation.’
Wolf was seated in the front row. He went red, but somehow he contained himself while Mr Doyle spoke to the crowd. Once he had explained the little they had discovered about Joe Tockly, Mr Doyle went into detail about the castle in Scotland before resuming his seat.
Greystoke thanked him and handed the stage over to Wolf.
‘We’ve now had a letter from the Valkyrie Circle,’ Wolf said. ‘They’ve threatened to increase the rate of bombings around London. Actually, it’s somewhat of a riddle.’
He produced a piece of paper from his pocket and read:
To the enslavers of the female population,
Your response has displeased us and you will pay the price. We have told you that women must have the vote. Now you will take us seriously—or the people of London will be sorry.
The time between fools is the time of death. Glasses were broken against me. Time has weathered me, but the cannon has had no effect.
You simply must solve the task to save lives. We will send another message tonight.
Lady Death.
‘How did the letter arrive?’ Mr Doyle asked.
Wolf looked annoyed at the question, but answered: ‘A boy was slipped a coin on the street and told to bring it here.’
‘And the person who gave him the note?’
‘An older woman with her hat pulled low. Nothing more.’
‘What does it mean?’ a policeman in the audience asked. ‘Broken glass and cannon fire. It’s rubbish.’
Someone else suggested it might all be a hoax.
Greystoke stepped forward. ‘We’ve already discounted that possibility,’ he said. ‘A symbol engraved on several of the bombs was also on the note. It must be from someone within the Valkyrie Circle—or Scotland Yard.’
‘No-one within Scotland Yard would be involved,’ another officer retorted. ‘It’s just a bunch of mad women.’
Everyone started speaking at once.
Jack turned to Mr Doyle. ‘What do you think, sir?’
The detective was staring into space. He didn’t say anything, but then he strode to the stage and asked to look at the note. After staring at it intently, he finally glanced at his watch and raised his hand for attention.
‘We must act quickly if we are to prevent another tragedy,’ he said. ‘I believe this bomb is set to explode at midday.’
‘What?’ Wolf said, astonished. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’
‘I haven’t deciphered the whole riddle,’ said Mr Doyle. ‘But I believe the time can be determined by the reference to April Fool’s Day.’
‘Reference…’ Wolf trailed off. ‘What are you saying?’
‘The time between fools is the time of death,’ Mr Doyle quoted. ‘As everyone knows, April Fool’s Day is when we play practical jokes on each other.’
‘But it’s not April!’
‘It doesn’t need to be. We all know the morning period is when the jokes are played. But that changes after 12pm. If someone plays a joke after that time then they become the April Fool.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘That gives us less than an hour.’
‘What about the rest of the riddle, Mr Doyle?’ Scarlet asked.
He examined the note. ‘If we assume for a moment that the rest of the note is simply a threat, then the relevant lines would be: Glasses were broken against me. Time has weathered me, but cannon has had no effect.’ He frowned. ‘Glasses. Time. Weathered. Cannon.’
‘It’s all rubbish!’ Wolf snapped.
‘I don’t think so,’ Mr Doyle said, ignoring his rage. ‘I believe we simply need to find a common denominator.’ He thrummed his fingers on the lectern. ‘Each of the words are nouns, except for weathered, which is a verb.’
‘So what weathers?’ Greystoke said. ‘Everything.’
‘It’s quite true that everything deteriorates, but weathering…’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Weathering tends to be an effect on the landscape. Or stone.’
‘Most of London is made from stone,’ Jack said. ‘Is there a special kind of London stone?’
Mr Doyle stared at him. ‘My boy,’ he said, quietly, ‘you’re a genius.’
‘I am?’
‘Not just any London stone, but the London Stone.’
Jack had never heard of it, but Scarlet piped up. ‘It’s a famous stone marker believed to have been in use for about a thousand years,’ she explained. ‘But I don’t see how the other clues fit.’
‘They make sense when you realise the London Stone is located on Cannon Street,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘And there is an old story dating back to the seventeenth century that the Guild of Spectacle Makers smashed a batch of sub-standard glasses against the rock. It all fits.’
‘Fits?’ Wolf looked ready to explode. ‘I’ve never heard such poppycock in my life! Racing off to the London Stone to find a bomb! It’s ridiculous!’
But one officer in the audience seemed inclined to disagree. ‘It would seem to match the clues, sir,’ he said. ‘The midday time and Cannon Street and—’
‘What clues! It’s rubbish.’ Wolf pointed a finger at Mr Doyle. ‘If there’s a bomb at that location, it’s because you planted it!’
‘Mr Doyle would never do such a thing!’ Jack yelled. ‘You’re completely wrong about him!’
‘And don’t think I’ve forgotten that trick with the snake! I swear—’
‘This isn’t getting us anywhere,’ Inspector Greystoke intervened. ‘Unless someone has a better idea, I suggest we make our way to the London Stone.’
‘Time is running out,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I pray we aren’t too late.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle climbed into one Scotland Yard steamtruck while Inspector Greystoke and the others poured into another. Both vehicles screeched down the road at top speed.
‘What do you think we’ll find?’ Jack asked.
‘The bomb must be hidden in the vicinity of the London Stone,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Otherwise anyone could have picked it up.’
Reaching Cannon Street, they found a busy district filled with shoppers—some lunching—and tourists. Jack was horrified when he recalled the Carmody Street bombing: the attack had been so devastating, and that particular section of the street had been almost empty.
Cannon Street ran for several blocks. Hundreds of people were streaming in and out of the new railway station. Elsewhere, steamcars and horses and carriages filled the street.
‘The area’s jammed,’ Scarlet said, as they climbed from the steamtruck. ‘What will we do?’
‘Think,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Our brains are our best friends.’
The other steamtruck screeched to a halt and the police officers piled out.
‘Where’s the London Stone?’ Greystoke asked.
An officer pointed to a nearby window. The London Stone had been placed behind barred glass, with a plaque displaying its history. Jack glanced about. He couldn’t see any bags or boxes that could contain a bomb.
‘This is a waste of time,’ Wolf grumbled. ‘It would be impossible to find a bomb, even if one was here—which it’s not!’
‘We must think,’ Mr Doyle said, ‘and observe.’
Jack stared up and down the street. Every type of shop imaginable was within view. A grocer, smallgoods store, livery stable, bag shop… He felt an impending sense of doom: they would not find the bomb in time. The carnage will be far worse.
‘We should spread out,’ Greystoke said. He ordered his men to start searching up and down the street. ‘There’s no time to order an evacuation,’ he said. ‘We’d cause a panic.’
Jack and Scarlet started down the block, but Mr Doyle called them back. ‘We must think,’ he insisted.
‘I’m trying to think,’ Jack said. ‘But we don’t have a clue where to start.’
‘We do have a clue,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘The letter.’
He produced it from his pocket. ‘You must solve the task to save lives,’ he read. ‘I will send another message tonight.’
‘They sound just like instructions,’ Scarlet said.
‘They do, but what kind of instructions?’
Jack looked across the road. The belltower above the railway station showed 11.53am. We’ve got seven minutes, he thought. Seven minutes and then…boom!
‘A butcher, a baker, smallgoods, greengrocer…’ Mr Doyle’s eyes raked the shopfronts. ‘Then we must link that up with the message…solve the task to save lives…send another message—’
‘Mr Doyle,’ Scarlet interrupted. ‘It may be nothing…’
‘What is it? Tell me.’
She shook her head. ‘Well…’ she said. ‘There is a type of bag. An old bag, a—’
‘—Tasques bag,’ Mr Doyle said. The detective led them to the bag store. ‘It’s a type of drawstring bag dating back from medieval times.’
‘There,’ Jack pointed. ‘In the window.’
A square shoulder bag hung on display next to a dozen others. Jack looked back at the clock. 11.55. The shop was named Mrs Primm’s Bags & Accessories. A sign in the window read: Sale. Everything Reduced! The store was full of women. Several stood at the counter, but others were rifling through display racks as if their lives depended on it.
‘This is chaos,’ Jack muttered.
Mr Doyle pushed the front door open.
‘Ladies!’ he yelled. ‘I must ask you to evacuate the store!’ He produced his library card. ‘We have reason to believe a bomb may be on the premises!’
Dozens of faces stared at him in horror. Then someone screamed and a stampede ensued.
Jack threw himself to one side as women pushed past. Scarlet was shoved unceremoniously into a rack while Mr Doyle took refuge in the window.
A woman bustled over. ‘I’m Mrs Primm,’ she said. ‘The proprietress. This had better not be a joke—’
‘This is no joke,’ Mr Doyle said, pushing aside bags in the display. Several tasques bags hung from hooks. ‘Do you recognise these?’
She frowned. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘They’re my bags!’
‘All of them?’
Mrs Primm peered a little closer. ‘The blue-and-green one at the back,’ she said, paling. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’
Jack looked back at the clock. 11.57. ‘It’s almost time,’ he said. ‘We only have three minutes.’
Mr Doyle gently unhooked the bag and looked inside. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘A timer attached to three sticks of dynamite. Well designed.’
‘Glad you appreciate it,’ Jack muttered.
Scarlet pulled the door open and they stepped onto the street. News had spread about the bomb scare. People were running in all directions, screaming, dropping their shopping, scooping up children, upsetting carts.
11.58.
‘A busy street,’ Mr Doyle said to himself, his eyes scanning the block. ‘No river. Unable to douse the bag in liquid. Not enough time. There’s a bank down the block. We could lock the dynamite inside, but the safe would be locked during trading hours. And there’s no time to reach it anyway.’
11.59.
‘Mr Doyle,’ Jack urged.
‘Train station nearby,’ he continued to mutter to himself. ‘No empty carriages.’ He peered upwards. ‘We have an airship above, but it could never transport the bomb away in time.’
Greystoke appeared. ‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’ve got it!’
The second hand on the clock tower inched around the clock face. Sweat dribbled down Jack’s face. He looked at Scarlet. She had gone white. Reaching out, she took his hand.
‘We are out of time,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘And there is no place to transport the bomb. So there remains only one possibility. The bomb must be smothered to contain the blast and there is only one way to do that.’ He held it tightly against his body. ‘You must go! As far as you can.’
‘Mr Doyle—’ Jack started. ‘No! We can’t leave you—’
‘Go!’
The clock tower showed 12pm.
Dong…Dong…Dong…
Greystoke dragged Jack and Scarlet down the street. Jack screamed for Mr Doyle, but the inspector was too strong. With an iron grip, he dragged them behind a cart. Jack glimpsed Mr Doyle falling to his knees, his head bent, his eyes on the pavement.
No! Jack thought. No…no…no…
‘He can’t—’ Scarlet started.
Then Mr Doyle reached forward and pulled up a manhole cover. He dropped the bag in, edging the cover across, scrambled to his feet and ran after them as quickly as his bad leg would allow.
Joining them behind the cart, he began, ‘This reminds me of a case involving a monk, a rhinoceros and a singing—’
Ka-boom!
The ground shook and Jack saw something fly straight up into the air: the manhole cover. Like a bullet, it sped across the sky into the face of the clock tower, freezing the time at midday.
Greystoke helped Mr Doyle to his feet. ‘Ignatius,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’
A few windows were broken in the blast, but the destruction was nowhere near as terrible as Carmody Street.
‘A few bruises,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve had worse.’
‘Mr Doyle…’ Jack tried to continue. Then he gave up as he and Scarlet threw themselves
into the detective’s arms.
Wolf stalked over. ‘That’s all very convenient,’ he said. ‘Saving the day like that, Doyle.’
‘You would have done the same,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘If you’d thought of it.’
‘A nice way to deflect attention. How did you know where to find the bomb?’
Mr Doyle explained.
‘And you expect us to believe that?’ Wolf said.
‘I would trust Ignatius Doyle with my life,’ Inspector Greystoke snapped. ‘Not to mention the number of times he’s helped Scotland Yard.’
‘Then you’re a fool,’ Wolf spat. ‘This man has you around his little finger.’
It appeared a full-blown argument was about to ensue. ‘We must stay focused on the case at hand,’ Mr Doyle intervened. ‘Mrs Primm, the owner of the store, may be able to offer us some information.’
Wolf stormed off after announcing he was returning to police headquarters. Jack and Scarlet accompanied Mr Doyle and Inspector Greystoke back to the bag shop. Ambulances and fire brigade engines were now arriving, but they were largely unnecessary. Thanks to Mr Doyle, countless lives had been saved.
At first, Mrs Primm was unable to remember anything out of the ordinary, but eventually she recalled that two men had come in that morning. One had spoken to her while the other had wandered aimlessly around. She had gone out the back to check on supplies, and when she returned, both men were gone.
Jack and the others gathered on the footpath after getting a description of them.
‘What will we do now?’ Jack asked.
‘I imagine the police will be busy today,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘The letter said another message would arrive tonight. I suggest we go home and return to Scotland Yard prior to the next message arriving.’
Greystoke joined them. ‘This is a bad business,’ he said. ‘It seems the Valkyrie Circle are ahead of us every step of the way.’
‘We have progressed a little,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I only glanced at the bomb, but it was the same design as the others.’