Brian Jacques - [Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

The ex-seaman and the dairyman took an end each, and they pulled, like two children with a Christmas cracker. The candlestick popped apart so easily that Will fell backward and Jon bumped into Mr. Mackay.

Apologies were forgotten as they stared at the slim scroll of paper lying on the floor.

40

SERGEANT PATTERSON WAS AN EASY man to get on with. Ben explained to him how he had come by the information that Smithers’s guest, Maud Bowe, was having four of her father’s company thugs sent up from London to frighten Mrs. Winn into leaving her home.

The sergeant spoke without looking at Ben as they walked toward the village square. “Why didn’t ye inform me of this before, lad?”

The boy thought hard before replying. “Well, I’d never met you before this morning. But when you got that telegraph message, and it mentioned four men coming up from London, I thought you’d better know about what I’d found out, so I’m telling you now.”

The Scots sergeant nodded. “Aye, fair enough. I hope ye don’t mind me askin’, but how did ye plan on dealing with them? Always providing that what Hetty told Miz Winn was fact, and not just kitchenmaid’s tittle-tattle.”

Ben’s blue eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’d think of something, one way or another.”

The sergeant questioned him further. “Did ye tell any o’ the others—Jon or Will, for instance?”

“No, you’re the first one I’ve spoken to about it.”

The policeman could not help admiring the boy’s courage. “And ye were goin’ tae handle it all on your own, eh?”

Ben stopped and stared at the bobby. “Me and Ned could do it!”

There was something about the pair, the manner in which the big, black dog stood by the boy and the determined light in the boy’s blue eyes. Sergeant Patterson smiled. “Ah’d bet money that ye could. But there’s three of us now, and ah’m the law. Ah was a constable for four years in the east end o’ London. Ah think ye’d better let me give ye some assistance, son.” He held out his hand. “All right with ye?”

The boy shook Patterson’s hand. “Fine with me, Sarge. Righto, Ned?”

The black Labrador held out his paw to the astonished sergeant, who shook it firmly and laughed. “Hahahah! Yon’s a pretty intelligent dog!”

The dog flashed a passing thought to his master. “This young sergeant’s fairly bright, too, eh, lad!”

The postmaster, Seth Talbot, had more news for them when they arrived at his office. “Message just come through from Drakehampton. I don’t think those four men in the motor vehicle know who they are. Asked the postmistress there directions for Chapelvale, said they were racehorse buyers. Drove off and nearly knocked an old gent down who was crossing the road.”

The sergeant turned to Ben. “Would ye like to go around tae the railway station sidings for me? Tell Constable Judmann ah can’t relieve him yet and tae stay there. I’m going tae use the telegraph here. Get a description of our four friends and their motorcar from Drakehampton. Then ah’ll contact headquarters in London and see what they know about them.”

The constable was in his element. He stood holding on to the bicycle, in view of the “Prohibition of Movement” notice he had fixed to the railway trucks. Nothing but his sergeant’s command would cause him to quit his post, he assured Ben, adding, “You tell the sarn’t I’ll stand ’ere all day an’ all night, if needs be, lad!”

Sergeant Patterson was beaming when they returned to the post office. The Labrador passed a thought to Ben. “I must look just like that when I get a big beef marrowbone!”

The boy could not hide a grin. “Aye, you do!”

Further thoughts were cut short by the sergeant, who met the two at the door. “Och, ye were right, lad! George Pearson, alias Gripper, Frederick Lloyd, alias Flash, Charles Hyland, alias Chaz, and Eric Wardle, alias Chunk. Driving a motorized vehicle, registration number BLH 98. Stolen from the front drive of Colonel Busby Hythe Simmonds of South Hampstead Crescent, London, yesterday evening!”

He strode from the post office, patting Ben’s back and stroking the dog’s head, a definite spring in his step. “Och aye, they’ve been guests at headquarters quite a few times. Felons, that’s what they are, Ben. Known criminals!”

Ben had to trot to keep up with the sergeant’s long strides. “What’s the next move, then, Sarge?”

Patterson squared his shoulders. “Reception committee, lad. We’ve got tae give our London friends a warm welcome. Haha, if the constable knew he’d be sharpenin’ his bayonet and cleaning up his auld army rifle. . . . Best leave him guarding the railway trucks, eh? Excitement, Ben, the very spice of life!”

“Ask him where we’re off to now, pal?”

Ben caught the Labrador’s thought and asked the sergeant, “Where are we going now, Sarge?”

“Tae Miz Winn’s house, o’ course, ah want tae see if they’ve solved the candlestick riddle. Keep up there, partner!”

Relief flooded the boy as he marched jauntily alongside his competent friend. He had not really known what he was going to do about the London villains. Of course, he had put on a confident air when Winnie told him about them, but that was mainly for her benefit. Truth was he had acted just like a typical Chapelvale villager, pushing the matter to the back of his mind, hoping that it was all just Hetty’s gossip. He counted himself very lucky that he had confided in Sergeant Patterson.

“Don’t blame yourself too much, pal.” The dog followed in Ben’s tracks. “A boy and a dog are pretty thin odds against four full-grown rogues. Our policeman’ll deal with ’em, look at the sergeant. He’s actually looking forward to it.”

Ben tugged Ned’s tail. “Excuse me, pal, but d’you mind not cutting in on my thoughts?”

The Labrador snapped playfully at Ben’s ankle. “And what about my thoughts, pray? I was as worried as you about the issue. Thank goodness for the law, I say!”

They encountered a fairly pensive group in the Winn sitting room, studying a piece of paper that lay unfurled upon the table.

Ben looked hopefully to the seaman. “So you found something, is that it?”

“Aye, lad. That paper was rolled up inside the other candlestick. What d’you make of it?”

The paper, for the most part, was blank, except for one corner, which had two rows of tiny cramped writing.

Ben read aloud. “ ‘Be of good heart, like a flame pure and true. May the light of St. Mark bring my words unto you. E.D.W.’ ”

The sergeant picked up the paper and inspected it. “Good, thick, quality stuff. Far more substantial than the thin slip in the other candlestick. Have ye tried matching them together in any way?”

Mr. Braithwaite placed the thin paper on the table. “We were just, er, about to do so, er, yes, quite so!”

Between them, Braithwaite and Mr. Mackay tried connecting both papers. Heeding every suggestion put forward by the rest, they placed the papers side by side, one over the other, semi-overlapping, and in every other possible combination that could be guessed at.

The result was absolutely nothing.

Will Drummond clenched both fists. Shutting his eyes tight, he called out in frustration, “St. Mark, are you listenin’? We’re all of good heart! D’you think you could let us in on your secret, eh? Before ’tis too late for Chapelvale!”

Will’s ma pursed her lips severely. “William Drummond! Don’t you be so disrespectful to one o’ the Lord’s disciples, you won’t get anythin’ done like that!”