London and St Petersburg

On Fleet Street, the shops were closing. The chemist was putting up his shutters for the night; beneath the red and white striped awning of a café, a waitress in a frilly white apron was turning the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’. Clerks were streaming out of offices, hurrying towards the omnibus or the underground train; and a boy selling newspapers yelled out headlines from the evening edition.

Not far away from him, Joe was standing close to the offices of The Daily Picture. He’d talked over what he’d seen with Billy, and they both felt sure that more investigating must be done. Billy had taken himself off to the public library. ‘I want to look through some back issues of The Daily Picture,’ he told Joe excitedly. ‘If Brooks really is leaking information from the Secret Service Bureau, then maybe there’ll be some hints of it I can find.’

But the library wasn’t Joe’s kind of place. He’d decided to stick with what he was good at. He’d wondered about going back to the Bureau to watch for Brooks again, but in the end, he’d found himself drawn back to the offices of The Daily Picture. Somehow he felt sure that they were important. Now, as he watched, he caught sight of the woman he’d seen the previous day, coming out of the building along with half a dozen other people – newspaper reporters, filing clerks, typewriter girls, all finishing their work for the day.

She was dressed just as smartly as before, in the same trim tailor-made suit, with a neat hat perched on her head at a stylish angle. She wore the same white gloves and carried the same expensive-looking handbag. She walked straight past him, past the paperboy on the corner; and Joe followed at once – dodging between the bowler hats and boaters. Was there any chance she was going to the park, to pick up another hidden message from Brooks he wondered. But no – she couldn’t be. She was going the other way along Fleet Street, walking purposefully. Joe could just see the top of her hat, bobbing gently above the crowds.

A little way along the street, she flagged down an omnibus and climbed aboard. Joe had to run to catch up, but managed to clamber on too, before the bus pulled away again. He hadn’t expected her to get on a bus at all – she looked more like the kind of woman who’d take a motor-taxi, or at least the underground. He wiped his forehead, catching his breath and fishing in his pocket for some change for the ticket. He hadn’t even had time to see which bus it was, so he just said: ‘All the way please,’ to the conductor.

The woman had taken a seat on the top deck, quite near the front, her white-gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, her handbag placed on the seat beside her. Joe settled himself down several rows behind, wondering where she was going. He watched her carefully but she didn’t move, only stared ahead as the omnibus swept forward in the throng of cars and carriages, heading east along Fleet Street, towards the old City.

‘Police! Open up!’ yelled the voice again. The hammering on the door grew louder. From upstairs came the sound of anxious exclamations and Mitya looked desperately around him.

There were feet on the stairs, and then Vera came rushing in, with Boris close behind her. ‘Mitya!’ she cried out.

‘Get upstairs, quickly,’ said Boris, grabbing his son’s arm, and dragging him towards the staircase. ‘We have to hide you!’

‘Oh golly,’ breathed Lil, realising what was happening. ‘They had that crate of guns sent here on purpose, didn’t they? Now the police are here, and if they find the weapons . . .’

‘Then Mitya and his family – or any of us – could be blamed for plotting to assassinate the Tsar,’ finished Nakamura.

‘Goodness! What should we do?’ asked Hanna.

‘We have to try and stall them while we find the crate,’ said Sophie at once. If you could be imprisoned on the basis of a policeman’s suspicion that you might be a revolutionary, she didn’t dare to imagine what they might do if they found a whole crate of smuggled guns secretly hidden in a cellar. If they found Mitya he would certainly be arrested – and they might arrest Vera and Boris too. Her breath caught in her throat as she realised the house was full of strangers in St Petersburg – as British citizens she and Lil and Carruthers might be all right – but what about the others? ‘We have to get those guns out of the cellar before the police find them.’

Boris and Mitya had already disappeared upstairs, and now, gathering herself, Vera stormed towards the front door and flung it open: ‘What do you think you are doing, banging on people’s doors in the middle of the night?’ she demanded bravely.

But her voice was hardly heard. A horde of policemen, huge and intimidating, in their red and silver uniforms, were surging into the house. ‘Vera Ivanovna Orlov?’ demanded one, obviously their Chief. ‘I am Officer Morozov of His Imperial Majesty the Tsar’s Okhrana. We are here for your son, Dmitri Borisovich Orlov. We have information that he was the leader of the dangerous revolutionary group who attacked His Imperial Majesty, the Tsar and his family, tonight.’ He turned to several of his men. ‘Search this house!’ he ordered them. ‘Look for the guns!’

‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Vera. ‘Our son is not involved in any such plot!’

‘What’s happening?’ Lil whispered in Sophie’s ear, not understanding the Russian speech.

‘They’re here to arrest Mitya – and to look for guns,’ Sophie whispered back.

Nakamura had already taken advantage of the hubbub to slip down the stairs to the cellar, closely followed by the Count. ’I’ll go with them,’ whispered Hanna. ‘I might be able to help.’

Lil nodded and turned to Ravi. ‘I think it’s time for a diversion. Can you help me – and Shesha too?’

Ravi beamed. ‘Of course. Shesha will be delighted to be of assistance,’ he declared, lifting the enormous snake from around his shoulders.

Sophie understood at once what Lil was planning. She gave her a quick nod, and then darted forward to where Vera was still trying to argue with Officer Morozov, as his men pushed roughly into the house. She saw them shove their way into the dining room and into Vera’s kitchen, pushing books off shelves, opening cupboards, and sweeping dishes off tables, letting them shatter on to the floor.

‘You’ve got this all wrong!’ Vera was pleading.

‘Out of my way, old woman,’ said Morozov, pushing her away from him. ‘Or I’ll see you and your husband arrested and thrown into prison. Where is your son?’

He made for the stairs, but before he could take another step, Sophie called out in French: ‘Take care! Watch out! There’s a poisonous snake loose in this house!’

Morozov turned to stare at her. ‘A snake?’ he repeated, in scornful disbelief.

‘Some of the performers from the Circus of Marvels are lodging here,’ she explained rapidly. ‘One of them is the snake charmer – but his snake has escaped. He says it is very dangerous! Please, you must tell your men to beware or they may be bitten!’

Lil darted forward too. ‘There it is – I see it!’ she shrieked, pointing and screaming as if absolutely terrified. She spoke in English but her meaning was quite clear – Morozov and several of his men drew back, glimpsing the sinuous form of a simply enormous snake, slithering rapidly towards the stairs.

Ravi came chasing after it, playing his part to perfection. ‘Oh, come back at once, you naughty snake!’ he cried, though Sophie could see his eyes twinkling. Shesha turned his head, quite as if he understood what he was supposed to do, hissing loudly and dramatically in Morozov’s direction.

‘You say this snake is dangerous?’ said Morozov to Sophie.

‘Oh yes, terribly dangerous. It is one of the most poisonous snakes in the world.’

‘It’s a Black Death Python,’ invented Lil readily, still speaking in English but making a fearsome face to illustrate this description.

Morozov looked alarmed. ‘Men, be careful!’ he yelled out. ‘There is a venomous snake loose in this house!’

Lil and Ravi continued after Shesha, who was performing magnificently – first blocking the policemen who were trying to surge up the stairs, then weaving himself through Morozov’s legs, making him yell out in horror, then slithering back down to the hall, where he tripped up several more of his men. Lil and Ravi capered after him, with shrieks and entreaties.

Amongst the chaos, Sophie darted down the narrow stairs that led to the cellar. Seeing that the key was in the door, she grabbed it and locked the door behind her. That should keep the police out for a little while at least, she thought grimly.

In Nakamura’s cellar room, she found the Count, Hanna and Nakamura himself, standing around a large wooden crate.

‘This is it,’ the Count was saying, still looking very perplexed by what was happening and how he had found himself in the cellar in his dressing gown and nightcap. ‘This is the box they delivered.’

‘Your friend was right,’ said Nakamura to Sophie, as he peered under the lid. ‘It’s full of guns – dozens of them. If the police find this here, Mitya will certainly be locked up for the rest of his life.’

‘Surely there must be something we can do?’ said Sophie, looking desperately around the room. But there was no way out except for the window, high up in the wall.

Nakamura followed her gaze. ‘It’s big enough to fit through, but the question is how we get it up there. It’s so heavy.’

But the Count’s eyes lit up suddenly. ‘Look – there’s a hook up there on the ceiling,’ he said, pointing upwards. Sure enough, high above her head, Sophie saw that a large metal hook had been screwed into a big wooden beam beside the window. ‘If we can find some rope, we could make a kind of pulley,’ he suggested.

‘There’s some rope over here!’ said Hanna, quickly unearthing a coil of it from a pile of old rubbish in the corner.

Nakamura seemed to know what to do straight away. ‘Tie this end to the box, as securely as you can,’ he told the Count. ‘We need to get the other end up and over the hook.’ He stared at the high ceiling speculatively. ‘Sophie – perhaps if you were to stand on my shoulders?’

At one time, Sophie might have hesitated. But she was quite a different person now to the girl who’d once been so frightened of heights she’d hung on to Joe for dear life as they’d escaped over East End rooftops. She’d travelled hundreds of miles across Europe in an aeroplane: this was nothing. She’d kicked off her shoes before Nakamura had even finished the sentence and had the end of the rope wrapped securely around her wrist.

‘Wait,’ said Hanna. ‘Stand on my shoulders. I’m taller – and besides I know how to do it. I do this every day in my act.’

Quickly, she bent her knees and held out her hands, palms upwards. ‘Now, you stand to face me,’ she told Sophie. ‘Put your right foot on to my right thigh – here – and then put your hands in mine.’

Sophie put out a foot tentatively. Hanna’s leg felt very strong and solid. ‘Now, swing your leg around and put your left foot on my left shoulder. Good.’ She sounded completely calm, as though there were not twenty policemen stampeding above them, ransacking Vera’s parlour. ‘I’m going to push you upwards . . . Put your other foot on my right shoulder, now get your balance . . . That’s it. Now I’m going to stand up.’

Sophie felt Hanna moving smoothly upright, tightly holding on to Sophie’s ankles. She felt herself rising upwards, wobbling precariously. For a moment she thought she was going to lose her balance but she managed to fling out a hand and grab on to the metal hook in the ceiling, steadying herself. Her feet slipped a little on Hanna’s shoulders but Hanna held her firm.

‘There you go,’ said Hanna. ‘Now the rope.’

As quickly as she could, her fingers shaking, Sophie unwrapped the end of the rope from her wrist and fed it through the hook. Somewhere above, she heard a policeman yell: ‘This way – down to the cellar!’

‘Is that right?’ she called down to Nakamura, who was busy helping the Count secure the other end of the long rope around the big box, looping it several times.

‘Yes – and now we have to open the window. There’s a pole around here somewhere, I know, but do you think you can reach it?’

‘I think so!’ The window catch was stiff, and it took her some effort to open it and fling the window open. Frosty air rushed into the room.

‘It’s done!’ she called out, wobbling even more precariously, as the police began to hammer on the cellar door:

‘Who’s down there? This is the police!’

‘Let go!’ said Hanna at once. ‘I’ll catch you!’

Against all her instincts, Sophie did as she was told; for a moment she fell, but to her astonishment, Hanna caught her neatly, and set her on her feet as though at the end of an acrobatic performance.

Nakamura and the Count were already heaving on the rope, trying to lift the box. But even with the pulley, they weren’t strong enough to raise it more than a few feet. Sophie and Hanna darted at once to join them, and hauled on the rope too – and with the help of Hanna’s enormous strength, the box began to move jerkily upwards towards the open window.

‘How are we going to get it out?’ asked Hanna.

‘We’ll have to swing it,’ said Nakamura breathlessly. ‘Pull the rope to the right – that’s it – now left. Let it swing – let it gather momentum.’

‘We must judge it just right!’ exclaimed the Count. ‘We must let go as soon as it is through the window – quickly before they see anything – and it will fall down into the canal!’

Above them, the box began to sway to and fro. The rope strained under the weight of the box and Sophie began to fear it would snap in two. But by some miracle it didn’t; instead, the box began to swing more strongly, and then it had swung right out of the open window, above the canal.

‘Let go!’ yelled Nakamura.

They released the end of the rope, and with a rattle and a crash, the box went spinning down, down, down into the canal with an enormous splash. Just at that moment, the police broke down the door and came swarming into the cellar.

‘What is going on down here? Arrest these people at once!’ yelled Morozov. To her horror, Sophie saw that two strong policemen had already seized Nakamura, who was struggling in their grasp; while another was making straight for the Count, who had backed towards the corner, whimpering in terror. Hanna threw Sophie a horrified glance, as two more policemen ran through the door in her direction.

But worse was to come. Creeping into the room behind the policemen, unnoticed by anyone, came Viktor, a determined look on his face. He looked straight at Sophie and then made a dash towards her.

Dodging a policeman, Sophie ran. There was nothing she could do to help Nakamura and the others at that moment – but she would not let Viktor take the notebook and spyglass for the Fraternitas. She raced quickly up the narrow stairs, dashing through the hall, where Vera now stood weeping as two policemen dragged Mitya out to their waiting motor car.

There were people on the stairs – she couldn’t go that way, so she spun swiftly in a different direction. Everything Ada Pickering had ever taught her was flashing into her mind. Viktor might be bigger and stronger than she was, but she was small and quick and she could use that to her advantage. She wove left and right around more policemen, and then darted into Vera’s kitchen, hoping to barricade the door behind her. But Viktor was still there, forcing his way in. He made a grab for her, but she was too fast – twisting out of his reach and running through into the little pantry beyond.

All right: she needed a weapon. The pantry might not be the most obvious place to find one but Miss Pickering had taught her that there was always something, if you knew how to look for it. She spotted a broom leaning against the wall and seized it, spinning the handle around and slamming it back against Viktor’s legs, making him cry out in pain.

Still holding the broom, she dashed forward, through the door that led out into the yard. Outside, her feet slipped on the frosty cobbles, but she kept going. She heard the tabby cat yowl, somewhere in the dark.

Somehow Viktor was beside her again: he was faster than she’d given him credit for. She hit out sharply with the broom handle, but he dodged her blow.

‘Give them to me. The notebook and the spyglass!’ he demanded wildly.

‘A notebook? A . . . spyglass? I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ she bluffed at once.

‘Yes – yes you do! And you will give them to me,’ he declared, pulling the revolver from his pocket and pointing it straight at her.