The Case of the Threatened King Page 6

  Sara Wiggins

  Though not quite as dark as regular ink, the writing was completely legible, and Sara was quite pleased with it. Taking the cake of soap from the dish on the wash-stand, Sara wrapped the note around it and tied it with a strip torn from the edge of her petticoat.

  She walked to the barred window that faced west and stood there for a moment looking out at the small section of street that she could see there. Ideally, that’s where she would have liked to drop the note—on that fairly wide and busy street—but the intervening roof made that difficult. She would have to throw the soap-weighted note fairly high in order to clear it, and, if she threw it too high and too hard it would land on the roofs on the other side of the street, while if she didn’t throw it hard enough, it would fall short and land on the roof on her side.

  Shrugging, she went to one of the southern dormer windows and looked out. There was no one in sight. Leaning out, she threw the cake of soap and the note that enclosed it as far to the right as she could. It landed very close to where she had hoped it would; about halfway to the corner and close to the center of the cobbled alley, where anyone who came through would be sure to see it.

  She was standing there, wondering how long it would be before someone picked it up, when she heard the outside door open and close. There was a brief exchange—she thought she recognized the colonel’s voice and that of the woman with the red wig—then heavy footsteps started up the stairs. She hurried over to the cot and sat down. The footsteps drew closer and stopped outside the door. A key rattled, the door was unlocked and opened. Colonel Kosta and the woman with the red wig came in, followed by Sergeant Zerko. He was carrying a girl of about Sara’s age whose eyes were closed and who was breathing heavily. Sara stared, watching as he put her down on the cot next to hers. Then, as he stood up and Sara could see the girl’s face, she said, “Maria!”

  The woman with the red wig looked at her sharply.

  “You know this girl?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Maria.”

  “Maria what?”

  “Milanovitch.”

  Smiling a little, the woman with the red wig glanced at the colonel, and he nodded.

  “All right,” he said. “I’m satisfied.” He turned to Sara. “She’s asleep the way you were when we brought you here. Take care of her when she wakes up and tell her that she has nothing to worry about. And neither have you.”

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

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. In a few days.”

  Sara looked hard at him, then at the woman with the red wig. Her face was expressionless, as the colonel’s was, but somehow Sara knew that he was lying. They had no intention of freeing them, but there was no point in letting them know that she knew that.

  “All right,” she said. She went over to the other cot, and as she bent over Maria, she heard her three captors leave. Maria’s eyes were closed and her breath was not only shallow but had the sickeningly sweet odor that Sara had smelled when that wet pad had been clamped to her nose.

  “Maria,” she said. “Wake up!”

  Maria did not move. Going over to the washstand, Sara soaked her towel in the pitcher, wrung it out and wiped Maria’s face with it. Maria moaned faintly, and when Sara placed the damp cloth on her forehead, she opened her eyes slowly, looked at Sara and said, “Sara.”

  “That’s right. How do you feel?”

  “Sick.” She looked around the attic. “What is this place? How did I get here?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  “No. At least … I was going to dancing school. Burke took me in the victoria. A cart and four-wheeler were blocking the street, so I said I’d get out and walk. Burke didn’t want me to, but I was late and I insisted, so he let me out and drove off. As I went past the four-wheeler, the driver called to me. When I went over to see what he wanted, he grabbed me and …” She had been talking more and more slowly as it came back to her. Now her eyes dilated. “I’ve been kidnapped!”

  “Yes.”

  “Merciful heavens, you too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they … are they white slavers?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But they must be! Otherwise why should they have kidnapped both of us? I mean, we’re both young and pretty …”

  “A little too young, don’t you think?”

  “No. They like them that way. Young and untouched—you know what I mean.”

  “Yes. How do you know so much about white slavers?”

  “Our chambermaid had a book about them—about a girl who was kidnapped by them and what happened to her.”

  “I see. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m pretty sure they’re not white slavers, not going to ship us off to China or Arabia.”

  “But then what do they want? Why did they kidnap two of us?”

  “That’s what I’ve been asking myself. When I first came to, a man they call the colonel asked me some questions and then got very angry, and it suddenly dawned on me that I wasn’t the girl he thought I was. That I’d been kidnapped by mistake. I couldn’t understand why or how, but now I do. They kidnapped me because they thought I was you.”

  “Why did they think that?”

  “Do you remember what happened the day before yesterday?”

  “No.”

  “We had finished class, put on our regular shoes and were just leaving when Miss Fizdale called you back and said your mother wanted you to work with her on something special.”

  “A court curtsey, so I’d be able to do one when I was presented to the king.”

  “What king?”

  “King Alexander of Serbia.”

  “Oh. Anyway you said you weren’t sure your coachman knew about it and you asked me to tell him to come back later.”

  “Yes, I remember that.”

  “Well, what I think happened is that Sergeant Zerko, the big, bearded man who kidnapped me, didn’t know me, but he knew your carriage. Don’t you have a coat of arms or something like that on the door?”

  “Yes. The Serbian eagle.”

  “Well, he saw me talk to your coachman and then go off, and he thought I was you, so he followed me and kidnapped me. And when they discovered that they’d made a mistake, they tried again, and this time they did get you.”

  “But why do they want me? If they’re not white slavers, is it for money, ransom?”

  “Maybe. Is your father rich?”

  “Yes. He’s the king’s cousin. And mother’s family is rich too, and they all love me very much and would pay anything to get me back again.”

  “Well, then you’ve got nothing to worry about—I don’t think.”

  It was some time after this that there was a knock on the door of Mrs. Wiggins’s room. She was no longer crying—she had finally gotten hold of herself—but she was still clutching her damp handkerchief, and she touched her eyes with it and put it in her pocket before she said, “Come in.” Then, as the door opened. “Oh, it’s you, ma’am.” She looked at Verna hopefully. “Have you heard anything? Is there any word?”

  “No. I just thought I’d see how you were.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Are you? Then why didn’t you eat any supper? Annie said she brought you a tray, but you didn’t touch anything on it.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m just not hungry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I just am.”

  “Well, that’s one thing we won’t put up with. You can be angry, bitter, worried, almost anything you like, but not sorry.”

  “I can’t help it—I am sorry. Not just for all the trouble I’m causing you …”

  “Is it you who’s causing the trouble?”

  “No. But you know what I mean. Besides, I’m supposed to be taking care of things here, the house and all that, and these last few days, ever since Sara
disappeared …”

  “You’ve been acting like a mother and not a housekeeper, and no one here would have you act any other way.”

  “You’re being awfully nice about it, Miss Tillett, just as you’ve always been about everything, and that only makes it worse because …” She broke off, her eyes filling with tears again. “What do you think is going to happen? Do you think we’ll ever get her back again?”

  “Of course we will. I don’t have to tell you how Inspector Wyatt feels about Sara. I think she means almost as much to him as she does to the rest of us. And ever since we got that ransom note, he’s felt very optimistic about locating whoever it is that’s got her.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s just that it’s three days now, and it’s …”

  “Difficult.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Wiggins dabbed at her eyes again, then forced a faint smile. “Well, you’ve made me feel a little better, just as you always do.”

  “If that’s true, will you do something for me?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Then let me have Annie bring back your tray, and you try to eat a little something.”

  “All right. I’ll try.”

  “Good. You’re a real trouper.” She embraced the housekeeper, kissed her quickly and went out.

  Andrew, who had come up with her and was waiting at the top of the stairs, looked at her questioningly.

  “She’s very worried, upset, but she agreed to try to eat something.” Then, as he nodded approvingly, “You said the inspector feels that this new development, the fact that another girl has been kidnapped, could give him an important lead.”

  “Yes. I’m not sure he knows exactly what it means yet, but I do know he considers that—and the chance that his men saw who picked up the money you left in the park—are the two most important developments in the case so far.”

  “I told you I looked around when Mrs. Wiggins put the bag in the dustbin, but I didn’t see anyone who looked even remotely like a policeman.”

  “If they were as good as they’re supposed to be, you wouldn’t.”

  “When will we know if anything came of it?”

  “The inspector must know already. I’ll know tomorrow.”

  “You’re going down to the Yard again?” “Yes. He told me to come down first thing in the morning. He thinks I might be useful.”

  Sara was more than half asleep when she heard the muffled sound from the other cot. She sat up, peering through the darkness, and even though she couldn’t see, she knew what it was; Maria weeping with her face buried in the pillow.

  “Maria?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m frightened.”

  “Why?”

  “I just am. I don’t like this place. I don’t like that woman with the red hair or the man who was with her or what they gave us for supper and … Well, I’m frightened, that’s all.”

  “I don’t blame you for not liking the woman. I think her name’s Addie, and I don’t think it’s her own hair. I think it’s a wig. And I don’t blame you for not liking Sam or the food or this place, but there’s no reason to be frightened.”

  “Why not? You said they’re not white slavers and maybe they’re not. But if they’re not, we don’t know who they are or what they want. And if it’s not just money or even if it is … Well, how do we know that they’ll let us go?”

  “Oh, I think they will. You said your father would pay anything to get you back, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. But …”

  “I know. You’re wondering how we know they’ll keep their word. We don’t—and I’m not counting on it—but I still say we’ve got nothing to worry about. Shall I tell you why?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s listening, but I’d better whisper it anyway.” She knelt down next to Maria’s cot, put her mouth next to her ear. “Did you ever heard of Peter Wyatt?”

  “No.”

  “He’s the smartest, bravest and best inspector in Scotland Yard, and he’s a very good friend of mine. And the minute my mother and my friend Andrew discovered I was gone, I’m sure they got in touch with him. And if they did, and he and Sergeant Tucker are looking for us, then you can be certain that they’ll find us and rescue us very soon, within the next day or so.”

  “Both of us? Me too?”

  “Of course, you too. But that’s not all. Just before they brought you in here, I wrote a note on a page I tore out of the back of a Bible with ink I made and a nail as a pen, and I threw it out of the window.”

  “What did you say in it?”

  “I said who I was and asked anyone who found it to give it to a constable. The constable will get it to Inspector Wyatt at the Yard, and that’ll be that. The inspector will be here in two twos!”

  “Oh. I never did know you very well, Sara, but I always liked you even though I was a little jealous of the way you could dance. But now … Well, if I had to be kidnapped, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be kidnapped with than you.”

  “Well, with everything I’ve done and everything I know,” said Sara seriously,” I really don’t think you could do better.”

  At about that same time a stooping, gray-bearded rag and bone man with a foul-smelling gunnysack slung over his shoulder turned into the alley that was under the attic’s south windows. He stepped on something, swore, picked it up and went back to the nearest gas light to examine it. It turned out to be a cake of soap wrapped in some fairly stiff paper. There was some writing on the paper but since he couldn’t read, it meant nothing to him. Putting the soap away in an inside pocket of his torn jacket, he crumpled up the paper and dropped it into the gutter where the night wind played with it, blowing it here and there, but always down the street, until it finally blew it into the Thames.

  9

  The Royal Visit

  When Andrew arrived at Wyatt’s office the following morning, the inspector was out and Sergeant Tucker was sitting at the desk going through some folders.

  “He’ll be back in a minute,” he told Andrew. “Sit down.”

  “Thanks. What happened yesterday?”

  “Where?”

  “At Regent’s Park. Didn’t you have some men there watching to see who picked up the ransom money?”

  “Oh, that. Yes. It was the same nipper who brought the note to your house.”

  “Harry, the bootblack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Why good?”

  “Well, he’s a bright boy, and he said he’d help us.”

  “What he said and what he’ll do—be able to do—could be two very different things.”

  “You don’t think that this time he’ll make a point of getting a look at the man who sent him to pick up the money?”

  “If the yobs we’re dealing with are at all sharp, they won’t give him a chance to. We sent Dodson over to the Wellington Road police station to see if he left any word there for us as we asked him to.”

  “Anything else new?”

  “On Sara? No. I’m going over his nibs’s other cases to see if I can keep them from boiling over while he works on this one.”

  Wyatt came in, nodded to Andrew. “Any word from Dodson?” he asked Tucker.

  “No. Give him time. He doesn’t gad about London in hansoms like some people I know. A bus is good enough for him.”

  “Well, it’s not for me when I’m in a hurry. I’m going over to the Foreign Office. He’d better be here when I get back. I have an appointment to talk to Chadwick senior,” he said to Andrew. “Want to come with me?”

  “Yes.” Then, as they went down the stairs, “Why the Foreign Office?”

  “Do you remember who Maria’s father is?”

  “First Secretary of the Serbian Embassy.”

  “Right. I want to talk to him, but before I do, I thought I should speak to someone who can brief me on a few things. For instance, what do you know
about Serbia?”

  “Well, I know it’s one of the Balkan countries. I think it’s just south of Hungary.”

  “It is. And surrounded by more other countries than you can shake a stick at. What else?”

  “Don’t they have a new and very young king?”

  “Yes. Alexander. He’s just sixteen. But why did you call it the Serbian Embassy?”

  “Because that’s what the countess called it. I always thought the country was called Servia.”

  “So did I. It’s what it’s called in the atlas. I’d like to know which is correct, and I’d also like to know whether Alexander is or isn’t coming here.”

  “Is he supposed to be coming?”

  “He was until a few days ago, but there was no mention of it in the press either yesterday or today.”

  “I see. And do you think this has something to do with Sara’s disappearance?”

  “Well, it may have something to do with her friend Maria’s disappearance—and we agreed that that had something to do with Sara.”

  “True.”

  They went out the rear of the Yard and to Parliament Street by way of the Derby Gate. Andrew thought they would be going into the building by way of the Downing Street entrance, but crossing Parliament Street, Wyatt opened a small and inconspicuous door between the Home and Foreign Offices and went in. The uniformed commissionaire behind the desk apparently knew and was expecting him, for he bowed and said something to a young man in a very elegant morning coat who was standing by.

  “Inspector Wyatt?” asked the young man approaching him.

  “Yes.”

  “My name’s Wyndham. Mr. Chadwick asked me to bring you up to his office. This way.” And he led them along labyrinthine corridors, up an ornate staircase and along another corridor to a heavy, dark door. He knocked, opened the door and stood back so that Wyatt and Andrew could enter, then followed them in.

  The room was large and handsome. There was a desk and several chairs in it, but Chadwick was not sitting at the desk. He was standing at the window and looking out at the ducks in the St. James Park lake.

  “Good morning,” he said to Wyatt. “And good morning to you too, Andrew. Though I must confess I’m a little surprised to see you. I assumed from your note,” he said to Wyatt, “that what you wanted to talk to me about was a police matter.”