The Steampunk Detective (6 page)

A hand rolled cigarette fell out of the mouth of a man standing nearby.

“Blimey,” he said. “Are you people completely daft?”

Jack picked himself up. “Where did the other fellow go?” 

The man pointed behind him. Jack retrieved his belt and cautiously glanced down the corridor. The train was almost empty, but two seats before him, immediately to his left, he saw the hat of the thief projecting above the top of the seat. The man had obviously assumed he had left him back on the other train.

No such luck.

His heart pounding, Jack opened the door of the carriage and stepped in. He moved into the seat behind the thief. Caught a glimpse of the piece of paper clasped between the man’s slim fingers.

Jack sat down. Alright, he had made it this far. Now what? He had his doubts about handling a fist fight with a grown adult, especially since the fellow had already knocked him down with a single punch.

Breathing shallowly, he sat back in the seat. A drizzle of sweat traced a path down his face. This reminded him of an act he had once seen at the circus. Two clowns – Oscar and Toby – did a performance involving a series of chairs one behind each other. Jack realised he did not have to attack the thief. He only had to retrieve the page.

Jack slowly slid down in the seat onto the floor. Ahead of him the carriage seats were attached to the floor with metal braces. He reached under the seat and gently looped his belt around the right shoe of the thief.
Careful
, he thought.
Careful
. He gently secured the belt to the nearest metal brace. He climbed back onto his seat, sweat now dripping down his face like a flood.

The train slowed. It started to pull into a platform. Time to go, Jack thought. He stood. The thief glanced out the window, but obviously did not intend to exit the train. He returned his gaze to the sheet, angling it towards the light.

The train stopped. Jack bent forward and in one smooth action pushed the man’s hat down low over his face and snatched the paper from his hand. The man gave a cry of surprise. Jack stepped quickly into the aisle and dragged open the door to the vestibule. He caught sight of his assailant falling face first onto the floor as he attempted to leap from his seat.

People were starting to stream onto the train.

“Excuse me!” he cried. “My mother’s waiting for me! Excuse me!”

The people parted as he pushed through them. A stairway led upstairs to his left. He took the steps two at a time to the passenger terminal at the top. He darted through the crowd, looking for a quick escape. People were everywhere. He could not exit via the main gates – he had no ticket. He had to board another train to put some distance between himself and the thief.

He glanced back.

Bazookas!

The thief was shoving people aside only a few feet behind him!

Jack felt light headed with terror. He pushed desperately through the crowd. A rich man with his wallet in hand stood to his right. Grabbing the wallet from him, Jack reefed out all the notes and held them high in the air.

“Excuse me,” the man exclaimed. “What are you –.”

“Money!” Jack cried. “Free money! Free money for all!”

With that, he threw the bundle of notes high into the air. Even before they had begun to descend, he was fighting his way towards a nearby set of stairs, packed with travellers.

“That man’s giving money away!” Jack pointed over his shoulder. “He’s giving away a thousand pounds!”

Jack glanced back.

Utter mayhem had erupted. People fell over each other trying to snatch money off the ground. At the heart of it was something resembling a football scrum with men and woman of all ages throwing themselves into the human pile. The owner of the cash was unsuccessfully trying to retrieve his notes from people’s hands.

Jack raced down the stairs leading to another platform. A train had just started to depart.

Not again
, he groaned.

Reaching the edge of the platform, Jack’s eyes darted left and right. An open door lay about twenty feet ahead of him. He could do it. One last time. He darted between two old ladies and broke into a sprint. Grasping the piece of paper with all his might in one hand, he reached out and grabbed the hand rail of the locomotive. He leapt aboard.

Yes!

Jack felt like his lungs were about to explode. He glanced out the door to see the thief at the far end of the platform. Jack was too far away to see the expression in the man’s eyes, but he was willing to bet he looked far from happy.

He leaned out the door and waved. “Bye! Don’t forget to write!”

The man did not wave back.

Chapter Seven

“Let’s see what we have here,” Mr Doyle said.

Jack had been back in Scarlet’s home only a few minutes. Both she and Mr Doyle had just about jumped through the ceiling with excitement upon his return. Mr Doyle had even given him a brief hug. After that he had given him a stern talking to about risking his life.

“You are never to take such a terrible chance again,” he said.

Jack decided to gloss over some of the finer details of his chase.

“Mr Mason,” Scarlet said. “You were most brave chasing that scoundrel.”

Jack felt his face turning red, so he covered his cheeks, pretending to cough.

“All in a day’s work,” he said.

After that they turned their attention to the piece of paper. The rain had stopped outside and now dim sunlight streamed through the windows into the study of the apartment. This time Mr Doyle and locked and barred the door so they could work in peace.

Laying the sheet on the desk, he clasped a pencil and ran it lightly over the sheet. After a few seconds words appeared on the page. He peered down at them through his goggles.

“This is a location,” Mr Doyle said. “Dock sixteen West on the river.”

“Is that it?” Jack asked.

“It is indeed.”He turned to Scarlet. “Do you recognise this address in connection with your father?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “He kept an office in the East end.”

“What does it mean?” Jack asked.

Mr Doyle looked up. “It means we’re going fishing.”

Within minutes they were back aboard the Lion’s Mane, arcing across the sky. They joined a small line of airships that traced a route across to the Thames and followed the river downstream. A fine rain had started again, coating the city in a sheet of mist.

“It’s a good thing the airships follow standard flight paths across London,” Mr Doyle said. “Otherwise there would be chaos.”

“You’re a good pilot, Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said, laying a hand on his arm.

Jack noticed the movement. “My eye is rather sore.”

“Poor, Jack,” Scarlet sat next to him. “Let me examine your eye.”

Jack sat still while Scarlet studied his face. “You have lovely blue eyes, Jack.”

“Thank you, Scarlet,” Jack said. He felt giddy. “I think my chin is a little sore too.”

“Mr Mason,” Mr Doyle broke in. “Did I tell you about a case I handled in Surrey involving a man with a stuffed canary?”

Miss Scarlet broke away from him.

“No, Mr Doyle,” Jack said, a trifle annoyed. “You have not mentioned it.”

“Oh,” Mr Doyle said. “I’ll have to tell you about it some time.” The detective seemed to stifle a grin as he peered down towards the river. “We are now drawing close. I will try to find a spot to land in a side lane.”

The vessel drifted through the gently falling rain. Mr Doyle expertly guided the Lion’s Mane down a road running around the back of the warehouse. Finally it landed with a slight bump and the detective jumped out to leash the craft to an old horse pole. The others exited the ship and they huddled together in the mist for a moment. Rain cast a wet sheen across their features.

“This is an enormous warehouse,” Mr Doyle said. “One of the largest I have seen on the waterfront.” He turned to Jack. “My boy, have you ever handled a firearm?”

Bazookas! Jack thought. A gun.

He suddenly imagined himself mowing down countless attackers, whilst saving Scarlet’s life and being forced to take control of the Lion’s Mane. Later they would float over London and upon taking Scarlet’s hand –.

“Uh, Jack,” Mr Doyle interrupted his reverie.

“No, sir.” The dream faded into reality. “But I’m more than happy to try.”

“I think we may wait till you’ve taken a few lessons.” Mr Doyle turned to Scarlet. “I will not offer you a weapon, Miss Bell. A lady does not carry weapons.”

“On the contrary, Mr Doyle.” Scarlet reached into her purse and produced a small handgun. “I am quite skilled in the use of a revolver.”

“My dear,” Mr Doyle blustered. “A lady –.”

“As I said before, Mr Doyle,” Scarlet said firmly. “I am a modern woman. You may even be shocked to learn I am in favour of women’s rights.”

“A suffragette?” Mr Doyle uttered the word with a slight gasp of horror.

Jack was not sure what a suffragette was. He thought it might have been a type of religion – a cross between Catholic and Church of England.

“I believe women must have equal rights,” Scarlet said. “One day we will have the vote.”

Mr Doyle took the prudent action that all men of wisdom throughout the ages have followed – he chose to remain silent. “Follow me. I spy a point of possible egress.”

The warehouse was indeed large. High windows lined the tops of the walls surrounding the structure. The group walked the circumference of the warehouse until they reached a large pair of double doors with a smaller door at the front of the building. Mr Doyle immediately went to the small door. He produced a brass and copper contraption that looked vaguely like a revolver from his pocket. He started manipulating the lock.

“Mr Doyle,” Jack said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m breaking and entering,” Mr Doyle said calmly. “But it’s all for a good cause.”

“So I have become a criminal,” Scarlet said, looking absolutely thrilled at the idea. “I shall have to give a dissertation at the next Ladies Alliance meeting.”

Both Jack and Mr Doyle looked at her.

She blushed. “On second thought, I may record it in my memoirs for publication after my demise.”

They nodded.

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Mr Doyle stuck his head through the gap and listened.

“I don’t believe anyone is here,” he said. “But we had best proceed with caution.”

They closed the door behind them. Jack could hear the gentle sound of rain pattering on the metal roof high above. The interior smelled of mould and rotting timbers. A loose covering of mulch and hay covered the floor. Breathing out through his mouth, Jack formed a cloud of fog. Huge timber shelves ran down both sides of the room stacked high with boxes. The crates only ended near the ceiling where the line of windows ringed the structure. They slowly walked down the centre aisle with the boxes towering above them.

Mr Doyle finally chose a side alley through the boxes and pulled one of the smaller containers from the shelf. He produced a knife from his pocket and applied it to the end. Within a minute he had it open and leafed through the interior, pulling straw out and onto the floor.

“Nothing,” he said.

“You mean, nothing of importance?” Scarlet asked.

“No, I mean there is nothing in this box. Apart from straw.”

They all stared into the empty box.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jack said.

“Agreed,” Mr Doyle said. He went to another much larger box. “Jack, please help me to get this down.”

They pulled the box onto the floor, opened it and thoroughly searched the interior. Again the container held nothing but packing. Wordlessly, Mr Doyle repacked both the boxes, reattached the lids and stacked them back on the shelves. He stood back, stroking his chin.

Finally he said, “I’ll wager that every box in this warehouse is empty.”

“But why?” Scarlet cried. “Why fill a warehouse with empty cartons?”

“If you want to hide a book, place it on a bookshelf,” Mr Doyle replied. “I believe there is something to be found here. Probably something very unusual.”

“How will we find it?” Jack asked.

Mr Doyle did not answer immediately. Instead, he walked two circuits of the warehouse, finally crossing to one of the shelves and running a finger along the edge of it.

“Just as I thought,” he said, examining the dust on his finger. “These boxes have been here for quite some time. And there are tracks here from a steam truck, but they are quite old. Nothing has moved in or out of here for quite some time.”

“So is this a dead end?” Scarlet asked.

“Not at all,” Mr Doyle replied. “We will search until we make a relevant discovery.”

He continued to stride up and down the length of the warehouse. Finally his eyes settled on a spot in the middle of the floor. He moved over to it with sudden excitement, moved his foot around in a wide circle and finally fell to his feet. Scooping out his knife, he started to work at an indentation in the floor.

“Aha,” he said. “I think we have it.”

Jack and Scarlet crowded around him as he revealed a large ring set into the ground. Mr Doyle pulled on it and a trap door lifted, revealing a set of stairs leading down into darkness. Jack retrieved a lantern hanging on a nearby nail. They lit it and started down into the murkiness.

“I pray…” Scarlet’s voice faltered.

“Scarlet?” Jack asked.

“I pray my father is not down here,” she said.

“He is not,” Mr Doyle said. “This chamber has remained undisturbed for some time.”

The lantern dimly illuminated the interior, revealing a large empty room with a damp floor and moss growing over most of the walls. Supporting beams held up the roof. They were below the river level and Jack felt his heart beat a little faster as he thought about the river moving past them only a few feet beyond the stone walls.

A rectangular object lay in the centre of the room, measuring about eight feet by three and standing about four feet high. A huge sheet lay draped over it. Mr Doyle looked at his companions before he slowly walked over to the shape and grasped hold of the sheet.

He pulled back the covering.