The Case of the Threatened King Read online

  “How?”

  “Well, it would have to be something pretty important to get him to leave London at a time like that—his king’s first visit to England—but he’d do it to save his daughter. And so, after kidnapping Maria, they sent the count a note saying that in order to protect themselves, they wanted the ransom paid in Edinburgh.”

  “Right. Which brings us to the question you asked before. Ultimately I’m sure we’ll discover that General Petroff, the former regent, is behind the plot. But who else has to be involved in it besides Addie Barnett and Sam?”

  “Gradowsky, the second secretary. He was in charge when Count Milanovitch was away—that’s why they got Milanovitch away—so that Gradowsky would be in on the plans and pass on the details. And besides … That’s why you said something about his riding in the carriage with the king, isn’t it? Because you wanted to see how he’d react. And he was terrified. Which means that he must know about the bomb!”

  “How readily you see through my little strategems, my dear Andrew.”

  “Not always right away. But … all right. I’m clear on everything except for two important things. What are you going to do now? And how are you going to get Sara and Maria back safely? Do you think, for instance, that they’re being kept prisoner at one sixty-nine Claverton Street?”

  “It’s possible, but I doubt it. That’s where the wire leads, so there’ll be someone there watching to see the king go by and then, when he’s some distance up the street and over the dynamite, will expect to set it off. In the confusion that he expects will follow, he—and I think it would probably be Smiling Sam—probably plans to slip out the back way and scarper. But no matter how much damage the explosion did—and it makes my blood run cold to think of what it would have done—we would have been able to trace what was left of the wire to one sixty-nine. And I don’t think they want Sara and Maria to be found for a while yet. So, to answer your question about my plans, Tucker and I and—yes, I think it might be interesting to include Milanovitch in the party—will pay a little visit to number one sixty-nine about the time the king leaves for his visit to Buckingham Palace. We’ll see what we shall see, and one way or another, I’m quite sure that what we find there will lead us to Sara and Maria.”

  Turning the mirror slightly and tipping it forward on its pivot, Sara looked at herself. Her face was pale, which was not surprising when you considered how many days it had been since she had been out of doors, and she also looked a bit thin. On the whole, however, she didn’t think she looked too bad except for her hair. She had always been proud of her hair, which was long and thick and beginning to darken to a becoming chestnut. During the last few months she had been varying the way she wore it, sometimes in a single plait, sometimes in two plaits and sometimes letting it hang loose. But, however she wore it, she had always brushed it at least a hundred times morning and evening. Since her confinement in the attic, however, she had not been able to brush it at all, because she had no brush. In fact, it had taken several days of pleading and of shouting rages to get Zerko to bring her a comb, and her hair was beginning to show it, for it was starting to look limp and lifeless. Shaking it loose, she began combing it for the second time that day, wincing at the tangles.

  Maria, stretched out on her cot and reading Raphael’s Alamanac, glanced up at her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Combing your hair.”

  “You got it in one.”

  “It won’t do any good. You need a brush to make it look like anything. A hundred strokes, morning and evening.”

  “I know. That’s what I used to do.”

  “Well, I never exactly did it myself. Or only very rarely. Rose, mother’s maid, used to brush it for me in the morning. And, when she was home, mother used to brush it for me in the evening before I went to bed. She said her mother had always brushed her hair at night when she was a girl, and …”

  She broke off as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. They were too light to be Zerko’s, and as they drew nearer and Sara also heard the tap of a cane, she knew who it was. The footsteps stopped, the door was unlocked and opened, and the heavily powdered woman with the red wig, the woman Sara had heard called Addie, came stumping in with her silver-headed cane, followed by the ratlike Sam.

  “Well, well,” said Addie with a toothy smile. “And how are our two little ducks today?”

  “How do you think we are?” asked Sara.

  “You should be fine. No lessons, no school, no housework, nothing to do all day but loll around. When I was your age, I would have thought it was pure heaven.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Sara. “Because most of the time you were probably out in the streets doing lucifer drops or mumping or buzzing gents’ back pockets.”

  “You’re right, my dearie doll, that’s just what I used to do,” said Addie, her eyes gleaming. “That and worse, much worse. But how do you know so much about it?”

  “I told you how.”

  “So you did. You were born in Dingell’s Court, off the Edgeware Road. But what’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy?”

  “Don’t try and come it over us like that! You blinking well know why! Locked up here day after day with nothing to do, knowing our folks is worried sick about us—”

  “Not true. Not at all true. We’ve been in touch with them, both your folks, and told them there was no need to worry, that you’d be back with them any day now. As for not having anything to do, maybe you should go over to Mudie’s Library, Sam, and get some books for the young ladies. Books about young girls who are locked up in dark towers and rescued by handsome young princes—”

  “Oh, would you?” asked Maria eagerly. “Would you get us some books?”

  “I might have if you’d behaved different. But if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s ungratitude.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Maria.

  “I mean this,” said Addie, taking a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and holding it up. “Did you ever see it before?”

  Sara and Maria looked at it and then at one another. It was the note Sara had thrown out of the window about an hour before.

  “Where’d you get it?” she asked.

  “It fell in the street right in front of Zerko when he was out on an errand for me. He had a good idea where it’d come from, so he brought it to me.” She took a slim black cigar out of her pocket, put it in her mouth and began rolling up the note. Sam struck a match and held it out to her. She set fire to the note, used it as a spill to light her cigar. Puffing on the cigar, she let the note burn almost to her fingers, then dropped what was left and stepped on it.

  “No,” she said, smoke jetting from her nostrils, “like I said, if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s ungratitude. So if you try that, try anything like that again, you’ll be sorry—very, very sorry. Do you understand?” she said, thrusting the glowing end of the cigar at Maria’s face.

  “Yes,” said Maria, throwing herself backward, away from it. “Oh, yes. Yes!”

  “You leave her alone!” said Sara, advancing on Addie with her fists clenched.

  “What?”

  “I said, leave her alone! You burn her, and I’ll kick you right in the brisket!”

  “You know,” said Addie, “I think you would. I really think you would. Though what would happen to you if you did,” she said, raising her cane and placing the tip against Sara’s chest, “is something else again.” Shoving hard, she sent Sara staggering backward to thud against the wall, then slide down to the floor. “Remember that!”

  She looked balefully at Sara, at Maria, then, puffing on her cigar, she stumped toward the door. Sam opened it for her, then followed her out, slammed and locked it.

  Both girls were silent as the footsteps going down the stairs grew fainter, Maria on the cot, Sara still on the floor, rubbing the place where the tip of the cane had jabbed her.

  “Well,” said Maria, “I
guess you were right. Today must be Wednesday.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you remember? If it’s Thursday then it’s a most auspicious day and we’ll accomplish all we’ve set our hearts on. But if it’s Wednesday, then we should avoid letters and writing and keep quiet.”

  Sara nodded.

  15

  The Flash

  The same two constables were on duty in front of the embassy when Wyatt, Tucker and Andrew got out of the four-wheeler at about twenty to five. Andrew waited until Wyatt had paid the cabby, then said, “How long will you be in there?”

  “Just a few minutes, long enough to collect the count.”

  “And then?”

  “We’re going to pay our little visit.”

  “Why can’t I come with you?”

  “I told you why—not once, but several times! Because we’re dealing with some desperate types, and it could be dangerous.”

  “But …”

  “Now look, we went over the whole thing before we left the Yard, and you gave me your word that if I let you come this far, you wouldn’t keep on pestering me about it. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to keep your word?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, then. Here’s the drill. You can wait here and walk up and down, but you’re not to come any closer to one sixty-nine than, say, that streetlight.” He pointed to a light that was two houses down from number 169. “That’ll give you a chance to see the king leave for the palace. Agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “It might also be better if you didn’t say anything to us, didn’t follow us as we go up the street to number one sixty-nine.”

  “All right.”

  “Good lad.”

  As Wyatt started into the embassy, Tucker hung back and said under his breath, “It may be hard lines, but he’s right. I’ll promise you this, though. Once everything’s taken care of, I’ll come out and get you so you can be with us when we search the place.”

  “Thanks, sergeant.”

  The big sergeant slapped him on the back, then joined the inspector, and they went into the embassy together. Andrew watched the door close behind them, then walked slowly up the street. There was a normal amount of activity going on for that time of day. A nursemaid, accompanied by a girl of about five, came up the street pushing an infant in a pram. An underfootman came out of a house across the way and walked toward the corner pillar box with some letters to mail. A victoria came briskly down the street, and a coal dealer’s dray lumbered slowly up it, stopping just a few doors past 169. Crossing sweepers were busy at both ends of the street, and Andrew tried to guess which of all the people he could see were what they seemed to be and which, in addition to the uniformed police around the corners, were plainclothes men stationed there by Wyatt and Tucker.

  Reaching the streetlight Wyatt had indicated, Andrew paused and looked up the street. Wyatt had said that Sara and Mlaria were probably not at number 169. But if they weren’t, where were they? They could be anywhere in London, and London was very, very big—the biggest city in the world. With a sigh, he turned around and started back toward the embassy.

  “What time is that?” asked Maria as the sound of the distant church bell died away.

  “Three-thirty,” said Sara glibly.

  “But that’s what you said some time ago.”

  “Well, I was wrong.”

  “No, you weren’t. But something’s wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think it’s four-thirty, not three-thirty, but even if it is three-thirty why haven’t they brought us any lunch?”

  “They forgot. Or else everything’s been taken care of with our folks and they’ve been so busy arranging to let us go they haven’t had a chance to bring us lunch.”

  Maria, still lying on her cot, looked thoughtfully at Sara, and Sara looked away. She had been uneasy ever since the visit of the red-wigged Addie that morning, and as the day wore on, she had become not merely uneasy but convinced that something bad was going to happen. Continuing in her role of protector, she had lied to Maria, trying to make it seem earlier than she knew it was. But she suddenly sensed that Maria not only knew that she was lying, but had become even more worried than she had been because of it. She was on the point of saying something about this when she heard the outside door open and close and footsteps coming up the stairs.

  “There you are,” she said. “Zerko’s coming.”

  The slow, ponderous footsteps were certainly Zerko’s, but there seemed to be another pair accompanying them. They reached the attic, the door was unlocked and opened, and Zerko came in, accompanied by Sam.

  “A little late today, aren’t you, mates?” said Sara. Then, seeing their empty hands, “Where’s our lunch?”

  “Lunch?” Sam looked at Zerko, who shrugged. “Well, what do you know? Looks like we forgot it.”

  “Well, now that you remembered, how about shaking a leg and getting it? And quick! We’re fair starved.”

  “We’ll do that, ducky, sure as eggs is eggs, but first we’ve got to do something else.”

  “Like what?” Then as he took a rag and a length of light rope out of his pocket, “What’s that for?”

  “What we really came here for was to tell you that everything was fine and dandy and your troubles are just about over.”

  “You mean you’re going to let us go?” said Maria.

  “That’s it. But we have to make sure you’ll behave and keep quiet till we get you where we’re supposed to. So”—he advanced toward Sara as Zerko approached Maria—“if you’ll hold out your hands so we can tie you up for a while …”

  Even before Sara saw the look in his eyes, sensed the malevolence that lay behind his smile, she knew he was lying. As he reached for her, she ducked under his hands and ran for the door, but Zerko was in front of it and he lunged for her. Again she ducked, twisted away, but now she was in a corner of the attic and they were both closing in on her. In her extremity she did something she had not done in a long time; she screamed.

  When she was younger she had been called Screamer for the best possible reason. Because, not so much if she were frightened or offended as if she was crossed or denied, she would scream in a manner that would make strong men blench. She was older now, her lungs were bigger, and her fear was greater than it had ever been. As a result, her scream was even louder and shriller, so loud and so piercing that Sam and Zerko not only stopped in their tracks, but actually drew back.

  “They’re lying, Maria!” she shrieked. “Run! Hurry up and get out of here!” And she screamed again, as loudly and devastatingly as before.

  Cursing, Sam reached for her and she bit his hand. With a howl, he drew back, and as she opened her mouth to scream again, “Quick, Zerko,” he said. “Stop her gob!”

  Turning slightly, Zerko struck her a powerful backhanded blow alongside her jaw. Her eyes closed, her knees gave way, and she fell to the floor like a dropped rag doll.

  “Bleeding abishag!” growled Sam, nursing his bitten hand. “All right. I’ll take care of her. You take care of the other one.”

  Rigid with terror, Maria watched as he picked Sara up, threw her on the cot and began tying her hands behind her back. Then Zerko had taken some rags and rope from his pocket and was tying her up as Sam was tying up the unconscious Sara. When he had finished, Sam came over and waited as Zerko pushed some rags into Maria’s mouth and wrapped a cloth around the lower part of her face so she could not even moan audibly. He tested the lashing on her wrists and, satisfied, led the way to the door. Zerko locked it, and they went down the stairs, past the empty, unfurnished rooms. When they reached the entrance hall, Sam said, “Go on back to the other house. Tell them I’m finishing up here and that I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

  Zerko nodded and left, and Sam lit a lamp and went down into the cellar where he had already assembled the few things he needed for this particular operation: a basin, a p
lumber’s candle, some tow and newspapers, and a large tin of lamp oil. Filling the basin with oil, he floated several handfuls of tow on the surface of the oil, crumpled up the newspapers, spread them around the basin and poured the rest of the oil on them. Then he lit the candle, set it down in the center of the basin and stepped back to admire this simple but effective device he had used before when arson was called for. The candle had been cut so that in fifteen minutes the flame would be close enough to the floating wads of tow to ignite them. (Sam had learned from experience that lamp oil does not ignite as easily as one would think. It requires a wick to burn and that was the function of the tow; to act as a series of wicks.) When the lamp oil itself began burning, it would set fire to the oil-saturated newspapers around the basin, which in turn would set fire to the broken boxes, boards and pieces of wood that he now laid over and around the newspapers. Thus, within a half hour, the cellar would be an inferno, guaranteed to send flames roaring up through the rest of the house, while Sam, who had long since left the premises, was very much in evidence elsewhere.

  Sara groaned—or rather tried to groan—and opened her eyes. She had a headache, her jaw, wrists and ankles hurt, and she couldn’t seem to move—all of which she found puzzling as well as upsetting until she turned her head and saw Maria lying gagged and bound hand and foot on the cot next to her. Then everything that had happened came flooding back, and while she did not know how long she had been unconscious, she had clear proof that she had been right about Sam and she also knew that she and Maria were in a desperate plight.

  Maria’s eyes were wide, rimmed with white. She was so terrified that Sara looked away, afraid that her friend’s fear would prove contagious and completely immobilize her—Sara; make it impossible for her to do anything to save them both. Not that she wasn’t frightened; she was, more frightened than she had ever been in her life. And not that she had the faintest idea of what she could do; but she was determined to do something—first because she was furious at red-wigged Addie and that stinking twister, Sam—and second because she had told Maria not to worry, that she—Sara—would take care of her, and finally because it was her nature to be as feisty as a terrier, fight to the bitter end.