The Deadly Fire (15 page)

‘Stop, thief!' The cry went up; sooner or later it would happen, he had known that. Now it was impossible to run. Quickly he pulled Sammy into a small deserted alleyway, his eyes searching frantically
for some doorway in which to hide until the hue and cry died down.

There didn't seem to be any doorways, though, in this narrow place, so Alfie went on down the alley, keeping in the shadow of the building, holding Sammy by the arm, and feeling thankful that the usual London fog was getting thicker by the minute. He could still hear the shouts of ‘Stop, thief' from Ludgate Hill.

And then as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he saw something ahead of him: a wall. His heart sank. Now they would have to turn around and go back. He looked desperately to the left and to the right, but there were no other passages leading off this small alleyway.

‘What's wrong?' Sammy knew instantly that there was a problem.

‘A wall,' said Alfie. ‘Just a wall – no way out of here.'

Sammy said no more; Alfie clenched his teeth. Sore leg or not, he had to see whether there was another alleyway or small court at the back of that wall. It was their only chance. If they went back to Ludgate Hill now they would be immediately spotted – two ragged boys and one of them blind.

‘Wait a second, Sam,' he said quietly. ‘I'll get up and see if it's possible to get down the other side. If it is, I'll stretch out a hand to you.'

The climb would have been simple for Alfie, had not one leg been sore and stiffly bandaged. Using the muscles in his arms, he eventually managed to lever himself up and reach the top of the wall. Then he got a surprise.

There wasn't another alleyway there, nor a court, nor a small yard heaped with filth: this was a garden with well-cut grass and shrubs dotted around. As he gazed at it, he suddenly remembered the garden outside the windows of the Elmore household; this was it. They must have run in a circle and ended up behind the house.

For a moment he felt panicked, but then he smiled to himself. Everyone had seen the two boys go out of the front door and run down the street beyond. No one would think of looking for them in this garden. And those big round shrubs would make a great hiding place for the next hour.

‘I'm reaching my hand down for you now, Sam,' he said in a whisper. ‘It's an easy climb, plenty of toe-holds. We'll hide in the Elmores' garden.'

‘Can you see into the room?' whispered Sammy when Alfie had settled him behind a sweet-smelling shrub with large white flowers and heavy leathery green leaves.

‘Yes, there's no one there,' Alfie whispered back. ‘They're all too busy looking for us to bother about the poor man.'

Presently, however, another man was ushered in by Daniel Elmore. Alfie breathed a sigh of relief. It must be a doctor – and the search must have been abandoned. After a few minutes, the dead man was carried through the doorway. No one else came into the room and when Alfie judged that about half an hour had passed, he whispered in Sammy's ear. With cautious glances over his shoulder, he took his brother over to where a large holly bush stood in front of the wall. This would provide good, safe cover, he thought as he began to climb.

The fog was thick by the time they reached Bow Street. Alfie had begun to limp heavily and he was starting to shiver again. Perhaps the fever was coming back, he thought, and then remembered that the doctor had told him to take another drink of the medicine after four hours.

‘Gimme a mug, Tom,' he said, sinking down on to the cushion by the fire and taking out the bottle of fever mixture from his pocket and putting an arm around Mutsy. The dog was wild with excitement that the two people he loved the most had come home again.

‘Where d'ya get that?' Tom's eyes were on the bottle of medicine.

‘St Bart's hospital.' Alfie was too exhausted to explain and Sammy was wrapped in his own thoughts.

Tom wasn't too interested, anyway. ‘Look at how many we've made, me and Charlie,' he said, showing a cardboard box heaped up with green and dark red marbles. ‘And another lot's baking in the fire.'

‘Jack's been getting coal all day,' said Charlie. ‘He was half-froze the last time that he came in, but he said he'd do another load. I wanted to help, but he said he was fine.'

Alfie nodded sleepily. Charlie was a nice lad, he thought. It would never occur to Tom to worry about his brother being wet and cold, up to his knees in water in this freezing fog.

‘Better have supper ready for him when he comes back,' he said drowsily. He hesitated for a moment and then held out Inspector Denham's shilling to
Tom. ‘Get some hot puddings and some ale,' he said, conscious that his voice was weak and strange. He put a hand out and felt Mutsy's warm fur and then blinked. He had to stop his head going muzzy like that. He was the gang leader; he had to organise the selling of the marbles, he had to plan for the winter days.

And he had to solve the mystery of that fatal fire and make sure that the murderer was put behind bars.

By the time Sarah came around after her day's work, the medicine was beginning to work and Alfie was feeling more like himself.

‘The Missus had a tea party today and these were left over. The cook told me that I could have them,' said Sarah, putting a brown paper bag on the table and taking out some small chunks of cake.

‘Alfie took Sammy to sing for the teacher's father and old Mr Elmore dropped dead when he had a sight of Alfie's ugly face,' said Tom, nudging Charlie to make sure that he got the joke.

‘Shut up, Tom,' said Alfie fiercely.

Sarah opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again as Alfie frowned at her. He gave a quick look at Sammy. His brother had been very quiet and pale since they came home. Alfie didn't know what to
say to him, but he could guess what Sammy was thinking. For a few minutes there in that room, singing his heart out while the old man had played the piano so beautifully, Sammy had seemed lost in a pleasant dream.

But now the dream had turned to a nightmare. Old Mr Elmore was dead and he and Alfie were being hunted as murderers.

For most of the next day, Alfie shivered and slept, and shivered and slept. From time to time, Jack brought him something to eat, but he refused it, had some of his fever drink and then slept again. When he woke the following morning, he was conscious of feeling almost too warm. He lay on his cushions for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling. The shivering and the weakness seemed to have gone completely. His leg ached, but that was to be expected. He raised it slightly and inspected it, peeling down the stout, woollen, footless sock. The bandages were still reasonably clean and so firmly put on that Alfie decided that it would be better
to leave them alone. There was a slight yellow stain on the outside, but he hoped that was normal.

‘Wake up, everyone,' he said cheerfully. ‘Work to be done! Let's have a look at them marbles.'

The latest marbles were very good. The rust-coloured ones were particularly hard from the long, hot baking. Alfie described them to Sammy as he put a piece of bread and a mug of small ale into his hands.

‘I could make a song about them,' said Sammy thoughtfully. He chewed for a moment, swallowed and then lifted his voice.

‘
Come, buy our marbles, come buy,

Come, watch them fly, watch them fly,

Green as grass, red as the dawn sky

Come, buy; come, buy; come, buy.'

Sammy's voice soared up in the song, the words that he had just invented blending exquisitely with the tune from a church hymn.

Alfie stared at him thoughtfully and then at Mutsy. His fertile brain was beginning to work on a new act for his gang, something which would draw the attentions of the passers-by at the market. Perhaps they could make up some more words for Sammy's song. Perhaps he could teach Mutsy a new trick, using the marbles.

‘Jack,' he said, passing his cousin the jug of ale, ‘do
you know of anywhere that you could get a board? About a couple of feet square – something like that.'

‘Would it matter if it was a bit rotten?' asked Jack cautiously.

‘Not a bit,' said Alfie.

Jack swallowed his bread, washing it down with the ale and got to his feet, closing the door of the cellar behind him.

He was back within a few minutes with a large square piece of board. Alfie gazed at it with satisfaction. ‘Got some clay left, Charlie?' he asked casually.

Charlie, looking puzzled, brought the rest of the clay in a bucket.

‘Now what you two need to do is to make a sort of track there. Use the clay for walls, make bridges that the marbles can go underneath – something to make a competition.'

Tom looked puzzled, but Charlie got the idea straight away and after a few minutes some miniature roadways and bridges were built.

Alfie turned his attention to Mutsy as Charlie and Tom started practising with shooting the marbles under the bridges. The big dog got up at the click of his master's fingers and came to stand beside him.

‘Slowly now,' said Alfie. ‘Tom, miss on purpose.
Go on, hit your forehead. Act mad with yourself! Mutsy, hide your eyes!' Quickly Alfie gave a hand signal to Mutsy as soon as Tom crashed the marble against the bridge and Mutsy sat on his hind legs, hid both his eyes with his large hairy paws and gave a groan.

‘Good boy, Mutsy,' said Alfie enthusiastically. ‘Now, Charlie, you get your marble under a bridge. Cheer when you get it through.'

At the exact second that the marble scooted under the bridge, Charlie's cheer sounded and Alfie said instantly, ‘Clap your hands, Mutsy,' quickly giving a hand signal at the same moment. Mutsy sat up on his hind legs and patted his two paws together.

‘Good boy!' Everyone was shouting and cheering and Mutsy kept on clapping his paws and then hiding his eyes. Again and again they went through the routine and Mutsy did the right thing every time.

And Sammy sang his song with his unearthly voice, adding more and more verses.

‘Should be good,' said Alfie eventually, trying to keep his voice calm. Inside, though, he was quite excited.

‘Let's go out and try it now,' said Tom eagerly.

Alfie shook his head. ‘Wasting your time today,' he said. ‘Keep it until Saturday. That's the day that people
bring their children out shopping. You'll make twice as much on Saturday than on any other day of the week. Just keep practising and make some more marbles. Shame to waste a good trick like this through rushing things.'

Alfie waited until Tom and Charlie had settled down to work and then invited Jack to go up to St Giles with him. He felt well this morning and who knows, he thought, they might discover another clue in the ruins of the Ragged School.

The two cousins had expected Streatham Street to be deserted and were surprised, when they rounded the corner, to hear noises of hammering and crashing. The air was full of dust. The old, boarded-up houses opposite the burned-out school were being knocked down. Tall platforms of scaffolding had been built and on top of them men swung sledge hammers, cracking the ancient timbers and sending clouds of dusty plaster sliding to the ground.

‘Soon they'll have the whole street cleared,' said Jack, looking around him.

‘Might get a job there,' said Alfie, ‘but let's just have a quick poke around in the ruins of the school, first. I'd like to see if there was anything that might connect Daniel Elmore to the place, or Thomas
Orrack – or any of them.'

Quickly and unobtrusively, the two boys slipped into the masses of timber and rubble where the Ragged School once stood.

‘Wonder if the police took away the oil tin,' said Alfie, looking around. ‘No, here it is, still standing there.'

‘Can't tell much from an empty oil can,' said Jack, always practical. ‘A man is not going to sign his name to it or something. I'll have a bit of root around over here. Good piece of timber there – surprised that no one has took it for firewood.'

Alfie stayed gazing at the tin can; he knew that Jack was right, but still he expected that some clue could be discovered from it. Then he realised that Jack was calling him softly.

‘This is why nobody took the chunk of timber!' said Jack when Alfie joined him. ‘Look, the letterbox is attached to the other side – be no good to put that on the fire.'

Alfie took the piece of wood and turned it over. The letterbox was there and, what was more, it was almost undamaged. The top had melted a little, but Jack quickly found a narrow, sharp stone and levered it open.

Inside the letter box, singed but still readable, was a piece of paper. Alfie pulled it out. It was one of the printed leaflets. On the one side were the words about Mary Robinson, but on the other side was a drawing – a drawing that was quite like the one that had been handed to Alfie just after Mary Robinson had nearly throttled him.