The Elephant Thief

by Jane Kerr

  Mr. Jameson’s enthusiasm was almost enough to ease Danny’s doubts. Thank goodness the menagerist had decided not to head back to Belle Vue by train. At the moment, he seemed to be the only one totally certain of success.

  They were in the warehouse loading the wagon when Inspector Quick appeared in the doorway. Danny had not seen him since Kibble’s arrest in court, and he’d been burning to know what had happened since.

  “Congratulations. I hear you’ve been given more time to get to Manchester.”

  The inspector had to step through piles of crates and boxes to reach them. After the trial, Maharajah had been swamped with food parcels from well-wishers. Even now, gifts were still arriving, tied up in fancy ribbons and colored bows. Danny imagined this must be what Christmas felt like—presents stacked up to his knees. He and Hetty had already munched through a basket of currant cakes.

  “Thank you, Inspector. I’m confident we’ll get there on time. You can put a few pence on it if you’d like.”

  The detective laughed. “Perhaps not. I have it on good authority that gambling’s a fool’s game.”

  “And as I keep saying,” said Mr. Saddleworth. “We’re going to struggle to reach Belle Vue by Sunday morning. Maharajah’s not back to full strength yet. It’ll be tough going.”

  As much as Danny would have liked to deny it, Hetty’s father was right. No one really knew how Maharajah would cope. He didn’t seem to be in any pain. The cries had stopped, and after several hours of sleep he’d recovered enough to walk. But his long, loping steps were awkward, and his back leg dragged. On top of that, there were still more than sixty miles to go.

  “Well, I wish you luck.” Inspector Quick took a seat on one of the crates. “I’m here because I wanted to tell you this in person. Kibble’s been talking.”

  Danny had been trying not to look as though he was eavesdropping. Now he gave up pretending and gathered with the others to listen. Even Crimple drifted closer.

  “As we suspected, Kibble’s part of the Leith Brotherhood, the gang we’ve been after. Best of all, he knows all their names and all their secrets.”

  The inspector stretched out his legs and let a smile crease his face. “We’ve a good chance of catching them—of breaking the whole ring apart. And I have to thank you all. Particularly you, Your Highness. Without you, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Danny wasn’t sure how to take the compliment, so he shrugged and tried to look as though pride wasn’t swelling his chest. Hetty smirked at him and rolled her eyes.

  “Kibble admits to almost everything.” Inspector Quick ticked off the list on his fingers. “Following you, searching your rooms at the inn in Stow, ransacking the wagon, starting the fire at Abbeystead. He was looking for Wormwell’s money.”

  He glanced again at Danny. “Kibble was also the man who knocked you out. He realized he’d dropped something that could identify him, and he wanted it back. I imagine he searched you while you were unconscious.”

  Automatically, Danny reached around to touch the back of his head. The bruise was still tender. He was doubly glad that Kibble hadn’t found anything. He thanked whatever impulse had made him hide the ivory pen.

  “But why pretend to be a newspaperman?” asked Mr. Jameson. “I practically told him me life story when we got stuck at that toll near Hawick. He wouldn’t stop asking questions.”

  “Yes, and he did the same to Danny and me,” Hetty said indignantly. “He asked all sorts of things, about Mr. Wormwell and Maharajah. He said he was writing a story for the Times of London!”

  The inspector laughed. “Posing as a reporter was a good way of asking questions and following you without attracting suspicion. He wanted to find out what you knew about the missing fortune, and whether you had anything else belonging to Maharajah. Equipment, costumes, papers, and such like. Anything at all that might have led him to the money.”

  Hetty leant forwards. “What about the fire? Why do that?”

  “As I suspected, it was supposed to be a distraction. He hadn’t been able to get close to Maharajah. One of you was always with him, even at night, and he was getting impatient. So he started the fire to lure away Sandev and Prince Dandip, but it went wrong. They spotted him and gave chase. In the meantime, the fire spread.”

  Looking back, Danny couldn’t believe he’d fallen for Kibble’s innocent act. Every word had been false. He’d been stupid not to realize it earlier.

  “The big mystery is the whereabouts of the money. Kibble didn’t find it, not even when he searched the wagon. Or so he says. At the moment he’s in no position to lie. He wants to save himself from the hangman’s noose. Information is just pouring out of him. It’s making my job very easy.”

  “But why hurt Maharajah?” asked Mr. Saddleworth.

  Danny held his breath. This was the answer he most wanted to hear. Injuring Maharajah didn’t make any sense, and it was difficult to imagine when Kibble would have had the opportunity.

  “Well, that’s the odd thing.” Inspector Quick frowned. “He swears he had nothing to do with it. He says his mother loves the menageries and would skin him alive if he harmed any of the animals. In fact, Mother Kibble is a big admirer of the elephant. Apparently she’s seen Maharajah in Liverpool. Twice.”

  Mr. Jameson snorted. “Well, if he didn’t do it, who did?”

  The same question was already worrying Danny. Arthur Albright had the most obvious motive, but he couldn’t get rid of the idea that Scatcherd and the Leith Brotherhood might also be involved.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. Kibble could easily be lying. He may have had an accomplice. But we’re working on him. The truth will come out. And if you can think of anything that might help us find Wormwell’s money, let me know. It’s always good to finish a case with everything solved.”

  “Knowing Walter Wormwell, my guess is he spent it as quickly as he won it. I doubt you’ll ever find it.”

  “You may be right, Mr. Jameson.” Inspector Quick stood up. “Once again, thank you. And good luck for the rest of the journey. Perhaps I’ll make a trip to Belle Vue when this is all over. Mrs. Quick is very fond of the menageries.”

  He shook Mr. Jameson’s hand, and said good-bye to the others. But when he came to Danny, he paused. “Prince Dandip, might I have a word? In private.”

  Danny swallowed but nothing could dislodge the knot in his throat. It felt like a fist. He nodded.

  “Whoever you are, I’m certain you’re no prince.”

  It was the first thing Inspector Quick said when they were alone. Danny’s pulse pounded. He flicked a glance around. The policeman had managed to trap him in a small corner of the warehouse. He had nowhere to run.

  “Don’t worry, lad. I’ve told you before I don’t care who you are. And I meant it.” There was a pause. “But I am interested in what else you might know. Am I right in thinking that you’re from Edinburgh?”

  Slowly Danny nodded.

  “I thought so.” The inspector smiled. “I’ve been racking my brains to think why you look so familiar. Then last night I remembered. Take away that peculiar hat of yours, and rub a bit of dirt into your face, and you’d be that boy at the Wormwell auction.”

  It wasn’t a question, so Danny didn’t feel the need to respond. He watched the inspector carefully, wondering what was coming next.

  “Are you familiar with an area in Edinburgh called Cowgate?”

  Suspicion flared, hot and strong, but Danny tried to damp it down. So far the inspector had done all that he’d promised. Maharajah was free because of what had been revealed in court. There was no need to worry. He tilted his head in acknowledgment.

  “Then it’s occurred to me you might know the leader of the Brotherhood. Kibble claims he’s called Frank Scatcherd, also known as the King of Cowgate. A vicious piece of work, from what I hear. Ever come across him?”

  Danny felt a tremor; it was so strong that he wondered why his whole body wasn’t shaking. He had hoped Kibble’s confession would be e
nough to put the King behind bars, because any other possibility filled him with horror.

  He rubbed his wrist—perhaps it was time to take a risk. Because, for the first time in his life, he was in the presence of someone who had the power to do something.

  Before he could change his mind, Danny pushed up his sleeve. Carved into his skin were two letters. Even after several months, the marks were still red and ugly. And, although he couldn’t read, he knew what they stood for.

  “FS.” Frank Scatcherd.

  The inspector didn’t hide his shock. Reaching out, he pulled Danny’s wrist into the light and turned it so he could see the scars from every angle.

  “He did this to you?” he asked at last.

  Danny nodded. He would have liked to tug his arm free, but he didn’t; it seemed more important to make sure Inspector Quick understood.

  “Good grief, lad. This must have hurt like blazes. It looks as though he dug out the letters with a knife. Like a brand.”

  Danny nodded again. He’d tried to block out the memory so many times—to pretend that it had happened to someone else and not to him. But at inconvenient moments, his mind would flash back.

  Last year, Scatcherd had sent for him. He’d wanted an errand done, and for a single, stupid moment Danny had been flattered to be chosen. It meant he was the best—so good that even the King of Cowgate needed him.

  The job should have been easy. He’d been smuggled into a grand house by a Brotherhood henchman. It had been past midnight, and the owner and his wife were away from home. All he’d had to do was sneak into the bedchamber and grab the woman’s jewels. Simple for anyone so quick and light-fingered. But then the little girl had sat up in bed.

  Danny hadn’t noticed her before. She’d been lying, half-hidden under the sheets. Her mouth had dropped open. And she’d screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

  So he’d run. Empty-handed.

  He’d known there would be trouble. But Scatcherd’s rage had been icy. He’d pulled out a knife and sunk it into Danny’s wrist. The pain had been beyond anything Danny had ever felt before, and he must have passed out because he couldn’t remember much after that.

  When he was able to focus again, his shirt had been red with blood and Scatcherd was grinning. “That’s so you won’t forget that you’re mine, Boy. You belong to me, just like the rest of Cowgate. And I don’t like it when my people fail.”

  Hastily, Danny shoved down his sleeve. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. Inspector Quick was still watching, but now the lines of his crumpled face had softened.

  “It looks like you’ve more reason to want Scatcherd behind bars than me. Do you know where I could find him?”

  Danny shook his head. Scatcherd had always been careful. No one but his closest associates knew where he lived, and usually he’d appear when people least expected—it was all part of keeping his victims terrified and off-balance.

  “Well, you’ve no need to worry, lad. I’ve got men searching the whole of Edinburgh. And now I’ve a witness who’s willing to testify against him. He won’t be able to harm you again. I give you my word.”

  When they finally left Lancaster, Danny was on foot. Maharajah couldn’t carry any extra load because of his injury. Only his show harness stayed in place, but the glass jewels were tarnished, and several beads had cracked and fallen, leaving gaps in the collar. It looked as tired and worn as they all felt.

  The first few miles were tense. Danny watched anxiously for any sign that the cut had reopened. But Maharajah seemed unconcerned, marching along with only a slight drag of his back leg. As time passed with no problems, Danny felt a little happier, and he let himself think about Inspector Quick’s promise. He was only just beginning to realize what it meant.

  The inspector knew—or, at least, suspected—who he was and what he had done to make a living. But apparently the Edinburgh City Police weren’t interested in a small-time pickpocket. They were too busy chasing bigger prey. Frank Scatcherd and the Leith Brotherhood.

  Which meant for the first time in a long while, Danny might not have to look over his shoulder to check who was there. He was free. Free from the constant fear of being caught. It was like standing on top of a high mountain looking down on nothing but space—wonderful and just a little breathtaking.

  “So I was wrong. It wasn’t Crimple. Or Albright.” Danny jerked, startled out of his thoughts. Hetty had been so quiet he had almost forgotten she was there. “It was Kibble who caused all those problems for us. And Papa is convinced he stabbed Maharajah too. He and Mr. Jameson say, now Kibble’s in prison, we won’t have any more trouble.”

  Hetty frowned. She looked like someone trying to unravel a particularly complicated tangle of knots. Danny understood how she felt. Together they walked a little farther down the road. Then she stopped, as abruptly as if she’d hit a brick wall.

  “But it doesn’t make sense, does it? Not all of it anyway. Why would Kibble hurt Maharajah? There wouldn’t be any point. He’d be likely to attract more attention, not less. Exactly what he didn’t want. And I still don’t trust Crimple. There’s something shifty about him. Do we even know where he was when the fire started?”

  Danny tried to think back. When he’d arrived at the stables, Crimple hadn’t been there, but Sandev had said he’d gone to look for food in the kitchens. Could he have had time to double back and stab Maharajah? He supposed it was just possible.

  “Then there’s Wormwell’s missing money. Where is it? Why has nobody found it?” Hetty had started walking again. Suddenly she spun round so that she stared him full in the face. Her eyes flared. “Because if it is with Maharajah, it must be right under our noses. Don’t you think?”

  Trouble came again in a way Danny would never have predicted. They’d stopped at a farm for food and rest. The yard was already small, but now it was crowded by a wagon, one large elephant, and six tired people.

  “Get out of me way, boy,” Crimple said as they both reached for the handle on the water pump. His rough shove sent Danny skimming along the ground like a kicked stone.

  Almost immediately, a bellow erupted, and Danny’s stomach dipped. He knew that cry, but there was no time to react. Maharajah moved so quickly that his victim was taken by surprise.

  One moment, Crimple was standing, and the next, he lay sprawled across the floor. The elephant stood over him, tusks raised. In the yard, everyone froze, like carved pieces on a chessboard. No one seemed quite certain of their next move.

  “What’s he doin’?” Crimple was wide-eyed and panicked. “Get him away from me.”

  It was Sandev who moved first. Raising his ankus, he whistled sharply. But to Danny’s shock, Maharajah stayed exactly where he was.

  “Why isn’t he shiftin’? Do somethin’ quick!” Crimple tried to scramble backwards. He didn’t get far before a deafening blast rumbled across the yard. And Danny knew that if anyone had forgotten Maharajah was a wild animal, this was meant to be a reminder.

  Sandev tried again, blowing a piercing signal that seemed to split the air in half. But still Maharajah didn’t step back. Instead, he shook his head, snapping both large ears against his body. Slowly, Sandev lowered his ankus.

  “This is ridiculous. We haven’t come this far to let a temper tantrum stop us now.” Mr. Jameson stabbed a finger in Danny’s direction. “You have a go, Danny. Maybe he’ll listen.”

  Danny swallowed. If Sandev hadn’t been able to persuade Maharajah, he doubted he could. Reluctantly, he stepped forwards and drew the ankus from his belt. But when he met Sandev’s gaze, he paused. Awkward and uncertain. It was as though, quite by accident, he’d slipped into someone else’s shoes, and the fit wasn’t entirely comfortable.

  To his surprise, Sandev gave a quick, decisive nod, and stepped back. “Yes. You try, Danny.”

  Carefully, Danny lifted the ankus, and immediately, Maharajah raised his head. The clever, gold eyes inspected him; Danny knew to hold his ground. He whistled. Not a shrill blast like Sandev
’s, but a soft, gentle signal. Maharajah seemed to listen. And, for a moment, it was just the two of them.

  Then Maharajah stepped back and away from Crimple.

  The keeper staggered to his feet. “What were that all about? I didn’t do anythin’.”

  “Of course you did.” Hetty’s hands were braced on her hips again. “You knocked Danny clean over. I saw you, even if no one else did. Maharajah was just protecting him. It’s your own fault. You should stay away from them. From both of them.”

  “Henrietta! Keep out of this.”

  “But, Papa!”

  “I warned you—no more of this. It’s finished. Come on, help me feed the horses.”

  Mr. Saddleworth grabbed Hetty’s elbow and steered her away, while Crimple limped off to the wagon with Mr. Jameson. It left Danny alone with Sandev. He stood there, suddenly not quite certain what to do with himself. He wondered if he should apologize in some way, although he wasn’t sure exactly why. Or for what.

  Sandev took the decision out of his hands.

  “You care about him.”

  Danny nodded, although it hadn’t been a question.

  “Thank you.” Bringing his palms together, Sandev bowed very low, just as he had at the Wormwell auction. “I thank you for all that you have done for him. For discovering that he was hurt at Abbeystead. For helping me on the night of the fire. For stepping in front of Lord Cawthorne’s gun. For all of it. Thank you. I will not forget.”

  The warmth left by Sandev’s words lasted for several miles. Danny still wasn’t sure what had happened in the farmyard, but he did know that finally he had proved himself to the one person who cared about Maharajah as much as he did. It was a good feeling. But it didn’t last.

  Maharajah was slowing down. As night fell, his brisk pace dropped to a trundle. Every step was slow and sluggish, as though he were wading through thick layers of pain. And suddenly, Danny couldn’t bear to watch. He whistled. Maharajah stopped, and behind them, the wagon came to a standstill.