The Quest for the Penny Black, page 8
Archie looked at the others. ‘Frig this. I don’t believe in ghosts!’ he announced unsurely. He rushed up the stairs and crashed against the door. It flew open and he landed on the ground outside. He picked himself up and brushed himself down. ‘If you must do something, do it yourself,’ he commented.
The rest dashed up out of the crypt followed by Mrs W who wasn’t quite so able and had to be carried by Muster.
‘Where’s my wheelchair?’ she snorted.
‘Someone’s taken it Mum. But never mind, I’ll carry you. Where are we going Archie?’
‘We’d better make our way to Swains lane. We’ll take the Imp. You, Razor and Nick, go round to the main entrance and pick up the Velox. OK? Muster, you help Mrs W to the car.’
‘Come on Mum,’ said Muster. ‘Let me carry you.’ He picked her up. ‘Which way is out?’ he asked.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Mrs W. ‘Put me down.’ Looking at the map and compass, she decided to go towards the north out of the Lebanon area into the Egyptian area then down to Swains Lane. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Lift me up.’ With Jake holding Moira’s hand and Archie leading the way, they made their way through the labyrinth of crypts towards the road. At that moment, they saw a shape move across the path.
‘Ee! It’s a ghost!’ shouted Moira and clung to Jake, who didn’t mind at all and was actually quite pleased. The shape stopped at the side of the path then they heard a smash as glass hit the ground. The shape disappeared. On approaching it, they found an empty whisky bottle.
‘It’s OK,’ said Archie. ‘It’s only a drunk.’
Onwards, they marched along the dark paths lit only by two torches; past the elaborate statues and crypts, ignoring the suspicious shadows that would rear up as they looked with fear at the columns and gravestones; or the sounds of the night that only a graveyard can bring; or the whistling of the wind through the overgrown trees, that hinted of unspeakable acts. They walked for another twenty-five minutes with Mrs W on Muster’s back, then came to an open area surrounded by a fence.
‘This is Swains Lane,’ said Archie. ‘Now find the gate.’ They found it and with Muster breaking the lock, they rushed outside into the light. The Imp was a few yards down the road.
‘Do you know what?’ said Muster.
‘What?’ Archie asked.
‘This Swains Lane is supposed to be haunted.’
‘Go on!’ jeered Archie. ‘Who said that?’
‘My granny used to say a ghost would come out of the gates.’
‘Load of crap!’ said Archie.
‘Then who’s that man over there with a tall hat on?’
They looked and sure enough, there was someone, or something there.
Moira screamed. ‘It’s got no friggin feet!’ she yelled.
The others looked. Sure enough, it seemed to be floating over the ground.
‘Shit!’ exclaimed Archie. ‘Quick, get into the car. Help Mrs W in.’ said Archie and pushed her to the rear.
‘It’s a bit crowded in here,’ complained Moira, as they all struggled to get in as fast as possible.
‘That’s OK,’ said Jake. ‘Sit on my lap.’
‘Thanks,’ said Muster as he pressed his weight down on Jake’s lap.
‘Sod it.’ Jake groaned.
‘Go! Go!’ shouted Archie as the shape seemed to be coming towards them. He turned the ignition key and the engine rumbled to life. Without looking, he sped out into the road heading back to Mrs W’s place; each not convinced that what they had seen was human.
‘What was that?’ exclaimed Jake as he sat back, crushed by the weight of Muster.
‘God knows,’ replied Archie, ‘but it scared the shit out of me.’
The rest of the journey was completed in silence.
Dropping Mrs W and Jake off first, they never noticed the motorbike trailing them. ‘We’ll come by tomorrow,’ said Archie. ‘See what you can do with the translation.’
‘Yes,’ replied Mrs W. ‘Goodnight.’
With a clang, the Imp drove off, leaving Mrs W and Jake to enter the house.
Penny blacks, thought Archie gleefully, as he headed home. I can make enough money on this to retire. Onwards he sped, lost in his own dreams.
The motorbike that had been following them stopped at the corner, then after a few minutes sped away.
As they entered the house, Rodney heard them and barked continuously. ‘I’ll go and see him,’ said Mrs W. ‘You get to bed and we’ll see what happens tomorrow.’
‘Yes I’m tired,’ replied Jake thinking of Moira and the evening’s events. ‘See you tomorrow.’ and off he went.
Mrs W saw to Rodney and like the others, washed up, made herself a sandwich and wondered what had happened to her wheelchair. Putting the next clue in her drawer, she turned off the light and went towards her bedroom. ‘Oh, that’s tomorrow’s problem,’ she concluded as she entered the room. She decided however, to leave the lights on and let Rodney sleep near her bedroom door. Rodney liked it for he was given a pile of biscuits to last the night. Eventually, only silence, broken occasionally with the snoring sounds from Jake in direct competition with Rodney’s, could be heard.
Ozy was sitting at home when he got a call. The caller informed him that a team was available to help as required. ‘Is there a woman?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Three people. A woman and two men.’
‘OK send them to my TS address. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Done.’ and the caller closed the phone.
The team were hired from a private organization, which specialized in protecting personalities from danger. It was registered under the name of ‘Palatial Cleaning Services’ The company, run by a character called Ramos Santiago, whose family had made a fortune out of the construction industry after the war had his headquarters in Rome, with contacts around the world. The teams, as such, were made up from specialised personnel from the armed forces or police, who were single, dedicated and were bored by the drabness of civilian life. They got their instructions via messages and coded telephone calls and made no contact with the organizers of the company. They were also useful on occasions, when criminals involved in murder or genocide; either escaped justice or was involved in the corruption of the same. Then a sentence more appropriate to the crime would be carried out.
It was late in the evening when Sergeant Conway walked into the park. Strapping a torch to his cap and removing the metal detector from a bag he was carrying, he connected the earphones, turned the machine on and proceeded to scan within the vicinity of the old oak tree. After half an hour, he had only found a shilling piece, three coke caps and a bent piece of metal that looked as it was left over from the Second World War.
‘Hello, who’s that?’ asked a voice. It was the duty constable on his evening rounds. Shining his torch, he recognised the sergeant and touched his helmet. ‘Oh it’s you, Sir.’ Then, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Its part of an investigation,’ replied Conway, unable to think of anything else to say. Just then he stepped into a pile of dog’s mess. ‘Blast,’ he uttered, leaning up against the tree to wipe the offending matter off his shoe.
‘I wouldn’t do that Sir,’ the constable advised.
‘Why?’
‘Because where you’re leaning, there’s a brown stain on the trunk of the tree.
‘Christ!’ he uttered as he jumped away from the tree. He then stepped on another pile. ‘Bugger this,’ he oathed and bent down to remove the stain with some grass.
‘I think you leaned in dog shit,’ the constable repeated.
Conway ran his finger up his back then sniffed it. It was indeed. ‘How the hell did it get there?’ he shouted.
‘I don’t know Sir.’ he replied, with a smile. The constable touched his helmet and proceeded on his rounds.
Conway, frustrated that he had found nothing, vowed to keep an eye on the old lady. He cleaned his shoes the best he could, took off his jacket and wiped it with the grass. It still stunk when he put it on. ‘There’s more to this than meets the eye,’ he decided as he made his way to the tube station. ‘What a day to put my car in for service!’
The journey home was somewhat marred by the constant movement of the passengers around him as they sought clean air.
Chapter 7
The next morning came and Jake knocked on Mrs W’s door. ‘Come in,’ she said.
Jake went in to find her hard at work with books and papers strewn across the coffee table.
Rodney lay by the sofa, his eyes open looking at the door and Jake. He sat down. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked, keeping one eye on the dog.
‘OK.’
Just then, there was a tap on the door. ‘Come in.’
The door opened and there stood Edna with some plastic boxes in her hands. ‘I’ve brought you this,’ she said opening one of the boxes. It smelt of chicken curry. It’s nasi rendang, she explained.
What’s that?’
‘It consists of rice with meat and spices mixed.’
‘It smells delicious!’ said Mrs W looking up. ‘You are kind. Just leave it on the kitchen table.’
Edna looked at Jake. ‘Would you like some?’ she asked. ‘There’s plenty in the pot.’
Jake had always fancied Edna but had the feeling she didn’t respond. ‘Yes please,’ he said.
‘Shall I come up and help you?’
‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ she replied. ‘I’ll put it on the table with the other.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jake who liked Asian food. ‘Can I pay you?’
‘Certainly not!’ she said. ‘Anyway I’m off to work. I’ll just pop in with the other containers.’ She closed the door and they heard her patter upstairs.
‘What a lovely young lady,’ said Mrs W looking up from her work. ‘The Asians are so polite, you know.’
‘Yes I know,’ replied Jake thinking back to his younger days when they used to stop at Far Eastern ports. Ah! Hong Kong, Singapore and Thailand. Those were the days. His thoughts were interrupted by Mrs W.
‘Now this paper is interesting,’ she began. ‘I’ve done what I can. What do you think of it?’
Jake took the paper from her hand and read.
It stands along the road of pleasure for those who pay, where the cross denotes the places way.
600 times the patrons smile, a garish sound of laughter also at the notorious Mrs Ebbsmith, a tale of woe.
But deep down unseen by all, runs the river silent and swift.
The trapdoor will hold the clue, But careful be for if you fall, no more will be seen of you.
‘What do you think?’
‘Mn,’ Jake replied. ‘Let’s get the map of London out.’ She went to a bureau drawer and took out a rather crumpled map of London. They pored over it for a while, and then the phone rang. Mrs W went out and picked it up. It was Archie.
‘Everything all right?’ he began.
‘Yes, thank you Mr Brown.’
‘Have you translated the bit of paper yet?’
‘Well, yes, but we haven’t decided where it is.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he replied. ‘I’ll come over now with Muster and we’ll help for a while.’
She hesitated. ‘Oh, very well. Come over now. I’ll make you some tea.’
‘Right.’ and he rang off.
She went back to the study. ‘Mr Brown is coming over with one of his men. He may be able to solve it.’
‘I don’t trust him,’ Jake mumbled.
‘Oh, never mind. He can’t do anything without us.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Jake looked and looked again. ‘At least this one’s in London.’
Edna walked in with some more plastic containers.’ For you,’ she said to Jake with a smile. ‘I’ll leave them on the kitchen table.’
‘Thanks young lady,’ replied Jake controlling an urge to get up and grab her. ‘I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’
‘I hope so,’ she replied, looking at Mrs W. ‘See you later.’
‘Goodbye dear,’ said Mrs W. ‘Thanks for the food.’
‘My pleasure.’ She turned and went out of the door.
Turning to the paper, she looked up at Jake. ‘It’s that last line again. It’s the same as the first clue and mentions a number.’
‘Let’s wait and see,’ offered Jake. Just then, they heard the sound of a car stopping. ‘That’ll be Mr Brown.’ She looked out to see a removal van. Just then she heard a knock at the door. ‘That should be Mr Brown. Let him in.’
Jake went to the door and standing there were Archie and Muster. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Take your shoes off.’ They entered and were shown into the study. Archie looked round.
Cripes, he thought. These books must be worth a fortune, as his eyes gyrated round the room at the enormous bookshelves that took up the walls. He fingered the desk as he drew near. ‘Edwardian,’ he calculated. ‘Worth several thousand quid.’
‘Good morning Mr Brown.’ His thoughts were broken by Mrs W’s greeting.
‘Morning Mrs. How are you?’
‘I’ve got a headache,’ she replied, ‘but I’ve got this bit of paper. Can you make head or tail of it? You’re not in a hurry are you?’
‘No no, Miss World can wait a bit.’
‘Miss World?’ Jake’s ears picked up.
‘Yes, she wants us to be there when she has some publicity photos taken. Swimsuit stuff. That sort of thing.’
‘Really?’ Jake replied, his interest once again, aroused.
‘Yes. But I told her she would have to wait.’
Jake now only half believed him. ‘I see,’ he replied sternly. Turning to the Mrs. ‘Give him the paper,’ he instructed. She handed it over. Archie, with Muster looking over his shoulder, placed his hand on his chin. ‘Mn,’ he said. ‘It sounds familiar. Let me think.’
‘While you’re thinking, I’ll go and make the tea,’ she announced and went off to the kitchen.
Jake didn’t trust Archie and suggested they retired to the lounge where it was more comfortable.
‘Let’s go,’ said Archie and they made their way across the hall. Soon, the rattle of the tea trolley reached their ears and the door opened and in came Mrs W with the trolley and some biscuits. She was followed by Rodney who had smelt the sweets. After pouring the tea, there was silence. Suddenly, Muster commented. ‘The only place I know is Charing Cross road where the, er ladies of the night are, I mean were,’ he added, looking at Mrs W in case he embarrassed her.
‘Could be,’ replied Jake. ‘Let’s have a look at the map. Laying it out on the coffee table they found the area. ‘There are some office blocks and theatres here,’ he commented. ‘But, where?’ It seemed a difficult thing to solve.
‘Drink your tea up, boys. We need to do some other things today. Let’s think about it and meet when we’ve had some ideas.’
‘OK,’ replied Archie seeing that he had to get back soon to check out the stolen items that had come in. ‘We’ll give you a ring tomorrow, OK?’
‘Very well Mr Brown.’ and they made their way out into the hall. Rodney could not wait and dashed between their legs, grabbed Archie’s shoe and ran down the hall out into the garden.
There, he proceeded to tear and bite at the shoe. Archie stood still in shock. ‘They’re Bally shoes,’ he complained.
‘Rodney!’ she shouted in a voice so loud, that it could be heard in the local market down the road. Muster put his hands over his ears and Jake was in a state of shock. ‘Put that shoe down!’ The dog hearing the tone of the voice obliged and slunk into his basket in the kitchen. Mrs W went to retrieve the shoe. It had a few bite holes in it and the heel was hanging off. ‘I suppose you can repair it,’ she said handing it over.
‘Yes,’ replied Archie between his teeth. Slipping the damaged shoe on, they made their way to the lorry, and hence out of Tavistok Square. ‘I’ll kill that friggin dog,’ he said to Muster as they turned the corner.
When they had gone, Jake turned to the Mrs ‘I think I’ll go down to the library,’ he announced. ‘They might have some information.’
‘What about your lunch, the one Edna left?’
‘I’ll have it when I get back. Can I keep the paper?’
‘Yes. I’ve got a copy.’ With that, Jake went out and eventually left the house for the library.
Mrs W sat there for a while then decided she was hungry going out into the kitchen. She could smell the food that Edna had left. ‘I think I’ll have a nibble,’ she said, got out the containers and sat at the kitchen table. In a few minutes, she had eaten the lot. Delicious! She heard the bell ring at the front door. Going outside and opening the door, she saw Ozy with her wheelchair. ‘I’m just returning this,’ he began.
‘Yes, yes. Come in.’
Ozy followed Mrs W to the lounge. ‘How did you get it?’ she enquired.
‘Oh,’ Ozy replied. ‘One of my men is a guard there and recognised you.’
‘Oh.’
Rodney, who had crept in through the open door and was lying behind the sofa, suddenly woke and poked his head out to see who it was. On seeing Ozy’s trousers, he edged his way round the room ready to pounce on his legs. Ozy sat away from the dummy, but on seeing this and being familiar with the matter drew his legs up to his knees.
‘Hello Ozy. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, perfectly all right, auntie,’ he replied. ‘The wheelchair. Is it yours?’
‘Yes. I was visiting one of my relations when it started to rain.’
‘I see. But I was told you were with some other gentlemen.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, thinking quickly. ‘They were helping me.’
Ozy looked at Mrs W. ‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’ he asked.
‘No Mr Amogo. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No thanks. I’ll be off now.’ rising from the chair and keeping an eye on Rodney. ‘It’s OK, I’ll let myself out.’ As he walked out, he had time to look at the paper on the coffee table. It was a mix of words, but he had a feeling that it was connected with the strange happenings of late. I must keep on this one, he thought, as he walked out of the door towards his car. Mrs W may be in danger. Although Archie Brown is not known for violence, he’s mixed up with other crowds who are not so particular. He got home and rang one of his team. ‘There’s something going on and Archie Brown’s involved. We must find out what’s going on. That guy with the green hair, he still works for Archie?’
