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

lamps. “There, that’s better. Now we can see what we’re doing.”
    They all looked around. Sparrow let out a yelp.
    “Oh, it’s gone!”
    “What’s gone?” Wiggins asked.
    “The trunk. A big cabin trunk, it was. Stood right there. And there was somebody shut inside it.”
    “Who?”
    “Dunno.” I could hear him breathin’, but I didn’t see him—”
    He stopped as the truth suddenly dawned.
    “I reckon it was Mr Holmes!”
    There was a loud gasp from all the Boys.
    “Nah,” Shiner piped up. “Not Mr Holmes. It couldn’t have been.”
    “Oh, yes, it could,” Beaver said, holding up something he had found in the smaller packing case. At first sight, it looked like some sort of small, furry animal, but when Beaver put it up to his chin, the others could see what it was.
    “It’s a false beard!” Gertie exclaimed. “It don’t suit you at all.”
    “The false beard Mr Holmes was wearing!” said Wiggins.
    “And look,” Beaver went on. He lifted a tray of matchboxes and an old, floppy hat out of the packing case. “The rest of his disguise. He
was
here.”
    “And now they’ve took him away,” Sparrow cried.
    “Where to?”
    “Dunno. They never said.” Sparrow was on the verge of tears.
    “Whoa! Steady on, now!” Wiggins squeezed Sparrow’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
    “Wiggins is right,” Beaver reassured him. “Weren’t nothin’ you could do about it.”
    Wiggins tipped his hat back on his head and looked thoughtful. “Now then,” he told Sparrow. “I want you to take it slowly and try to tell me everything you saw and heard.”
    “And smelt,” Rosie chipped in.
    “Smelt?” Wiggins asked, puzzled.
    “Yeah. It’s here again – that same smell as before.”
    Wiggins and the others all sniffed the air, curiously.
    “You’re right, Rosie,” he said. “It is.”
    Sparrow nodded vigorously. “Yeah!” he exclaimed. “There
was
a smell. Nearly knocked me out, it did. I heard this other geezer pull a cork out of a bottle…”
    “Other geezer?” Wiggins asked.
    “Oh, yeah. I didn’t tell you yet, did I? There was this other bloke, like the boss. They called him ‘Perfesser’.”
    Wiggins’s eyes narrowed. “Professor? Ha!” He nodded seriously, in his best Sherlock Holmes manner. “Moriarty. The game’s afoot!”
    The others looked baffled.
    “What game?” Gertie asked.
    “Didn’t you hear? Football,” Shiner replied.
    “No, no,” Wiggins said impatiently. “It’s what Mr Holmes says when things start to hot up.”
    “What if they come back?” Queenie asked, nervously.
    “They won’t,” said Wiggins.
    “You don’t know where they’ve gone. It might not be far.”
    “No,” Sparrow said, remembering. “This Perfesser geezer, he told the others to take everythin’ they needed, ’cos they wouldn’t be comin’ back here. He said they could leave the rest, ’cos it wouldn’t matter after tomorrow.”
    Wiggins nodded again. “That means whatever they’re gonna do, they’re gonna do tomorrow. So we ain’t got much time to find out what it is and put a stop to it.”
    “And rescue Mr Holmes,” Queenie reminded him.
    “Yes, yes, of course. Now then, young Sparrow, just you sit down here and tell us everything you can remember.”
    So Sparrow did, trying to recall every word the Professor had said. It wasn’t easy, because he hadn’t heard very clearly, and most of what he had heard hadn’t made much sense. But he did his best, and Wiggins listened hard, his forehead furrowed and his eyes half closed in concentration.
    When Sparrow had finished, Wiggins still sat deep in thought, murmuring the key words to himself. Then he stood up and began pacing the room, stopping every now and then to poke about for anything that might give him a clue. Among the tools scattered on the workbench he found a piece of cotton wool, about the size of his hand. He picked it up, sniffed at it, then called Rosie over.
    “That it?” he asked