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

Flash pointed. “Some ole geezer sittin’ watchin’ us, wiv an ’orse an’ cart. Over there, look!”

Gripper got out of the vehicle and nodded to his crew. “There’s four of us an’ one of ’im, let’s see wot ’e wants.”

The villainous-looking man, who was in reality the old ship’s carpenter wearing a disguise, stared down from his perch on the gig at the four toughs. His voice held a sneer. “So, yew got ’ere finally. Wot time d’yer call this t’be rollin’ up fer the job, eh?”

“We got los . . . Oof!”

Flash had the wind knocked from him by Gripper’s elbow. Gripper did his best tough stare and spat in the dust. “None of yer business, Granddad, we ’ad a few problems, that’s all. Now, where’s this old biddy’s place? We’ll do the job. Don’t get yer whiskers in an uproar about that. Show us the way.”

Jon shook his head pityingly, looking them up and down. “Company toughs, eh, huh! It’s too late t’do anythin’ tonight, Mr. Smithers an’ Maud wants to see yer up at the ’ouse.”

“Do they ’ave food up there, you know, eats?”

The old seaman winked at Chunk. “All yer likes, tons of it!”

“Ad hab dey got bandages an’ thiggs, too?”

Jon chuckled wickedly. “Probl’y, but they mightn’t ’ave enough to go ’round yore big ’ooter. Fell on it, didyer?”

Gripper fished a leather-bound cosh out of his pocket and began smacking it ominously in his palm. “Lissen, ole man. Yore too nosy fer yer own good, but I can soon fix that. Now, are y’takin’ us up to the ’ouse, eh?”

Jon indicated the cart. “Cummon, ’op in. I’ll take ye.”

Gripper grabbed the back of Flash’s coat as he began to mount the gig. “We got a motorcar, you get goin’. We’ll foller yer.”

Secreted with Ben and Alex in the rosebushes to one side of the police station door, Mr. Mackay, armed with Sergeant Patterson’s long pacing stick, whispered hoarsely through the open charge office window. “They’re coming!”

Gripper stared suspiciously at the greystone building. “This don’t look like no toff’s big ’ouse!”

The shipman climbed down from the gig. “ ’Cos it ain’t, it’s my ’ouse. Mr. Smithers don’t want you lot t’be seen ’round ’is mansion. Well, are you big, brave ’ooligans goin’ to sit out ’ere in yer motorcar all night?”

Gripper silenced the engine and got out, pointing a finger. “Watch who yer callin’ ’ooligans, Granpop. Cummon, youse lot!” They swaggered up the path nonchalantly, letting Jon see that they were not the least bit afraid, while he followed them.

Gripper was about to raise the lion’s-head knocker on the door when it was flung open and Sergeant Patterson pulled him inside. As he did, he roared, “Now!”

Will sprang forward and grabbed Chunk, charging from the rear, as Jon and Mr. Mackay bulled Chaz and Flash into the station with their two companions. The boys watched through the window as the sergeant locked the door.

Gripper was pale with shock and indignation. He immediately recognized the interior, having been in many police stations. “Wot’s all this, then? We ain’t done nothin’ wrong. I’ll see our lawyers about this!”

The sergeant towered over Gripper and folded his arms, smiling. “Colonel Busby Hythe Simmonds, ah presume.”

Gripper sensed the policeman had made a mistaken identity. “You’ve got the wrong man, Sergeant. I ain’t Colonel Bubsy Wots’isname, neither are me friends. Never ’eard of ’im afore!”

Patterson nodded understandingly. “Well, ah’m glad we’ve got that cleared up, sir. Perhaps you’d like tae tell me what ye are doing in possession of the colonel’s motorcar, number BLH 98, which was stolen from outside his house at South Hampstead Crescent in London last evening?”

Flash groaned. “Told yer we should’ve took the train, Gripp.”

Gripper shot him a murderous glance, silencing him. He turned back to the sergeant. “You can’t ’old us ’ere. We ain’t committed no crimes, we found the motorcar, see.”

The sergeant’s voice still retained its pleasant tone. “Found it, sir, where, in Church Haven outside the post office?”

Chunk smiled in remembrance of the visit. “That’s right, Sarge, where the ole lady nearly give me a drink o’ water. I liked ’er!”

The two boys listened in through the open window, chuckling as the sergeant replied. “Och aye, ye’d be one of the four royal couriers, or is it one of the racehorse buyers who asked directions at Drakehampton post office. Which were you? Think!”

Chunk took off his bowler and scratched his shaven head. “Er, I fink the game’s up, Gripp. ’E’s nabbed us fair’n’square!”

Gripper stamped his boot down on Chunk’s foot. “Sharrup, thick’ead. Don’t say another word, none of youse!”

The sergeant sat at the charge office desk, his pleasant mood evaporating suddenly as he rapped out, “Enough o’ all this nonsense. George Pearson, Frederick Lloyd, Charles Hyland, and Eric Wardle. Ye are under arrest for the theft of a motor vehicle, pending further investigations revealing any other felonies. Ye’ll be held in custody here until such times as ye appear before a magistrate. Have ye anything tae say t’the charges brought against ye?”

Flash whispered to Gripper, “’E knows our proper names! ’Ow’d ’e find that out?”

Gripper ground his teeth together audibly. “Shut . . . up!”

Sergeant Patterson stared levelly at the four accused. “Ah said, have ye anything tae say t’the charges?”

Gripper glared sullenly back at him. “We wanna lawyer!”

Mr. Mackay looked them up and down with disdain. “I’m a lawyer, the only one in Chapelvale, but I don’t deal in criminal law. Besides, I’ve quite enough clients at the moment, thank you. So, what are your plans, gentlemen, eh?”

Chaz’s nose had stopped bleeding, and he sniffed carefully before blurting out, “The company we work for in London, Jackman Donnin’ an’ Bowe, ’ll get a lawyer fer us, a real one from London, not some ’ayseed like that feller!”

Gripper groaned, and clenching both fists, he turned on Chaz. “You stoopid, loudmouthed squealer! I’ll . . .”

Chaz skipped nimbly out of range, placing himself behind the formidable figure of Will Drummond.

“Keep ’im away from me! It was Gripper who pinched the motorcar, ’e’s the on’y one of us wot can drive. I ’aven’t done nothin’, an’ I’m not gonna be left carryin’ the can fer miss snotty nose Maud Bowe an’ ’er father’s firm. No! Not fer any local bigwig who’s in with ’em, either!”

It was at that moment when Constable Judmann pounded on the station door and the old seaman let him in. “I thought you were comin’ to relieve me, Sarge. ’Ello, what’ve we got ’ere?”

Sergeant Patterson took hold of Chaz firmly. “Ah’ll tell ye all about it later, Constable. Lock those three up in the holding cell, will ye. Ah’ll keep this fellow here with me. Ah’ve got a feeling he wants tae tell me more.” The sergeant relieved Mackay of his stick.

“Thanks for the help, gents. Time yon lads were in bed, though. Does your dad know you’re out this late, Alex?”

The younger boy who stood framed by the open window with the blue-eyed boy replied, “It’s all right, Sarge. Me and Amy told him we’d be stopping over with Ben at Miz Winn’s tonight.”

The sergeant winked at Ben. “Weel, you make sure they get straight off tae bed, and don’t stay up late yourself!”

Ben grinned cheekily. “Bed? Not on a night like this. It’s gone midnight, d’you realize? Today’s Thursday, the deadline day for Chapelvale. I’m going back to see if Miz Winn and our friends have cracked the riddle!”