[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman (34 page)

The librarian-schoolteacher flopped down in an armchair, shaking his head. “Thin paper over thick paper and join up the marks. Well, I, er, never. Hmmm, must be getting, er, er, old if I can't see that, er, ah yes . . . old.”

WITH THEIR WINDOW BLINDS PULLED down, the village square shops looked as if they were sleeping. Dust had settled on the leaves of the hawthorn trees, without even the faintest breeze to stir it.

In the window of Mr. Mackay's office, the clock showed ten minutes after midnight. Dark clouds obscured a pale, crescent moon; the air was still and warm from the long summer's day.

A villainous-looking man, his matted beard showing beneath a battered slouch hat, sat holding the reins of a horse and gig in the shadows. He turned this way and that, watching every possible entrance to the village square.

Concealed in some bushes at the side of the Hadford Road, Ben and Alex were first to hear the distant chug of a motorcar. Without a word, side by side, they ran back to Chapelvale.

The villainous man looked up as the boys came panting up to him. “Did you see them?”

“No, but we heard the motorcar!”

“It's coming in on the Hadford Road, be here soon!”

The man nodded. “Good, boy, collect Mr. Mackay from Station Road. Alex, get Will from School Lane. Make your way up to the police station, see you there. Now go, an' remember, lads, keep out of sight!”

 

 

Gripper stopped the motor just short of the square. Flinging off his gauntlets and goggles, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel and sighed thankfully. “Chapelvale at last!”

Chunk sounded slightly doubtful. “You mean we're 'ere, Gripp? 'Ow d'yer know that?”

Flash shook his head in amazement at Chunk's ignorance.

“ 'Cos we passed a sign on the road that said Chapelvale. But I suppose you was kippin' again.”

Chunk straightened his bowler and stretched. “Nuffin' wrong wid sleepin', is there? It is nighttime, y'know. I got pains in me guts wiv 'unger. Where d'we get sumthin' to eat? You promised us, Gripp.”

Gripper massaged his temples with both hands. “Chunk, give it a rest, willyer. Forget yer stummick for a minute. Chaz, you ain't asleep, are yer?”

“Huh, 'ow cad I sleeb wid be dose bleedin' like a tap? You shuddena told hib to hid be, Gripp, id hurds!”

Gripper raised a single finger in warning. “One more word outta you, Chaz, just one more!”

Flash began tugging at Gripper's sleeve. “Gripp, Gripp!” Gripper shook him off. “I'm 'ere. Y'don't 'ave to tear the coat off me. Wot is it?”

Flash pointed. “Some ole geezer sittin' watchin' us, wiv an 'orse an' cart. Over there, look!”

Gripper got out of the vehicle and nodded to his crew. “There's four of us an' one of 'im, let's see wot 'e wants.”

The villainous-looking man, who was in reality the old ship's carpenter wearing a disguise, stared down from his perch on the gig at the four toughs. His voice held a sneer. “So, yew got 'ere finally. Wot time d'yer call this t'be rollin' up fer the job, eh?”

“We got los . . . Oof!”

Flash had the wind knocked from him by Gripper's elbow. Gripper did his best tough stare and spat in the dust. “None of yer business, Granddad, we 'ad a few problems, that's all. Now, where's this old biddy's place? We'll do the job. Don't get yer whiskers in an uproar about that. Show us the way.”

Jon shook his head pityingly, looking them up and down. “Company toughs, eh, huh! It's too late t'do anythin' tonight, Mr. Smithers an' Maud wants to see yer up at the 'ouse.”

“Do they 'ave food up there, you know, eats?”

The old seaman winked at Chunk. “All yer likes, tons of it!”

“Ad hab dey got bandages an' thiggs, too?”

Jon chuckled wickedly. “Probl'y, but they mightn't 'ave enough to go 'round yore big 'ooter. Fell on it, didyer?”

Gripper fished a leather-bound cosh out of his pocket and began smacking it ominously in his palm. “Lissen, ole man. Yore too nosy fer yer own good, but I can soon fix that. Now, are y'takin' us up to the 'ouse, eh?”

Jon indicated the cart. “Cummon, 'op in. I'll take ye.”

Gripper grabbed the back of Flash's coat as he began to mount the gig. “We got a motorcar, you get goin'. We'll foller yer.”

Secreted with Ben and Alex in the rosebushes to one side of the police station door, Mr. Mackay, armed with Sergeant Patterson's long pacing stick, whispered hoarsely through the open charge office window. “They're coming!”

Gripper stared suspiciously at the greystone building. “This don't look like no toff's big 'ouse!”

The shipman climbed down from the gig. “ 'Cos it ain't, it's my 'ouse. Mr. Smithers don't want you lot t'be seen 'round 'is mansion. Well, are you big, brave 'ooligans goin' to sit out 'ere in yer motorcar all night?”

Gripper silenced the engine and got out, pointing a finger. “Watch who yer callin' 'ooligans, Granpop. Cummon, youse lot!” They swaggered up the path nonchalantly, letting Jon see that they were not the least bit afraid, while he followed them.

Gripper was about to raise the lion's-head knocker on the door when it was flung open and Sergeant Patterson pulled him inside. As he did, he roared, “Now!”

Will sprang forward and grabbed Chunk, charging from the rear, as Jon and Mr. Mackay bulled Chaz and Flash into the station with their two companions. The boys watched through the window as the sergeant locked the door.

Gripper was pale with shock and indignation. He immediately recognized the interior, having been in many police stations. “Wot's all this, then? We ain't done nothin' wrong. I'll see our lawyers about this!”

The sergeant towered over Gripper and folded his arms, smiling. “Colonel Busby Hythe Simmonds, ah presume.”

Gripper sensed the policeman had made a mistaken identity. “You've got the wrong man, Sergeant. I ain't Colonel Bubsy Wots'isname, neither are me friends. Never 'eard of 'im afore!”

Patterson nodded understandingly. “Well, ah'm glad we've got that cleared up, sir. Perhaps you'd like tae tell me what ye are doing in possession of the colonel's motorcar, number BLH 98, which was stolen from outside his house at South Hampstead Crescent in London last evening?”

Flash groaned. “Told yer we should've took the train, Gripp.”

Gripper shot him a murderous glance, silencing him. He turned back to the sergeant. “You can't 'old us 'ere. We ain't committed no crimes, we found the motorcar, see.”

The sergeant's voice still retained its pleasant tone. “Found it, sir, where, in Church Haven outside the post office?”

Chunk smiled in remembrance of the visit. “That's right, Sarge, where the ole lady nearly give me a drink o' water. I liked 'er!”

The two boys listened in through the open window, chuckling as the sergeant replied. “Och aye, ye'd be one of the four royal couriers, or is it one of the racehorse buyers who asked directions at Drakehampton post office. Which were you? Think!”

Chunk took off his bowler and scratched his shaven head. “Er, I fink the game's up, Gripp. 'E's nabbed us fair'n'square!”

Gripper stamped his boot down on Chunk's foot. “Sharrup, thick'ead. Don't say another word, none of youse!”

The sergeant sat at the charge office desk, his pleasant mood evaporating suddenly as he rapped out, “Enough o' all this nonsense. George Pearson, Frederick Lloyd, Charles Hyland, and Eric Wardle. Ye are under arrest for the theft of a motor vehicle, pending further investigations revealing any other felonies. Ye'll be held in custody here until such times as ye appear before a magistrate. Have ye anything tae say t'the charges brought against ye?”

Flash whispered to Gripper, “'E knows our proper names! 'Ow'd 'e find that out?”

Gripper ground his teeth together audibly. “Shut . . . up!”

Sergeant Patterson stared levelly at the four accused. “Ah said, have ye anything tae say t'the charges?”

Gripper glared sullenly back at him. “We wanna lawyer!”

Mr. Mackay looked them up and down with disdain. “I'm a lawyer, the only one in Chapelvale, but I don't deal in criminal law. Besides, I've quite enough clients at the moment, thank you. So, what are your plans, gentlemen, eh?”

Chaz's nose had stopped bleeding, and he sniffed carefully before blurting out, “The company we work for in London, Jackman Donnin' an' Bowe, 'll get a lawyer fer us, a real one from London, not some 'ayseed like that feller!”

Gripper groaned, and clenching both fists, he turned on Chaz. “You stoopid, loudmouthed squealer! I'll . . .”

Chaz skipped nimbly out of range, placing himself behind the formidable figure of Will Drummond.

“Keep 'im away from me! It was Gripper who pinched the motorcar, 'e's the on'y one of us wot can drive. I 'aven't done nothin', an' I'm not gonna be left carryin' the can fer miss snotty nose Maud Bowe an' 'er father's firm. No! Not fer any local bigwig who's in with 'em, either!”

It was at that moment when Constable Judmann pounded on the station door and the old seaman let him in. “I thought you were comin' to relieve me, Sarge. 'Ello, what've we got 'ere?”

Sergeant Patterson took hold of Chaz firmly. “Ah'll tell ye all about it later, Constable. Lock those three up in the holding cell, will ye. Ah'll keep this fellow here with me. Ah've got a feeling he wants tae tell me more.” The sergeant relieved Mackay of his stick.

“Thanks for the help, gents. Time yon lads were in bed, though. Does your dad know you're out this late, Alex?”

The younger boy who stood framed by the open window with the blue-eyed boy replied, “It's all right, Sarge. Me and Amy told him we'd be stopping over with Ben at Miz Winn's tonight.”

The sergeant winked at Ben. “Weel, you make sure they get straight off tae bed, and don't stay up late yourself!”

Ben grinned cheekily. “Bed? Not on a night like this. It's gone midnight, d'you realize? Today's Thursday, the deadline day for Chapelvale. I'm going back to see if Miz Winn and our friends have cracked the riddle!”

The boys ran off, with Will, the shipman, and the lawyer in their wake, calling, “Hi, wait for us!”

WILL'S MA HAD TAKEN LITTLE WILLUM to bed with her, in Winnie's room on the ground floor. On the sofa formerly occupied by little Willum, Mr. Braithwaite lay, wrapped in his gown, overcome by slumber. Hetty took the plaid traveling rug and covered him over with it. “Good old feller, it was him who thought of lightin' the candle. That got us started.”

Mackay bobbed his head in a small bow. “But I've no doubt he couldn't have got much further without the help of you ladies, excellent work all 'round!”

Amy, Eileen, and Mrs. Winn were far too excited to contemplate sleep. They showed the results of their labors to the menfolk, who told them of the capture of the London toughs.

The blue-eyed boy took a look at the writing, then at the old map with the four dots upon it. “It's marked here as Eastpath, where's that?”

Eileen blushed in the lamplight. “Oh, 'tis a pretty little lane. Will an' me used to walk there, when we was a-courtin'.”

Mr. Mackay knew a bit more about the area. “Ah yes, Eastpath. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, Jon, but isn't that the old stagecoach way, to the east of the village square?”

Jon confirmed the solicitor's words. “Aye, that's the place,” the old shipmate said. “Once the new road was built from Hadford, for the waggoners to use, the path fell into disrepair. Of course, that'd be nigh on a hundred years back. Eastpath will be so overgrown we'll have a right old job tryin' to locate a milestone.”