The Firebird Mystery by Darrell Pitt Page A

like his lungs were about to explode. He glimpsed the criminal at the far end of the platform. It was impossible to see his face because of the porcelain mask, but Jack was certain the man was livid with anger.
    Leaning out the door, Jack waved. ‘Don’t forget to write!’
    The man did not wave back.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    â€˜Let’s see what we have here,’ Mr Doyle said.
    Jack had been back in Scarlet’s home only a few minutes. Both she and Mr Doyle had just about jumped through the ceiling with excitement on his return. Mr Doyle had even given him a hug. But after that he had delivered a stern warning about risking his life.
    â€˜You are never to take such a terrible chance again,’ he said.
    And this even after Jack had glossed over some of the finer details of his chase.
    â€˜The man was wearing a mask,’ Jack said. ‘A porcelain mask.’
    â€˜So I noticed,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I wonder why he wears such a thing. He may already be known to the police.’
    â€˜Maybe there’s something wrong with his face.’
    â€˜A possibility.’ Mr Doyle reached into his pockets. ‘Let me give you some more string.’
    He pulled out a lump of cheese, a cricket ball and the lyrics to a song called ‘The Storming Party’ before producing a length of string.
    Scarlet touched Jack’s arm. ‘You were most brave chasing that scoundrel.’
    Jack covered his burning cheeks, pretending to cough. ‘All in a day’s work,’ he said.
    They turned their attention to the piece of paper. The rain had stopped outside and now early afternoon sunlight streamed into the study of the apartment. This time, Mr Doyle locked and barred the front door so they could work in peace.
    Laying the sheet on the desk, he clasped a pencil and rubbed it over the page. After a few seconds, the indentations formed words. He peered at them through his goggles.
    â€˜This is a location,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Dock Sixteen West on the river.’
    â€˜Is that it ?’ Jack asked.
    â€˜It is indeed.’ He turned to Scarlet. ‘Do you recognise this address?’
    â€˜Not at all,’ she replied. ‘My father’s office is in the East End.’
    â€˜What does it mean?’ Jack asked.
    Mr Doyle tapped his chin. ‘It means we’re going fishing.’
    Within minutes they were back aboard the Lion’s Mane and arcing across the sky. They joined a small line of airships that traced a route across to the Thames. A fine rain was coating the city in mist.
    â€˜It’s a good thing the airships stick to flight paths across London,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Otherwise there would be chaos.’
    â€˜You’re a skilful pilot, Mr Doyle.’ Scarlet laid a hand on his arm.
    Jack noticed. ‘My eye is rather sore,’ he intervened.
    Scarlet sat next to him. ‘Poor Jack. Let me examine it.’ She studied his face. ‘You have lovely blue eyes, Jack.’
    â€˜Thank you, Scarlet.’ Jack felt giddy. ‘I think my chin is a little sore too.’
    â€˜Jack,’ Mr Doyle broke in. ‘Did I tell you about a case I handled in Scotland involving a man with a stuffed canary?’
    Scarlet broke away from him.
    â€˜No, Mr Doyle,’ Jack said, a trifle annoyed. ‘You have not mentioned it.’
    â€˜Oh,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime.’ The detective stifled a grin as he peered at the river below. ‘We are now drawing close. I will try to find a spot to land.’
    The vessel drifted through the gentle rain. Many buildings provided space on their roofs for airships to land, but this part of town was mostly derelict, so Mr Doyle searched for an empty street. He expertly guided the Lion’s Mane into a road at the back of Dock Sixteen West. It landed with a slight bump and the detective jumped out to leash the craft to an old horse pole. The others exited the