Artie Conan Doyle and the Scarlet Phantom Page 6

  “I’m not convinced,” said Artie, “but let’s find out what he has to say for himself.”

  The Scotsman offices were halfway down Cockburn Street. As soon as they walked through the front doors, Artie and Peril found themselves almost overwhelmed by the clatter and bustle. From under their feet came the clanking and pounding of the great printing machines rolling off fresh copies of the Scotsman. Men in ink-stained aprons rushed to and fro with sheaves of paper and wooden boxes under their arms. Boys in ragged caps bolted in and out of the many doors waving messages in the air.

  Artie hooked one of the newsboys by the arm to inquire where he might find Mr Ferryman. The boy answered with a tilt of the head towards the iron stairway and an upward jab of his thumb before wrenching free and disappearing into a cacophonous back room.

  “This place is certainly busy,” Peril commented approvingly as she and Artie climbed upwards.

  The metal steps rang like discordant bells beneath the feet of men and boys charging up and down on their fevered business.

  “For all the attention anybody’s paying us,” said Artie, “we might as well be invisible.”

  On the upper floor they saw an array of desks set at haphazard angles to each other where journalists were writing up their stories. All across the room loud voices demanded more ink, more paper and lots of strong black tea. Artie spotted Ferryman leaning back in his desk chair, his eyes fixed at some point on the ceiling while he whittled at a pencil, paying no attention to the wood shavings dropping to the floor at his feet.

  Though he appeared distracted, Artie and Peril had no sooner started towards him than his small sharp eyes fixed upon them. A sly smirk twisted the thin lips beneath his ginger moustache.

  “Ah, I was wondering when you’d turn up.”

  10.

  The Crimes of Cadwallader Figg

  “You were expecting us?” Artie was quite taken aback by Ferryman’s greeting.

  “Oh, I anticipated you’d come and try to pick my brains, Mr… Doyle, is it?”

  “Yes, and this is Miss Abernethy.”

  “Scientific investigator,” Peril added stiffly.

  “Heard old McCorkle had brought you in on this case,” said the Ferret, “a bit like a private bloodhound. Heard he brought you to Seaton’s house last night to watch out for the Phantom.”

  “Where you had concealed yourself in the garden,” said Peril. “But to what purpose?” she added accusingly.

  “To get a story of course,” Ferryman chortled. “From outside I couldn’t pick up much beyond some uproar in the study.” He flipped open his notebook and poised his freshly sharpened pencil over the page. “How about a few details, Mr Doyle? The public does have a right to know.”

  “How did you even know the Phantom had threatened Mr Seaton?” Artie demanded. “That wasn’t made public.”

  “Got my sources inside the Police Office,” said the Ferret, knowingly touching his nose. “A constable or two ready to share information with an old mate like me, so long as there’s a bottle of whisky in it.”

  “That hardly sounds very ethical,” said Peril sternly.

  “It’s business, my girl, business,” said the reporter airily. “One hand scratches the other, so to speak. We might do that now, Mr Doyle. I can offer an exchange of information.”

  “It sounds like I have more information than you,” said Artie cautiously. “Why should I share any of it?”

  Ferryman leaned forward and winked. “Because for all that, you have no clue as to the identity of the Scarlet Phantom.”

  “And just where exactly did the name the Scarlet Phantom come from?” Peril adjusted her spectacles and glared suspiciously at the reporter.

  “Dreamed it up myself,” Ferryman admitted proudly. “Makes a good headline, eh?”

  “But are you claiming you have a clue to his identity?” said Artie.

  Ferryman sat back in his chair and twirled the pencil back and forth across his fingers, like a juggler showing off a trick. “Twelve years tramping around the streets of Edinburgh with my eyes and ears wide open has given me access to a treasury of invaluable information. Every alleyway, every back room, every unsolved crime, every pickpocket and burglar that ever climbed through an unlocked window – got them all here.” He tapped himself on the head with the end of the pencil. “If the police knew half as much as I do, they’d be twice as effective.”

  “So you’re saying that you’re on the trail of the invisible robber,” said Artie.

  “I’m saying I know where the trail begins,” said Ferryman smugly. “But as for where it ends…” – he tossed the pencil in the air and caught it nimbly – “that’s another matter.”

  “So you want to trade information,” said Peril. “Some of the facts in our possession in exchange for…?”

  “The trail of the Phantom,” Ferryman concluded.

  Artie and Peril exchanged questioning glances.

  “Come on,” Ferryman urged. “If you can’t trust a journalist, who can you trust?”

  Artie wasn’t sure he could trust the Ferret, and he hadn’t forgotten Peril’s suspicions that the reporter had somehow engineered the two robberies himself in order to create a series of dramatic headlines. On the other hand, he couldn’t pass up the chance to pick up the Phantom’s trail, especially as he had no leads of his own.

  “Alright, I can tell you this much,” he began. “Mr Seaton was alone in his locked study with the police on guard on the other side of the door.”

  “I had worked out that much for myself,” Ferryman grumbled.

  “In spite of the fact that nobody else was in the room,” Artie went on, “Seaton was violently handled and thrust against the wall.”

  Ferryman nodded, prompting him to continue.

  “He was then struck on the head with a bust of the Duke of Wellington.”

  “Wellington, eh?” Ferryman’s eyes lit up with excitement as he noted down the details. “That’s a good touch. So this bust, it…?”

  “Flew though the air and hit him. I saw blood on his hair and on the base of the statuette.”

  “Anything stolen?”

  “Some rubies,” Artie answered reluctantly. “And that’s all I can tell you.”

  “That will do, that will do,” said the Ferret, drumming on his desk with the pencil. “I can dress it up a bit for the evening paper.”

  “Now what about your part of the bargain?” said Peril. “You said you would put us on the trail of the Phantom. Or was that just bluster?”

  “No need to take that tone,” Ferryman responded. “I didn’t become Edinburgh’s leading newsman without keeping my word. Come in closer.”

  Artie and Peril drew in until their faces were only inches from the point of his nose.

  “Now, I think we can agree that these are the most astonishing crimes ever to terrorise this fair city. It’s obvious that this Phantom is no common thief but someone of extraordinary abilities.”

  “So far, all you’re doing is stating the obvious,” said Peril.

  “Now now, my girl, one step at a time,” Ferryman chided her. “I’m just getting started.”

  Peril bridled at being addressed as ‘my girl’ again, but kept her mouth shut so that Ferryman might continue.

  “That being the case,” said the reporter, “it seems to me that there’s only one man in Edinburgh, only one man in the whole country, with the resources and the genius to pull this off.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “His name is Cadwallader Figg.”

  “Figg?” Artie shook his head. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Are you quite sure of that?” Ferret inquired meaningfully.

  “It’s not the sort of name anybody is liable to forget,” Peril pointed out.

  “Good,” said Ferryman. “It’s much safer that you don’t know him.”

  “And why is that?” Artie was almost bristling with curiosity.

  “He is the emperor of crime,” the Ferret informed them darkly, “like a giant spider at the centre of an evil web. But he works through so many proxies, cat’s paws and henchmen, it’s impossible ever to pin anything on him.”

  “If he is such a villain,” said Peril, “why don’t you expose him in your newspaper?”

  “Expose him?” Ferryman was shocked. “If we as much as mentioned his name in print, he’d have his lawyers all over us like a pack of starving wolves, and we have no proof of any of this. Oh no, I steer well clear of that gentleman. It’s not unknown for persons who cross his path to simply disappear.” He snapped his fingers to indicate how easily the great criminal made people vanish.

  “But isn’t the point of investigating these crimes to expose the culprit?” said Artie.

  “That’s the job of the police,” Ferryman corrected him. “My job is to come up with a good story that will fill a few columns, and that’s all the Scarlet Phantom is to me.”

  “So are the police pursuing this man Figg?” asked Peril.

  “Pursuing him?” The Ferret’s moustache twitched with amusement. “I should say not. I told you, he covers his tracks so well they couldn’t pin as much as a stolen inkwell on him if they put every man on the case.”

  “Are they even aware of his existence?” Peril persisted.

  “Oh yes, as a businessman, as an importer of tea and a dealer in antiques.”

  “So he does carry on legitimate business,” said Artie.

  “You may have heard of Sino-Britannic Imports or Imperial Antiquities Incorporated. All him.” The Ferret gave Artie a knowing wink. “Now, Mr Doyle, if I was to investigate Figg, I would begin there. But my face is too well known. I’d be spotted right off. But if some kiddies were to have a nose around, why, they wouldn’t be suspected at all.”

  “So what you’re saying is—” Artie began.

  “I’m saying nothing,” Ferryman interrupted. “Mum’s the word, remember. Now then, as to this business of the Duke of Wellington flying through the air – who actually witnessed the phenomenon?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t really tell you any more.” Artie backed away, beckoning to Peril to join him.

  “If you do come up with any useful tidbits,” said the Ferret as he waved them goodbye, “be sure to let me know. I can make it worth your while. I have some sweets here in my desk.”

  “Sweets indeed!” humphed Peril as they walked down the metal stairs. “Imagine treating us as though we were children.”

  “He did give us a lead,” Artie reminded her.

  “What, this Cadwallader Figg person?” Peril scoffed. “Even if he exists – which I doubt – he’s probably some harmless old miser.”

  Artie wasn’t so sure. “I don’t think we can just discount this information, Peril.”

  Peril shrugged. “You can waste your time chasing wild geese, if you like. I’d better go home and make sure Mother doesn’t blow up anything valuable.”

  ***

  Later that day, after making one or two stops along the way, Artie returned to Ham’s house to share the information he had gained from the Ferret. They retreated to the kitchen while in the front room one of Mrs Hamilton’s unhappy piano pupils was doing ear-jangling violence to one of Chopin’s waltzes.

  Putting the kettle on, Ham cut some slices of bread and set out a pot of blackcurrant jam. While they fortified themselves with cups of tea and jam sandwiches, Artie brought Ham up to date with the investigation.

  “So you think this Catwalloper Frog is the invisible fiend?” said Ham.

  “Cadwallader Figg,” Artie corrected him. “I don’t know about that, but the Ferret is right that it would take somebody with a lot of ingenuity to pull off this kind of trick.”

  Ham took a swallow of tea. “You mean some kind of criminal mastermind? Honestly Artie, that sounds like something from one of those stories you read.”

  “It does sound extraordinary,” Artie admitted.

  Reaching for another slice of bread, Ham pondered the matter. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I think Ferryman is sending you in the wrong direction so that you don’t get in the way of his story.” He spooned a liberal dollop of jam over the bread and fed a piece of crust to Berrybus, who was nestled around his feet.

  “That may be true,” Artie conceded, “but it’s the only lead we’ve got.” He opened his notebook and read aloud his fresh information:

  On the way here I stopped off at the Post Office in Waterloo Place to consult the Edinburgh Business Directory. I found that both Sino-Britannic Imports and Imperial Antiquities Incorporated have premises in Leith.

  Ham licked some jam from his fingers and stared at his friend. “Why did you do that, Artie?”

  “Because,” Artie answered in a determined voice, “if the Ferret is too scared to investigate Cadwallader Figg, we’re not.”

  “Are you sure we’re not?” Ham turned a little pale.

  “Yes,” Artie said firmly.

  He took out his pencil and was about to add something to his notes when Ham stopped him.

  “Artie, maybe you shouldn’t write down anything about Figg, you know, just to be on the safe side.”

  Artie recalled the Ferret’s warning about what happened to people who spread the master criminal’s name about. “You’re right, Ham. I’ll keep that part of the case in my head.”

  Putting his notebook away, Artie rose decisively from the table. “Come on, Ham, we’re going to find out all we can about this supposed emperor of crime.”

  Ham stared dolefully at his final slice of bread and jam. “I hope this doesn’t turn out to be the condemned man’s last meal.”

  11.

  The Return of Beresford Root

  The gulls that wheeled and cawed in the air overhead told the boys that they were now close to Leith Harbour, as did the salty tang gusting into the air from the sea. Storehouses, taverns and seamen’s hostels rose up on either side of the narrow road where wagons squeezed past each other with their loads of coal, timber and bales of fabric.

  “Artie, are you sure we should be doing this?” Ham complained. “Didn’t the Ferret say that Cantankerous Fizz can make people disappear?”

  “Cadwallader Figg,” Artie corrected him. “He may not be so dangerous as Ferryman makes out. I think he likes to make things up for the sake of a good story, just like he invented the name the Scarlet Phantom for our invisible man.”

  “You know, Artie,” said Ham thoughtfully, “there is one thing we haven’t considered. Maybe the invisible man is actually an invisible woman.”

  “A woman?” Artie was sceptical. “I don’t think so, Ham.”

  “Why not? That Mrs Abernethy obviously knows a lot about science. Maybe she’s found a way to make herself invisible and is stealing jewels in order to finance her fossil hunting.”

  “I don’t know about that. She seems, well, too nice.”

  “That could just be an act to throw us off the track. And in that case, Peril is probably in on it too.”

  “Peril? But she’s been helping with the investigation.”

  “Don’t be fooled by that, Artie. Girls can be quite devious.”

  “Ham, just because she’s clever doesn’t mean you can’t trust her,” said Artie. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  In the distance they could hear dock workers calling to each other as they unloaded fresh cargo from a newly arrived ship. The words of a raucous sea shanty wafted from an open tavern window, something about a woman named Nelly who lived in Shanghai.

  “Over there,” said Artie pointing, “that’s what we’re looking for.”

  A large building directly ahead bore a painted sign with the words:

  SINO-BRITANNIC IMPORTS

  Two muscular men with long black hair and dragon tattoos on their arms were carrying crates from a wagon into the front door.

  “I don’t think we want to mix with those two,” Ham muttered. “They look dangerous.”

  Artie pointed to a narrow alley next to the building. “We’ll go around the back,” he said, leading the way.

  Ham followed reluctantly. “Artie, this is a bit risky. What on earth do you expect to find in there?”

  “Remember Professor Anderson’s mechanical dragon?” Artie referred back to their last case. “It was built and stored in a building just like that. Now, if Peril is right and this is all being accomplished by some mechanical device, then this is just the sort of place to hide it.”

  At the rear of the building they found a door, which disappointed them by being securely locked. “Not to worry,” said Artie, indicating a nearby window that lay partially ajar.

  “It’s a bit high,” Ham noted.

  “You’ll just have to give me a boost,” said Artie.

  With a resigned huff, Ham offered his cupped hands and Artie placed his foot on them. Ham gave an upward heave which lifted his friend high enough to reach the window ledge and push it open. He scrambled up, then reached down to pull Ham up with him. Together they dropped to the floor in the dimly lit interior.

  They found themselves in a maze of shelves piled high with wooden boxes and walls of stacked packing cases.

  “I can’t say it looks like anything mechanical has been built here,” said Ham.

  “Maybe not,” Artie conceded, “but we should have a good look around. We might find some trace of the stolen jewels or even evidence of some of Figg’s other crimes.”

  Slowly they made their way down the narrow passages between the shelves and the stacks of packing cases which blocked the light from the windows. The deeper they penetrated, the thicker grew the gloom until they could barely make out each other. A sudden scuffling noise put them on alert and they pressed together for protection.

  “What was that?” Ham whispered.

  Artie put a finger to his lips to hush his friend and they stood stock still, listening. It sounded like dragging footsteps drawing closer.

  “I can hear somebody breathing,” Ham gasped. “Artie, what if it’s the Phantom?”

  Artie shushed his friend and together they shrank back from the approaching presence. Artie felt a cold dread clutch at his heart and he struggled to fight down the terror rising up in his chest. Had they walked into a trap? Had the Scarlet Phantom been lying in wait for them all along?