The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Stolen Sparklers (10 page)

“Exac’ly! The telegram – BHY. Be there. Come on!”

Wiggins led them along the little street and into a cobbled courtyard lined with stables and workshops. On the opposite side of the courtyard a black carriage was parked, its coachman dozing on the box. As they crept towards it they could make out the monogram painted on the door – it was the familiar curly “M”. Beyond the coach, behind a line of railings, they could see into the lit window of a workshop. On the workbench, resting on a raised stand, was a piece of jewellery. Wiggins recognized it straight away from the portrait of Lady Mountjoy.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s the Mountjoy tiara!”

“We gotta get that tiara outta there,” Wiggins whispered.

“Right,” said Beaver. “But how? That window’s got bars on it, look.”

“We couldn’t reach it anyhow, with them railings there,” said Shiner.

“And the front door looks like it’s locked,” said Rosie.

“That coachman would see us tryin’ to get in, anyway,” Shiner added.

“Hang on,” Wiggins said. “I’ll think of something.”

“You’d better hurry up,” said Sparrow. “Look!”

Through the barred window they saw three men enter the room and stand around the workbench, looking at the tiara. One, with his back to them, was a tall, gaunt man with a bald head. “Moriarty,” muttered Wiggins. Facing him was a small man with a face like a weasel and a pointed goatee beard, blinking through steel-rimmed glasses that had lenses as thick as bottle bottoms. He was wearing a brown apron and a shiny green eye-shade. The third man was Gerald Huggett.

Although the Boys could not hear what was being said, the men were clearly in the middle of an argument. Gerald seemed to be pleading with Moriarty, who leant forward and poked him threateningly in the chest with a bony finger. Gerald shrank back, nervous and afraid, shaking his head and holding up his hands helplessly.

“Something’s wrong,” said Wiggins. “Looks like Gerald’s in trouble.”

“Shall I get the coppers?” asked Rosie.

“No. By the time you’ve found one, they could be long gone. And the tiara with ’em.”

“What we gonna do, then?” Beaver wanted to know.

Wiggins thought as hard as he could. Then he grinned.

“Got it! Listen careful now, and I’ll tell you…”

Gertie crept forward with all the stealth she had learned from her father when he’d been avoiding gamekeepers on country estates. The others held their breath as she reached out and stroked the horse and whispered in its ear to keep it calm. Then, while the coachman still dozed in his seat, she silently unbuckled the harness attaching the horse to the carriage, and gave the others the thumbs-up.

Wiggins had strolled over to the other side of the workshop door, and he now leant carelessly against the wall. When he saw Gertie’s thumbs-up, he raised his hand to the others and hissed, “Go! Now!”

At Wiggins’s signal, they all sprang onto action. Rosie started screaming at the top of her voice. Sparrow and Shiner began a mock fight over her, shouting and yelling as loudly as they knew how. Gertie gave the horse a smack on its rump and yelled, “Giddy up!” It lunged forward, careered off across the yard and out through the entrance. The bewildered coachman woke with a start as the shafts of the carriage crashed to the ground. He stumbled down from his seat and began to chase after the horse. Beaver hurled a large brick at the workshop window and it shattered, spilling broken glass everywhere.

The three men inside turned angrily, then rushed out of the door and into the yard to see what was going on. As they came out, Wiggins nipped behind them, through the open door and into the workshop. He grabbed the tiara from its stand, turned it on its side and slipped it through the bars on the broken window, then tossed it to Beaver who was waiting on the other side.

As soon as Beaver had disappeared into the fog, Wiggins let out a piercing whistle and yelled, “Scatter!” The rest of the Boys stopped their fighting and screaming and ran for the narrow exit from the yard. Wiggins rushed to the door, but his whistle and shout had alerted the three men, who turned and saw the empty jewellery stand through the window. As Wiggins came out, they saw him and lined up to stop him. There seemed to be no escape. But just as one of them was about to grab this scruffy boy who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, he was interrupted by a cry from behind.

“Oy, oy, oy! Vot’s going on here?” The newcomer was an old man, bowed down with age, wearing a big black hat and long coat and shaking his heavy stick at them. It was the diamond dealer who had been watching the Boys in the street. “Vot is all this shemozzle?” he demanded in a high voice.

“He’s a thief!” cried the jeweller.

“Ha! And what has he stolen?”

“A tiara,” said Gerald. “A diamond tiara.”

“Ah. This I would like to see. Show me, please, young man.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Wiggins. He held out his hands, then opened his coat and turned out his pockets. “See? Nothing.”

“He must have passed it to one of his gang,” growled Moriarty.

“Vot gang?” the old man asked. “I see no gang.”

“They’ve run off,” cried Gerald. “You must have seen them. Which way did they go?”

“Ach, die kinder.” The old man nodded. “The children. Ja, I see dem. Dey run every vich vay, into de fog. You never catch dem now.”

“What are we going to do?” Gerald whined.

“Hold your tongue and keep quiet,” Moriarty snapped.

“Need police,” the old man said. “I call police now, yes?”

“No. No police,” snarled Moriarty. “I will deal with this myself.”

“But, sir…”

“I said no police. Now be off with you. Go on – clear off!”

The old man shrugged. “Very vell. Come, young man, you come vis me.”

He took hold of Wiggins’s wrist before the other three could do anything about it, and began leading him away. Wiggins was surprised to find that the frail old man had a grip like steel. He was even more surprised when the man spoke to him in a familiar voice, too quietly for the other men to hear.

“Keep walking, Wiggins. And don’t look back.”

“Mr H…!”

“Ssh. Say nothing.”

As they left, the coachman was returning with his horse. He would have blocked their way, but Moriarty waved him away, and Wiggins and Mr Holmes walked steadily out of the yard and back into Hatton Garden.

The other Boys had run from the yard and ducked into the maze of alleyways across the street. Following Wiggins’s orders, they scattered, all in different directions. Anyone trying to catch them would not have known which one had the tiara, or which one to follow, even if they could see them. The fog that had been their enemy was now their friend. Melting into the murky gloom, Beaver knew that no one would be able to track him as he ran. But to be on the safe side he hid the tiara under his coat and kept a tight grip on it all the way home.

Because he had gone straight to HQ, while the others had taken round-about routes to throw off any pursuers, Beaver was first back. After running almost non-stop from Bleeding Heart Yard, his legs felt bendy as rubber when he crashed through the door. He fell into Wiggins’s special chair, puffing so hard he couldn’t speak. He was so out of breath that Polly thought he must be ill – or at least in mortal danger.

“Beaver!” she cried. “What is it? Here, let me get you a drink of water.”

“I’m all right,” he panted, shaking his head. “Everything’s all right. Look!”

He reached inside his coat and pulled out the tiara. Polly let out a scream.

“That’s it!” she yelled. “That’s the Mountjoy tiara! Oh, Beaver – you got it! You’re wonderful!”

She threw her arms around him and hugged him in relief. Then she burst into tears. She was still sobbing and laughing at the same time when the rest of the Boys returned. Beaver put the tiara on her head and they all danced round the room together.

Suddenly the door opened again. They stopped dancing and stared in shock at the strange man who stood there, regarding them with an amused smile behind his straggly beard. Beaver grabbed the tiara from Polly’s head and held on to it tightly.

“It’s him!” shouted Sparrow. “The geezer what was eyeballin’ us in Hatton Garden!”

The man gave a surprisingly hearty laugh.

“Indeed it is!” he said. “Well done, Sparrow. Excellent observation.” And he stepped inside, smiling broadly. Wiggins followed him into the room, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Mr Holmes!” Beaver exclaimed.

While the Boys crowded round the great detective, Polly stood alone, quite confused.

“Mr…?” she stammered. “Who?”

“This is Mr Sherlock Holmes, Polly,” Wiggins explained.

“Master of disguise,” added Sparrow admiringly. “Cor, Mr Holmes, that’s gotta be the best yet.”

“Why, thank you, Sparrow,” Mr Holmes replied. “And you must be Polly,” he said, turning to her. “Wiggins told me all about you on our way back here.”

He took off his big black hat and the side curls came off with it. Then he peeled off the false beard and rubbed his bare chin.

“Ah.” He sighed with relief. “That’s better. These theatrical beards can be very itchy. Now then, let me see this famous tiara.”

He held out his hand and Beaver passed it to him. Mr Holmes looked at it and smiled.

“Well done, everybody. I congratulate you all on an excellent piece of detection … wait a moment, though.”

His smile turned to a frown as he looked at the tiara more closely. Then he reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out a small black tube with a lens in it, like the one the diamond merchants had used in Hatton Garden.

“What’s that?” Shiner wanted to know.

“It is what is known as a jeweller’s loupe. A small, high-powered magnifying glass.”

He held it up to one eye and examined the tiara through it.

“As I thought,” he said. “Paste.”

“Paste?” asked Wiggins. “What’s that mean?”

“It means, I fear, that these are not diamonds but pieces of polished glass. This tiara is a worthless fake.”

“If this tiara ain’t worth nothing,” Wiggins said, “then what’s all the fuss been about?”

“What, indeed?” said Mr Holmes.

“You mean we’ve all been chasin’ about lookin’ for bits of glass?” Shiner grumbled.

“Only if it was a fake all along,” said Beaver thoughtfully.

“Good thinking, Beaver,” said Mr Holmes. “Please continue.”

“Well, p’raps the tiara what Polly saw was the real thing. And that’s what was pinched.”

“Right,” said Wiggins. “What d’you reckon, Polly? What was it like?”

Polly thought for a moment, and her eyes became dreamy with the memory. “It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw,” she said.

“But what about the sparklers?”

“Yes, tell us about the sparklers – er, the diamonds,” Mr Holmes said.

“They was brilliant. When the light caught ’em, they flashed like … like … like bits of lightning in the sky.”

“Well said. An excellent description of first-rate stones. Now look at these.”

He held the fake tiara up to the candlelight.

“No.” Polly shook her head. “I can’t see no fire in them.”

“Exactly. I believe we may safely assume that this is not the tiara that was stolen, but a clever copy.”

The Boys all frowned at this new idea, which to most of them did not make any sense.

“I don’t get it,” said Gertie. “Why would anybody want a copy?”

“To swap it for the real one!” cried Wiggins.

“Precisely,” said Mr Holmes.

“But why?”

“Elementary, my dear Wiggins. Consider the matter carefully.”

Wiggins’s forehead furrowed as he thought hard, then his face cleared. “So they could sell the real one without anybody knowing!”

“Exactly. I understand that Lady Mountjoy is short of money.”

“That’s right,” piped up Polly. “She’s so hard up, she hasn’t been able to pay Mr Harper and Mrs Ford their wages for ages. I heard them talkin’ about it.”