The Case of the Haunted Horrors by Anthony Read Page B

is our man. I have no doubt it is work of Okhrana,” he said when Wiggins had finished. “You have done well, but is not enough. We know there is to be meeting. We think we know where. But we do not know when.”
    “If only we could work out what the rest of that message means,” cried Wiggins in frustration. “Three
what
, sitting
where
?”
    He paced the room, deep in thought, then stopped in front of the calendar, hoping the picture of Saint Petersburg might give him some kind of inspiration. But it was not the picture that did it for him – it was the days and dates beneath it. He spun round in triumph.
    “Got it!” he cried. “Look! Mon, Tues, Wed – it ain’t ‘three’ anything ‘sat’ anywhere. ‘Sat’ is short for
Saturday
!” He tapped the calendar with his finger. “And three can’t be the date, ’cos Saturday is the ninth. It’s got to be the time. So it’s three o’clock on Saturday, at the Spaniards pub on Hampstead Heath!”
    “Brilliant!” shouted Beaver. “Wiggins – you done it again!”
    The rest of the Boys cheered. Luba smiled. Ivan nodded, then held up his hands for quiet.
    “Very clever,” he said. “Well done. There is only one problem.”
    “What’s that?” asked Wiggins.
    “Saturday is today. If we are to catch villains, we have no time to lose.”
    “Right, let’s get moving, then!”
    Leaving Ivan and Luba to collect up some of their friends, Wiggins and the Boys rushed back to Baker Street. As they arrived, panting, at the gates of the Bazaar, Sarge came out of his lodge, looking bewildered.
    “What’s goin’ on?” he asked. “What’s the rush?”
    “We gotta get Mr Murray. We’re going to the fair!”

T HE G HOST S HOW
    Selwyn Murray was startled when the Boys burst in on him without warning. He leapt to his feet, certain that his enemies had tracked him down and were about to murder him, so he was relieved to see Wiggins’s excited face appear round the door.
    “Wiggins!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing? Someone might see you!”
    “Don’t matter if they do,” Wiggins replied. “Not now.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “We know where they’re going.”
    “Where?”
    “The Spaniards – three o’clock this afternoon.
Saturday
at
three
. Get it?”
    “Of course! Sat 3. Well done!” He pulled out his watch. “But it doesn’t leave us much time.”
    “You’re right,” agreed Wiggins. “And if we’re gonna catch ’em red-handed we’ll need the coppers there.”
    He turned to the other Boys, who were crowded behind him in the doorway, and rapped out his instructions: “Shiner, you know all about the Russians. Rosie, you know about the secret message. So you two go to Dr Watson, tell him where we’re going and ask him to get on to Inspector Lestrade. Off you go, now! The rest of you, come with me and Mr Murray.”
    “How we gonna get to Hampstead?” asked Beaver. “It’s too far to walk, ain’t it?”
    “It is indeed,” Murray answered. “And we don’t have time to wait for a train or an omnibus. We’ll go by cab. Run and tell Sarge to find us a four-wheeler, quick as he can.”
    The driver grumbled at having to squeeze six people into his cab, but Murray pointed out that half of them were small and offered him extra money to take them all.
    “And there’ll be another ten shillings for you,” he promised, “if you get us to The Spaniards Inn before three o’clock. It is a matter of national importance.”
    “Make it a pound and I’ll have a go,” the man replied.
    “Very well. A pound it is. Now drive!”
    Encouraged by the idea of so much money, the cabbie whipped up his horse and soon had them careering through the streets, past Lord’s Cricket Ground and the elegant villas of St John’s Wood, towards the long hill that led up to Hampstead Heath. It was a bumpy ride, and the Boys had to hang on tight to stop themselves being flung about inside the cab, but they all found it exciting, if a little