Journey to the River Sea

The twins gave grunts of satisfaction. They had caught her out!

Two more savage yanks, then Gwendolyn took hold of a handful of Maia’s hair and twisted it away from her scalp.

‘Quick, where is he? If you don’t tell us we’ll really hurt you.’

‘And scratch your face, so that your precious Sergei won’t want to look at you again.’

Maia gulped, sniffed. It wasn’t difficult; the twins, when in an evil mood, were surprisingly strong.

‘If I tell you will you let me go?’

‘Yes. Unless you lie to us.’

‘He’s in the museum... in the Natural History Museum, but please, please don’t give him away! He’s not a criminal and—’

‘Whereabouts in the museum?’

The door was thrown open and Sergei stood there. ‘What are you doing? How dare you! Let her go!’

The twins dropped Maia’s arms. Then they ran out past Sergei, leaving him alone with Maia.

‘They’re fiends, those girls!’ he said, putting an arm round Maia. ‘What was it about?’

‘I can’t tell you, Sergei, but it’s all right, trust me. It really is all right.’

‘I’ll kill them,’ muttered Sergei through clenched teeth. ‘I’ll really kill them.’

But when he came to look for the twins, they were nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Thirteen

The twins, in their flesh-pink party frocks and satin shoes, had run out into the street. They panted across the square, turned down a side road, and as they ran they quarrelled.

‘We can’t go and see those men without Mummy,’ said Gwendolyn.

‘Yes we can. I know where the Pension Maria is; it’s quite near.’

‘But it’s down by the docks. There are awful men there. I’m not going without Mummy,’ said Gwendolyn obstinately.

‘All right then, we’ll get her. But don’t blame me if she tries to get half the reward.’

‘She won’t. We wouldn’t let her. It’s for us and no one else.’

A man came out of his house and stood by his garden gate.

‘You see, he wants us for the White Slave Traffic,’ said Gwendolyn, and tried to run faster.

The man, who had come out to walk his dog, crossed the road but the twins did not stop till they reached the club where their mother was playing bridge.

‘Right, that’s it,’ said Mr Trapwood. He shut the lid of his suitcase. ‘In another couple of hours we can go on board.’

He looked longingly at the lighted ship, ready for her start at dawn. She looked so clean, so nice, so British . . .

Mr Low came to stand beside him. ‘Decent bunks, decent food, people speaking English. You can’t believe it.’

But in spite of the relief of being on the way home, the crows were broken men. Mr Low was still feverish, Mr Trapwood’s insect bites had spread in an infected mass over his face and neck, and neither of them could keep down their food.

It wasn’t being ill, though, that worried them the most. It was failure. They would go back with an empty berth in their cabin and a sad story to tell Sir Aubrey.

‘He’ll probably hire some other detectives and send them out. He won’t give up so easily.’

‘It’s The Blood,’ said Mr Trapwood gloomily. ‘The aristos are like that when it’s The Blood they’re dealing with.’

Down below the pension bell pealed loudly. Then the maid came up and knocked on the door.

‘There’s three ladies to see you,’ she said.

And before the crows could ask any more, the door was thrown open and Beatrice and Gwendolyn, followed by their mother, came excitedly into the room.

‘We know where he is! We know where the Taverner boy is hiding!’

‘We know for sure!’

The crows, who had been lying weakly on the bed, sat up. Their eyes glinted. They were changed men.

‘Where? Where?’

Beatrice said, ‘If we tell you, are we sure to get the reward? As soon as you’ve found him?’

‘Of course.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes, yes . . .’

‘He’s here in the museum. The Natural History Museum, just down the road.’

Mr Low was hitching up his braces, fetching a coil of rope. Mr Trapwood was strapping his pistol underneath his jacket. They were not surprised; they had suspected Glastonberry all along.

‘We want to see you catch him.’

‘No!’ Mrs Carter spoke sharply to her girls. ‘There may be a struggle. Or violence.’

‘That’s true enough.’ The crows were buttoning up their jackets. ‘You just go back home; we’ll see you get the money.’

‘The address is Carter, Tapherini, Rio Negro. I’ll write it down for you,’ said Mrs Carter.

‘But send it to Miss Beatrice and Miss Gwendolyn,’ said Beatrice. ‘Send it to us.’

‘It’ll go to the police station; you can fetch it from there,’ said Mr Trapwood, patting the bulge inside his jacket. ‘How do you know he’s in the museum?’

‘Maia told us. We made her. We twisted her arm till she did. We knew she had a secret.’

The crows nodded. The dark girl with the pigtail. There’d been something fishy about her from the start.

‘Now, ladies, if you just go home, everything will be taken care of, and I assure you that your reward is safe.’

The museum, of course, was locked, but it was not difficult to find Professor Glastonberry’s house. It was a modest bungalow in a quiet street lined with palm trees. The crows rang the bell; then thumped on the door, then rang again.