The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Stolen Sparklers (2 page)

“Some folk’ll do anythin’ for luck,” she said. “My da and me used to flog bits of heather and say they was lucky. They was for us!”

“Yeah. Money for old rope,” agreed Wiggins.

“What’s rope got to do with it?” Gertie asked.

“It’s just a saying. Money for nothing.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, it was.” Gertie laughed. “Money for old rope… It was just bits of heather we picked on the common.”

“You a gipsy, then, lad?” asked Charlie.

“No, I’m not. My da’s a tinker.”

“And she ain’t a lad, neither,” said Wiggins. “She just likes to think she is.”

“Well, I never,” said Charlie. “You could have fooled me, right enough.”

Gertie grinned. She was pleased to be mistaken for a boy, as she usually was, wearing ragged trousers and a jacket instead of a dress, and with her hair cut short. “I can do anythin’ a boy can do – an’ better,” she liked to brag. And so she could. After her mother had died when she was little, her father had always treated her like a boy. Gertie had learned to climb and swim, to ride and fish and hunt for food in woods and lakes and rivers, while they travelled the country lanes in their caravan, mending pots and pans and doing odd jobs.

“And where might your father be now?” Charlie wanted to know.

“In prison.”

“What for?”

“Takin’ pheasants and fish off some lord’s land.”

“Right. Poaching, eh?”

“It ain’t fair, so it ain’t. Didn’t they have plenty to spare, and us with our bellies empty?”

“That’s life, love. Most of the time it ain’t fair. You has to make the best of it.” Charlie took hold of the handles of his barrow again, ready to move on. “So long, now. Be good – and don’t go poachin’ no salmon outta the River Thames, eh? You might end up in the Tower of London!” Chuckling at his own joke, he continued down the street, calling “Swee–eep! Swee–eep!” again.

Wiggins and Gertie headed back towards HQ, the secret cellar where they lived with the other Baker Street Boys. But they had not gone far when the front door of a nearby house was flung open and a girl of about their own age ran out and careered down the steps, hitching up her brown servant’s dress as she ran. Her white cotton cap flew from her head and her dark ginger curls tumbled down her back as she raced off along the street as though her life depended on it. A moment later, a middle-aged police sergeant and a fat constable came out of the door, waving and shouting.

“Stop that girl!” the sergeant yelled. Seeing the two Boys, he pointed and called to them, “After her! A shilling if you catch her!”

“A bob?” Wiggins responded. He winked at Gertie and jerked a thumb in the direction the girl had taken. “Right, sir. Leave it to us!”

They set off quickly and soon disappeared round the corner, leaving the two policemen puffing behind them. When the cops rounded the corner a few moments later, they found Wiggins sitting on a pile of sacks beside Charlie’s barrow, nursing his left foot, while the sweep bent over him making sympathetic noises.

“Ow, ow,” Wiggins groaned loudly. “My ankle – I done my ankle in…”

“Never mind that,” the sergeant said. “Which way did she go?”

“Ooh, ooooh…” moaned Wiggins, holding his foot. “What about my shilling?”

The sergeant dug into his pocket and produced a sixpence, which he held out to Wiggins.

“You haven’t caught her, but you can have a tanner for trying. Come on, lad. Which way?”

“That way, sir. Look, there she goes!” Wiggins pointed down the street to where Gertie beckoned excitedly before disappearing round the next corner. The sergeant tossed the sixpence to Wiggins and set off again, followed by the puffing constable. When they were safely out of sight, Wiggins got to his feet and pulled back the sacks to reveal Polly crouched beneath them.

“It’s OK,” he told her. “They’ve gone.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you both,” she panted, still out of breath.

“That’s all right,” Wiggins grinned. “Ain’t it, Charlie?”

Charlie shook his head and gave him a wry look. “You’ll get me hanged one of these days,” he told him. “Go on, get out of ’ere afore they comes back.”

“They’ll not be back in a hurry. Not with Gertie leading ’em astray.” Wiggins turned back to Polly, who was starting to cry.

“Now then, there’s no need for that,” he said. “You’re with friends now. We’ll see you right.”

“I don’t think you can,” she sobbed. “I don’t think anybody can.”

“Why? What you done?”

“I ain’t done nothin’.”

“Why was they after you, then?”

“They think I’m a thief. But I’m not. I’m innocent, honest!”

“In that case, love, you’ve come to the right person.”

“Why? Who are you?”

“Arnold Wiggins, at your service. Captain of the Baker Street Boys, special assistant to Mr Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective in the world. You can call me Wiggins – everybody does. Come on, let’s get you to HQ and you can tell me all about what it is you ain’t done.”

“Is this where you live?” Polly asked as Wiggins led her down the steps.

“That’s right,” he replied, opening the door with a flourish. “This is headquarters – HQ for short. And here’s the rest of the Baker Street Boys.”

Polly stared around in surprise at the cellar and the boys and girls gathered there. Queenie, the eldest girl, was busy cooking a stew, which smelt surprisingly good. In one corner, two boys, Shiner and Sparrow, were locked together in a wrestling match that was probably friendly, though it was hard to tell since they were both putting all they had into it. Acting as referee was a bigger boy, Beaver, who wore an old-fashioned furry top hat on the back of his head. At the big old table in the middle of the room, Rosie, a pretty, golden-haired girl, was clearing faded bunches of flowers from a tray.

“Everybody!” Wiggins called out. “Listen. This is Polly. She needs our help.”

The Boys all stopped what they were doing and looked at their visitor, excited at the prospect of a new case. Polly smiled nervously at them.

“You’ll be safe here,” Wiggins told her. “It’s our secret hideaway. Nobody knows where it is, ’specially not the coppers.”

“Can I stay?”

“Course you can. Right, everybody?”

The others agreed and gathered round to greet her, but Shiner hung back. “Depends who’s after ’er,” he grunted. “And what she’s done.”

“Shiner!” Queenie scolded him. “If she needs our help, she’s welcome.”

“It’s the coppers that’s after her,” Wiggins answered. “And she ain’t done nothing. Which is what we’re gonna prove.”

“If she ain’t done nothin’,” said Beaver, looking thoughtful, “then why are the coppers after her?”

“Good question, Beav,” said Wiggins. He turned back to Polly. “What do they say you’ve done?”

“They say I stole her ladyship’s tiara.”

“What’s a tarara?” asked Rosie.

“I know a song about that,” Sparrow piped up.
“Tarara-boom-de-ay, tarara-boom-de-ay…”
he sang. “I heard Miss Lottie Collins sing it on the stage once. Brought the house down, as they say.”

“No, no. Not
tarara
, it’s a
tiara
,” Queenie corrected.

“What’s that, then?”

“It’s what posh ladies wear, like a sort of little crown, only just on the front half of the head.”

“Sort of half a crown, then,” Sparrow grinned. “Half a crown, two shillings and sixpence…”

The others groaned at his weak joke.

“Sparrow!” Wiggins admonished. “This is serious.”

“Is it worth a lot of money?” Shiner wanted to know.

Polly nodded miserably. “A fortune,” she said. “It’s all silver and diamonds. The most beautiful thing I ever did see.”

“Ah,” said Wiggins. “So you have seen it?”

Polly nodded again.

“On Lady Mountjoy’s dressin’ table with all the rest of the jewels. While I was makin’ up the fire in her bedroom.”

“Cor,” exclaimed Rosie. “Fancy havin’ a fire in your bedroom!”

The Boys all looked impressed at the thought.

“And servants to make it up for you,” added Beaver with a dreamy expression on his face.

“Never mind that,” said Wiggins. “Where was her ladyship while you was looking at her sparklers?”

“In the bathroom, with Violet. Violet’s her maid.”

Wiggins stroked his chin thoughtfully as he tried to picture the scene.

“I see,” he said. “You was on your own in the bedroom with the jewels?”

“Yes.”

“So you could’ve taken ’em?”

Polly burst into tears. “That’s what they all say,” she sobbed. “But I didn’t. I’m not a thief, I’m a good girl.”

Queenie put her arm round Polly, and sat her down at the table.

“Yes, of course you are, my love,” she said. “Wiggins, how could you?”

“I’m not saying she did it,” Wiggins replied calmly. “Only that she could’ve – if she’d wanted to.”

“But I
didn’t
want to,” Polly cried. “What would I do with a diamond tiara and all them jewels?”

“You could sell ’em,” Shiner said.

“That’s right,” added Beaver, his eyes lighting up. “If they’re worth a fortune like you said, you could take ’em to a jeweller’s shop and he’d give you lots and lots of money and you wouldn’t never have to be nobody’s servant again and you could buy a nice house and we could all come to live in it with you and have plenty to eat and bedrooms with fires in ’em and…”

“Beaver!” Wiggins said, stopping him before he got completely carried away “She ain’t got them.”

“No, course not. I was just thinkin’…”

“Well, don’t.”

“Oh. Sorry, Wiggins. Sorry, Polly.”

The servant girl managed a weak smile. “’S’all right, Beaver. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Beaver turned bright red, but his blushes were saved by Rosie.

“Ssh!” she said, holding up her hand. “Somebody’s comin’…”

Everyone held their breath and listened. They heard feet on the steps outside, and then the door opened.

“What’s up with you lot?” demanded Gertie as she entered. “You look like you seen a ghost or somethin’.”

“We thought you might be the coppers,” said Rosie, relieved. “Lookin’ for Polly.”

“No chance,” Gertie laughed. “They’re miles away. I led ’em all over town ’fore I left ’em the other side of the park.”

“Well done, Gertie,” congratulated Wiggins. “You done a great job.”

“Yes,” Polly said gratefully. “Thank you. Thank you both. They’d have caught me, sure as eggs is eggs, if you hadn’t come to my rescue. They’d have locked me up in prison for years and years.”

“Nobody’s gonna lock you up in prison,” Beaver told her. “Not now you got the Baker Street Boys on your side. Right, everybody?”

The others nodded their agreement.

“You’re very lucky,” Wiggins said. “We don’t happen to have a case on just now. So we can start right away.”

“Can we have somethin’ to eat, first?” Gertie asked. “That stew smells good and I’m starvin’ after all that runnin’ about.”

“Good idea,” said Shiner, who was always hungry, even when he hadn’t been running about. “Polly can tell us all about it while we’re eatin’.”

Queenie served up the stew and everyone tucked in apart from Polly, who was too upset and worried to eat. She told them how she had been in service at Mountjoy House for about six months as a skivvy, the lowest of all the servants. She had been taken on as a ’tweeny – a between-floors maid – but soon found that she had to do the work of a scullery maid and general dogsbody as well, as Lady Mountjoy couldn’t afford to keep a full staff.

“So how many servants they got in that house?” Wiggins asked.

“Just the four of us since Lord Mountjoy died,” Polly said. “The butler, Mr Harper; the cook, Mrs Ford; Violet, her ladyship’s maid; and me.”

“Sounds like a lot of people to look after one lady,” said Rosie.

“There’s her brother as well. Mr Gerald. And her stepson, Maurice, but he’s away at boardin’ school most of the time.”

“Still sounds a lot to me,” said Sparrow.

“It’s not enough for a house that size. I have to work all the time, from the crack of dawn till last thing at night.”

“Was everybody in the house when the jewels went missing?” Wiggins asked.

“Yes. ’Cept Master Maurice, of course.”

“And nobody else?”

“No.”

Wiggins looked serious as he considered this.

“So if you didn’t take the jewels, it must have been one of them.”

“I s’pose so, yes.”

“Ain’t no suppose about it. It had to be.”

The Boys all stared at Wiggins, deeply impressed. Shiner even stopped eating, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

“Cor,” Beaver said. “That’s dead clever, Wiggins. You solved the case already! Mr Holmes couldn’t have done no better.”

Wiggins looked at him and sighed. “I only said
one
of ’em, Beav. I didn’t say which one.”

“Oh. Right. So which one was it?”

Wiggins closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head gently.

“I dunno,” he replied. “That’s what we gotta find out.”

Then he had a sudden thought and turned to Polly. “If there was all them other people in the house, why did the police think
you
done it?”

“They said it had to be an inside job – somebody what was inside the house, like you said. And they said because none of us had been out since the jewels went missin’, they must still be somewhere in the house.”

“That sounds right,” said Wiggins. “So what did they do then?”

“They said they needed to search the house. They started at the top – that’s where I sleep, in the attic, with Violet. And they looked in my box by my bed, and … and…”

Polly broke off, sobbing so hard she couldn’t speak. Queenie squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “What did they find?” she asked gently.

“I didn’t put it there. I don’t know how it got there, honest…’

“What did they find?” Queenie repeated.

“They found … they found one of her ladyship’s pearl earrings. In my box, where I keep all my things.”

There was a gasp from all the Boys.

“What was it doin’ there?” Rosie asked.

“I dunno,” Polly sobbed. “Really I don’t.”

Wiggins nodded solemnly. “Somebody’s trying to frame you,” he said.

“What, like make a picture of her?” asked Sparrow.