Anthony Horowitz - South by South East

And suddenly I knew. “Have you got a cigarette, Mrs Jackson?” I asked.

“You’re too young to smoke,” she scowled.

“Then why are you offering me a light?” I pointed at the gun. My hand was chained to Tim’s and he pointed at it too.

“What…?” Tim began.

The front doorbell rang. The police had arrived.

“Move!” I shouted.

We leapt off the bed and pushed past Mrs Jackson and her friends, making for the door. They were too surprised to do anything and a moment later we were out of the room. I could feel the chain straining at my wrist as Tim hesitated. I suppose he was afraid that we were about to get shot. But I knew better. It hadn’t been a real gun at all but a fancy cigarettelighter. And how had I guessed? Maybe it was just intuition. But the single word “Dunhill” printed on the barrel had probably helped.

Down below, the police were hammering at the door. That meant we could only go up. We found a second staircase and clambered up it, arriving on the second floor. This was also the top floor. We had nowhere else to go. Behind me I heard Mrs Jackson hurrying down to let the police in. We had maybe ten seconds before we were taken.

There was a window at the end of the corridor. Pulling Tim with me, I went over to it. The window was at the back of the house. There was a narrow alley — about two metres across — and then a lower building. The roof of the other building was a few metres below us. It was flat, covered in black asphalt.

“We can jump,” I said.

“We can’t,” Tim quavered.

“We’ve got to.” I opened the window and Tim and I crawled out onto the sill. The handcuffs didn’t make it easy. We hovered there for a few seconds. Behind us, I could hear the police racing up the stairs.

“Jump!”

I launched myself into space. Tim did the same. Like some sort of clumsy, prehistoric bird we soared out of the house. For a horrible moment I thought I wasn’t going to make it. And if I didn’t make it, nor would Tim. The chain would drag him back and we’d both end up as so many broken bones on the pavement below. But then the asphalt roof rushed up and hit me in the chest. My legs still hung in space but enough of me had reached the building to save me. I twisted to the right. Tim was lying beside me.

“Close…” he rasped and wiped his brow. He used the chained hand and I had to wipe his brow too.

The building was some sort of office block. We found a skylight in, a flight of stairs down and a glass door out. Nobody saw us go. There were about a dozen police cars parked in the street at the front but everybody was concentrating on Mrs Jackson’s guest house so we simply walked away. We held hands until we were round the corner. But then, of course, we were still very much attached.

Getting across London again wasn’t easy — but we had no choice. If we really were heading for Amsterdam, that meant a ferry from Dover. If we wanted to get to Dover we had to start at Victoria. And that meant holding hands through Hyde Park and on through Knightsbridge to the other side of London.

The chances of our reaching Victoria without being seen must have been a thousand to one against, but somehow we managed it. We emerged in front of the main forecourt where the taxis and buses were locked into what had become a frozen mosaic of black and red. All we had to do now was to find the right train.

“Where’s the ticket-office?” I muttered the question more to myself than to Tim but unfortunately he heard me.

“I’ll ask,” he said. He turned to someone standing nearby. “Excuse me,” he went on. “Can you tell me where the ticket-office is?”

“Certainly, sir. It’s through the main entrance and on the left.”

It was the “sir” that alerted me. I looked round and nearly died on my feet. Tim had just asked a policeman.

Even then we might have slipped away. But Tim had realized what he had done. He went bright red. He squeaked. He hid his head behind his arm. If the policeman hadn’t noticed him before, he couldn’t help but look twice then. I hurried Tim away. But it was already too late. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw the policeman staring after us. He was talking into his radio at the same time.

We didn’t buy a ticket. I knew that the police would soon be after us and that would be the first place they’d look. Our only chance was to get out of Victoria as quickly as possible on a train. I dragged Tim across the main concourse. There was a train to Dover leaving in nine minutes. Would it pull out before the police pulled in? I decided to take a gamble. We took the train.

As we climbed on, Tim stopped me. “Look!”

I followed his eyes. “Network South East!” he explained.

It was true. We were travelling Network South East. The words were written on the side of the carriage. “So what?” I asked.

“We’re going south by South East!” Tim said.

I had to admit that he had a point. South by south east. Was that what McGuffin had meant by his final words? “Let’s get on,” I said.

We walked down the train, looking for the quietest carriage. We were still chained together of course and I was frightened that somebody might notice. But the other passengers were too busy getting out their sandwiches and newspapers. We had just reached First Class when the train jolted and began to move forward. We were on the way.

The second-class carriages had been almost full. First Class was almost empty. But as I began to move forward again, I noticed a young woman, sitting on her own, reading a book. At least, she had been reading the book. Now she was staring at us.

She was a few years older than Tim, dressed in a smart shirt and suit with a silk scarf and grey, suede gloves. I thought she might be an actress or maybe the head of a fashion firm. She had long fair hair, a little make-up and soft, suntanned skin. Her eyes were a shade of green that made me think of cats and Egyptian princesses and witchcraft.

She knew who we were. There could be no doubt of it. “Sit down!” she said.

I hesitated. But I could see we had no choice. I sat down, pulling Tim with me.

“Tim Diamond!” She smiled as she said the words. As far as she knew, Tim was a wanted criminal, a dangerous bank robber. But she was treating the whole thing like a joke.

“Hello!” Tim’s voice sounded peculiar.

I glanced at him. He had gone bright red and his lips were wobbling. For a minute I thought he was train sick. Then I realized it was something much, much worse. Tim had fallen in love.

“I’m Tim,” he said. “This is another brick.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My brother, Nick,” he corrected himself.

The woman glanced at our handcuffs. “Is that chain the one you pull in emergencies or do you always travel like that?” she asked. Her voice had an accent. She wasn’t English, that was for sure. But what was she? Who was she? And why hadn’t she sounded the alarm?

“I can explain…” I began.

“There’s no need to.” She smiled again and I had to admit it was a pretty smile. “My name is Charlotte Van Dam,” she went on. “I’m Dutch and I’m a writer. Crime stories. I’m on my way home from a convention in London.”

“How unconventional,” Tim gurgled.

“If you know who he is, how come you aren’t calling the cops?” I asked.

She leaned forward and put a hand on Tim’s knee. Tim squirmed in his seat and blushed. “I know an innocent man when I see one,” she said. “And your brother has got the most lovely big, wide, innocent eyes.”

Yeah. They match his lovely big, wide, innocent brain, I thought. But I decided to say nothing. If Charlotte Van Dam was crazy enough to fancy Tim, that might just help us. And right now we needed all the help we could get.