by Darrell Pitt
‘Did you help catch him?’ Jack asked.
‘I played a small part in his apprehension,’ Mr Doyle admitted. ‘It was an international operation, but I was able to track him to his lair where he was arrested by Scotland Yard.’
Scarlet frowned. ‘So you think the Chameleon that Frankie Shore mentioned was…?’
‘The assassin.’
‘And he’s going to escape from jail?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘Frankie wasn’t making a lot of sense,’ Jack said. ‘He spoke about an eagle and a burning whip. And two doors. How would they fit into all this?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Mr Doyle. ‘I investigated a crime involving five doors, a gumboot factory and an opera singer with a third arm. It was quite intriguing…’
‘Mr Doyle.’
‘But yes, of course. I happen to be privy to some important information that makes me think they are connected.’
‘What information?’ Scarlet asked.
‘The Chameleon is being transferred today.’
‘Where to?’
‘From Colchester to Bournemouth Prison.’
Jack shuddered. He had no doubt that the Chameleon deserved everything he got, but Bournemouth was notorious, housing some of England’s most dangerous criminals. Prisoners were kept in solitary confinement for twenty-three hours a day. No-one had ever escaped.
‘It’s not a nice place,’ Jack murmured.
‘It’s not for nice people,’ Mr Doyle replied.
The towers of London now gave way to ramshackle suburbs and open countryside. Green and fertile farmland spread out before them. Scarlet leaned close to Jack. ‘At least this is better than working on our Latin,’ she said.
‘Latin?’ Jack sniffed. ‘Couldn’t those Romans just speak English?’
‘Latin is an ancient language. Much of English is derived from it,’ Scarlet said. ‘It can be difficult, but difficulties are made to be overcome.’
‘Is that what Blinkie Bubblebutt says?’
‘Brinkie Buckeridge,’ she corrected him. ‘And yes, Brinkie is confronted by adversity all the time.’
‘She is only a character in a book.’
‘But art often imitates life. In The Adventure of the Haunted Egg, Brinkie is imprisoned for a crime she did not commit. She has only a life-size rubber elephant to help her escape.’
‘And she gets away?’
‘In time for dinner.’ Scarlet beamed. ‘If the Chameleon is planning an escape, I relish the opportunity to stop him.’
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t have a rubber elephant for company.’
They kept their eyes peeled until a dot appeared on the horizon, growing larger as they approached. Colchester Prison was a vast granite box in the middle of grassy pastures, guarded by men with guns. A series of bluestone walls, hundreds of feet apart, surrounded the jail. To escape, Jack mused, a criminal would have to dash across a vast open field between each wall.
Mr Doyle began their descent. ‘We are allowed no closer than the outer wall,’ he explained. ‘Anyone flying within its perimeter is shot down.’
‘What if someone flies over by accident?’ Scarlet asked.
‘There are no exceptions.’
They landed near the gatehouse, a square building with a portcullis—a metal lattice gate that could be raised or lowered—set into the centre. Armed guards stood on each side. Beyond the gatehouse lay the long, winding road leading to the jail.
After tethering the Lion’s Mane, they hurried over as a man stepped from the gatehouse. He was an overweight, grim-looking gentleman, dressed in a dark suit. He looks like he eats too many cupcakes, Jack thought.
‘We’re in luck,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘That’s Reginald Burke, the prison warden.’
Mr Doyle introduced his companions and explained the purpose of their visit.
‘I appreciate your concern, Ignatius,’ the warden said. ‘But we have everything under control. You see that airship?’ He pointed to a black vessel cutting a slice in the blue sky. ‘That’s the prison vessel transporting the Chameleon. It’s so heavily fortified that even the army would struggle to bring it down.’
The detective gave a genial smile. ‘It’s a wonderful diversion,’ he said. ‘A clever way to draw attention from the armoured van you’re really using to transport the Chameleon.’
‘What?’ The warden’s mouth fell open. ‘How did you know?’
‘Your secret is safe,’ Ignatius Doyle said. ‘At least with myself and my team.’ He peered down the road. ‘No, I have written a short piece about the differences in vehicle tyres. I believe I will have it published one day, although it’s difficult to find magazines that accept interesting articles. I’ve tried the ladies’ journals—’
‘Mr Doyle,’ Jack interrupted.
‘Oh, yes. Back to the task at hand.’ He pointed at a set of tracks leading into the jail. ‘These are from an armoured vehicle, a type normally used to convey money. Now, I ask you—why would an armoured car be delivering money to a jail? The answer is obvious. It is not. Everyone knows you often use an armoured airship to transport your prisoners.’ He drew close to the warden. ‘But the Chameleon is no normal prisoner.’
‘That’s amazing.’
‘Just simple deductive reasoning. I commend you on your…’
But the detective got no further. The ground trembled and an explosion reverberated across the landscape. Burke paled and raced back into the gatehouse. Guards leapt into vehicles and raced down the road towards the jail. The prison vessel changed direction, coming in to land beyond a hill. Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle peered through the latticework.
‘What’s happened?’ Jack turned to Scarlet. ‘You don’t think…?’
‘A rubber elephant? Would the Chameleon read great literature like the Brinkie Buckeridge novels?’
It wasn’t long before Reginald Burke emerged from the gatehouse, beads of sweat about his brow.
‘Reginald!’ Mr Doyle called. ‘What is it?’
‘He’s gone! The Chameleon has escaped!’
CHAPTER THREE
Jack made a lunch of cucumber sandwiches and a pot of tea as they flew back to London. Mr Doyle was a fine mentor, but he sometimes forgot the less important elements of life—like eating. Jack delivered the food to the bridge. Mr Doyle nodded at the tray, but instead pulled a piece of dusty cheese from his pocket and chewed on it thoughtfully. Jack and Scarlet started on the sandwiches.
They discussed the Chameleon’s incredible escape. A tunnel had been dug almost half a mile from a wood to intersect with the road. As the prison truck had passed over it, an explosion collapsed the tunnel, and the truck disappeared underground. By the time officers reached the crater, the guards were all dead and the Chameleon was gone.
‘An amazing breakout.’ Mr Doyle stood at the helm, watching the city grow closer. ‘Whoever snatched the Chameleon required three things: time, money and knowledge.’
‘Knowledge?’ Jack said.
‘Only a few people knew the Chameleon was being taken via the road. Obviously there is a double agent at work who aided in his escape.’
‘So someone wanted him free,’ Scarlet said. ‘Why?’
‘Probably because of his incomparable talents as an assassin.’
‘And that person also killed Frankie?’ Jack said.
‘There must be a link.’ Mr Doyle merged the Lion’s Mane into a line of airships. ‘That’s why we’re going to Clapham.’
‘Clapham?’
‘Where Frankie’s train ticket originated. He probably lived there. We’ll find his home by asking the locals.’
They fell into silence. Seeing Frankie had reminded Jack of the circus. As the Flying Sparrows, he and his mother and father had defied death on the trapeze. But it had all come to an end when a piece of equipment failed, killing his parents. It was so unfair, Jack thought. One day they were alive and vibrant. The next they were gone.
With the sun low in the sky,
Mr Doyle brought the Lion’s Mane in to land on a roof near Clapham Railway Station. Owners in this area leased moorings for airships.
Jack and Scarlet followed Mr Doyle to the street where they began asking shopkeepers if anyone knew of Frankie Shore. The boy was a popular figure, and the baker gave them his address.
Jack heard the shouting even before they reached the house. Rounding a corner, he saw a shabby terrace house with smoke billowing from the ground floor.
‘Goodness,’ Scarlet said. ‘You don’t think…?’
‘That’s Frankie’s home?’ Mr Doyle wore a grim expression. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘I hope the family is all right,’ Jack said.
A fire engine, an Oakley 59, came barrelling around the corner, with a huge smokestack at the front, a circular boiler behind and a cabin with seating for six men. A coiled hose and massive water cylinder were at the rear. The firemen got out and started spraying the blaze, but they were too late. The building was already consumed.
Mr Doyle approached a police officer controlling the crowd and asked if he knew anything of the family.
‘Looks like nobody’s home,’ he said. ‘They’re a nice family. All work at Clapham Carnival.’
Mr Doyle thanked him. He was thoughtful as he led Jack and Scarlet back to the Lion’s Mane. Within minutes, the ship was airborne and they were heading towards the fairgrounds.
‘We had best watch our step,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It seems likely that whoever killed Frankie also torched his family’s home. Somehow Frankie became involved in something out of his depth.’
‘Like what?’ Jack asked.
‘Maybe the Chameleon needed their carnival skills for an assassination,’ Scarlet suggested.
‘I don’t know,’ Jack said. ‘Danny Shore was the circus strongman. His wife, Emily, worked the sideshows. Frankie and Helen helped her as well as performing a routine as clowns during the intermission. I don’t know how any of that would help an assassin.’
‘Keep an open mind,’ the detective said. ‘The answer will come to us.’
Clapham Carnival came into view. Jack had never been to the amusement park, but he knew it was one of the largest in Britain, with hundreds of rides, sideshows and eateries. It could take a week to see the whole carnival. The most impressive feature was the roller coaster known as the Rocket, a powerful steam train that pulled half-a-dozen open carriages behind it. It followed a track over a series of ascents and descents preceding several death-defying loops and turns. It had been voted one of the most thrilling rides in the world.
Night fell as Mr Doyle brought the Lion’s Mane in to land. Jack felt a twinge of nostalgia. He had spent most of his life in places like this, and the smell of sawdust, candy canes and exotic animals was like coming home. He felt a mixture of sadness and excitement as they passed through the gates.
‘It must have been an amazing life,’ Scarlet commented as they joined the crowd. ‘The circus, I mean.’
‘It was a lot of hard work. When you’re not doing the show or practising, you’re helping set up or knocking down the big top for the next performance.’
‘So it’s not all glamour?’
Jack laughed. ‘I don’t think any of it is.’
‘But you had some free time?’
‘I used to read a lot. Adventure stories. History and legends. None of the Bumble Blinkalot books.’ Jack smiled. ‘My parents were good like that. They always bought books for me. A lot of people in the circus didn’t read.’
‘They didn’t like it?’
‘They didn’t know how. They were smart, but they didn’t trust reading.’
‘Really?’
‘There’s a lot of superstition at the circus. It’s bad luck to look behind you during the parade. You shouldn’t whistle in the dressing-room.’ He paused. ‘When you step into the circus ring, you have to put your right foot in first.’
‘How strange.’
‘Possibly not,’ Mr Doyle spoke up. ‘Leading with the right hand or right foot has been considered good luck for centuries. Has Miss Bloxley mentioned the Latin word for left?’
‘Does it mean sinister?’ Jack asked.
‘It does,’ the detective said. ‘It’s nice to see you’re doing so well with your Latin.’
‘Uh, yes.’
They had reached one of the brightly lit sideshow alleys with knock-’em-down stalls, food outlets and souvenir stands.
‘This may be a job better suited to you,’ Mr Doyle said to Jack. ‘I think the carnival folk will be more inclined to speak to a youth than to someone such as myself.’
Jack approached the woman wearing emerald earrings running the Mirror Maze. She nodded when he mentioned Frankie and Helen. ‘The young boy isn’t working here anymore, but Helen’s over in Aisle Seven,’ she said.
The team made their way through the maze of stalls. Families were everywhere. Every second child held a balloon or candy cane. Amid the steam and smoke, gaslight illuminated the dozens of sideshows. People fired guns at targets. Others threw hoops to win prizes. A big top dominated one section of the carnival. There were three shows a day themed around historical events; the current program was The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.
Many of the rides resembled the interior of giant machines, with small steam engines racing through labyrinths of cogs and gears. People were screaming and laughing, although Jack noticed some of the passengers looked a little green.
The noise was deafening, the smoke so thick in places that it was impossible to see five feet ahead. At the centre sat an enormous merry-go-round. Wooden horses and boats and space steamers flew around at dizzying speeds. The children on board loved it.
As they approached Aisle Seven, Mr Doyle glanced at the roller coaster. ‘The Rocket doesn’t seem to be working.’
‘Maybe it has broken down,’ Scarlet said.
‘Then they must be really losing some money,’ Jack said. ‘That ride is probably the carnival’s biggest earner.’
They found a stall run by a cross-looking man with curly blond hair and a matching moustache. He was burly with powerful arms. Behind him were prizes that contestants could win if they knocked over three bottles in a row.
‘That’s Danny Shore,’ Jack said, pointing out the strongman.
Mr Doyle approached. ‘Are you Frankie and Helen’s father?’
The man glared at them. ‘Who wants to know?’
Jack intervened. ‘Do you remember me? Jack Mason. I was with the Flying Sparrows.’
Mr Shore’s expression softened. ‘Of course I do, Jack. I heard about your parents. I was right sorry about it.’
Jack glanced at Mr Doyle. Mr Shore had not yet heard the tragic news about his son.
Mr Doyle introduced himself and Scarlet, then asked, ‘Where are your wife and daughter? Are they working tonight?’
‘My wife, Emily, is working one of the stalls on the south side. I don’t know about Helen. She was here earlier. It’s not like her to walk off and leave the stall unattended.’
A gangly man wearing an engineer’s cap raced up to them. His name was Stevie Barnes. He also doubled as the Incredible Rubber Man. ‘Danny! We’ve got trouble.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s the Rocket.’
‘Isn’t it working?’
‘It’s working, all right. But I don’t know how!’
They followed him across the amusement park to the departure platform for the Rocket. Stevie was the night driver. Apparently he had stepped away for a few minutes while the steam engine was restocked for the evening shift, and returned to find the ride had taken off without him.
They all watched the engine chug up an incline. Reaching the top, it accelerated and made its way around a loop before heading back towards the station.
‘That’s the settling in part of the ride,’ Stevie explained. ‘After that it gets a whole lot more exciting.’ He peered at the distant locomotive. ‘And faster. I can’t see anyone in the engin
e room, but someone’s standing in one of the carriages.’
Mr Doyle produced his goggles. Mr Shore snatched them from him.
‘Oh my God,’ he cried. ‘It’s Helen.’
‘Why would she be on the ride?’ Mr Doyle asked.
‘I don’t know. She hates the Rocket!’
‘The ride can’t operate without a driver at the controls,’ Stevie said. ‘There’s a fail-safe switch in the cabin.’
‘Someone must have disabled it,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Is there any other way to stop it?’
Stevie went pale. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It will pick up speed until it flies off the tracks.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Mr Shore grabbed Stevie by the lapels. ‘There’s got to be another way to stop the engine. Think, man! Think!’
‘I don’t see how…wait…of course!’
‘What is it?’ Mr Doyle asked.
‘There’s an emergency system inside the station room, designed to release sand onto the tracks and bring the Rocket to a halt.’
They all pushed through the crowds. A ‘Closed’ sign had been placed at the entry turnstiles. Racing along the platform, the group entered the station room. ‘There’s a lever here that—oh no!’
Three levers were set into the floor, but one had been broken off. Mr Shore cried out in anguish. He tried to fit it back into the housing, with no luck. The mechanism had been bent out of shape.
Jack glanced out the window. A bald man stood motionless in the milling crowds, watching them like a hawk. Grabbing Mr Doyle’s arm, Jack pointed, but the stranger was already gone.
‘Could it have been the Chameleon?’ Scarlet asked.
‘Possibly,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But he’s not our priority right now. We need to stop this ride. Can you search the platform for a length of pipe? We might be able to lever the controls back into place.’
They went outside, but Jack’s eyes quickly strayed to the safety system, an enormous sand-filled box located over the tracks at the far end of the station. Under normal circumstances it would open at the bottom, the train would hit the sand and slide to a halt. In another minute the train would pass beneath the tray. Jack’s eyes followed the track, which looped over the busy carnival. If the train derailed near the top it would crash hundreds of feet to the ground. There was no telling how many people might die.