The Firebird Mystery by Darrell Pitt

almost empty, but the criminal’s hat poked above the top of the seat a couple of rows to his right. The man had his back to him.
    His gut churning, Jack opened the door and stepped in. As he climbed into the seat behind the thief, he glimpsed the piece of paper clasped between the man’s slim fingers.
    Jack sat down. He had made it this far. Now what? He had his doubts about winning a fist fight with an adult, especially since the fellow had already decked him with a single punch. With shallow breathing, he slumped further into the seat. A drizzle of sweat traced a path down his cheek. He was reminded of an act he had once seen at the circus. Two friends, Frankie and Helen Shore, did a clown act involving a series of chairs placed one behind the other. As Frankie went to sit, Helen whipped his chair from under him. Jack realised he did not have to attack the villain. He only had to retrieve the page.
    Jack slid onto the floor where the carriage seats were attached with metal braces. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the string Mr Doyle had given him. What was it the detective had told him?
    String has a thousand uses and I know you will find it invaluable.
    Jack reached under the seat and looped the string around the thief’s right shoe. Careful , he thought. He tied it to the nearest metal brace and climbed back onto his seat, sweat now streaming down his face.
    The train slowed as it pulled into a station.
    Time to go , Jack thought. He stood. The thief glanced out the window then returned his gaze to the sheet, angling it to the light. The train drew to a halt. Jack bent forward and in one smooth action pushed the man’s hat down low over his mask and snatched the paper from his hand. The man gave a high-pitched cry of rage. Jack stepped into the aisle and dragged open the door to the vestibule. He caught sight of his assailant falling face first onto the floor as he attempted to leap from his seat.
    People began streaming into the carriage.
    â€˜Excuse me!’ Jack cried. ‘My aunt’s waiting for me! Excuse me!’
    The people parted. A stairway led up from his left. He flew up the steps to the dome-shaped passenger terminal. A mural commemorating the war decorated the ceiling. Brass clocks circled the outside. The departure gates had uniformed inspectors checking tickets. He darted through the crowd, looking for a quick escape. People were everywhere. But he could not exit via the main gates. He had to board another train to put some distance between himself and the thief.
    Jack glanced back.
    Bazookas!
    The thief was shoving people aside only a few feet behind him!
    Jack felt dizzy with terror. He pushed desperately through the masses. A man holding a wallet was on his right. Grabbing the wallet, Jack reefed out all the notes and held them high in the air.
    â€˜Hey!’ the man exclaimed. ‘What the devil?’
    â€˜Money!’ Jack cried. ‘Free money! Free money for all!’
    He hurled the bundle of notes high into the air. Even before they had begun to fall, he was fighting his way towards a set of stairs, packed with travellers.
    â€˜That man’s giving money away!’ Jack pointed over his shoulder. ‘He’s giving away a thousand pounds!’
    Mayhem erupted. People fell over one another, trying to snatch money off the ground. Like a football scrum, men and women of all ages threw themselves into the human pile, while the owner of the cash unsuccessfully tried to retrieve his notes.
    Jack raced down the stairs leading to another platform. A train, an old Spaulding 66, had just started to depart.
    Not again , he groaned.
    Reaching the edge of the platform, Jack’s eyes darted left and right. An open door lay about twenty feet ahead. He could do it. One last time. He darted between two old ladies and broke into a sprint. Clutching the paper in one hand, he reached out with the other, grabbed the handrail and leapt aboard.
    Yes!
    Jack felt