Free The Case of the Haunted Horrors by Anthony Read Page B

now,” said Gertie. “We’ll see you there.”
    When Wiggins arrived back at Mrs Pettigrew’s shop, Murray was not looking happy. “I think I know where he was seen,” he told Wiggins.
    “Where?”
    “The fair on Hampstead Heath.” Murray opened the book at a page he had marked and began to read aloud:
“A splendid day spent enjoying all the fun of the fair. Little Sarah squealed with delight at the merry-go-round. Evie was intrigued by the Ghost Show and especially our very first glimpse of the latest invention, moving pictures.”
    “Moving pictures?” Wiggins said. “Cor, I’d like to see that. But anyway, now we know where they was…”
    “I’m afraid it doesn’t really help us.”
    “Why not?”
    “They went there on Bank Holiday Monday – along with half the population of London.”
    “Oh, yeah,” Wiggins said. “I see what you mean.”
    “Thousands and thousands of people from all over the city.”
    “And it could have been any one of ’em.”
    “Yes. Ah, well, the diary was a good idea. Not your fault it was no use in the end.”
    “I’m sorry about that. Now let me put it back afore anybody notices it’s missing.”
    Murray handed the book to Wiggins, who headed for Madame Dupont’s waxworks once again. Now that it was getting light, the Dungeon didn’t seem quite so spooky. He replaced the diary on the desk and turned to leave. As he did so, he noticed that the highwayman’s hat had fallen off. He must have knocked it last night when he bumped into it in the dark. He bent down to pick it up, pausing to straighten the sign beside the exhibit – and stopped, staring at its words:
    The body of Black Jack Duvall, hanged at Tyburn in 1740 for highway robbery, was displayed in this gibbet on Hampstead Heath, where he operated from the notorious tavern known as The Spaniards Inn
.
    “Blimey!” Wiggins gasped, hardly able to believe what he had read. “Spaniards!”

B LACKBEARD’S
    “I got it!” Wiggins burst excitedly into Mrs Pettigrew’s shop. “I found the answer!”
    Murray sat up, startled. “What the…?” he exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”
    “I know what ‘Spaniards’ means!”
    “You do?”
    “It’s a pub. Or it was in 1740.”
    “It still is. It’s quite famous. Of course!”
    “D’you know where it is?”
    “Yes. It’s—”
    “On Hampstead Heath, right? Where your brother went to the fair.”
    “My goodness! But how…?”
    Wiggins quickly told him about the sign next to the highwayman in the Dungeon.
    “That’s amazing,” Murray said. “But we still don’t know if the two things are connected.”
    “They must be,” Wiggins replied. “All we gotta do is find out how.”
    Murray smiled at his confidence. “Oh, is that all? And what about the other part of the message?”
    “Yeah, well … maybe if we go up to Hampstead and have a sniff around…”
    “You may find it crowded. It’s holiday time again, and the fair will be on. Besides which, you don’t even know what you’re looking for.”
    “That’s true,” Wiggins admitted. “This calls for a bit more thinking about.”
    “It’s a pity Mr Sherlock Holmes isn’t around – from what I’ve heard of him, he’d be able to work it out.”
    “That’s the trouble with Mr Holmes. He’s never here when he’s needed. We have to manage without him most of the time.”
    “Do you think you can manage without him this time?”
    “Course. But I’ll have to think about it a bit more. I gotta go now.”
    “Where to?”
    “We lost one of the Boys. Looks like some of your Russian revolutionaries might have took him.”
    “That’s terrible! Some of these reds can be quite ruthless. I couldn’t bear it if anything dreadful were to happen to one of you on my account. We must find him before it’s too late.”
    Queenie and the others were waiting outside the Russian tea room when the stern-faced waitress arrived to open up for the day. She looked at them with