The Hangman's Lair (10 page)

I batted my hands about to shoo away such ridiculous thoughts. ‘Oh, come
on!’
I cried. ‘It’s a stage act! It’s all fake, it’s a trick.’

‘If he’s a fake,’ said Izzy, ‘he’s the best bloomin’ fake I’ve ever seen.’

‘Good grief,’ I cried, ‘you’re the most sensible, intelligent person I know. How can you let yourself be fooled by such nonsense?’

‘Normally, I
would
say it was nonsense. You know me.

You know I don’t believe in astrology and superstitions, and all that mystical rubbish. But you weren’t there last night. I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve been right or not.
How
could he know about me? And you?
How?’

‘Weeeeeeell,’ I said. I pondered for a moment or two. ‘OK, I don’t know, but one thing’s for certain: he is
not
getting messages from beyond the grave!’

Izzy sighed. She slumped, chin in hand, looking thoroughly miserable. ‘You’re right,’ she said, after another couple of sighs. ‘I’m being really silly. But I’m telling you, Godfrey Frye would give a block of concrete the jitters. He’s frightening. Never mind the audiences, he’s got half the
staff
at The Pig and Fiddle convinced he’s for real. The waiters in the restaurant talk about him in hushed whispers. And my uncle is the worst one of the lot!’

‘How so?’

Izzy let out a long, slow breath through her teeth. She sounded like a paddling pool deflating. ‘Uncle Raphael is the reason I’m here. He’s always been gullible. He’ll believe whatever people tell him. He once got suckered by a crook who was pretending to be from the gas company. The man got away with the entire contents of the pub’s till.’

‘And he believes that Godfrey Frye really can talk to the dead and see into the future?’

‘Incredible as it sounds, yes,’ said Izzy. ‘And from what I hear, Godfrey Frye does nothing to contradict that impression. He claims he’s totally genuine. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? I’m getting worried. You see, normally, Aunt Mina’s around to give my uncle a kick up the backside and point out when he’s being a complete idiot. But she’s away at the moment. Her sister’s been ill and she’s looking after her.’

‘When’s she coming back?’

‘Nobody’s sure. She’s in New Zealand.’

‘Oh, I see. Can’t she give your Uncle Raphael a kick up the backside over the phone?’

‘My cousins haven’t told her. They don’t want her to worry, what with her sister’s illness and everything.’

‘Cousins?’ I said.

‘Yes, there are six of them,’ said Izzy. ‘They and Aunt Mina and Uncle Raphael all live on the top floor, above the hotel. The eldest two work in the restaurant.’

‘What do they think about Godfrey Frye?’

‘Half of them agree with me,’ said Izzy, ‘but he won’t listen to them.’

‘What about the other half?’ I said.

‘Hah! The other half are equally convinced Frye is a genuine psychic!’

‘Couldn’t you get someone else to deliver this kick up the backside? Your parents; someone like that?’

‘You don’t know Uncle Raphael,’ said Izzy. ‘The only person he’ll
ever
take advice from is my Aunt Mina. He’s almost as stubborn as he is gullible.’

‘But what exactly do you think Godfrey Frye will do?’ I said. ‘Steal from the till too?’

‘It’s not a question of what
he
will do,’ said Izzy sadly ‘It’s Uncle Raphael. Any other time, I might leave the whole situation well alone and let Raphael believe whatever he likes. But just recently, he’s been talking about the Big Holiday Fund. Apparently, it’s almost complete.’

‘What’s the Big Holiday Fund?’ I asked.

‘The family have been planning a trip to Florida, for all eight of them. Three weeks, all the theme parks, the lot. They’ve been saving up for years. Literally, years. This holiday is going to cost a small fortune.’

‘And now this small fortune is nearly ready to spend?’

‘Right. Any other time, if Uncle Raphael wanted to believe in some fortune-telling mystic, I’d say let him. If he wants to make himself look a twerp, fine. But right now, with a small fortune in his pocket . . .’

‘Yes,’ I said, chewing at my lip. ‘Looks like a recipe for trouble, doesn’t it?’

‘He’s been dropping hints about some sort of huge payoff, some get-rich-quick scheme he’s thought up, and how they’ll soon be able to afford a holiday in Florida every year. I have no idea what this scheme might be, but I don’t like the sound of it one little bit. And I just
know
my uncle’s going to get Godfrey Frye involved in it.’

I pondered for a moment or two, narrowing my eyes detective-style. ‘What sort of get-rich-quick scheme would somebody think up that needed a clairvoyant? One that involves knowing the outcome of something in advance, right?’

‘Yes, that’s logical,’ said Izzy

‘Does your uncle go in for gambling?’

‘What, you mean horses, cards, that sort of thing? Good grief, no. He thinks gambling is for total losers. He won’t even do the National Lottery. Aunt Mina says it’s the only sensible opinion he’s got!’

‘Perhaps it’s to do with stocks and shares, or changes in different world currencies?’ I said. ‘People chance money on unknown outcomes there, don’t they?’

‘I think it’s highly unlikely,’ said Izzy. ‘Raphael has trouble paying his bills on time, let alone understanding international financial markets.’

‘Predictions of “failure, mistakes and disaster” in my future, eh?’ I muttered. ‘Well, let’s see if this Godfrey Frye is right, shall we? Save me a seat at tonight’s show.’

‘Sure!’

‘And in the meantime, see what other information you can find about all that voices-from-beyond stuff in general. Start with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who wrote the Sherlock Holmes stories. I’m sure I read in my ten-volume
Encyclopedia of British Crime Detection
that he got involved with mystics and mediums.’

‘And while I’m doing that,’ said Izzy, clambering back over my Thinking Chair, ‘you can get this shed sorted. I’ll see you later!’

T
HE
P
IG AND
F
IDDLE IS
a large, impressive building on the corner of the market square. The main road through town runs past it on one side, and on the other is the first in a long line of tall houses.

The whole of the outside is cleanly whitewashed, with a series of curling vines painted as a mural around the main entrance. A rectangular pub sign, showing a balloon-like piggy-wiggy dancing and playing the violin, juts out over the pavement, about four metres off the ground. Below it on the wall is a glass-enclosed board, on which are pinned details of the acts currently appearing in the nightly show, special offers in the restaurant and a couple of pictures of rooms in the hotel.

I met Izzy and her mum under the sign. Izzy’s mum is just like her daughter in the same way that a small piece of cheese is just like the Sydney Opera House. In other words, not one tiny little bit. Isobel is all sparkly T-shirts and jangling bangles. Her mother always looks severe and no fun. That evening, she was wearing a business suit which said, ‘Don’t mess with me, buster’, and said it very loudly.

‘So, you think something dodgy is going on too, do you, Saxby?’ said Izzy’s mum.

‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ I said.

We made our way into the pub. It was a very large room filled to capacity with tables and chairs. There was thick red carpet on the floor and the gleam of brass was all over the place. Over at the far end was a raised area, screened off by a curtain and lit by stage lights suspended from the ceiling.

The place was busy. I estimated around a hundred and fifty people were sitting at the tables, or at the long, shiny bar. Several family groups were scoffing chicken and chips or vegetable lasagne. I even recognised one or two kids from school.

We found a table quite close to the stage. Izzy’s mum went to buy us a round of orange juice and Izzy told me about the research she’d been doing earlier on.

‘You were right about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,’ she said. ‘In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, there was a lot of interest in clairvoyants and messages from beyond the grave. They called it spiritualism and Conan Doyle was a big fan. There was a famous magician and escape artist at the time called Houdini. He was friendly with Conan Doyle at first, but they fell out because Houdini kept on exposing various clairvoyants as tricksters. There’s a very long history of magic tricks being sucessfully passed off as psychic powers.’

‘Did you manage to find anything out about Godfrey Frye?’ I said, above the clanking of knives and forks from a nearby table.

‘Nothing at all,’ said Izzy. ‘There are loads of people doing an act like this and they all seem to advertise on the net, but Godfrey Frye isn’t even mentioned. Anywhere.’

‘Interesting,’ I said. ‘That suggests he doesn’t like attracting attention. I wonder why.’

Someone who certainly
did
like attracting attention was a weirdly dressed man at the bar. He was wearing a pair of drainpipe jeans which looked like they’d been washed in a cement mixer, and a ripped shirt which had
Oi!
in huge green letters on the front and a garish splash of red on the back. He was nattering away to a knot of adults gathered around him, who all seemed to be laughing excessively at his jokes. One of this group was . . . good grief, was that Izzy’s mum?

‘Yes, it is,’ groaned Izzy. ‘He’s why she was happy to come here again tonight.’

‘Who is he?’ I said.

‘You’ll find out,’ said Izzy, with a look on her face identical to the look an adult gives a toddler when it starts screaming in the middle of a supermarket.

A man in a smart dinner jacket came bustling over to us. He was round and bald, with a thin, pointy moustache poised delicately above a beaming smile. He reminded me of something I’d seen recently, but I couldn’t quite think what.

‘Izzy-Wizzy!’ he cried in a deep voice. Izzy flinched and the embarrassed expression on her face intensified for a moment. ‘Back again tonight? Did our maestro of the mystical arts impress you, then?’

‘Something like that,’ said Izzy. ‘This is my friend Saxby. Saxby, this is my Uncle Raphael.’

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘The famous detective!’ cried Uncle Raphael. ‘Delighted to meet you, young sir, delighted!’ He grasped my hand and shook it until I thought it might come loose. ‘No doubt you’re also here to witness the many marvels of Mr Frye?’

‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘I’ve heard so much about him. And you, in fact.’

(Ah, that was it! Uncle Raphael reminded me of that sign outside the pub.)

‘Excellent! All good, I hope!’ declared Uncle Raphael. ‘Is your mother here, Izzy? Oh yes, there she is! Good grief, old Jimmy certainly draws a crowd, doesn’t he!’

‘Uncle Raphael,’ said Izzy, ‘we need to talk to you about Godfrey Frye. And about this payoff you’ve mentioned to my cousins.’

Uncle Raphael’s eyes darted around the room, then he swung himself into a chair beside us. ‘Shhh! It’s still all hush-hush. I haven’t mentioned a word to our Mr Frye about it yet. I tell you, it’s the most fabulous idea I’ve ever had. Can’t wait to put it into action.’

‘Yes, but what
is
it?’ asked Izzy.

Uncle Raphael, grinning broadly, tapped his nose and winked. ‘It’s brilliant, that’s what it is. I thought I’d have a word with Mr Frye after he’s played his set tonight. You know, show him the basics of the idea. I think he’s more amenable at that hour, more open to suggestions. He says after a session with the spirits his mind is a misty tangle of weariness.’

‘OK,’ said Izzy. ‘But. What. Is. It?’

If Uncle Raphael had grinned any more broadly, his lower jaw would have been in danger of falling off. He wiggled his eyebrows in delight. ‘Let’s just say, chaps, that someone is arriving at this hotel in a couple of days’ time who presents me with a once in a lifetime opportunity. Everything is suddenly coming together.’

He stood up to leave. ‘Must press on! Duty calls!’

‘Could I meet Godfrey Frye?’ I said. ‘Is he around at the moment?’

‘Yes, he’ll be in the artistes’ green room,’ said Uncle Raphael. ‘I’m not sure he likes being disturbed before he contacts the spirits, you know, says it interferes with his perceptive aura. Still, we can ask. I’m sure he’d make an exception for a fan.’

‘Remind me,’ I said to Izzy. ‘What did he say about me? Can you remember his exact words?’

‘I think so,’ said Izzy. ‘He said, “You have a friend called Saxby. A friend who fights crime. I see him. The spirits show his face to me. They show me his future and it is filled with failure and mistakes. He is heading for disaster.” Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what he said.’

‘Should you really be out tonight, Saxby?’ asked Uncle Raphael fearfully. ‘What if this disaster happens to you sooner rather than later?’