Artie Conan Doyle and the Scarlet Phantom Read online

  Inspector George McCorkle,

  Edinburgh Constabulary

  “Why doesn’t it mention me?” Ham grumbled under his breath.

  Oblivious to the remark, McCorkle raised a cautionary eyebrow. “I would ask you to use this document sparingly, Mr Doyle, and to keep your involvement in this case confidential.”

  “Yes, of course,” Artie assured him.

  “In that case I will bid you good day,” said the inspector with a tip of his hat. “I have crimes of the more conventional sort to deal with, such as a stolen bicycle and a drunken affray at the docks.”

  And with that he stomped off.

  “I say, that’s a bit thick, isn’t it?” said Ham, scowling after the inspector. “Expecting us to solve the crime for him but keeping our part in it a secret.”

  “We’re a long way from solving it,” said Artie with a frown.

  “Indeed you are,” interjected a voice, “and that’s because you aren’t approaching it scientifically.”

  The boys turned sharply to see a slight figure emerge from its hiding place behind a stuffed albatross. It was the annoying girl from the geology chamber.

  “What are you doing sneaking about after us?” Artie challenged, wondering how she had managed to creep up on them unobserved.

  “Yes, did you get tired of drawing rocks?” added Ham.

  “Fossils,” the girl corrected him tersely. “When I saw you being led off by a policeman, my interest was piqued, and when something piques my interest, I pursue it. That is how discoveries are made.”

  “Look, who are you anyway?” Artie demanded.

  “My name,” the girl declared, as though it were something to be proud of, “is Miss Peril Abernethy.”

  “Pearl?” said Artie. “You mean like the precious gem?”

  “Indeed not,” the girl asserted. “I spell it P-E-R-I-L, Peril meaning danger.”

  “And Abernethy is—” Ham began.

  “Yes, like the Abernethy biscuit,” Peril interrupted testily. “And who are you two that a reputable police officer should ask for your help?”

  Artie drew himself up and tried to look as noble as possible. “My name,” he informed her, “is Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle, Arthur as in the famous king, Ignatius from the noted saint, Conan from—”

  “Yes, yes, that’s quite enough of that,” Peril cut in. “Anybody can give himself a really long name if he puts his mind to it. It doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Neither does being named after a dangerous biscuit,” Artie retorted. He grinned as if he had just scored a goal in a school football match.

  “My name is Edward Hamilton,” Ham put in. Feeling that to be rather inadequate, he added, “Esquire – and gentleman of this parish.”

  “Very grand, I’m sure,” said Peril. “Still, I can’t see what resources you can bring to this investigation. Why, I don’t suppose you could tell graphite from anthracite, or bitumen from resin.”

  “I can’t see why we’d want to,” Ham huffed. “Rocks are rocks, and we can find better things to do with our time than giving them names.”

  “Really?” Peril raised a supercilious eyebrow. “No wonder you appear so appallingly ignorant.”

  “Ignorant!” Artie exploded. “I’ll have you know we are pupils at Stonyhurst College.”

  “The noted Jesuit school in Lancashire,” Ham added proudly.

  “Oh, I see, it’s run by priests, is it?” said Peril. “I suppose they fill your head with a lot of fairy tales and stuff about angels dancing on needles instead of teaching you proper science.”

  “We learn about God, if that’s what you mean,” Artie retorted brusquely, “but we learn all of the sciences as well.”

  “The school even has its own observatory,” Ham informed her, “which was used in the great magnetic survey of 1858.”

  “In fact,” said Artie, “Jesuit astronomers developed the system used for classifying stars and were the first to describe the canals on Mars.”

  Peril waved a hand at him to keep him from carrying on. “Yes, yes, I’m sure some of them are quite clever, but it’s still not the same as a proper scientific education.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” demanded Ham.

  “I was not farmed out to some far-off school run by strangers,” Peril declared haughtily. “My parents, both noted experts in the fields of geology and chemistry, chose to educate me at home. In addition, I have received instruction from a series of private tutors, such as Dr Pierre Lafarge the noted mathematician and Madame Evangeline Drussler the renowned botanist.”

  “You mean you sit at home all day while people come and teach you things?” said Artie.

  “Not at all. We make regular field trips to places of interest to seek out rare insects and fossils.”

  “Well, why don’t you go and find some bugs?” Artie suggested, slipping McCorkle’s letter of introduction into his pocket. “We have business to attend to. Come on, Ham, we should have a word with this fellow Kincaid.”

  The boys headed for the main hallway with Peril stalking along behind them.

  “You won’t get anywhere as long as you’re prepared to swallow a lot of fantastical tosh about an invisible man,” she advised them. “You might as well suppose the crime was carried out by a genie who flew off on a magic carpet.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Ham countered without thinking.

  “Oh really?” said Peril. “Such as?”

  “Well, such as, as…” Ham found himself stuck for a reply.

  Before Artie could come up with one, his parents emerged from an adjoining gallery with his two sisters in tow. Lottie and Connie scampered off among some statues while their mother pursued them, half cross and half amused.

  “Artie, where did you and Ham wander off to?” his father asked mildly.

  “Er… we were looking at the fossils,” Artie answered. He didn’t want to say anything about McCorkle.

  “They’re rocks with dead animals in them,” Ham explained.

  “Well, we’re all going for lunch now,” said Mr Doyle, “so come along.”

  Artie and Ham exchanged glances. They couldn’t say they were off to investigate a bizarre crime, but they wanted to head over to the jeweller’s before the trail grew any colder.

  “We were going to… er… um…” Artie mumbled.

  “That is,” said Ham, “we thought… er…”

  Peril intervened decisively. “Actually, they’re coming with me.”

  3.

  The Sign of the Clutching Hand

  Mr Doyle gazed at the girl curiously, noting her unusually practical clothing. Peril Abernethy peered up at him through her steel-rimmed spectacles. “I offered to show them my private collection of rare minerals. I only live a few streets away and they seem very keen.”

  “I’ll say,” said Ham, failing to sound enthusiastic.

  “Yes, this is Miss Biscuit,” Artie explained. Ignoring Peril’s indignant hiss, he added, “I know she looks very young, but it seems she’s quite the expert on rocks and whatever you might find inside them.”

  “Well, I suppose it is educational,” his father conceded, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

  “Yes, very,” Peril affirmed. “I have several fascinating examples of feldspar and mica.” Placing a hand on the back of each of the boys, she pushed them towards the museum exit with surprising strength.

  “We won’t be long,” Artie called back over his shoulder as they were bundled out the door. “We’ll catch up with you.”

  As they descended the stone steps to the street, Ham grumbled, “I hope this is worth missing lunch for.”

  “The sooner we begin investigating the better,” said Artie, pausing to get his bearings. He turned to Peril. “Thanks for giving us an excuse to get away.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” said Peril tartly, “but you might have the courtesy to get my name right. Miss Biscuit indeed!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Artie. “I was
caught off guard and all I could remember was you saying ‘like the biscuit’.”

  “Never mind,” said Peril, shrugging the issue aside. “What’s done is done. Now, are we going to tackle this mystery or aren’t we?”

  “I don’t recall anybody inviting you to be a part of it,” Artie pointed out. “It looks like a very challenging case.”

  He and Ham set off down the street and he was somewhat put out to find Peril marching briskly alongside him.

  “That is why you need my help,” she said. “When one wishes to solve a problem, one needs to think scientifically. The first thing one must do is eliminate the impossible – and an invisible man is utterly impossible.”

  “Alright then,” Artie challenged, “if you’re so clever, how do you explain it?”

  “The answer is very likely meteorological,” Peril declared primly.

  “Meteor-what?” said Ham.

  “You mean it has something to do with the weather?” said Artie.

  “Correct, Doyle,” said Peril with a bob of her head. “A sudden jump in temperature or an abrupt shift of air pressure might form a small whirlwind, which would buffet a man this way and that, so it would appear he was being assaulted.”

  “Would that be enough to throw him against a wall?” Artie was sceptical.

  “Certainly,” said Peril. “A strong gust of wind can easily knock a man off his feet. It happens all the time.”

  “Hang on,” Ham objected. “What about the stolen necklace?”

  “Oh, it probably just fell out of his pocket,” said Peril.

  “But then he would have spotted it, wouldn’t he?” said Ham.

  “Not if it was snatched up by one of the witnesses,” said Artie thoughtfully. “There were a number of people on the scene and any one of them might have been tempted to grab something so valuable.”

  “There, crime solved!” Peril concluded.

  “That is just a theory,” Artie cautioned. “We still need to talk to the victim.”

  As they walked on, Ham leaned in close to his friend and murmured, “I say, Artie, if old McCorkle finds out she cracked the case in a matter of minutes, we’re going to look pretty daft, aren’t we?”

  “Let’s just have a word with Mr Kincaid,” said Artie calmly. In fact, however, he was just as horrified as Ham at the notion that this girl, who had popped up out of nowhere, might have solved the case before they had even started their investigation.

  When they reached George Street the broad thoroughfare was busy with shoppers, most of them well-dressed women. They passed a milliner’s window crammed with expensive hats, a tobacconist’s from which a smoky scent wafted, and a pharmacy dispensing all manner of medicines.

  Ham gave a vigorous sniff. “I smell fresh bread! There must be a bakery nearby.”

  “Yes, it’s just up there,” said Peril pointing ahead.

  “Look, there’s the jeweller’s on the other side of the road,” said Artie.

  A horse-drawn omnibus rumbled by as they crossed over and paused in front of Kincaid’s establishment.

  “Look, I’d better go in myself,” said Artie. “McCorkle’s letter only vouches for me, and he might not be willing to talk if there’s a whole gang of us.”

  “That’s fine,” Ham agreed, eyeing the bakery on the other side of the road. “It will give me a chance to have a bit of lunch before I shrivel away into a fossil.”

  “Alright, Doyle,” Peril agreed testily. “But make sure you interrogate him thoroughly. His story is bound to crumble under scrutiny.”

  A bell rang above the door as Artie entered the jeweller’s shop, and a dark-haired woman with rabbity teeth looked up from rearranging some necklaces in one of the display cases. Taking in Artie’s schoolboy appearance, she said, “I don’t believe we have anything in your price range, young man. This isn’t a toy shop.”

  Artie drew himself up to his full height, trying to look and sound as adult as possible. “I’m here to see Mr Kincaid on a matter of great importance.”

  “Mr Kincaid is busy in the rear office right now. Can I do something for you?”

  “Thank you, but no,” said Artie. “I need to speak to him privately.” Seeing her expression harden, he added, “It’s extremely urgent, and he really will want to hear what I have to say.”

  The woman blinked. “Well, I suppose in that case Mr Kincaid can spare you a moment.”

  Retreating behind the counter, she rapped on a frosted glass door at the rear of the shop. A moment later, the door was opened by a portly, middle-aged man dressed in a dark blue suit with a heavy gold watch chain spanning his waistcoat. With mild displeasure, he said, “Miss Toner?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr Kincaid,” said the woman, “but this boy claims to have urgent business with you.”

  From behind Kincaid a wiry young man in a loud checked suit popped into view, brandishing a notebook and pencil. A second pencil was stuck through the band of his hat and two more protruded from his breast pocket. The young man’s nose was as pointed as his pencil and beneath it his small ginger moustache twitched like he was trying to repress a sneeze.

  “Oho! ‘Urgent business’, is it?” he exclaimed. “Another exclusive, eh? Let’s have it then, sonny.”

  His beady blue eyes were so intense Artie took an involuntary step backwards. “And who might you be?”

  “Name’s Ferryman, Johnny Ferryman. Folks in the business call me the Ferret.”

  “I’m sure they do,” said Artie. “And the business is…?”

  “News, sonny, news. Reporter for the Scotsman newspaper, that’s me. Top reporter, if I can blow my own trumpet for a minute.”

  “What is this business you want to talk to me about?” Kincaid the jeweller asked in a slow, ponderous voice.

  Aware that the reporter had his pencil poised to record his words, Artie said, “That’s highly confidential, sir.”

  “Oh, tight-lipped are we?” Ferryman chuckled. “Well, I expect you’re just having a lark, eh?” He flipped his notebook shut and brandished it in the air as he scuttled towards the door. “Never mind, I’ve got plenty here to rush into the evening edition.”

  As soon as the reporter was gone, Kincaid waved Artie inside. Miss Toner closed the door and returned to the front of the shop.

  The jeweller eyed Artie suspiciously. “If you have anything important to say to me, boy, then spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

  “Actually, sir, I’m here to help you recover your stolen necklace.” Artie handed over McCorkle’s letter of introduction. “If you’ll just read this.”

  Kincaid scanned the note then handed it back with a growl. “Sending boys to investigate is hardly standard procedure.”

  “It is a very unusual case,” said Artie, “so the inspector is prepared to employ every resource.”

  “I already told the police all about the incident.” Kincaid treated Artie to an impatient scowl. “I was struck twice by an unseen hand, then I was seized and slammed into the wall. While I lay on the ground stunned, the necklace intended for Lady Gladgrove was removed from my pocket. A number of witnesses have given statements testifying to these events.”

  “I don’t suppose it’s possible,” Artie suggested hesitantly, “that you were buffeted by a strong wind, perhaps even a whirlwind? Apparently such things do happen.”

  “Don’t be absurd!” the jeweller snapped. “I know when I’ve been attacked. Besides, I now have proof that I am the victim of some cunning fiend.”

  “Proof?”

  “Miss Toner came upon a card that was slipped under the door yesterday morning before we opened. Thinking it a joke, she put it away in a drawer among her papers and forgot about it. Only when she came upon it today did she realise that it might be connected to these extraordinary events.”

  He pointed to the object in question, which lay on the desk in front of him. It was a blank business card on which a brief message had been written in red ink:

  Artie felt a chill in h
is blood as he gazed down at the small, neat handwriting. The sinister skeletal hand seemed to suggest the evil intent of some devilish being.

  4.

  The Second Warning

  “I must assume that this note was meant as a warning,” said Kincaid, “and it is only through the incompetence of my assistant that I did not receive it until today.”

  “Yes, it can’t be a coincidence,” Artie agreed. “This must have been written by the unseen robber.”

  “Exactly. I was just about to take it to the police,” said the jeweller, picking up the card, “when that reporter chap showed up wanting a first-hand account of the whole ordeal. He made a copy of the message and the drawing in his notepad, so I expect it will soon be in the papers.”

  “Look, I have to report to the inspector anyway,” said Artie. “Why don’t I take this card to him and save you the bother?”

  Kincaid patted his waistcoat thoughtfully. “I have already spent enough time with the police and I have pressing work to be getting on with. I suppose, since the police appear to trust you…”

  He handed the card over and Artie tucked it away in the envelope along with McCorkle’s letter. “I’d best hurry straight to the Police Office. I’ll be sure to tell the inspector exactly how it came into your possession, sir.”

  Artie had the impression that the jeweller was relieved not to have any more contact with the police. He headed outside, ignoring a disapproving glare from Miss Toner. In front of the shop Peril was pacing impatiently while Ham had made a visit to the bakery on the other side of the road and was munching on a fresh teacake.

  “Well? Did you pick his absurd story full of holes?” the girl inquired.

  “Not exactly,” said Artie. He took out the mysterious card and showed it to the other two. “This was slipped under the door early yesterday morning but had been mislaid until now.”