The Firebird Mystery (10 page)

‘The metrotower is built to withstand tremendous forces,' the man explained, oblivious to Scarlet's anger. ‘The structure sways to cater for the velocity of the wind. If it were rigidly built, it would shatter and collapse.'

‘The Chinese have a saying for that,' Scarlet said. ‘The strongest branch is the one that bends in the wind.'

‘Here we are.' The elevator came to a halt and the operator announced, ‘The Harker residence.'

Mr Doyle gave him a tip and they exited to a reception area. Two uniformed security men stood at either side of a door, while a woman sat at a desk with a typewriter before her. A model of one of the space steamers filled the centre of the room.

Jack could not stop himself. He raced over to the side of the enormous replica.

‘It's the
Victory
!' he cried.

Jack had read a lot about the
Victory
. The largest space steamer ever constructed, it was the pride of the British space fleet. It measured half a mile in length and was coloured bronze above what would have traditionally been the water line, and green below. The
Victory
resembled any other battleship, except the main deck was free of protuberances barring its long, flat bridge. It was here that the ship's only windows were visible; these were like a pair of eyes peering out from under a cap.

The base of the
Victory
was flat and its bow was sharp. One hundred and fifty guns ran down each side of the ship in rows of three. These were exposed in the model, but Jack knew that square hatches closed them off in normal flight. Mighty engines fired steam from underneath and behind to propel it through space. Its boilers alone were larger than the dome of St Paul's Cathedral. The prime minister had nicknamed it ‘Death Afloat'. It was easy to see why.

The secretary looked up from her desk. ‘Can I help you?'

‘We need to see Mr Harker,' Mr Doyle said.

The girl wrinkled her brow. ‘Do you have an appointment?'

‘There was no time to make an appointment. It's an issue of grave concern.'

‘Mr Harker is very busy at the moment,' the girl said. She leafed through an appointment book. ‘He might be able to fit you in some time in July.'

‘That's five months away,' Scarlet snapped. ‘We have already told you this is a matter of life and death.'

The two guards approached the desk from their position at the door.

‘What's this all about?' one of them said. ‘We can't have any threats made here.'

‘I'm not making a threat,' Scarlet said, glaring at them. ‘But we have reason to believe Mr Harker's life may be at risk.'

‘Have you been to the police?'

‘We have not,' Mr Doyle said. He reached into his coat and took out a card. ‘Please give my card to Mr Harker. It's very important.'

The door opened behind the guards. An attractive woman in her mid-thirties stepped through. Her face wore a perpetual frown. She had short black hair and piercing grey eyes, and was dressed in an ebony bustle skirt and white blouse. She rounded the desk and took the card from Mr Doyle's hand.

‘Ignatius Doyle,' she read in a voice as clear as a flute. ‘Consulting detective. I appreciate your efforts, but any information you have must be forwarded to the police.'

Jack had listened to enough twaddle. ‘Mr Doyle is better than the police. You should listen to him.'

‘Better than the police?' An amused smile danced across her lips. ‘I find that hard to believe.'

‘My dear,' Mr Doyle said. ‘You should keep an open mind. You are, after all, well travelled, having been to Europe in the last few months.'

The woman's jaw dropped. ‘But how…how did you…?'

‘You were born into a poor household, but its wealth increased as you grew older. You were raised by your father. He tried to teach you the finer details of being a lady, but you rebelled. You sewed for a number of years, but you did poorly and hated it. You also danced as a child. You did better as a dancer, but you enjoyed the sciences, specifically chemistry. You are in good shape; you enjoy the new fad of running. I imagine you picked it up while you were overseas.'

By now the woman was speechless.

‘Having said all that, your real love is music—the violin, to be precise. You are a lady of leisure—your father having done very well later in life—but you have high aspirations.' Mr Doyle stroked his chin. ‘And one last thing. You were in love, but it ended badly. I'm sorry, my dear.'

An expression of fury flashed across the woman's face. She swallowed hard as she struggled to suppress her emotion.

Mr Doyle took a step closer to the woman. ‘My dear, will you let us speak to Mr Harker? I promise you it is extremely important—his life may depend on it.'

The woman looked down at the card and sighed. ‘Follow me.'

She crossed to the door and opened it. They strode along a passage that led to the outer edge of the tower. Jack looked out the window and felt dizzy. He had lived on the trapeze for most of his life yet he had never seen anything like this. Neither had the others. Even Scarlet seemed transfixed by the sight of miles and miles of countryside receding into the distance. Jack could see the coastline where it met the channel. He could even see France!

‘You can see the entire continent from the top,' the woman said.

They entered a large living area with books lining the walls, while more shelves of books were found in the middle of the floor. A curving staircase led up to a mezzanine. A slim man in a black suit and tie appeared at the top of the stairs and scowled at them.

‘Explain yourself, sir,' he said as he started down the stairs.

Jack realised the man must be Paul Harker. He reminded Jack of a lion—moving, even, as if he were king of the jungle. Aged about sixty, Paul Harker had receding white hair, parted on one side, and wore a neat moustache and a beard that came to a point. Jack had seen a few sepia pictures of the famous astronaut, but Harker had clearly aged since the photos were taken.

‘I am Ignatius Doyle,' Mr Doyle said. ‘A consulting detective.'

‘I am well aware of your identity,' Paul Harker said. ‘The moment you announced yourself at the front desk a team of researchers was notified and started combing our files for information. I know Scotland Yard thinks most highly of you.'

‘I have assisted them on one or two occasions,' Mr Doyle admitted.

Mr Harker reached the bottom of the stairs and shook Ignatius Doyle's hand. ‘You must explain to me how you knew so much about my daughter Lucy.'

‘Your daughter?' Mr Doyle said. ‘It was elementary. This young lady has not long returned from Europe. Her dress was not made in Britain. Her skin carries a healthy glow. We are just completing winter, so the chances are she has travelled to Europe. The dress is quite new, so I deduce she acquired it during her time abroad.'

‘And the other details?' Lucy asked. ‘The sewing… the music…'

‘Simplicity itself,' he said. ‘You have scars on your fingers, specifically the forefinger of your left hand where you injured yourself with a needle. There must not have been a woman around, so you learnt to sew with only the advice of your father. The fact that there are so many scars means you worked for some time at it—without much success.

‘When you came around the desk to take my card, you placed your left foot against the inside ankle of your right—third position in ballet. You still do it naturally, so I assume you enjoyed it more than sewing.

‘Your love of the violin is obvious. The red mark under your chin betrays your many hours of practice.'

‘But the science?' the woman asked. ‘How could you possibly know about that?'

‘Simply a matter of deduction, my dear. On the inside edge of both your left and right fingers is a callous, brought about by the use of a microscope. You also have tiny white burn marks on the palms of your hands from, I assume, the misuse of chemicals.

‘And as to the running, that is simple. You move like a runner. Someone who enjoys competition.'

‘There are all too few opportunities for women to compete,' she muttered.

‘Then you are in a race against yourself.'

‘And finally...' Lucy's voice became as hard as stone.

‘It is not important,' Mr Doyle said.

Jack knew Mr Doyle did not wish to intrude on the woman's personal life. The details of her unhappy relationship were better left unsaid.

‘It seems you know a great deal about my daughter,' Mr Harker said.

Lucy Harker inclined her head. ‘I'm pleased to meet you. At least, I think I am.'

‘But I understand you also know something about me,' Paul Harker said.

‘Mr Harker,' Mr Doyle began. ‘We have been investigating a case in relation to the disappearance of Miss Bell's father—Joseph Bell. Have you ever heard the name?'

‘Lucy.' Mr Harker turned to his daughter. ‘Will you please make tea? We'll be in the sitting room.'

‘Of course, Father,' Lucy replied, leaving the room.

Paul Harker led them to a sitting area decorated in red-and-green herringbone wallpaper. A huge display cabinet covered one wall. A massive window, looking out across the landscape, filled another. Mr Harker invited them to sit in comfortable chairs around an oak coffee table. ‘No,' he finally said. ‘I am unfamiliar with that name.'

‘You have of course heard of Douglas Milverton and James Partington?'

‘Of course. They are two of the greatest inventors of our generation.'

‘As you are no doubt aware, both these men have gone missing during the course of the last year,' Mr Doyle said. ‘We discovered their bodies last night.'

‘They were frozen in ice,' Jack broke in. ‘Like fish.'

‘Frozen?' Mr Harker was astounded.

‘The men in possession of their bodies spoke German,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Are you or your daughter familiar with the language?'

‘Only a few words.'

‘The men mentioned your name. They said they were on their way to get you.'

‘This is all very strange. Mind you, the disappearance of Milverton and Partington was unusual, too. What do you suggest?'

‘Until this mystery is solved, I believe you need to increase your level of security. You must not go anywhere without protection, and I would advise the same for your daughter.'

Mr Harker stroked his chin. ‘I did not become wealthy by being foolhardy,' he said. ‘I did also not venture into the reaches of space without taking precautions. I will follow your recommendations, especially if you believe that my daughter may also be at risk.'

Lucy walked in with a tray carrying a teapot and cups. ‘Don't tell me this conspiracy involves me?'

‘Your safety may be compromised,' Mr Doyle said. ‘We need to do everything necessary to safeguard your lives.'

A great shadow passed over the bank of windows. Jack turned to see a bronze shape, the size of a house, coming directly at them. He recognised it as an airship just as the thing slammed into the side of the metrotower, shattering the enormous windows and sending books and furniture flying in all directions.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jack fell to the ground. A freezing, howling wind filled the room. The balloon lay outside the building, but the end of its enormous gondola—a sword-shaped cradle—had pierced the wall. A ramp fell open from the front and men started pouring into the room. The invaders were dressed in brown shirts with matching pants and cap. Their belts were black leather, as were their boots.

‘What the hell is going on?' Paul Harker demanded of the nearest invader. The man clubbed him to the ground.

‘Father!' Lucy cried.

Jack raised his head. His absolute shock had paralysed him. Scarlet produced her gun, but one of the men wrestled it from her grasp and delivered a punch to her jaw. She sagged. Mr Doyle leapt to his feet and tackled the assailant. During the tussle, another man came up behind the detective and hit him across the back of the head. He dragged Mr Doyle away as Scarlet was lifted from the ground.

All this time Lucy had been holding her father in her arms. Now she was thrown out of the way. Jack struggled to stand. It seemed to take him an eternity. His legs were shaking. He felt powerless. These men seemed capable of anything—even murder.

One of the invaders lifted Mr Harker from the ground. In one smooth action he and Scarlet were carried into the airship. Scarlet was barely conscious. A small, black-haired man with a postage-stamp moustache stood in the entrance. He seemed to be monitoring the operation. Mr Doyle struggled to his feet. Lucy Harker lay still on the floor. The man gave a nod of satisfaction before he and his men marched back into the gondola.

Jack felt like he was in a dream. The roar of the wind was terrible. The cold was mind numbing. It was almost impossible to breathe in the exposed air of the room. At the same time he noticed a vase hovering on the edge of the bookcase. It fell, as if in slow motion, to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Jack woke from his stupor.

The ramp slid up into place. The gondola was moving. It was withdrawing from the building—with Scarlet and Paul Harker inside!

No!
Jack thought.
I've got to do something.

He ran. He had to stop the airship. He had to save Scarlet and Mr Harker. Jack may have fallen into some sort of shock at the sudden turn of events, but now he knew what he had to do. The gondola pulled away from the building, its distance increasing with every second. Three feet. Four feet. Five feet.

Jack put all his strength into the run as he leapt across the gap from the building to the gondola.

‘No!' Mr Doyle bellowed.

A chain ran across the bottom of the ramp. Jack grabbed it and pulled it close to him between shaking hands. He was hanging on to the outside of the ship—miles above the earth. Looking back, he saw the shattered metrotower moving away from them—but that was an optical illusion. They were moving away from it. Lucy had her arms outstretched. Jack saw the great detective struggle to his feet, looking around desperately, and then dive into a pile of broken rubble and draw something from it.