Free The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Disappearing Detective by Anthony Read

stairs.
    “Come on,” she said to her companions, “we’ll find him ourselves.”
    Queenie was stopped by a stern voice from the landing.
    “What’s going on down there?” It was Dr Watson, wrapping his dressing gown round him as he peered over the banister. “Don’t you know what time it is?”
    “Doctor! We gotta talk to you!” Beaver called out breathlessly.
    “Can’t it wait?”
    “No, Doctor,” Queenie said. “It’s urgent.”
    “It’s Mr Holmes,” Rosie added. “Matter of life and death.”
    “Ah! You’d better come up at once,” the Doctor said. He watched them climb the stairs, then called down, “Billy! Bring us a pot of tea, if you please.”
    “Yes, Doctor.”
    “Oh, and Billy – get some clothes on, there’s a good chap.”
    Wiggins led Sparrow, Shiner and Gertie back to HQ as fast as they could go. When they got there, he grabbed Dick Turpin from the shelf and tipped the jug’s contents out onto the table. It made a small pile of pennies, halfpennies and farthings; a few sixpences, threepenny bits and shillings; and a solitary half-crown.
    “I hope there’s enough,” Wiggins said, as he scooped up the coins and put them into his pocket. “D’you know how much it is to Windsor?” he asked Shiner.
    Shiner knew a lot about trains, and even about the timetables into and out of Paddington, but he had never thought about fares. When he was an engine driver, he wouldn’t need to buy a ticket. He shook his head. “Dunno,” he said. “I know I’m hungry, though.”
    “You’re always hungry,” Wiggins replied.
    “And me,” Sparrow joined in. “I’m starvin’. I need some brekker.”
    “No time,” Wiggins said. He opened the food cupboard. It was empty apart from two rusty tins and the end of a loaf of bread. He picked up the bread, tore it in two and gave one piece each to the two boys.
    “There,” he said. “That’s all there is. You’ll have to eat it as we go. Come on.” And he headed for the door.
    Shiner bit into his crust at once, grumbling that it was stale, and dashed out after Wiggins. Sparrow hesitated, then tore his crust in two and gave half to Gertie, who hadn’t said anything but looked hungry. She rewarded him with a smile. They followed Wiggins and Shiner out, down the passage to the street, and off, running, towards Paddington Station.
    Billy brought a pot of tea and four cups on a tray, which he placed carefully on the table in front of Dr Watson.
    “I’m sorry it’s taken a while, sir,” he apologized. “I had to get the fire going.”
    He did not look happy to be serving the Boys, and was not his usual smart self. He had dressed hurriedly, and had missed one of the many buttons on his jacket, so that it was fastened crookedly across his chest. He had tried to comb his hair, but it still stuck up untidily, and there was a black coal smudge on the end of his nose.
    “Ah, Billy,” Dr Watson greeted him. “No time for that now, I’m afraid.”
    “Sir?”
    “We need to get to Scotland Yard as quickly as possible. Not a minute to lose. Run down to the street and get us a cab. Fast as you can!”
    Pausing only to look daggers at the Boys, Billy did as he was told, and a short while later was holding open the door of a four-wheeler for them.
    “Thank you, Billy,” Queenie said, as she climbed aboard, nodding graciously to him like a grand lady.
    Billy scowled and slammed the door behind her, and then they were off, bowling through the streets towards the police headquarters, with Dr Watson urging the driver to make haste.
    Paddington Station was already starting to get busy with the morning traffic as Wiggins and his group arrived, panting and breathless, at the ticket office.
    “Four tickets to Windsor, please,” Wiggins gasped.
    The clerk regarded him over his glasses. “Are they for you?” he asked sternly.
    “Yeah, course they are,” Wiggins said. “I got the money – look.” He dug the coins out of his pocket and piled them on