The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Ranjipur Ruby (4 page)

Mr Hobson, an imposing figure with a shiny bald head and a striped waistcoat, regarded the Boys with great disdain, but Annie smiled at them and gave them a wink when he wasn’t looking. They were all terrified that they would break the delicate cups, and were not sure if they liked the tea, which tasted odd and scented, though it was all right with lots and lots of sugar. But they very quickly disposed of the cakes, each of which made only a single sweet mouthful to the ravenous youngsters.

By the time the Boys had polished off all the cakes, the dewan had recovered enough to talk about the stranglers.

“For hundreds of years,” he explained, “there was a secret cult in India called Thuggee. Its
members were known as Thugs. They worshipped Kali, the goddess of destruction. They used to join up with travellers on the road and make friends with them until they reached a good spot, far from anywhere. Then they would fall on the unsuspecting people and kill them.”

“What’d they want to do that for?” Beaver asked.

“To rob ’em, I ’spect,” said Queenie.

“Yes, they did rob them,” the dewan went on. “But they killed them as a sacrifice to Kali. The goddess did not allow them to shed blood, so they would strangle their victims, with a handkerchief.”

Wiggins let out a whistle. “Just like them two tried to do to Ravi!” he said.

“That is correct,” the dewan replied.

“Ah yes, I remember hearing something about all that,” said Captain Nicholson. “But it was all finished fifty or sixty years ago, surely?”

“It was,” the dewan confirmed. “It was eliminated by your people and there have been no killings since then.”

“So why should they start up again now? And here in London?” the captain asked.

“And why should they want to kill Ravi?” added Wiggins.

“Revenge,” said the dewan, looking very serious.

“Revenge? What for?”

“The ruby,” the dewan replied. “The Raja’s father took it from an idol of the goddess.”

“That horrible thing with six arms and a black face and a red tongue stickin’ out!” Queenie cried.

“That sounds like a fair description of Kali,” the captain agreed, looking surprised. “How did you know that?”

“Madame Dupont’s got a model of it in her waxwork show,” Wiggins said.

“Really? Where’s that?”

“Right next door, in the Baker Street Bazaar. We seen it this very afternoon.”

“Good heavens! Fancy that.”

“Can we go and see it?” Ravi asked keenly.

“
May
we go and see it,” the captain corrected automatically. “No you may not. I think under the circumstances it would be unwise for you to go anywhere near it, or even to leave this house until this business is sorted out.”

“But I have my friends to look after me now.”

“You were lucky once. You may not be so fortunate a second time.”

Ravi groaned and pulled a face.

“Stop this foolishness at once!” the dewan snapped angrily. “And remember who you are.”

“The dewan is quite right,” the captain said, getting to his feet. “Now say goodbye to your friends. I think it’s time they left.”

The three Boys stood up, reluctantly. What they had heard was all very exciting, and they did not want to miss anything. Plus there was always the chance that, if they stayed, Annie might bring in more cakes and even sandwiches or muffins.

“Ain’t you gonna send for the coppers?” Wiggins asked.

“What is coppers?” the dewan asked, looking puzzled. “Are they asking for money? Small coins?”

“No, sir,” the captain told him. “Copper is a common word for a policeman.”

“’Cos if you are,” Wiggins went on, “Inspector Lestrade’s your man. We know him well.”

“That’s right,” said Beaver. “We’ve solved lots of cases for him.”

“We are not wishing for police,” the dewan said sharply.

“Don’t blame you,” Wiggins told him. “You’d be better off with Mr Holmes.”

“Mr Sherlock Holmes? The famous detective?” the captain asked.

“That’s right, sir.”

“I suppose you’ve solved lots of cases for him, too?”

“Yes, sir. His house is only just up the street. He could be here in a few minutes.”

The captain clearly did not believe Wiggins but gave him a friendly smile all the same, looking amused. The dewan, on the other hand, glared at them angrily.

“What is all this nonsense?” he demanded. “We do not wish for police or detectives. Kindly remove yourselves from this house immediately!”

The captain gave a little shrug, and turned to Annie, who had been standing quietly to one side.

“Show our young visitors out, if you please,” he instructed her.

Annie moved towards the door, but before she got to it there was a commotion outside and
a large Indian gentleman in a loud tweed suit rushed into the room. His huge curly moustache wobbled as he advanced towards Ravi, shaking his head sadly, his arms outstretched.

“Oh, Ravi,” he cried. “Ravindranatharam, my poor, poor, boy!”

“Uncle Sanjay,” Ravi said. “What is it?”

“Dreadful news… I bring truly dreadful news.” He took Ravi’s two hands in his, and looked into his eyes. “Your dear father. My dear brother. Dead…”

Ravi said nothing. He was too shocked to speak. Captain Nicholson hurried to comfort him. “How?” he asked Uncle Sanjay. “What happened?”

“An accident. While he was out fishing. He drowned.”

“When?”

“His body was discovered in the loch last night. Lord Holdhurst is taking care of everything up there. I caught the first train to London to bring the sad tidings.”

Ravi closed his eyes and gripped his uncle’s hands tightly. The captain leant over and put
one hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in silent sympathy.

The dewan raised both hands to heaven and let out a piercing wail.

“Aieeeee!” he cried. “It is the curse! The curse of the Ranjipur Ruby!”

A B
AG OF
S
UGAR

The four younger Boys listened with open mouths and wide eyes as Wiggins told them about the Thugs and the curse on the Ranjipur Ruby.

“Oh, poor Ravi,” Rosie said sadly. “Losin’ his dad like that.”

Everyone nodded sympathetically. Then Queenie suddenly clapped a hand to her mouth.

“Oh, my word!” she said. “It ain’t half ‘poor Ravi’.”

“What d’you mean?” asked Wiggins.

“Well, if his dad was the Raja of Ranjipur, and he’s dead now, that makes Ravi the Raja, don’t it?”

“Yeah, I s’pose it does.”

“And if he’s the Raja…”

“Oh, crikey … that means he owns the ruby!”

“Oh, Lor’. What we gonna do?” Beaver asked.

“Ain’t much we
can
do, is there?” Wiggins said. ’Less we can find a way to get the curse lifted.”

They all sat round the big table in HQ, feeling gloomy and helpless. Suddenly Beaver straightened up, looking worried.

“Oh dear,” he said. “I just remembered somethin’.”

“What?” asked Wiggins.

“Madame Dupont’s bag of leaflets… It’s still in that alley.”

“Best place for it, I ’spect,” said Shiner.

“Shiner!” Queenie reprimanded him. “She paid us money to hand out them leaflets.”

“How’s she gonna know if you ain’t?” asked Shiner, unabashed.

“Queenie’s right,” said Wiggins. “We gotta go back and finish the job.”

“Why don’t we all go?” Sparrow suggested. “If we all help to hand ’em out, we’ll get the job done quicker, right?”

They approached the alleyway nervously, especially as it was beginning to get dark. Queenie told them, “There’s safety in numbers – nobody’s
gonna hurt us if we’re together.” But they were still relieved to find no sign of the men in the alley or in the little courtyard at the end. There was no sign, either, of the bag or the leaflets. In fact, the only thing they found was a small bag made out of stiff blue paper, half full of brownish white crystals that turned out to be sugar. Wiggins grinned and slipped it into his pocket, happy that they would be able to sweeten their bedtime cocoa that night.

“Now what we gonna do?” asked Beaver.

“Only one thing we
can
do,” Queenie replied. “Own up.”

Disconsolately, they trooped off to the Bazaar, where they were stopped at the gate by a cross-looking Sarge.

“Halt!” he shouted as they tried to slip past him. “Line up there! A nice straight line now… That’s it.”

They stood stiff and still like soldiers on parade while he walked along the line, glaring fiercely at them.

“Madam wants a word with you lot,” he said. “And so do I. I spoke up for you. Told madam you
could be relied on. And what d’you do? You let me down.”

“But Sarge,” Wiggins pleaded. “We can explain…”

“Quiet! Did I say you could speak?”

“No, Sarge, but—”

“Save it for madam. Atten-shun! Left turn! Quick march!”

And he marched them off through the Bazaar towards Madame Dupont’s gallery, to the amusement of shoppers and visitors and a coachman who was busy polishing one of the parked carriages. Madame Dupont was sitting in her ticket booth just inside the doors when they entered, but she quickly came out as Sarge ordered them to halt.

“What’s all this?” she asked, staring at the line of seven Boys. “How many more of you are there?”

“This is all of us,” Wiggins told her.

“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “Right. It’s you I want to talk to.”

Reaching back into the booth, she dragged out the bag of leaflets, then stood facing the
Boys with her hands on her hips.

“A young chap brought this in,” she said. “Found it in Clarke’s Court. Did you really think you could get away with dumping it instead of handing the leaflets out, like I paid you to do?”

“But we didn’t dump it,” Wiggins told her.

“Then what was it doing in Clarke’s Court?”

“We dropped it there, ’cos we had to run for our lives,” Queenie said.

“And when we went back for it, it was gone,” Beaver added. “That’s why we’re here. We come to tell you.”

“Run for your lives? What are you on about?”

“There was these two Indian Thugs,” Beaver began to explain, his words tumbling out in a rush, “and they was trying to murder Prince Ravi, the one what’s in your waxworks, only he ain’t the prince no more, he’s the Raja now his dad’s dead, but we rescued him and then we had to run for it, or they’d have tried to murder us as well, and it’s all because of the curse, you see, and the goddess of destruction and everythin’, and…”

“Whoa! Whoa!” cried Madame Dupont, utterly
confused and holding up both her hands. “I can’t make head nor tail of what you’re saying. What sort of cock-and-bull story is this?”

“It ain’t a cock-and-bull story,” Wiggins protested indignantly. “It’s all real. Only Beaver here, he don’t say much as a rule, but when he does, he sometimes gets a bit carried away, like…”

“Yes, yes. So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Right. Sorry, Beav.”

Beaver shrugged amiably. Wiggins took a deep breath and told her the whole story. When he had finished, she shook her head in disbelief.

“Still sounds like a fairy tale to me,” she said, and turned to Sarge. “You served in India, didn’t you, Sergeant?”

“I did, madam. That’s where I lost this.” He patted his empty sleeve. “To a Jezail bullet. Up on the North-West Frontier it was, fighting the Afghan rebels. We was advancing up a defile not far from the Khyber Pass…”

“Yes, yes,” she said quickly, sensing that he was about to spin a long soldier’s tale. “But did
you ever hear about these Thugs – these, er, stranglers?”

“Well, madam, there’s all sorts of bandits in India – dacoits they call ’em – but I never heard tell of that particular sort.”

“The dewan said—”

“The dee who?”

“The dewan. He’s a sort of prime minister.”

Madame Dupont shook her head in exasperation. “Princes and prime ministers and curses and stranglers. It gets worse and worse,” she muttered. “Well, go on. What did he say?”

“He said they was all s’posed to have been wiped out fifty or sixty years ago,” Wiggins told her.

“Oh well, that’d explain why I never heard of ’em,” Sarge said. “Before me time.”

Madame Dupont still did not look convinced.

“Where’s this prince, this Ravvy, now?” she wanted to know.

“We took him back to his house,” Wiggins told her. “Well, not
his
house, exac’ly, it’s Lord Holdhurst’s house, what he’s staying in till they give the ruby to Her Majesty.”

Madame looked relieved. “At last,” she cried. “Lord Holdhurst – a real person! He is real, ain’t he, Sergeant?”

“Lord Holdhurst, madam? I should say so. As a matter of fact, he used to own this Bazaar. His old man built it, you know. A real character, he was. They say he used to pop up from nowhere, so he could keep an eye on everything that was going on in here. He just used to appear, all of a sudden. Liked to give everybody a shock.”

“How did he manage that?”

“Search me, madam. There was talk of underground tunnels and the like, but who knows? Mind, his house is only just over the back there.”

“That’s right,” said Beaver. “See, if you was to go out of the Bazaar and turn left, then turn left again at the next corner and walk up Baker Street till you get to the next corner after that and then—”