Buffalo Bill Wanted! by Alex Simmons Page A

said.
    â€œBut how do we find out if that’s true?” Owens asked.
    â€œBy checking on Nat Blount and his friends from the mob last night.” Wiggins fished out some money as they approached the Underground train station. “I say Nat was hired to be part of that mob, so he might lead us to who hired him.”
    â€œSo let’s get looking for the little rat,” Owens said.
    Wiggins held up his hands. “There’s something else. What did you think about Mr. Salsbury?”
    â€œHe was nice enough,” Jennie said. “But . . . distracted.”
    â€œHe wasn’t happy when you mentioned Mr. Holmes.” Dooley scowled in memory. “And he was mean to that Indian.”
    Wiggins’s eyebrows rose as he remembered what seemed to have been an argument between the two Wild West employees. Was that why Silent Eagle had snuck off the grounds? Was he following Salsbury?
    â€œMr. Salsbury also didn’t seem too interested about who could have taken Buffalo Bill’s gun,” Jennie said. “Maybe that’s because he’s the thief.”
    â€œYou think he took Buffalo Bill’s gun?” Owens asked. “Why? So he could make his partner look bad?”
    â€œMaybe Salsbury wants to run the show,” Jennie said. “Or maybe he wants to sell the gun to some souvenir collector. Perhaps I’ll go around to the pawn-shops. Pawnbrokers often deal with collectors.” She colored. “Mother and I have become familiar with some pawnbrokers lately.”
    â€œAll right, then,” Wiggins said, mulling over the possibilities. “See what you and Dooley can find out while Owens and I go look for Natty Blount. We’ll all meet again here at the Raven.”
    Wiggins and Owens scoured the East End looking for Natty Blount—with no luck.
    â€œJust grand,” Wiggins complained. “All the time I don’t want to see him, he turns up like a bad penny.”
    Just then, Owens nudged him with an elbow. “Keep walking,” the other boy said, looking straight ahead. “But turn your eyes a little bit to your left.”
    Without turning his head, Wiggins did as he was asked. A sly smile appeared on his lips. Across the street was a building both of them knew—the gaming club that a gang leader named Limehouse Lew had used for his headquarters. Lew was no more, but his chief lieutenant, a big bruiser named Alfie Sinnott, had kept the business going. Today, Sinnott stood out on the doorstep as a line stretched down the block. Each bloke came by with his hand outstretched. Sinnott dropped a coin into each palm— including Natty Blount’s.
    As Wiggins walked along, trying not to call attention to himself, he counted four other people he’d seen last night waving torches. He grabbed Owens by the arm and almost ran around the corner.
    â€œWell, we don’t need to talk to Natty now.” Wiggins couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “We got what we came for.”
    They ran back to the Raven Pub, eager to report their success. Jennie and Dooley were already in the back room when Wiggins popped in, shouting, “You won’t believe what we just saw!”
    He stopped short when he saw the glum looks on their faces. “What’s the matter? You couldn’t get a sniff about Buffalo Bill’s gun?”
    â€œIt’s what we just heard out in the public room.” Jennie’s voice was tight. “Mr. Pryke was found horribly beaten. They say he could die!”
    Wiggins stared. “Is there anything to show who did it?”
    Jennie nodded miserably. “He was holding something in his hand. A porcupine quill from America, tied in a piece of buckskin decorated with purple glass beads.”
    â€œThat’s the sort of thing you’d find on an Indian costume,” Dooley said. “Now even the people who don’t like Pryke are seein’ red—and the red they want to see