by Jane Kerr
Outside, a door slammed closed, and Danny nearly dropped the pen when rubble and glass crunched underfoot. He was not alone. Someone was searching through the ruins. And, whoever it was, Danny had no intention of being discovered. He had to disappear.
Returning the way that he’d come was no longer possible, and Danny didn’t dare go back across the open courtyard where the moonlight would make him easy to spot. The best idea was to stay undercover, which left only Cawthorne’s menagerie. Just the thought made his stomach clench.
The building had looked eerie enough from the outside, but inside, it felt even more sinister. The entire room was a tangle of shadows. And as Danny passed by, the dead animals stared at him from their smashed cases.
Several exhibits had fallen over, including the beautiful red deer, its antlers snapped and broken. Others, like the quagga, leaked damp stuffing across the floor. The smell of ashes and charred wool choked the air.
Suddenly, something flickered in the corner of his vision. Danny turned with a start then gulped a breath of relief. It was the lioness, lit up as the moon slid from behind a cloud. She looked ready to pounce but of course, it was only a trick of the shadows. Even so, he crept past carefully. Freedom wasn’t far away. He just had to reach the door on the side wall.
And then, Danny realized he was being followed. It was difficult to explain why he was so certain. There were no warning sounds, but the atmosphere felt different, like he was sharing the air with someone else.
He darted around a case of woodland animals, and waited. Seconds ticked away. Still nothing. He pressed himself more tightly against the cabinet, and felt a crack running from one corner of the glass to the other. It was barely an inch wide.
He pulled the fountain pen from his pocket and pushed it through the gap. It rolled behind a pinecone and stopped at the foot of a stuffed squirrel. Now he wondered at the impulse that made him do it.
The room stayed quiet. The only sound was his breathing. Perhaps whoever was following had given up. Should he risk it? He glanced at the door, knowing he was going to have to run. He took a step. And another.
A hand touched his shoulder. He tried to turn, but the grip tightened and something large and heavy slammed down on the back of his neck. He fell forwards. And then there was only darkness.
Danny emerged into consciousness to find someone looking down at him. The face swam a little before coming into focus. Inspector Clarence Quick of the Edinburgh City Police. What was he doing here?
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
With a shock, Danny realized daylight was flooding into the room. He must have been out cold for hours. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was hiding in Cawthorne’s menagerie. Stalling for time, he rubbed the back of his head and struggled to sit. The inspector allowed him some space—but not much.
“So you’re Prince Dandip of Delhi? We’ve not been officially introduced but I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m glad to meet you at last.”
Inspector Quick offered a handshake, but Danny ignored it. He still wasn’t sure what was going on. The inspector’s eyebrows rose a fraction, but he continued talking.
“I can’t believe the number of miles I’ve clocked up on this case. First I arrive at Belle Vue, only to find Mr. Jameson has already left for Lancaster. And when I get here, there’s an elephant on trial for attempted murder.” He shook his head. “I’ve been a policeman for twenty years, and I thought I’d seen everything. But apparently not.”
Danny wondered if there was a point to this. More than anything he wanted to get back to Maharajah. He looked around for escape routes, trying to measure the distance to freedom. But even as he did, he knew it was useless. His head ached like an army was riding through his skull, and he was having trouble focusing.
“Anyway, you’re a lucky young man. That’s a nasty bump. And it was only by accident that we found you.”
Danny didn’t feel lucky. Whoever had hit him had made a good job of it. He tried again to focus. This time with more success. A second face suddenly came into vision. Sandev was kneeling at his other side.
“It is true. When the inspector arrived last night, we told him about the intruder. And he was most keen to see Abbeystead for himself. He and I have been here since first light. Mr. Saddleworth is looking after Maharajah.”
Danny’s breath hiccupped at the mention of Maharajah. If the news was bad, he didn’t think he wanted to know, but he forced himself to look at Sandev. To his relief, the mahout’s mouth curved. It was as close to a smile as he was likely to make.
“All is well, Danny. Maharajah is alive. He survived the night. Mr. Saddleworth says he should recover.”
It was as though someone had lifted a rock from his chest. Danny was surprised to feel his eyes prickle. He swiped a hand across his face and tried to concentrate on what the inspector was saying.
“So as I understand it, Sandev says you and he chased an intruder on the night of the fire. And that during the pursuit, you both saw him drop something. He reckons you must have come back here to look for it.” Inspector Quick was watching Danny closely. “Is he right?”
Warily, Danny nodded.
“And did you find it?”
Danny hesitated. He’d spent most of his life running away from the constables in Edinburgh. Sharing information with the police went against everything he’d ever known.
The inspector sighed. “You’re not making this easy for me, are you? Listen. I’m only interested in finding the man you were chasing. He’s probably also responsible for that lump on the back of your head. Help me, and I can help you.”
Danny caught Sandev’s eye. The mahout nodded. “I do not think we have a choice. We must trust Mr. Quick.”
Unsteadily, Danny clambered to his feet. He drew the ankus from his belt and lifted it as high as he could. Inspector Quick jumped up, but he was too late. Before the detective could wrench the ankus from his hand, Danny brought it crashing down.
Right on target.
The case of woodland animals shattered easily, showering broken glass across the floor. Carefully, Danny reached through the splinters and pulled the ink pen from its hiding place. He handed it to Inspector Quick, who was looking slightly dazed.
“I won’t ask you how it came to be there, but thank you.”
The detective held the pen up to the light. His examination seemed to take a long time. “Do you know who this belongs to?” he asked at last.
Danny nodded, and a look of intense satisfaction flickered across the inspector’s face. “Then, Your Highness, you’ve just become my star witness.”
“The court calls Mr. James Jameson to the stand.”
In the public gallery, Danny gripped the barrier as the menagerist made his way to the witness box. Regret tugged at his nerves. He should have fought harder for Maharajah. Whatever the cost. However difficult. Behind the scenes, events were unfolding that might change everything. But what if it all went wrong?
“You are Mr. James Jameson of the Belle Vue Zoological Gardens in Manchester?” asked Sir Harold.
“That I am, sir.”
“And you are the owner of the elephant known as Maharajah the Magnificent.”
“I am, sir. I bought him at auction in Edinburgh just nine days ago.”
“So are you able to cast light on the beast’s behavior since then? I refer, of course, to what we have already heard in court—the events leading to the fire at Abbeystead Hall, and the serious injury to one of Lord Cawthorne’s stable boys, a Master Tommy Sparrow.”
Sir Harold was obviously enjoying repeating the highlights of his case. He was striding back and forth across the courtroom floor as though he owned the entire castle. Danny hoped he choked on his grand speech.
“And before then, let us not forget his repeated destruction of property and his terrifying temper. Perhaps you can enlighten us?”
“Sir, there are reasons for that. Very good reasons. And I want to explain.” Mr. Jameson paused and
looked straight at Danny. He pulled his shoulders back. “It’s not somethin’ that I’m proud of, Your Honor. However, I have to own up because I can’t—”
But he got no further. The door was thrown open. Inspector Quick marched in, trailed by an anxious-looking clerk. Danny’s grip on the barrier tightened. His heart hammered in his chest. This was it.
The policeman went straight to the judge’s bench and bowed.
“Please forgive the interruption, Your Honor. I’m Inspector Clarence Quick of the Edinburgh City Police. Some new evidence has come to light that’s relevant to this case. Might I be allowed to explain?”
“This is most irregular. I’m really not at all certain …” Justice Gulpidge frowned. Danny held his breath. Everything relied on the inspector’s story being made public here and now. If it wasn’t, Maharajah was as good as dead.
The judge waved his hand. “Oh, very well. Nothing about this case is normal. You may speak. But from the witness box. I’m sure I’ll have some questions for you, and I want you under oath.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m grateful.”
Inspector Quick swapped places with Mr. Jameson. Danny tried to read the policeman’s expression, but his face gave nothing away. It was impossible to tell if the news was good or bad.
“So what’s this all about, Inspector?”
“I’m afraid it’s rather a long story, but I believe it’s connected to the events at Abbeystead Hall.”
“Well, we appear to have the time now.” Justice Gulpidge leant back in his chair. “I despair of ever making it to Blackpool. But you’ve intrigued me. Please continue.”
“Yes, sir. Let me start at the beginning …”
Inspector Quick scanned the room, but he didn’t nod at Danny. It was as though they’d never met, and just as quickly, his queasy feeling returned. This morning, the detective had promised nothing would go wrong if Danny cooperated. Had he been stupid to believe it?
“For the last two years, I’ve been on the trail of a criminal gang involved in everything from drug running to child slavery. They’re a vicious, unpleasant mob who call themselves …”
He paused and even though Danny knew what was coming he held his breath.
“… who call themselves the Leith Brotherhood. Their business is run from an illegal gambling den in Edinburgh. Security is tight, and only members are allowed in and out. But, recently, I was told that one of the members—a man called Walter Wormwell—might be able to help us.”
The inspector turned to the judge. “You may recognize the name, Your Honor. Mr. Wormwell was the owner of a popular traveling menagerie. He was also a well-known gambler, although not a very successful one. He’d run up a great deal of debt.”
“Gambling’s a fool’s game,” said the judge. Danny couldn’t disagree. The only reason they were in this court was because of a stupid bet.
“Yes, Your Honor. Well, a few weeks ago, shortly before his death, Mr. Wormwell struck lucky. He won a large sum of money at the club. My officers were tipped off. And we were confident we could persuade Mr. Wormwell to identify the ringleader and to give evidence against him.”
“Why on earth would he do that, Inspector?” It was a good question. Danny had wondered the same thing. On the face of it, there didn’t seem much reason for Wormwell to help the police.
“The gambling is rigged, Your Honor. Fixed so no one can win large sums. But something went wrong on this particular night and Mr. Wormwell won a fortune. An entire year’s profit from the whole of their operations. What’s more, he walked out of the door with it. As you can imagine, the gangmaster wasn’t pleased. In fact, the bodies of two of his henchmen were found floating in the Leith. I believed Mr. Wormwell was also in danger. And I hoped he would help us, in return for police protection.”
He paused for a heartbeat.
“But we were too late. The Brotherhood got to him first.”
Danny watched the faces around the courtroom. The story was holding everyone spellbound, just as he and Sandev had been when Inspector Quick first explained the strange events that had brought him here.
Of course, Danny already knew part of it, thanks to Frank Scatcherd. But the King of Cowgate hadn’t told the full truth. Wormwell had been a gambler, not a thief. And his death had not been an accident.
Justice Gulpidge leant closer. “Go on, Inspector.”
“When we arrived at Mr. Wormwell’s home, we found him lying on his study floor, barely conscious. The room had been ransacked. Everything was torn apart. And the only word he seemed able to say was ‘Maharajah.’ Repeated over and over again. I’m afraid he died a short while later without saying anything more.”
A murmur swept through the public gallery. In the press seats, the reporters scribbled frantically.
“The doctors say Mr. Wormwell almost certainly suffered a heart seizure. Neighbors recall hearing raised voices a little earlier that night. Bangs, thuds, and shouts. All the evidence suggests thugs had been sent to force Mr. Wormwell to hand over his winnings. You might say he was terrified to death.”
“Good Lord! This is incredible.” The judge leant back in his chair. “So I assume they found the money and ran?”
“No, Your Honor. They’re still looking for it. Everyone is. The lawyers, his creditors, the Brotherhood. You see, we’re talking about an extremely large amount of money. But my men have been through Wormwell’s entire estate, and there’s no trace of where he hid it. No gold. No bank deposits. Nothing.”
“Good Lord!” said Justice Gulpidge again. Danny watched him rub the hook of his nose. “This is all very fascinating but how does it link to this trial?”
“Your Honor, the only clue to the mystery is Maharajah. His name was all Mr. Wormwell could say when he lay dying.” Inspector Quick paused again. Danny knew he was trying to make sure he chose the right words.
“I believe the gangmaster sent someone to follow Maharajah in the hope of discovering the money. And I’m convinced this person started the fire at Abbeystead as a distraction so he could get close.”
The inspector stepped to the front of the witness box and looked around the courtroom. “If we uncover his identity, we’ll solve not only this crime but break apart the entire gang—and get to the devil who’s been pulling the strings.”
A shocked murmur rippled through the room. Danny could feel the mood change. Sir Harold was in excited discussion with Lord Cawthorne. Both men were gesturing furiously. Neither of them looked happy.
“Silence! I will have order in my court,” shouted the judge. “Please continue, Inspector. I’m hoping there’s been a development in this case since you’ve interrupted proceedings.”
“Indeed there has, Your Honor. An object was found in the remains of the Abbeystead stable block where the fire started.” Inspector Quick pulled the ink pen from his inside pocket. The clerk handed it to the judge. This was the moment Danny had been waiting for. He picked up the ankus from under his seat.
“I have two witnesses who say they saw this pen fall from the jacket of an intruder on the night of the fire. The man was prowling around the stables where Maharajah was being held. And thanks to one of those witnesses, I know who dropped it.”
Danny caught a flurry of movement on the far side of the room where the newspapermen sat. There were angry mutterings as people were shoved roughly aside. Someone was trying to push through the crush.
“Gentlemen of the press!” roared the judge. “I understand these developments have caused a great deal of excitement but please will you stop disrupting my court.” He turned back to Inspector Quick. “Is the witness reliable? Is he sure that he recognizes the pen? A great deal hangs on this evidence.”
“You may question the witness yourself, Your Honor. He’s here.” The inspector pointed, and everyone swiveled round to stare at Danny. “It was Prince Dandip of Delhi who chased the intruder.”
“His Highness? Good Lord! This case is really most unusual. Let him come forwards.”
Danny scrambled up from his seat and approached the judge’s bench. This was much harder than he’d imagined. Hundreds of eyes sharpened on his face. He lifted his chin, and tried to concentrate on breathing slowly.
“Well, Prince Dandip,” barked the judge. Up close, he was even fiercer. “Are you certain you’ve seen this pen before?”
Danny nodded. He pointed to the carved markings that coiled from the pen nib to the end of the barrel. But the judge only looked confused. Frustrated, Danny glanced at Inspector Quick.
“Your Honor, he doesn’t speak English, but I believe he’s trying to draw your attention to the engravings. They’re very distinctive. Quite memorable you might say.”
“And why’s that, Inspector?”
“Because they’re carved from ivory. Most significantly, ivory comes from the tusks of dead elephants. And as you know, the Prince has a particular interest in keeping elephants alive.”
Danny heard a ripple of laughter from the public gallery.
“I see.” The judge’s mouth crinkled at the edges. He might even be smiling, but it was difficult to tell. “So, Your Highness, are you able to tell us who this pen belongs to?”
Danny nodded again. He’d known immediately where he’d seen it before, although he still found it difficult to believe.
“Well … ? Come along, I must have a name, Prince Dandip.”
Justice Gulpidge looked impatient. Perhaps, along with everyone else in the court, he knew they were on the brink of a revelation. Danny was pretty sure he was about to deliver one. Hooking one foot on to a nearby chair, he levered himself up on to the judge’s bench. Papers slid beneath his silk slippers, and something ripped. He didn’t look down.
“What on earth? This is not appropriate behavior for a courtroom, Your Highness. You must get down immediately!”
But Danny ignored the command. At this height, he was able to see into the farthest corner of the room. He stretched out an arm. Then he pointed.
Straight at Alfred Kibble of the Hawick Express.