The Steampunk Detective (20 page)

At the same time, Jack noticed the fighting had come to an end. The last shot was fired and a group of the men disappeared around the corner, leaving Jack and Mr Bell with a number of the French soldiers. Finally General Churchill returned wearing a grim expression.

“We’ve found the other weapon,” he said.

Wordlessly, they followed him down the corridor to a large, windowless room. The atomic weapon sat in the centre of the room. Mr Bell went over to it immediately. He checked a device on the side. After a moment, he turned to the others with some relief on his face.

“This weapon hasn’t been armed,” he said.

There was an audible sigh of relief from the men in the room.

“We’ll arrange for the immediate transportation of the bomb to a French ship,” General Churchill said. He glanced back at his watch. “We’d best return to the first bomb. I pray Mr Harker has been successful in defusing it.”

They made their way back through the tower. Jack had noticed an insignia on the uniforms of the Nazi soldiers. He asked Mr Doyle about it.

“The modern name of the symbol is swastika, taken from an ancient Sanskrit word svastika” Mr Doyle explained. “It is actually an ancient symbol that dates back to Neolithic man. Many religions have used it over the centuries. The Nazis have appropriated it for their own evil purposes.”

They arrived back in the docking area leading to the first fighter ship. The first thing they saw was two French soldiers on the ground near the entrance to the docking bay. Jack felt a shiver of fear as they approached the men. Mr Doyle knelt by them.

“They’re both dead,” he said. “Stabbed with a thin-bladed knife.”

They looked down the passageway leading to the ship. The vessel had disappeared. Something that looked like a bundle of rags had been deposited at the airlock door. Jack started down the corridor.

“Wait,” Mr Doyle ordered, grabbing Jack’s shoulder.

Mr Doyle stepped into the passageway and slowly made his way down the corridor, his eyes focused on the floor the entire time. He reminded Jack of a hawk. Finally he reached the pile of rags and examined it.

“Oh no,” Jack breathed.

“What is it, young man?” General Churchill asked.

I don’t want to say the words, Jack thought. I can’t.

Mr Doyle slowly made his way back up the corridor with the same care he had used to first traverse it. Finally he arrived back to their position with a grim expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Mr Doyle said. “The bomb has been stolen. Jon Harker is dead and a ransom note has been left. It seems the killer has also kidnapped his daughter, Lucy.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The airship arced across the channel towards England as they approached the white cliffs of Dover. The sun had come out brightly after an early rain and the sky shone blue from one horizon to the other. Jack looked out from the window and let out a long breath.

Dear England, Jack thought. There were times when I doubted I’d ever see you again.

He looked to his companions. Their numbers had been reduced by the death of Mr Harker and Lucy’s disappearance. Major Evans had rejoined the army. Now he found himself with only Mr Doyle, Scarlet and Joseph Bell and General Churchill. The last twenty four hours had seen the crisis of all out war averted, but an even greater drama was unfolding.

“England is being held to ransom,” Mr Doyle said. “And we have to do something about it.” He removed a note from his pocket and laid it flat on the table before them. “This note was pinned to Jon Harker’s chest.”

They peered over the piece of paper. It read:

Ten million pounds in diamonds will be delivered to me at a time and place to be later specified. There will be no tricks. If the diamonds are not delivered as ordered:

Lucy Harker will die.

One hour later the city of London will be reduced to rubble.

Instructions will follow.

M.

“Who is ‘M’?” General Churchill asked.

“For some time the greatest criminal mind in England has been a man known only as Professor M. He has no name. He has no face,” Mr Doyle said. “Few people have ever seen him, yet his hand has steered countless criminal enterprises over the last ten years.”

“Are you sure he even exists?” Joseph Bell asked.

“His name is spoken of in the criminal underworld in hushed tones,” Mr Doyle said. “He works through others like a puppet master. Others do his dirty work while he pulls the strings. He has been behind the deaths of a score of men. He exists. Believe me. He exists.”

“So how can we track him down?” Scarlet asked.

Mr Doyle pursed his lips. “We have a number of clues. Jack and I will pursue the investigation once we land.”

Jack noticed the airship had begun to swing across the English countryside. The city of London lay ahead.

“Surely you will need all the help you can get,” General Churchill frowned.

“Jack and I can move faster alone,” Mr Doyle said. “And besides, in a crisis such as this it is best to share our knowledge with as few people as possible.”

“Can you at least give us some indication of your line of reasoning?” General Churchill said grumpily. “After all, thousands of lives are at risk if you fail.”

Mr Doyle paused to consider his words. Finally he turned the paper around so they could focus on it. “The writer of this note is right handed. Notice the curves on the upswinging letters. They have gone to great pains to disguise their identity. They could be a man or a woman.

“The writer of this note is well educated and wealthy. The paper is rare. I have done a study of such papers and found there is only one stockist of this paper in Britain. It is sold exclusively through a shop in the East end. The pin used to attach this note to the body was largely unremarkable, barring the tiny speck of blood running along its length. A partial fingerprint is etched into the pin, but there is not enough to be of assistance to us.

“The murderer of the soldiers on board the German metrotower and Mr Harker was of slim build with a height no greater than five feet and six inches. They were also right handed and well versed in the martial arts. In addition, they were on board the Joan of Arc with us on our journey to the tower.”

“Why do you say that?” Mr Bell asked. “Surely the killer could have been a native of the metrotower.”

“There were no signs of a struggle in any of the assaults. The killings happened in a matter of seconds. Judging by how easily the soldiers and Mr Harker were disposed of, I can only assume they either knew the killer or the killer used some subterfuge to gain their trust.”

So, M was on board the Joan of Arc with us
, Jack thought. It was a frightening concept that such a callous murderer was rubbing shoulders with him.

“So is M the killer?” Jack asked.

“There is no evidence to suggest M is the killer. Most likely, he is not. Professor M is like a spider at the heart of a web,” Mr Doyle said. “He has a multitude of strands in play at any one time. Many people work for him. It is unlikely he ever does his own dirty work.”

The airship descended towards an airfield. Their landing position was a field close to the heart of London. After landing, the group quickly disembarked and made their way towards two steam cars. A man hurried up to General Churchill and spoke to him briefly.

General Churchill turned to them. “I have been summonsed to The Prime Minister’s residence.” He turned to Scarlet and Mr Bell. “I would ask you both to come with me.”

“Absolutely,” Mr Bell said. “We are at your disposal during this crisis.”

“Jack and I will return to Bee Street,” Mr Doyle said. “From there we will pursue our lead regarding the paper.”

They bade farewell to each other. Jack and Mr Doyle climbed into the other steam car. A few hours later Jack found himself on the pavement in front of Two twenty-one Bee Street. He looked up at the old building. He had only moved here a few days ago from the orphanage, but it seemed a lifetime had passed since then.

“Why have we come back here?” Jack asked. “Wouldn’t it be faster to just go straight to the paper shop?”

“I fear our clothing has become rather soiled over the last few days,” he said. “In addition, I need to pick up a few supplies.”

They made their way up the lift. Gloria greeted them pleasantly at the office door. She threw her arms around Jack, saying how much he had grown in less than a week.

“Assisting Mr Doyle must agree with you,” she said brightly.

Jack changed his clothing and re–entered the rooms to find Mr Doyle had made a cup of tea and toast. He waved Jack towards the food and he went through the mail that had arrived during his absence. Jack suddenly realised he was starving and consumed most of the food before Mr Doyle had finished consuming his first piece. He did not seem to mind, absently trawling through the pile of correspondence.

“Wonderful,” he said. “There is nothing here that requires our urgent attention.”

“So we’ll go to the paper shop now?” Jack asked, glugging down the last of his tea.

“We will indeed.”

A cry suddenly came from beyond their chambers.

“What was that?” Mr Doyle asked, standing.

Before they could move, the door burst open and a huge man entered. He stood over six feet in height, had thinning black hair, an unshaven face and wore workman’s clothing.

Gloria appeared behind him.

“I told him he couldn’t enter, Mr Doyle,” Gloria said, looking furious.

“That’s no problem,” Mr Doyle replied. “Mr Flint will not be staying.”

“How do you know me?” Flint asked, scowling.

“You’re a well known face in the gutters of London. I imagine most of the police force knows your name.”

“I have a message for you,” the man snarled.

“And who is the message from?” Mr Doyle asked.

“You know who it’s from,” Flint said.

“I assume you’re speaking of our friend, and your employer, Professor M?”

“Don’t worry about names.” The man levelled his gaze at Mr Doyle and Jack.

Jack looked back at him coolly, but his heart was pounding in his chest.

“You’re to stay out of this business,” Flint threatened. “You’re to keep your nose out of it if you know what’s good for you.”

“Where I place my nose is my business,” Ignatius Doyle said.

“Noses can be removed,” the man snapped. He turned to glare at Jack. “That kid’s nose would make a pretty bauble on some girl’s necklace.”

Almost quicker than lightning, Mr Doyle strode up to the man and stuck a finger in his face.

“That young man is in my care!”

The man made a grab for Mr Doyle’s hand. The detective countered by grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm behind his back. He delivered a punch to the man’s lower back and frogmarched him from the room.

Bazookas, Jack thought. Mr Doyle can certainly hold his own.

Gloria and Jack followed them as the detective delivered him to the waiting lift.

Gloria dragged open the wire door and Mr Doyle pushed the man inside. The thug went sprawling. He turned around with fear and fury in his eyes.

“You’ll be sorry you did that,” Flint said.

“I already am,” Mr Doyle said. “I dislike germs and I suspect you’re covered in them.”

The man pointed at Mr Doyle. “You’ll keep your nose out of the boss’s business! Or else!”

The detective reached in, pressed the button for the ground floor and pushed the wire door shut.

“Good day, sir,” he said sternly. “Tell your lord and master I will not rest until I see him in jail.”

The lift slowly started to descend.

“Quickly, Jack,” Mr Doyle said quietly. “We haven’t a moment to lose.”

He raced along the corridor with Jack and Gloria in pursuit. They entered the inner office and Mr Doyle quickly pulled the door shut behind them. He started rooting through a nearby box.

“Jack, do you still have your rubber nose?” Mr Doyle asked.

He pulled it from his pocket. “Here it is.”

Mr Doyle quickly applied some spirit gum and jammed the nose over Jack’s real nose. It stuck almost immediately. Next a large black pad appeared in Mr Doyle’s hand.

He jammed the pad into Jack’s face. A cloud of black soot went everywhere. Jack sneezed.

“You’ll find a set of clothing in a draw of your room marked seven B,” Mr Doyle instructed. “Change clothes. We’ll meet back here in sixty seconds.”

As Jack went racing down the hallway, he heard Mr Doyle yell instructions to Gloria. “To your position on the roof, my dear.”

“The telescope?” Gloria yelled, breaking into a sprint.

“Indeed!” Mr Doyle called.

Jack tore into his room, dragged off his clothes and found the drawer marked Seven B. He pulled out the gear. It included torn pants, a stained shirt and jacket, old shoes and a scarf and hat. He dragged the gear on and left his room just in time to see an old tramp racing towards the balcony.

“Quickly, Jack!” he yelled.

It was Ignatius Doyle!

Jack followed him onto the balcony. The great detective looked completely different. He had applied a false nose, a scar and changed his clothing. Even his hands were soiled. They climbed up the ladder to the roof where the Lion’s Mane was moored.

“Gloria! Do you still have him in sight?” Mr Doyle asked.

Gloria was hovering over a telescope looking up the street.

“He’s on foot. Three blocks away, heading East.” She drew back from the telescope. “You’d better hurry.”

Mr Doyle led Jack to the edge of the building. A device that looked like a dumb waiter was attached to the side of the structure. A series of weights and cogs ran down a chute to the side of the device. Mr Doyle climbed into the small compartment.

“Squeeze in, Jack,” he said. “There’s not a lot of room.”

Jack climbed on and Mr Doyle gripped a handle.

“Hang on tightly,” he said.

The lift suddenly shot down the side of the structure. Jack held onto the centre column tightly. About fifteen feet from the bottom, it abruptly slowed and by the time it reached the ground, it settled gently onto the path.