Free The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Stolen Sparklers by Anthony Read

her ladyship’s dresses,” exclaimed Polly. “What’s Violet doin’ with it?”
    “Selling it, by the sound of things,” said Wiggins.
    “Oh, the wicked creature.” Polly put her hands to her mouth in shock. “She must have stole it!”
    “If Violet’s a thief,” Beaver said, “that means she could’ve stole the jewels, don’t it?”
    The daylight was fading into evening and the patches of mist were thickening into fog, when Shiner and Rosie saw a telegraph boy ride up the street on one of the Post Office’s new red bicycles. They stared at it with great interest, fascinated at how quickly and easily it moved. The telegraph boy got off the bicycle and leant it against the railings of Mountjoy House. Shiner crossed the street to admire it. Straightening the little peaked helmet on his head, the boy climbed the steps to the front door, pulled a red envelope from the leather pouch on his belt and rang the bell. Although Shiner had never received one himself, or even seen one close up, he knew that a red envelope meant a telegram – a message sent through the Post Office that was usually urgent. Mr Harper opened the door, took the envelope and went back into the house, telling the boy to wait. Shiner scooted to the bottom of the steps.
    “Psst!” he hissed. “Who’s the telegram for?”
    The boy shook his head. “I’m not allowed to tell you that,” he said.
    “Don’t matter,” said Shiner airily. “I know, anyway.”
    “Bet you don’t.”
    “Bet I do. It’s for Lady Mountjoy, ain’t it?”
    “That’s where you’re wrong,” the boy replied, falling into Shiner’s trap. “It’s for Mr Gerald Huggett, so there!”
    “Ta very much,” Shiner grinned.
    The boy glowered at him, but before he could retort, Mr Harper opened the door again to tell him there would be no reply. Shiner gave a cheerful wave as the boy mounted his bike again and pedalled furiously away.
    “Now, who’d be sending Mr Gerald telegrams?” Wiggins mused when Shiner reported back to HQ. He turned to Polly, who was busily chopping up vegetables for supper, and asked, “Does he get many?”
    Polly shook her head. “No, not that I can remember. Letters, yes. But you only send telegrams when it’s something important.”
    “That’s what I thought,” said Wiggins. “Wish I could find out what it said. Might be just what we need to know.”
    As it happened, Wiggins’s wish was about to come true. Queenie had heard the telegraph boy arrive and knew that Mr Harper had taken the telegram upstairs to Gerald’s room. When she heard Gerald come down to the drawing room, she picked up her bucket of coal and climbed the stairs as quickly as she could and knocked on the door of his room, just in case. She waited a few moments and, when there was no answer, went in.
    Putting the bucket down by the fireplace, Queenie quickly looked around, hoping Gerald might have left the telegram on his dressing table or writing desk, so she could read it. To her disappointment she could not see it anywhere. She even dared to slide open the drawers – taking great care not to leave dirty fingermarks – and peep inside. But there was no sign of it. She sighed and went back to make up the fire before she left. Kneeling down by the fireplace, she spotted a screwed-up piece of paper which had been thrown onto the coals but must have fallen off before it had caught light. She opened it, smoothed out the crumpled paper and read the heading: GPO T ELEGRAM . The message written underneath was short: “Tomorrow ten o’clock BHY. Be there.” Queenie caught her breath. She didn’t know what the message meant, but the signature at the end was familiar. It was a single letter: “M”.

 

E NTER M ORIARTY
    “M!” exclaimed Wiggins. “Moriarty! I might have knowed.”
    “Blimey,” Beaver said. “What’s Moriarty got to do with it?”
    “Everything, I ’spect,” Wiggins replied. “No wonder it’s such a mystery if he’s involved.”
    He