The bullet whistled through the air and thudded against the wall. And then another and another; again and again with no pause between them.
Alfie gasped as they whizzed below him. This carbine rifle could shoot these newly invented bullets without stopping to reload. An army equipped with guns and ammunition like that would win any war.
Inspector Denham put a finger to his lips and Alfie nodded. He understood the need for stealth.
Alfie and Inspector Denham were in a huge old building near Leicester Square, in the very heart of London. Hiding in a secret little room at the top of the building, they were looking down at the shooting gallery from a small curtained opening.
Alfie, the spy to catch a spy, Alfie said to himself and grinned with satisfaction. Then he concentrated on watching from his hiding place. Down below were three MPs, and they were all reporting to the government about this new weapon.
‘That big one is called Ron Shufflebottom. He’s from Yorkshire,’ whispered Inspector Denham in Alfie’s ear. Alfie nodded, trying not to giggle at the name. Ron Shufflebottom was dressed all in black, rather old-looking clothes. He was a big, tall man with a red face and shrewd eyes. I’d know him again, thought Alfie. Not many men are as tall as that.
‘The one next to him is Tom Craddock from Cornwall.’ There was a slightly strange note in Inspector Denham’s voice, Alfie noticed, and wasn’t surprised when the inspector added, ‘Scotland Yard suspect him. He’s supposed to be a dangerous man, so keep well clear of him.’
Alfie narrowed his eyes, memorising the details. Tom Craddock was not as tall as the Shufflebottom man, but he was above average in height and was wearing a colourful waistcoat of red and blue squares. He had taken the gun from George, the owner of the shooting gallery, and was squinting down the barrel, with one eye closed. After a minute he passed it to the small man beside him.
‘Who is the third one?’ whispered Alfie.
‘That’s Roland Valentine from Essex,’ said Inspector Denham. ‘He’s a country man. He has a very big farm there and is supposed to be a great shot. I’d say that he knows more about guns than the other two.’
Roland Valentine was a very thin man with red hair turning white and a long scarf around his scraggy neck. As he tried out the gun, it was clear that he was almost as good at shooting this repeat rifle as the owner of the shooting gallery had been.
Alfie stared at all three men carefully, looking intently at each face. Yes, he would know them again. He moved forward a little, leaning out through the opening, in order to be quite certain.
At that moment Roland Valentine swung the gun and aimed upwards. ‘A rat on your ceiling, George!’ he shouted. ‘Let’s see if I can kill it.’
And the bullet whistled past Alfie’s nose, missing it by a few inches.